My travels, how beautiful…

Several times I have been asked why I travel.  I think, down deep, it is as much as seeing is to experience these things.  I remember standing in Vernazza in Cirque Terre, Italy.  I woke up at dawn as I wanted to experience the sunrise over the Ligurian Sea.  It was exquisite.  There were rocks emanating from the shoreline.  I am sure these rocks were hundreds, if not thousands of years old. They will remain so long after I am gone. The sunset over the horizon in Alfama district in Lisbon.  It is the only neighborhood that remained after the earthquake that devasted this city in in 1755. That tabby cat that walked over to me with the silver bell on its neck. She lovingly licked my hand as my son and I sat while taking a break while trekking up the Rock of Gibraltar. So many experiences and memories that I cannot list them.  Later in life, when I reach a certain age, my travels may be limited due to physical decline. I will hold these memories close to me.   Experiences that I will forever treasure and will reach for, lovingly, gently.  These will always remain the photographs of my life.

One hundred and two minutes….

It is Wednesday. A day in which I do the usual catching up on things which have fallen to the wayside during a busy week (another one, which is always the case). Since my son has gone into the military 7 months ago, I find myself filling my life with meaningful work (to me, at least).  The money is welcomed but is not the reason I sometimes work at a frenzied pace.  My dear friend recently told me that one must have a purpose.  Now that my son has launched, this single parent rediscovered her (at least one) purpose.  I work part time with an EAP in which my primary focus is on veterans and part time as a geriatric social worker whose role it is to connect low income seniors with resources in their community. The work keeps me busy and refocuses my attention away from myself and my concerns about my son serving in the military in this sometimes absurdly chaotic world. Lastly (and not in an order), it keeps my mind off my mother who has vascular dementia.

This writing is intended to focus upon her (and admittedly my interaction with her today). I stopped by the facility in which she has lived for nearly 2 years. She has been moved to assisted living to memory care due to her declining memory.  Before entering the building, I found the access code which I needed to enter the unit.  As I did so (always carefully, quietly) I discovered my mother in a group of ten women reminiscing. I felt intuitively that I needed to stay back.  I wanted to listen to these women talk about what was their lives (and I hoped, what is their lives). After a bit of time, my mother turned her head and saw me sitting on a sofa in the corner.  She smiled and asked me what I was doing there. Mom remembered my name and asked me how I was.  I asked her how she was and how she felt today.  She replied, “I’ve been here one hundred and two minutes. I think it will be okay.”  I’ll take that one hundred and two minutes from Mom.  And I do think (in her own way) she will be okay.

I think of it as a blessing...

I've always been candid about being diagnosed with bipolar disorder several years ago. I am an advocate for people who have experienced this and know that living a life full of love and happiness is possible.

Being bipolar is not who I am and it does not define me. It is, however, a part of what makes me unique. It makes me, me. Some people think of it as a curse. I think of it as a blessing.

https://psychcentral.com/blog/top-ten-terrific-things-about-bipolar-disorder/?fbclid=IwAR1wBWlS6iP0cKlCDbwB0UrHtWTXvpvJaEz4PaK14DrRkHHJHB39Mszz4lo

It would be a beautiful life...

I could choose to stay home, drink rose and watch "Remains of the Day".

It would be a beautiful life, but it is not what I am destined to do.

Please wait for me Portugal...

Please wait for me Portugal. 

I promise I will find my way back to you.

One foot...

I have one foot in the present.  

I have one foot in the future.

Waiting...

As I sit here this night I have realized that I have spent much my adult life waiting.

Waiting to have that picture-perfect family.

Waiting for that first marriage to steady from my then husband’s alcoholism; from the chaos that ensured.

Waiting after the first year of a second marriage, to get out of that tireless and toxic relationship.

Waiting to move to Portugal: to my home.

Waiting has been filled with many things: raising and loving an only child; losing my parents (one to leukemia and one to dementia).

Waiting to ultimately find myself.

Waiting has at times been tedious, yet at the same time still, depending on the day.

We all wait, I suppose, for different things.  Hopefully though, in the end, those still periods will be worth the wait.