photo: net_efekt, which first appeared on this blog here.

The early spring air was unkindly cool as I gingerly slogged across a soggy post-storm yard to the mail box. Trees, grass, flowers announced the turn from winter. A large black BMW pulled out of my neighbor's gravel driveway. I recognized the driver as the son. Barely peeking over the passenger side window, my white-haired neighbor flashed a wide smile and limply waved a wrinkled hand. As I moved into her driveway to share some love with her meaty fleshed, anxious Dalmation left behind, I thought: "Sandwiched."

For two years now, I've written about aging issues here. Often, I concentrated on adult children caregivers. I've written about anguish. Loss. Sorrow and pain. For our family, the sandwich was deconstructed March 1 of this year, when Daddy died after a two-plus year journey that challenged me and my siblings.

What am I trying to say here? I asked myself, knowing that these blog-essays will be soon offered to my readers here in an E-book. Am I saying aging is bad? Aging parents are bad? That caregiving is bad? Bad!? No…Then, quickly, my thoughts turned to and quoted the wisdom of the Buddhists: It just is. 

Yeah, there's a helluva lot of struggle. There's end-of-life ethical issues. There's a lot of emotional thrashing about, and as a writer, I've attempt to capture much of it here. That's what writers do. The week that we knew Daddy's death was imminent–or at least we thought…as it turned out he survived comatose without food and water for practically another whole week–I began itching to write. A soul-led aching itch to purge on virtual paper. Time just would not allow. Brains were foggy, business affairs commanded attention, suitcases required packing and unpacking and packing yet again. Day-long road trips had to happen. Four times in eight days they happened. At last when I got back that night, one day post funeral, I began to write. And write and write. Five blog-essays came of that purge and they appeared here the last five Mondays. I thought I was done. But then one is never "done"–if life is lived consciously. And fact is, I'm aging, too. We all are. And, one is never done in examining "the good." "The bad." And, the "what is."

So, stay tuned. And, thank you dear ones, for reading. Your emails, Facebook and blog comments about these posts mean much to me. My gift to you and all those dealing with the challenging end of a loved ones' life, will be my forthcoming E-book. Namaste.

One more thing! Oh, what a treat. I gush on so much here about my favorite blogger that I should blush. When the cable/internet was out for 18 hours after last week's storm here, I could read Karen Walrond's post in my already downloaded email, but I couldn't see the pictures or this beautiful video. After our internet service resumed the next morning, I was scurrying on to other things and bookmarked the post. Then, during lunch, after the morning I wrote this post I discovered this beautiful video that says it all about why it's important to grieve our parents' and other losses in our lives. Here, Karen Walrond interviews well-known and seriously talented blogger, Canadian Catherine Conners of Her Bad Mother: