Skip to main content

ALS Gifts: People, Part 2

Had I not gotten ALS, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet so many new and interesting people, nor had the opportunity to get to know the heart of the people already in my life.

People with ALS that impacted me but lost their battle.

Where do I begin? Gail Dubose came to our support group meeting in Kent only a few times but I remember her. She relied on her ex-husband before going into assisted living, then she was gone. I never would've known had I not "friended" her on Facebook. Notification of her funeral came in the form of a Facebook event post by her surviving family members. Unfortunately, my husband had a belly full of ALS and wouldn't take me to the service.

I got to know people from all over the world thanks to the website www.patientslikeme.com.
It was there that I met so many PALS; we support each other to the bitter end, we can't help but become invested in each other, we're on the same plight. But this support comes with a downside, without that cure, we lose our precious friends. Lots of them!! I'll name a few that touched me and that I grieve:  Bob Anderson, Peggy Freed, Patricia Mistretta Sciarrino...

This past week I lost a PALS, a person here at the hospice facility, a person whom I related to but was unable to communicate with directly due to our mutual communication challenges. Peter Roane from Maine. A man who built his own homes, built and raced cars, and jumped from perfectly good airplanes. I know precious little about this adorable man but I did see intelligence and a wicked sense of humor. He hugged with his legs and spoke volumes with his eyes and smile. I liked him, a lot. When I was more mobile, I drove down the hall to his room to watch NASCAR when I remembered (once) and to watch Game of Thrones (once). I hesitated to overstay my welcome and become a pest. Then, I could no longer pilot my own wheelchair. My hope is that he knew the extent of my esteem for him. I miss him so much!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.