Today is the last day of 2019, my final blog piece for the year, and I have been unsuccessful in coming up with a good concluding story.
Makes me feel a bit down and I’m not sure what to do about it, but I can’t let today go by without posting . . . so here goes nothing.
I am perched on a high antique bed in this pink and green floral wallpaper-matching-the-bedspread-and-curtains guest room in my mother’s French style maison in Dallas.
This room is packed with beautiful furniture; there are mirrors on three sides of me. Straight ahead I see myself in the glass of the tall fancy wardrobe — me, myself, and I in my pjs, trying my darndest to write a happy last blog of the year.
I smell coffee downstairs as my sister makes breakfast for our dear ol’ Dad.
It’s been an important week, I am grateful to be here, but it’s not an easy reality to enter.
Old age issues. 24-hour caregivers. Dementia. It is serious and sad yet also, at times, funny and sweet, other times boring, and always challenging to keep my spirits up and my worry down.
I wonder how long Dad will have to endure this.
I obsess about what my life will be like when I am his age. (95)
I wish I wasn’t such a wimp in this reality.
Not exactly a happy week.
You know, I criticize the Hallmark sappy-happy ending movies because they can be so ridiculous, but look at me, here I am longing for it. For happy endings.
I long for a happy ending for Dad.
I long for a happy ending for all my grieving, suffering friends. (I attended many funerals this year.)
And selfishly, I just wish I had a happy ending for my 2019 blog, but oh, well, here it is. I’m going to leave all these mirrors and go downstairs for breakfast.
P.S. No matter what happens this new year, happy or not, I will try to do what my dad has always told us to do: Trust in the Lord.