Fr. Patrick spoke today about the Samaritan Woman at the Well and her encounter with Jesus. He spoke about the tendency for us to “color” the events in life so we don’t look so bad (my simple words, not his. He is much more eloquent than I). Even in confession, he says that our pride keeps us from really airing all the laundry, but only saying enough to make us feel we’ve confessed the issue (again, my words, not his) even if not fully dealing with it.

When Jesus turned the conversation back to the Woman’s life in John 4:16-18 Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come here.” The woman answered and said, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You have well said, ‘I have no husband,’ for you have had five husbands, and the one whom you now have is not your husband; in that you spoke truly.”

Because we are exploring Orthodoxy and not yet Illumined, I have not yet confessed to my Father Confessor. God grant me the ability to air all my warts with honesty and the mercy not to receive what I deserve for what I have done and said in this life. Those of you who know me, will tell anyone that I’m not known for my tact (to put it mildly). I would not be a good politician. (Of course politics has two parts, Poly which means many, and Tics, you know, blood sucking creatures.)

See, there I go again; I am nothing if not sarcastic. So, for many years, I have asked Jesus to keep His blessed hand over my mouth. (I can hear you all laughing, but I really have and you’d probably be amazed at the number of retorts I’ve not uttered.) I never, ever say things to intentionally hurt people but sometimes they come out that way. A beautiful, loving and giving woman told me today that she was hoping that this community would not disappoint me. Oh, Lord, it is my hope that is I who do not disappoint. Please Lord, keep your hand over my mouth.

I have always loved Saturdays. There’s no church, no work, no place one has to be on Saturdays. I’ve always loved Saturdays. Coffee at leisure, read email, shower late. Until recently. Now, I go see my Father every Saturday. I talk to him during the week and if he needs me to, I go over to his house. But, since last summer, I go over to his house every Saturday.

It might sound strange that I equate not loving Saturdays with going to see Dad. The challenge is that he’s become so demented and confused that it’s tough to deal with and hey, we were never close when I was young. My Father was very absent from my life. He crawled into a bottle of beer on Friday evenings and didn’t usually emerge until Monday morning for work. He’d come home Monday thru Thursday and sit behind the news paper (always the Tribune) until dinner where we would all eat together. Then, he’d be back to the living room with the paper or TV, but rarely interact with me.

So, he was absent despite “being” in our house most evenings. On the weekends, he’d interact more but that was due to the beer. If he drank something other than beer, he’d get mean, so we’d pretty much stay away.

So, now my Saturday mornings are spent with him and his wife paying their bills, calling in prescriptions, reminding them of doctor appointments and telling Dad 4 or 5 times what each pile of papers was and where they need to go, etc. The doctor told him last week that he shouldn’t drive, so we talked about that again today. He got very angry again and then managed to reign it in a bit. I worry for Lyla since she is there all the time and probably gets the brunt of his anger. I’ve only seen him get physical when angry when he was drinking hard liquor, but I am concerned about her. In a way, it might be harder for me to do this if I’d been very close to him as a child. It would have been very difficult to see my Mother (whom I loved dearly) become so forgetful. I am not sure what will happen when he no longer knows who I am.

So, Saturdays are very different now. I am sure I don’t like them as well as I used to. I do feel selfish for feeling this way. My Father has 5 children but 3 live in other states. The other one, well I do wonder why he isn’t helping so much but I do tend to be pretty controlling. What’s so hard is there is no “fixing” Dad. This is the beginning of the end and He doesn’t know Jesus and has never lived for anything but himself. That’s so hard and so far from what God intended for His children!

Funny, when I started this post, I was thinking of an absolutely wonderful lunch Mark and I just had with Fr. Patrick and Christina, not whining about Dad. We talked and shared and cried (just Mark and I) and really look forward to becoming part of the St. Peter’s body. Mark and I monopolized the conversation so we have much to learn about Fr. Patrick and Christina. May God grant us many years to get to know them!

Have you ever heard the joke, “Mental illness is inherited, you get it from your kids”? I think the comedian got it wrong, you get it from your children and your parents.

My Dad had a quarterly check up at his primary care doctor today. She did a “mini-mental” test on him. I’m familiar with them because we often to them at work to assess our residents. We usually move residents to a higher level of care when they do poorly on the memory tests. My Dad failed miserably.

The doctor will report the results to the DMV and the DMV will probably revoke Dad’s driver’s license. Man is he angry! I can’t say that I blame him but I have been worried about him driving. So, of course he’s mad at me too since I take him to this doctor and I also chose her since his last doctor would have let him die last year.

So, it’s been a grand morning. The doctor gave Dad Aricept which is an Alzheimer drug. Aricept is supposed to help maintain memory but there really is no cure for Alzheimer’s. I know my Dad will continue to drive even if the DMV says he cannot. I am not sure how this will all work out but I know I need your prayers. I broached the subject of buying his car from him. I’ll let it rest a few days and then talk to him again. So, please pray for this too. The car will need to be taken away if he’s really going to stop driving. And, then the issue is how will they get around? I’m afraid this might fall to Mark since he’s home during the day. And I’ll have to take them for groceries on the weekend.

Thanks for reading this far and thanks for praying.

Barb

Okay, you all have been bugging me about posting, so here’s number 3 for the day.

Actually, I just wanted to tell everyone about a Pod Cast I’m really enjoying. It’s at Ancient Faith Radio and the pod cast is by Fr. Huneycutt. You can find him here. Those of you who know me, know I like country western music. Well, Fr. Huneycutt actually sang a part of one of my favorite songs by Toby Keith, “I Wanna Talk About Me” in his post:

“Do You Have What It Takes?”

So, when you have a few minutes, stop by Ancient Faith Radio and listen.

I’ve reached 50.

You know, like George Carlin says about age “Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we’re kids? If you’re less than 10 years old, you’re so excited about aging that you think in fractions. “How old are you?” “I’m four and a half!” You’re never thirty-six and a half. You’re four and a half, going on five! That’s the key. You get into your teens, now they can’t hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead. “How old are you?” “I’m gonna be 16!” You could be 13, but hey, you’re gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life . . you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony . . . YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!! But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There’s no fun now, you’re Just a sour-dumpling. What’s wrong? What’s changed? You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you’re PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it’s all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone. But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn’t think you would! So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60. You’ve built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it’s a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday! You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn’t end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; “I Was JUST 92.” Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. “I’m 100 and a half!”
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!”

It hardly seems possible that I am 50. I missed something. Whole decades have gone by–where did they go? I’ve been down this past week–age related? Perhaps. I’m not sure. It started last Sunday before we left for the conference. Mark said something after Divine Liturgy that ticked me off–I can’t even remember what it was. So, I have this niggling that something is bothering me and I don’t know exactly what. I don’t feel like a failure. I have fulfilled many of my dreams. I have a great paying job that I love. I have a loving husband and some great kids. I even got the birthday presents and cake I wanted (because I was very directive), so no disappointments there.

Weird. I’m not usually too emotional, but I’ve been very tearful lately. I know it’s not about Orthodoxy and the new Parish. I love being there. If I could get up a bit earlier, I’d go to Matins. I’m loving the choir and the Bible reading and the homily.

So, pray for me. I feel sort of off kilter. (It’s probably just menopause.) Ever notice how all of women’s problems start with men? Why do all the difficult things women go through have MEN in them? Men Words. … MENtal Illness. MENstrual Cramps. MENtal Breakdown. MENopause. Okay, now I’m feeling more like me….