Chatting with a friend this morning, I was left with this question posed by him. " If there was someone that you knew that was a pillar in the community, but then charged with a terrible crime (pedophile), who then committed suicide before the trial or evidence was presented, would you then attend his viewing and/or funeral? "
That gives me pause for thought. Honestly, I don't know if I can come up with an answer. I've never been put into such a situation, but I will say this. I hate the issue of pedophilia. It's not just an 'issue', it's a dispicable act of sin. That being said, all sin is rather dispicable....and since all people are subject to some sort of act that displeases God (sin), it is up to Him to judge that sin or that person's behavior. It is not up to me.
I suppose the entire question about my attending the viewing or funeral would depend a lot on how well I know that particular person. I'm not especially fond of funerals, in general, and am most likely not to attend for the sake of attending, unless I'm very familiar with the person or their family. Family members of the dear departed one are comforted, somewhat, in knowing that they have the support of their friends as they grieve their loss. I know that is true for me. So, I guess my answer to the question would be, "The alleged crime would not keep me from attending his services, should I be very close to the family. Otherwise, I wouldn't be there anyway."
Hmmm...I wonder if my friend would be satisfied with my answer? I'm sure it's all a matter of personal preference, and this would be mine. I hope I never have to be in the position to find out what I'd do in such a situation.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
Can Never Go Home Again
It is said that you can 'never go home again.' It is true, I think. When you try to do so, you'll find that things are changed, never quite the same as they were.
This morning I read a friend's blog from earlier this month. He spoke of his childhood home, and the realization that he hasn't a single photo of that place. The house remains, as far as he knows, on the same property he played on as a child, but only his memories remain of the interior of the home itself.
On one of his trips to our hometown, he went to visit the old homestead, and though the owner was good enough to invite him to walk through, and things looked much the same inside the walls, it wasn't really 'home' anymore.
I felt a sadness in reading that entry. I think it's because it hit 'so close to home' for me. My childhood home was demolished, in its relative 'youth'. It was built in 1959 and added on to in the 1960's. It met its demise in the late 1990's, after being sold out of our family. Another house was built on the original, but expanded foundation. It looked nothing like the house with the four small bedrooms and two baths that I spent my teen years growing up in. I was able to walk through when construction was being completed. It had an open floor-plan, a fireplace, fewer and larger bedrooms. As pretty as that new house was, it was not 'home' anymore. I felt as if I'd lost a loved one.
I knew that same sadness when my grandmother's house was sold out of the family, but that still stands, and without too many changes to its old body. Yes, it has been renovated slightly and repairs have been made, but there isn't too much to complain about...except the yard. Grandpa's old shop was taken down. The old and beautiful lilac bushes were taken out, as were the other flowering plants. Rows of large, colorful bearded iris were removed too. And now, tall hedges hide the house from the street. Otherwise, the house is much the same.
My own home, which was where my children were reared, was sold when we moved south. I understand that nothing much was changed there, but that everything was painted white inside the house. The yard looked nearly the same when I was visiting my hometown 3 years ago, but I did see that the picket fence and some plants were gone from what was a large rose and lily garden on the side of the house. The large blue spruce trees that offered privacy were trimmed from the ground up, leaving a heavy topped tree, which I fear will cause the trees to break in strong winds or storm.
There is little one can do about these changes that come to our beloved homes. They belong to someone else now, and whatever it is that they do to make it 'theirs' is beyond our control. Still, we visit these places in our minds and memories. We walk across the wood floors. knowing just where they will creak. We wander in and out of rooms and see the wallpapers, and smell the offerings from the kitchen stove. We know every nook and cranny.
With or without the photos to remind us, we know what we know about our former homes. I think it best not to mingle the present with the past by physically visiting those buildings that housed us for so long. It causes us unrest and discomfort, because...you really can never go home again.
This morning I read a friend's blog from earlier this month. He spoke of his childhood home, and the realization that he hasn't a single photo of that place. The house remains, as far as he knows, on the same property he played on as a child, but only his memories remain of the interior of the home itself.
On one of his trips to our hometown, he went to visit the old homestead, and though the owner was good enough to invite him to walk through, and things looked much the same inside the walls, it wasn't really 'home' anymore.
I felt a sadness in reading that entry. I think it's because it hit 'so close to home' for me. My childhood home was demolished, in its relative 'youth'. It was built in 1959 and added on to in the 1960's. It met its demise in the late 1990's, after being sold out of our family. Another house was built on the original, but expanded foundation. It looked nothing like the house with the four small bedrooms and two baths that I spent my teen years growing up in. I was able to walk through when construction was being completed. It had an open floor-plan, a fireplace, fewer and larger bedrooms. As pretty as that new house was, it was not 'home' anymore. I felt as if I'd lost a loved one.
I knew that same sadness when my grandmother's house was sold out of the family, but that still stands, and without too many changes to its old body. Yes, it has been renovated slightly and repairs have been made, but there isn't too much to complain about...except the yard. Grandpa's old shop was taken down. The old and beautiful lilac bushes were taken out, as were the other flowering plants. Rows of large, colorful bearded iris were removed too. And now, tall hedges hide the house from the street. Otherwise, the house is much the same.
My own home, which was where my children were reared, was sold when we moved south. I understand that nothing much was changed there, but that everything was painted white inside the house. The yard looked nearly the same when I was visiting my hometown 3 years ago, but I did see that the picket fence and some plants were gone from what was a large rose and lily garden on the side of the house. The large blue spruce trees that offered privacy were trimmed from the ground up, leaving a heavy topped tree, which I fear will cause the trees to break in strong winds or storm.
There is little one can do about these changes that come to our beloved homes. They belong to someone else now, and whatever it is that they do to make it 'theirs' is beyond our control. Still, we visit these places in our minds and memories. We walk across the wood floors. knowing just where they will creak. We wander in and out of rooms and see the wallpapers, and smell the offerings from the kitchen stove. We know every nook and cranny.
With or without the photos to remind us, we know what we know about our former homes. I think it best not to mingle the present with the past by physically visiting those buildings that housed us for so long. It causes us unrest and discomfort, because...you really can never go home again.
Friday, March 1, 2013
MARCHING ON....
Here we are...marching on. We've made it through the winter months, and now have thoughts of Spring, with real hope in our hearts. As I type this, the daffodils are blooming, the tulips greens are up a good way out of the ground, the red bud trees are in blossom. We're looking forward to warmer weather and colorful gardens.
But for a moment, for this blog entry at least, I'll look back and fill you in on the events of the winter months. It's been somewhat of a challenge this year. The month of November found me in some ridiculous disagreement with a family member, which I hated, but due to us both being made of stubborness and strong opinions, we were at an impossible impass. I was informed in no uncertain terms that the other person would not be attending the holiday meals here at our house as is normally the case. I was hurt, but no matter what I said or did, things didn't change for the better, so I gave up and moved on.
Shortly after, my mother began to show some strange symptoms of numbness. Knowing that they could be associated with strokes or TIAs, I took her to the emergency room at one of our hospitals. It was flu season and the waiting rooms were backed up for hours with patients wearing masks, or not, slumped in chairs with expressions of misery on their faces. The first visit was an 11 hour wait until they determined from the CT scan that there was no stroke, no blockage, no TIA. No diagnosis at all.
Three days later, we were back in the emergency room for a 6 hour stay. Again, they told us that because the numbness was in face and hand, they would think it was a TIA, but because it was only seconds long, and they could find nothing on tests, she should take a baby aspirin and go back home, following up with her family doctor. Thus began an onslaught of blood tests, echo cardiogram, heart monitor, MRI, and anything else they could think of to find or rule out a condition. So far, we still don't have a diagnosis. However, one blood test showed very low levels of B12 vitamin, so Mom was put on a daily supplement.
Within a week or so, Mom was sleeping better, her mood was cheerful again, she'd lost the confusion I'd noticed in weeks before, and her color had returned. Apparently, she had been anemic, which had caused the gray complexion, the irrational attitudes and moods that were normally so unlike her. She was, in her words, 'worn out' but she couldn't sleep well. I had noticed the symptoms and knew 'something' was wrong, but hadn't put things together until the B12 was added. At that point, I googled 'B12 deficiency' and read several reports of symptoms. BINGO! I think I found the problem, and yet, when I asked the doctor if he thought that could have been the cause of it all, his answer was that he thought it was 'stress.' Siiiiiigh.
Mom is very strong,but for arthritic knees. Her heart is, apparently, strong and her blood chemicals are good. She's fairly easy-going, normally, lives a quiet...almost lonely....life. There is little to stress her out, but I do think that she was worrying about what was happening to her body and why no one had answers for her. Even the neurologist couldn't find anything wrong, except some imbalance in her gait, due to the knees. The very last thing was just the other day, when there was a stress test done with another echocardiogram. A good strong, healthy looking heart beats in that chest.
So, we've wound up the winter with no diagnosis, and Mom marches on toward the middle of this month when she will celebrate another year of life. I am so grateful for her and her presence with us. It is a real blessing to know that she is healthy, even if we have to visit every doctor in the area to find that out!
But for a moment, for this blog entry at least, I'll look back and fill you in on the events of the winter months. It's been somewhat of a challenge this year. The month of November found me in some ridiculous disagreement with a family member, which I hated, but due to us both being made of stubborness and strong opinions, we were at an impossible impass. I was informed in no uncertain terms that the other person would not be attending the holiday meals here at our house as is normally the case. I was hurt, but no matter what I said or did, things didn't change for the better, so I gave up and moved on.
Shortly after, my mother began to show some strange symptoms of numbness. Knowing that they could be associated with strokes or TIAs, I took her to the emergency room at one of our hospitals. It was flu season and the waiting rooms were backed up for hours with patients wearing masks, or not, slumped in chairs with expressions of misery on their faces. The first visit was an 11 hour wait until they determined from the CT scan that there was no stroke, no blockage, no TIA. No diagnosis at all.
Three days later, we were back in the emergency room for a 6 hour stay. Again, they told us that because the numbness was in face and hand, they would think it was a TIA, but because it was only seconds long, and they could find nothing on tests, she should take a baby aspirin and go back home, following up with her family doctor. Thus began an onslaught of blood tests, echo cardiogram, heart monitor, MRI, and anything else they could think of to find or rule out a condition. So far, we still don't have a diagnosis. However, one blood test showed very low levels of B12 vitamin, so Mom was put on a daily supplement.
Within a week or so, Mom was sleeping better, her mood was cheerful again, she'd lost the confusion I'd noticed in weeks before, and her color had returned. Apparently, she had been anemic, which had caused the gray complexion, the irrational attitudes and moods that were normally so unlike her. She was, in her words, 'worn out' but she couldn't sleep well. I had noticed the symptoms and knew 'something' was wrong, but hadn't put things together until the B12 was added. At that point, I googled 'B12 deficiency' and read several reports of symptoms. BINGO! I think I found the problem, and yet, when I asked the doctor if he thought that could have been the cause of it all, his answer was that he thought it was 'stress.' Siiiiiigh.
Mom is very strong,but for arthritic knees. Her heart is, apparently, strong and her blood chemicals are good. She's fairly easy-going, normally, lives a quiet...almost lonely....life. There is little to stress her out, but I do think that she was worrying about what was happening to her body and why no one had answers for her. Even the neurologist couldn't find anything wrong, except some imbalance in her gait, due to the knees. The very last thing was just the other day, when there was a stress test done with another echocardiogram. A good strong, healthy looking heart beats in that chest.
So, we've wound up the winter with no diagnosis, and Mom marches on toward the middle of this month when she will celebrate another year of life. I am so grateful for her and her presence with us. It is a real blessing to know that she is healthy, even if we have to visit every doctor in the area to find that out!
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