Ignatius J. Reilly

 

Mothers and Brothers

 I was just thinking, last night, about Mom.  She's gone and that's fine.  But, my brothers believe she was a Saint.  One brother said it, as much.  But, for me, she was cruel, emotionally abusive, scary and a dream crusher.  

I don't need to dredge up all the details.  They'll come in time.  But this memory came up after watching a story about child trafficking being done by Iranians  What a flash back.  Twice, in my life, I was almost trafficked.  I saved myself.  First, I was 13 and at the public pool.  I was approached by two guys who said they were Persian.  AKA Iranian.  They were probably in their 30s. They tried to kiss me and hold me tight.  Fortunately, I was wet from the pool, so got out of their grip and ran for my life.  I left the pool and hid in a near by stand of bushes.  It was a thick hedge.  I just stayed there until Mom was supposed to pick me up. 

She finally showed up.  I told her what happened. I was shaking and all she could say was 'Oh be nice.'  That's it.  Hand to God that's what she  said to her daughter. I know she didn't want me, but hell why would someone not give a damn about a child being abducted for trafficking?  But, that's who she was.  She didn't want me, but she didn't allow another family to adopt me and love me.  

It just gets better.  Similar thing happened when I was 15. This was at the beach. Again, I saved myself.  This time I tried to tell her what happened.  Guess what she said?  Yeah, 'Be Nice.'  

She was  a real piece of work.  Fast forward a bit and she found it in herself to have her first grandchild murdered.

But, my brothers think she's a Saint.  Families can really, really suck.

Favorite Time

My favorite time if day is when it's over. When I close up the house and day is done.  I celebrate the end of another day.

What? Pool Party or Commitment to God?

 I saw this in a church's weekly email.  I was taken aback.  Maybe it's me.  But, a baptism is a serious ceremony to commit a life to God.  This sounds like a pool party, to me.  I guess that's what you do when you want more money and are trying very hard to become a mega-church.  You know the kind. The ones that turn in to a cult and accept all things and all behavior.  Why?  Money.  But, I digress.

Here's the snip from the email.  I just think this is not honoring our God and our serious life commitment to him.

". . .A few members have shown interest in a Baptism or reaffirming their faith with a re-Baptism.  The tentative date is set for June 29.  This will take place at the XXXX's backyard pool, followed by a low-key cookout. Watch for more details to come."

Reality

 I try to ignore the obvious, when it comes to me.  But, sometimes you just can't.  Especially when you are alone and have no support.

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you were suddenly forced in to a wheelchair.  You have no family that will take you on, or really assist.  You have no community that will offer any substantial help.  You can't afford to pay for assistance.  You have no transportation.  What would you do?  How would you manage? That's what I am facing.

I ignore the signs.  I pray God will take them away or take me away.  I know it's coming and I'm scared to death.  I think I will end up just languishing until I die.  

Elderly folks are not valued and, pretty much, considered yesterday's trash.  There is a segment of younger folks that cheer when old people die.  It's sick and they will reap what they sow.

To be old, alone and virtually ignored is a horrible reality.  It's mine. I write to say it out loud.  I don't expect change.  If I did, I would be disappointed.  So, I expect nothing and pray to God to keep me going or take me home.

Frightening

The scariest thing, for me, is to think that I could be on this planet for another 20 years. May God intervene. I cannot imagine being around in this body, in this world, for that much longer. It's horrifying to me. 

I'm alone now. Imagine when I'm 90 and really need help. God,  please don't let this happen 🙏 😢 

Day In and Day Out

 It's sad to admit, but each day I get up and do well for about 6 hours.  After that, I just want the day to end.  I start counting the hours until I can officially call it a day.  After chores and coffee, there's nothing else to consider, so the day is over.

Just an observation and a truthful assessment of the end times of my life.