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<blockquote data-quote="New Leaf" data-source="post: 669006" data-attributes="member: 19522"><p>Apple picking today. Went to a different place than my last fall visit in 2012. Driving through winding country roads, we arrive at our destination to find parking guards juxtaposed near the busy farm stand. Cars parked with out of state plates, folks are fall leaf viewing, soaking up the sites. Can't blame the orchards for stepping it up a notch, trying to attract the tourists and make a couple bucks at the same time. The stand had a mix of local products and made in China stuff. I guess folks are looking for cheap deals, hand made is more expensive.</p><p>We strolled through the rows and rows of apple trees and marveled at all the varieties, picking a few here and there, a sampling. There were lots of folks there enjoying the day. A bit crowded for my taste, the country has changed. So different from when I was younger. Ah, the good ole days.</p><p>Being with family brings up a lot of memories and old stories. We sit around the dinner table weaving broken bits together, filling in the blanks to complete the tapestry of days gone by. I yearn for the simpler times of my childhood. Was it that things were more authentic then? We talked about the milk man delivering milk each week, the bread man would come too, how I loved to run out to the driveway as he rolled up the back door of the truck, a rush of fresh bread scent would fill the air, I stood there taking it all in as Mom would buy a few loaves for the week. That was then. Mom was young and strong. </p><p>Now Mom is coughing like crazy. I look at my sister as Mom goes in to a fit of coughing. " She's gonna be ok, it is a cold." Mom has decided not to do the bronchoscope on Friday. " I am not doing it with this cough!" I am relieved. I found a note she had written by the phone. It must have been from her speaking with the doctors office. They have no record from the notes of her last scope that she had to be bagged. I gently asked her why not. She looked a bit confused. "Well I don't know why, I don't remember anything, I think it was your brother who told me that happened."</p><p>That it did happen is ingrained in my mind because Mom called me afterwards and said in a shocked child like voice that they had to stop because she coughed and gagged so much they had to "bag" her.</p><p>She would repeat this story in various versions for some time after, as if to purge herself of the experience. "They bagged me you know" "And did you know they had to BAG me?" " I stopped breathing, they bagged me"."I nearly died, they bagged me!</p><p>I understand her trying to forget it, or pushing it away. What I cannot comprehend is that the clinic notes would not have it. I do not want to overstep, but feel that Mom needs someone to go and advocate for her. She is not feeble minded, she can be quite stubborn. The fact of the matter is, the health industry has changed too. We have become numbers. Records get lost in the shuffle. I do not want my Mom to needlessly suffer another procedure.</p><p>Tomorrow we go to my brothers for lunch. Perhaps we can talk a bit about it and see what Mom says. It will be a touchy subject. Mom wants to make her decisions for herself, as she has a right to. We are scared for our Mom.</p><p>I know Mom is scared. She is not ready to go. I feel her sadness. She has been to four funerals this fall. It must be so hard to lose so many around you, especially when faced with a terminal illness.</p><p>Mom knows of our troubles with her two granddaughters. I could not keep it from her. "You know I wrote to them and told them family is everything, and life is short." She said, her voice trembling. I replied "I know Mom, they are making their own choices, all we can do is pray and hope they will turn their lives around." Photographs of visits home dot the house. We would come every four years or so. My children would see a world so vastly different from their island home. My Mom loved to take them around and buy them treats and tell anyone who would listen " These are my Hawaiian grandchildren!" Now, as she faces her last years, she longs for them to wake up. I hope they do before their Tutu joins their Grandpa. </p><p>Mom has a tiny covered shakers basket on her windowsill, in it, a shriveled up colorless remnant of a penny candy stretchy bracelet my 27 year old left behind after our trip 23 years ago. I open it and cry. It so symbolizes my daughters state of mind, and our relationship right now.</p><p>In reviewing what I write here, my story and feelings, it is an odd mix of past and present, time gone by and that yet to come. We have no control over what is to be, only how we react and respond. Though I yearn for simpler times, the future marches ever on, the cycle continues and what will be, will be.</p><p>Life is like the changing seasons. We know there will be winter,spring, summer and fall, but the details in between are a mystery.</p><p>The leaves are slowly turning, a bit late they say due to the drought. The recent cold spell might speed it up a bit. </p><p>The trees will paint their colors as nature signals. The mountains and valleys eventually bursting into a brilliant symphony. Each day brings a different view. </p><p>God help me to take in the glory of it all, accept what is, be thankful for what was, and be faithfully prepared for what comes.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="New Leaf, post: 669006, member: 19522"] Apple picking today. Went to a different place than my last fall visit in 2012. Driving through winding country roads, we arrive at our destination to find parking guards juxtaposed near the busy farm stand. Cars parked with out of state plates, folks are fall leaf viewing, soaking up the sites. Can't blame the orchards for stepping it up a notch, trying to attract the tourists and make a couple bucks at the same time. The stand had a mix of local products and made in China stuff. I guess folks are looking for cheap deals, hand made is more expensive. We strolled through the rows and rows of apple trees and marveled at all the varieties, picking a few here and there, a sampling. There were lots of folks there enjoying the day. A bit crowded for my taste, the country has changed. So different from when I was younger. Ah, the good ole days. Being with family brings up a lot of memories and old stories. We sit around the dinner table weaving broken bits together, filling in the blanks to complete the tapestry of days gone by. I yearn for the simpler times of my childhood. Was it that things were more authentic then? We talked about the milk man delivering milk each week, the bread man would come too, how I loved to run out to the driveway as he rolled up the back door of the truck, a rush of fresh bread scent would fill the air, I stood there taking it all in as Mom would buy a few loaves for the week. That was then. Mom was young and strong. Now Mom is coughing like crazy. I look at my sister as Mom goes in to a fit of coughing. " She's gonna be ok, it is a cold." Mom has decided not to do the bronchoscope on Friday. " I am not doing it with this cough!" I am relieved. I found a note she had written by the phone. It must have been from her speaking with the doctors office. They have no record from the notes of her last scope that she had to be bagged. I gently asked her why not. She looked a bit confused. "Well I don't know why, I don't remember anything, I think it was your brother who told me that happened." That it did happen is ingrained in my mind because Mom called me afterwards and said in a shocked child like voice that they had to stop because she coughed and gagged so much they had to "bag" her. She would repeat this story in various versions for some time after, as if to purge herself of the experience. "They bagged me you know" "And did you know they had to BAG me?" " I stopped breathing, they bagged me"."I nearly died, they bagged me! I understand her trying to forget it, or pushing it away. What I cannot comprehend is that the clinic notes would not have it. I do not want to overstep, but feel that Mom needs someone to go and advocate for her. She is not feeble minded, she can be quite stubborn. The fact of the matter is, the health industry has changed too. We have become numbers. Records get lost in the shuffle. I do not want my Mom to needlessly suffer another procedure. Tomorrow we go to my brothers for lunch. Perhaps we can talk a bit about it and see what Mom says. It will be a touchy subject. Mom wants to make her decisions for herself, as she has a right to. We are scared for our Mom. I know Mom is scared. She is not ready to go. I feel her sadness. She has been to four funerals this fall. It must be so hard to lose so many around you, especially when faced with a terminal illness. Mom knows of our troubles with her two granddaughters. I could not keep it from her. "You know I wrote to them and told them family is everything, and life is short." She said, her voice trembling. I replied "I know Mom, they are making their own choices, all we can do is pray and hope they will turn their lives around." Photographs of visits home dot the house. We would come every four years or so. My children would see a world so vastly different from their island home. My Mom loved to take them around and buy them treats and tell anyone who would listen " These are my Hawaiian grandchildren!" Now, as she faces her last years, she longs for them to wake up. I hope they do before their Tutu joins their Grandpa. Mom has a tiny covered shakers basket on her windowsill, in it, a shriveled up colorless remnant of a penny candy stretchy bracelet my 27 year old left behind after our trip 23 years ago. I open it and cry. It so symbolizes my daughters state of mind, and our relationship right now. In reviewing what I write here, my story and feelings, it is an odd mix of past and present, time gone by and that yet to come. We have no control over what is to be, only how we react and respond. Though I yearn for simpler times, the future marches ever on, the cycle continues and what will be, will be. Life is like the changing seasons. We know there will be winter,spring, summer and fall, but the details in between are a mystery. The leaves are slowly turning, a bit late they say due to the drought. The recent cold spell might speed it up a bit. The trees will paint their colors as nature signals. The mountains and valleys eventually bursting into a brilliant symphony. Each day brings a different view. God help me to take in the glory of it all, accept what is, be thankful for what was, and be faithfully prepared for what comes. [/QUOTE]
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