... you can't remember your Blogger password.
... people in your blogroll have had babies and/or made actual humans - since you last had a chance to read them.
... you don't remember the last time you logged in to Blogger. Oh wait, Blogger does. March. As in, nearly 6 months ago.
... you missed your own damn Blogoversary. Oh well.
Enough of that crap. I'm here. At least for now. I'll try to do better, but if you are reading this, then I presume you have at least a passing acquaintance with my life, and so you already know that my attendance here will likely be spotty at best.
You will have to forgive me if I seem woefully, hopelessly out of date with your lives. I have not had time to read anyone lately - and so if I have missed an event in your life that required either commiseration or congratulations, please know that while absent your Blog, I have most assuredly been present in spirit.
And now, for a very abbreviated version of the last 6 months.
When last we met, I was sitting, watching Twinks in the MRI. The next day we learned that she had sprained her knee very badly, and shortly thereafter we began the requisite physical therapy. Luckily, she responded well, and was (mostly) back on her feet by the end of the school year. She still hasn't had the foot surgeries that have been recommended; a summer 'flu caught her, then my Mom, and finally me, resulting in a miserable summer for our family. (Luckily TW was spared; I truly don't know how we would have coped if he and I had both been that sick at the same time.)
Mom continues to slide into the slowly gathering darkness of dementia. I feel as though I live my life on the verge of tears all the time. Silly things that might have triggered a wave of nostalgia in days past now have the power to crush me under the terrible weight of my grief. It is horrible to watch this, close up. Helpless to stop the erosion of her mind, and still somewhat aware that she is losing the battle, my Mom still bravely faces each day with her sweet smile. Just as she has taught me my entire life - to walk, to talk, to cook, clean, and mend, to love, and to live... now she is teaching me how to die with great dignity, even as her brain slowly and inexorably betrays her.
Other things have happened, to be sure. Everyday, ordinary things fill our days, like going to the grocery store, and taking my Mom to the beauty shop every Friday (just as she always went every Friday for as long as I can remember) to get her hair done. Going for ice cream on hot summer evenings, and pulling weeds in the flower beds, and watching summer thunderstorms pelt the windows with tiny hail.
Along the way, we "accidentally" bought a new(er) minivan. We really didn't intend to purchase it, but every time I stood up to walk out of the dealership, they either lowered the price of the van, or upped the value of the trade in. When we got done, our car payment only went up $3 per month, and our vehicle is significantly newer, with significantly fewer miles, more features, and most importantly, no repairs needed. Our trade in was at that point where we were either going to have to ditch it, or invest a substantial amount of money in repairs.
I had a birthday this summer, too. I turned 49, and I must confess that I have not yet had sufficient time to absorb how dangerously close to 50 I am. I still don't feel that old...
TW continues to be my rock, my hero during the roller coaster ride that our lives have become. There isn't a day that passes that I have not thanked G-d for him; I only wish that I could somehow reward him for all of the sacrifices that he has made for our family. I would be lost without him. I would be insane without him. He gets up every morning - lets me sleep in for as long as possible - and makes breakfast for my Mom. Every day for the last two and a half years. Not just a bowl of cereal, but every day he makes waffles and bacon, slices a banana, makes her a cup of applesauce, pours fresh OJ, and hot coffee. Every day. Without complaint. Heros don't always wear capes, and leap over tall buildings in a single bound... sometimes they just tie on an apron every morning, and sit with an old lady while she eats breakfast in the kitchen.
So that's it. That's where we are. You might see me snooping around your blog in the days to come - trying to catch up with you. Just leave the light over the kitchen sink on, I'll sneak in the back door and pour myself a cup of coffee.
See you soon.