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Struggling to cope with my father's death


MissionBlue

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MissionBlue

Silverkitties, I also wish you could come over and watch movies with me and we could cry our eyes out.  I wish I had shown my dad Wilde. 

 

I just finished crying again, because I started thinking about a Swedish silent film my dad liked called "Laila" (1929). 

 

The 2007 version of Northanger Abbey is well done.  It's on YouTube here:

 

One of my dad's favorite songs was "Chicago"  (the 1922 song). 

 

One of the reasons I'm so sad today, besides the obvious, is because no one offered to take me to the cemetery today, which just reinforced the chilling sense of loneliness I feel.  Nobody even called to see how I'm doing when they know this is my first Father's Day without my dad.  I guess that means that none of my cousins cared to visit their own fathers' graves at the cemetery.  One of my cousins was supposed to take me to dinner last Thursday and he forgot all about it.  So many things to feel sad about. :(

 

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silverkitties

Thanks for the link to Northanger, Missionblue! (Isn't Wilde great? He is one of my heroes...)

 

I'm going to bed now, but i'm going to discuss the rides with you because it's an issue for me as well. Not one single person wants to give us a ride anymore--even though they're retired, still driving and live around the area  (less than 15 minutes; for some it's under 5). I guess I sound like Miss Daisy (a movie I have not watched but want to), but why it is so hard? Just once a week or every other week? This is after they offered us any help we needed. They know I am going nuts taking care of my dad and trying to write my book too. 

 

It's like we're completely isolated. I do worry about my dad because I don't want to him to slip even more, mentally speaking. Guess no one here likes him either--even though they're all fluent in the same tongue. 

 

I want my mom more than ever.

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MissionBlue

I know how you feel, Silverkitties.  Even the psychic cousin my dad asked to look after me in a dream didn't call me today. 

 

I just uploaded a picture of my dad and me in happier times in the gallery. 

Sleep well, Silverkitties, and we'll talk again soon....

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silverkitties

Missionblue, that is the SWEETEST picture of you and your dad. Is it just me or does he look kinda look like Clark Gable? I bet all the ladies wanted him!

 

I realize I am being selfish when I'd like people to offer me rides. They have better things to do with their time, retired or not (and most of them are). Still, I won't deny it makes me sad. It's not just that their car is a convenience when it comes to shopping for my dad and me, but I'd like to chat too. Trust me, i've offered to treat them to lunch so many times, but they've always declined. I bought nice gift baskets for their families as well over the hoildays so it's not like I haven't tried to reciprocate.

 

My closest cousin hasn't called; although her dad--my mom's oldest brother and the eldest in the family--died last month. I've told her she can call me anytime but she hasn't. However, I'm sure she's probably helping out her mom with probate and other stuff if her brother and sister aren't already. All are married with kids and doing well.

 

When I think about myself and my next to useless father who never bothers to cooperate--and think about how no one wants to be with us, I just want to die.  What use is there in living when the person I most want to live for has died and NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE is worth it for me?  

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Awww! It's such a beautiful picture of you and your dad, Missionblue.

 

I know what you (MissionBlue and Silverkitties) mean about nobody wants to give you a ride. I used to be able to drive. Then, the stroke happened and I had to learn how to drive all overs again. I had to get my drivers license again. After learning to drive, I was ready to go take the test. Two week prior when I was ready to take the test, I had another stroke. So, that was then end of my driving. 

 

People told me that I could still try to drive. I say, "No, thanks. I would need two hands on the wheel." I feel trapped at home. I used to go walking to Walmart which is takes me 20 minutes to walk. I stopped walking there because there are apartment complexes there and there has been lots of crime going on. I'm on the neighborhood email list. If there is a crime in the area, we will be notified. 

 

Besides, my family said I shouldn't walk all the way out there because people will see a handicapped person walking and will take advantage of it. Doesn't matter if I'm carrying a stick either. They have a point. I have to walk with a leg brace. If I don't use it, I'll walk like a drunk and much slower, So, I just walk in our residential area.

 

I'm stuck. When I want to go to the grocery store or anywhere, I'll have to ask if they are going. If not, then I can't go. It sucks!!

 

So, I know how you gals feel.

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MissionBlue

Thank you, Silverkitties.  You could say my dad looked a little like Clark Gable, except not as weathered.  Some people thought he looked like Elvis Presley. 

 

I sure know how you feel about people not offering rides.  Twice I asked my half brother to take my father and me to the Beach Chalet Restaurant which has a nice view of the ocean and twice he declined.  But to go camping or to one of his dance events, he'll drive hundreds of miles.  On Valentine's Day, a cousin took me to the Beach Chalet and to the beach to watch the sunset, and I cried that my father didn't get to do these things.  Not that he really cared about going to the Beach Chalet, but it would have been a nice memory to have.

 

It hurts that no one wants to help me anymore, especially when I see them helping other people.  Maybe that's it -- perhaps they are over-extended.  However, with my brother, I thought my dad and I should come first sometimes, since we were the only relatives he had left that still communicate regularly with him.  He never got to know his biological father's family and my mother wasn't close to her own family.  When she was in the nursing home, she only had one aunt by marriage who still visited her.  I think the born again church brainwashed my brother to disown his family if they aren't "saved".

 

Hopefully, when I feel better, I'll finally take some driving lessons and buy a car.  My next door neighbor told me that I could be driving in a week.  I drove my brother's Fiat a couple of times decades ago, but I needed more practice to get used to the manual transmission.  His wife wouldn't let him give me more driving lessons until I got a permit, which I never got, because I couldn't afford a car in those days.   I should have tried an automatic first -- then maybe I would have liked driving better and would have been more motivated to get my license.  When I finally had enough money to buy a car, my dad talked me out of it.  It's not entirely his fault, but I wish he had encouraged me.  He didn't like driving himself ever since he ran over that dog by accident.

 

My neighbor across the street often invites me to do things with her, and even when I say yes, she forgets all about it.  For example, she invited me to go to church with her on Father's Day.  I asked her to call me the night before to confirm (because she rarely follows through).  She didn't call or take me to church.  I saw her later that day and she didn't even make an excuse.

 

I think most people don't offer rides, because they're afraid they will have to keep doing the favor repeatedly.  I was so glad when online grocery services started.  I order most of my groceries from Safeway Delivery and it has been a godsend for me.  I don't have to feed the driver or give him gas money.  If I order over $150 and purchase five items from a promotional list, delivery is free.  It's way better than waiting for cabs.  One time my dad, when he was younger, thought to buy some groceries on his way home from work.  He had the store call him a cab. This was before we had a cell phone so he didn't call me to say he would be arriving late.   He waited over an hour for the cab to arrive and it never arrived.  He was tired and hungry, so he wheeled the shopping cart all the way home, up these steep hills!   It was so funny to see him arrive with the shopping cart full of groceries.  I was almost ready to call the police in search of him.  While I was waiting for my dad to come home, I had asked my great uncle who was recovering from his stroke, "Do you think something happened to my dad?"  He answered, "No."  I asked why he thought that.  And my uncle replied, "Because we need him."   Now I cry when I think of what he said, because I still need my dad, but he's not here. :(

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MissionBlue

Thank you, May.  I'm sorry you aren't able to drive anymore or walk safely in some areas.  I've never owned a car, so I don't know what I'm missing.  However, after I took the cab yesterday to the cemetery and the driver waited for me, I realized how quick and easy it was getting there and back.  I didn't have to take the driver to a restaurant or feed him at home.  Not that I mind feeding people, but because it takes more time, that's probably why they're less inclined to help me.  I may learn to drive just so I can get to the cemetery whenever I want and stay there as long as I like.  But I will regret not driving when my dad was alive.  What a wonderful life we could have had if I had been able to drive my dad to fun places with me.   Maybe that's what he was afraid of -- he liked staying home, but he might have gotten used to going out more. However, we have a friend who killed someone while driving and now he has to pay one million dollars restitution to his family!  That's no fun.  And yet he still drives.  What courage!  He wasn't drunk or anything like that -- it was an accident which could happen to anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Oh, I miss driving so much, MissionBlue. You can come and go as you please. One thing about driving is that I am real bad with street names. I know the location but I don't know the street name. So many times I got lost and so many times I found my way back. I don't how though. So, just a warning, don't follow me because I'll take you through the scenic route.  :)

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silverkitties

Missionblue, I hear you on cabs! My dad and I once had to wait for nearly 2 hours at the doc's because of traffic: it took forever for the cab to arrive. As far as groceries go, we rely on Peapod. The irritating thing is that they don't have fresh fish. And it seems that they are always lacking at least one thing every time I order.

 

Wow, May--you were driving after your stroke? That is amazing! I guess there's no excuse for me not to drive. And yet, I am so worried of getting into an accident right now. I just can't afford to right now.

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I'm sorry I confused you, silverkitties. After my first stroke, my doctor too my license away. I had to learn it all overs again. As time passed, I felt ready to get behind the wheels again. So, I went to practice and I was ready to go get my permit. Then, two weeks prior to me going to get my permit, I had my second stroke. So, I was never able to drive.

 

I sometimes wonder am I going to die like my mom. She and I are the only ones that had a stroke. Non of the siblings has it.

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silverkitties

Well, I knew you were going to take the test, so I figured you must have been at least practicing your driving after learning again. My mom did not even bother to think about trying to get behind the wheel after her first stroke! So that is incredible, May.

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MissionBlue

Silverkitties, Peapod was the first grocery delivery service I tried before they left San Francisco.  It is frustrating when they don't have items in stock, but grocery delivery is great for heavy, bulk items like bleach, laundry soap, paper towels, etc. and also when you have a lot of various items.   

 

My dream car is a Tesla but I might have to settle for a Yaris as an entry level car. Maybe I'll wait for driverless solar-powered cars to come out. One death caused by a machine error seems better than 10 deaths caused by human error.

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MissionBlue

I like the scenic route, May. :)  I missed your earlier question in which you asked if Silver Avenue is near Chinatown.  No, it's in the Excelsior / Outer Mission neighborhood.  Incidentally, there's a movie called "Spirits of the Dead" (1968), starring Terence Stamp, which has a creepy ghost girl playing with a ball. 

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That's perfectly fine, MissionBlue! :) I had fun in San Francisco. I said earlier that we didn't go anywhere, well, we did. I completely forgot. How could I forget, right? We went to Fisherman's Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge, Golden State Park, Coit Tower and crooked street. I miss eating the Chinese food especially the the Chinese bakeries. I would sure love to visit again. Love the weather too.

 

I'll have to check out the movie.

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MissionBlue

Speaking of Chinese food and bakeries, I like mooncakes during Ghost Month and lotus seed cakes, anything with lotus, such as sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaves -- yum! 

 

I have some ghost stories from my best friend LP in Cincinnati:

 

Her grandmother told her that when LP was little, she would stay at her house, which was quite old.  LP loved spending the night at her grandmother's house, but the large dining room always was one room that little LP passed through quickly, going from one side of the house to the other, because for some reason when she was by herself it gave her the creeps.  Her grandmother and great aunt would have tarot card sessions there from time to time.

One day as LP was going to start through the room she saw what looked like a scene in a movie to the side of the room. It looked like a lady standing in profile with her hair up and long skirts. The odd thing was that she seemed to be standing over a wash tub that was sitting on a high legged stand.  She also saw an oval bubble glass framed picture of some kind on the wall that wasn't there.  She screamed the house down and it all disappeared. The figure never moved. LP was probably about four at the time. Her grandmother would also tell her when LP was a little girl she would wake up and stare off in the corner of the bedroom and say, "What's that man doing there?"  She doesn't remember saying that, herself. The house was torn down long ago to put an expressway through town.

Another story my friend told me was that she and her husband took a drive through the country one weekend and found themselves on a back road that they had never traveled before. As they were driving they saw off to the side of the road an old man in old clothing sitting on the porch of an old shack with a shot gun across his legs. The house looked dark, but the man looked real enough and looked like he looked back at them as they looked at him. Over the hill a modern house stood and kids were playing out in the yard. Thinking it was strange they drove on and then decided to double back to check what they had seen. They could never find the road again.

One more story:   Shortly before my friend's mom passed away she was waiting to be discharged from a large hospital. She had been waiting all afternoon and when LP called her she told her she had been sitting there and watching through "a window" large men coming to take people away.  My friend thought her mom might have been looking out into the hall as there was no window in her room . But she said there were people being taken away all day long.  When LP acted concerned her mother told her, "Don't worry, they were all old people."   It made no sense and was out of character for her mom to be saying that. She thought, this is a large hospital. People could be dying all the time.  It creeped her out.  She wanted her mom out of there!  Fortunately, she was discharged that day, but she passed away not too long afterwards.  She always wondered if her mother was seeing the souls of people leaving this life?
 

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silverkitties

Missionblue, keep up the stories! Perhaps you could attend a workshop at a library about publishing fiction. You have some great stories that I know so many would love to read. I desperately wanted to finish reading the vignettes about your friend's grandmother's house and the hospital.

 

Gotta check out the Terence Stamp movie...!

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Oh, yes! We just celebrated the Dragon Boat Festival by making the Jung or Chinese tamales, I miss making them but I can't because it requires two hands...and I don't have that. The mooncakes are so good but bad for the waistline. I miss eating the cocktail buns and egg custards. Yummy!!! That's my next project. I'm going to learn how to make these.

 

Creepy stories. I believe your mom saw spirits in the hospital. During my stay at the hospital, there was one time that I got scared one time. It was past midnight. I heard the nurses laughing in the hallway by my room. A few minutes later, one of the nurses came to take my blood pressure. I said that it sounds like you guys are having fun. She told me that the room next door shower came on by itself. Shoot! I got scared because I did hear it myself and thought that the patient was taking a shower so late or very early in the morning.

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MissionBlue

Thank you, Retz.  Yes, that's me with my dear Daddy. 

 

Have a good run.

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Wait for me, Retz!!!  :) I wish I can run like the good old days, huh! I just came back from my daily walk.

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MissionBlue

Thanks, Retz.  Would love to see your photos of your Mom.

 

Here's another bedtime story from my friend LP in Cincinnati (in her own words with her permission):

 

One more tale that I remember mom telling me that her mother told her when she was growing up.  I don't remember the friend's name any longer or have any way to check on the tale.  My grandmother was friends with a woman who moved with her husband to a little house in an older neighborhood. The woman's husband worked nights and she did not like being alone in the house. She claimed it was haunted. She said she could hear crying at times and would wake to something clammy and damp over her face. She wanted to move, but her husband didn't believe her and refused. My grandmother would visit with her and said the house was cute, but it did have some kind of atmosphere. My grandmother also said that she witnessed cabinet doors throwing themselves open for no reason and the china cabinet doors opening and closing on their own.

 

Finally, the friend talked the husband into leaving and they moved away. A year or so later the house was torn down.  Neighbors said that when it was demolished the police were called in and they found something under the back doorstep.  It was politely said to be the skeleton of a monkey. The neighbors, however, said the family that lived in the house in the years past had a child who disappeared and was never found. They claimed the family was abusive and naturally everyone thought it was really the skeleton of the child that was found.

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It's so scary and at the same time it's so sad, MissionBlue. Did they know how old was that child?

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silverkitties

Retz, I can't wait to see more pics of your mom! Now, I'll have to start posting some too.

 

Dang, Missionblue, why'd you have to do that?!--Now I'm too creeped out to sleep, LOL! My students in my last horror class would have loved it; so many of them said they were into "creepy children horror flicks!" One wonders what convinced the husband to move out: something must have happened. It sort of reminds me of The Changeling--the one w/ George C. Scott and Trish van Devere (1980). It is easily one of the best horror movies I've ever seen and supposedly based on a true account. (The house is fantastic...even though it's just a set.) Even Stephen King considers it "underestimated."

 

If you're easily scared, do not watch at night alone. I could not get it out of my mind even when I watched it in the afternoon. That's the thing w/ horror movies. You know it's good if you can't sleep after watching it! Thankfully, for our sanity, only about 1 out of a 1000 are that effective.

 

Here's the trailer:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYw-uSGGIFM

 

The entire movie:

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cETMR4cUp6c

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MissionBlue

I'll ask my friend about the age of the child, but I don't think she knows. 

 

Here's one more sad but true story from my friend in Cincinnati (in her own words with permission):

 

My husband's father Ben believed in ghosts and premonitions and grew up in the hollers of Kentucky. Once he told us that a ghost had chased his sister out of the house. He used to tell us that he knew when he was going to die and that he would not live past the age of seventy. He mentioned this several times throughout our long marriage, but never said why he thought he knew this or how it might happen. In case he sounds like a superstitious old fogey he was also the assistant chief of police in the town that my husband grew up in for many, many, years.
 

One day he and my sister-in-law, Linda, were coming back from lunch and driving down a country highway. Ben had recently bought a large new truck. The high way was getting some maintenance work done and had some rough patches along the side of the highway that led to a drop off into a field.  Somehow Ben's tires hit one of these drop offs and he lost control and veered off the road. They drove down into the field and Ben managed to get control of the truck and steer them back up onto the highway. As he did he saw another car barreling down the road straight at them. He could not avoid hitting them, or being hit, and he swerved his truck around to drive back into the field. This time, unfortunately, he could not control the truck. Linda said he said, "I'm trying, Linda, I'm trying" before he hit a large tree head on and it flipped the truck over on it's top. It pushed Ben's seat all the way into the back of the truck and broke his neck instantly. Linda's arms went through the window, as she was not wearing a seat belt, but she managed to get a window down and crawl through. She crawled up the hill to the road looking for help and when she got there the police were coming.   The woman, whose car they avoided hitting head on had seen what happened and called for help.

 

My husband and I went out to see Linda and she took us to the compounding lot where they towed the truck to before the funeral. The seat was where the back seat should have been and they had to remove the door to get my father-in-law's body out. The seat belt bell was dinging.  It was very sad. He was seventy.

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MissionBlue

Thanks for the links to The Changeling, Silverkitties.  Pleasant dreams!

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silverkitties

Missionblue, you and your friend need to start compiling some ghost stories and publish them! I'm looking forward to another super "bedtime" story tonight. Glad to oblige on The Changeling. If you ever watch it, you'll have to tell me what you think.

 

Retz, that is one fine looking family--and you all have such wonderful smiles! I love your mom's expression~

 

Funny that you mentioned the D&B purses; in our family, I was the D&B fan and my mom the Coach fan. I always feel a bit of a pang when I open up one of her purses.

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Awww! Those are beautiful pictures, Retz. You guys look like your mom. Everyone say that I look like my father but, I don't see that. Maybe I don't chose not to see that because he was an abusive father and husband. He died when I was a baby. We were poor and what little money my mom had, he would steal it to support his drug habit.  

 

MissionBlue, you should become an author collecting true ghost events. I would buy your book.  :)

 

Silverkitties, I'm going to watch the entire movie later in the afternoon. Can't wait!

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silverkitties

May, you'll have to tell me what you think! They don't make stuff like that anymore. I think that was one of the last good ones of its time. Today's stuff relies way too much CGI and violence.

 

I look like my dad too; I always tell my mom that has destroyed any chance I have of finding a decent man. But maybe it's a good thing I'm not passing on his genes.

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MissionBlue

Great looking photos, Retz.  Nice looking family you have  Thanks for sharing them. 

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MissionBlue

I'm glad you're enjoying the stories, Retz.  The next one was not written by me, but I can vouch that it's a true story, because Owen Thomas is the first cousin of my first cousin in New York on his father's side.  I have copied the following paragraphs from a website called "It's an Enigma:  Near-death Experiences":
 

http://www.jcs-group.com/enigma/mystical/near.html

Owen Thomas died in December 1981. The New York City fish-market worker, 20, was horribly slashed in a knife fight on the Manhattan waterfront, suffering punctures and lacerations to his heart, liver, intestines and one lung. By the time he arrived at the New York Infirmary, he had no pulse, no blood pressure and no breath left in a body that was already "very cold to [the] touch," according to trauma physician Dr. Daryl Isaacs. Yet in a medical miracle that Isaacs later called "the most wondrous thing we've ever experienced," Thomas' heartbeat was restored after vigorous CPR.
 

When he awoke from more than eight hours of surgery, Thomas described a miracle that had nothing to do with medicine. The normally down-to-earth New Yorker recalled floating into a dark void. "I was going someplace, and then I saw my brother," says Thomas, referring to Christopher Thomas, who had died in a car accident two years earlier. "He put his two big hands on my shoulders and pushed me back, saying, `You can't come here; there's no room."
 

+++++

 

This next story is not a ghost story, but sort of a mystical tale, a true story, told to me by my late friend Joe, the same nice gentleman who got attacked in New Mexico by a she-demon conjured up by witches -- remember that one?  When Joe was a little boy in San Antonio, Texas, his mother gave birth to his younger brother.  Joe was a very tender, loving little boy,  He loved his baby brother so much that he would look at him quite a lot and want to touch him and hold him.  One day the baby got ill with a fever.  Being a poor Mexican family that could not easily afford doctors, the local healer or curandera was called in for a consultation   The wise old woman examined the child and pronounced that the baby had the evil eye.  She surmised that Joe, in praising his little brother and longing to hold him, had inadvertently given the baby the evil eye, even though he did not wish the baby harm at all.  The word "evil" is inaccurate, because it implies that someone has cursed the victim, but such is usually not the case.  It's merely that the gaze has remained too long upon the coveted person or animal. Joe was not envious of the baby, but one could say he was envious of his mother's good fortune in having such a lovely child. 
 
The healer set about preparing the cure.  Mumbling prayers in Spanish, she passed an unbroken hen's egg over the face and body of the infant.  Then she broke the egg into a shallow bowl of water and placed it under the baby's bed.  In the morning she returned and took the egg out from under the bed.  Joe said that the egg yolk had turned black and looked like a human eye.  The old woman explained that the evil eye had  gone into the egg, and that is why it looked that way.  The baby was fully recovered. 
 
The evil eye not only affects people, but it can also affect inanimate objects as well.  Little Joe used to love to visit his aunt's house, because she had a lot of things which piqued his curiosity.  One item in particular caught his attention one day, an antique lamp with a delicately etched glass base that had a beautiful floral design.  Joe had never seen anything so fine and he looked admiringly at the lamp for a very long time.  His aunt cautioned him not to touch the lamp for fear he'd break it.  Joe said he promised not to touch it -- all he wanted to do was look at it.  After Joe quietly left the room, his aunt went to inspect the lamp, and to her horror, she saw a fine hairline crack in the beautiful etched glass base, running from top to bottom.  Little Joe's evil eye had struck again and this time even a hen's egg couldn't put it back together again. 
 
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I'm enjoying every story you posted, too, MissionBlue. It's like a novel that you just can't put down because you want more of it.  :)

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MissionBlue

Thank you, May.  I"m glad you've been enjoying my stories.  Today is my father's birthday, the first one without him.  He would have been 87.  Last night I had another dream about my dad, and this time I remembered more of it than other dreams.  We were watching a silent film on tv together called, "The Iron Mask" (1929) with Douglas Fairbanks.  I marvelled at what a beautiful print it was and said to my dad, "I'm going to record it, even though it's already started."  Then it was getting toward evening, and I found my dad sitting alone in the living room.  He said to me, "I'm feeling lonely."  This is something I had never heard him say in life.  Then he took a pair of binoculars and went out onto the street to look at something in the distance.  One of the many gifts I had bought him were a pair of night vision binoculars.  I told him from the front door, "Wait for me, just let me put on my shoes."  (I was wearing slippers.)  By the time I returned, he was gone.  

 

I'm still trying to remember the stories people have told me.  I need to call some of them up to refresh me on the details.  For now, I would like to tell you a true story about my father's sister Dolores who died young.  I'll be visiting her grave at the cemetery this afternoon when I visit my dad, my great uncle and my grandparents.

 

Aunt Dolores was a beautiful person, inside and out.  She had dark wavy hair, fair skin, limpid green eyes and a lovely smile.  As fate would have it, she experienced three tragic setbacks in her life, but her sweet, cheerful disposition never turned bitter.  When she was an infant, she suffered from a severe skin infection on her left leg.  This was in the days before antibiotics, so the surgeon had to cut out the infection, which left her leg withered and disfigured. Then when Dolores was ten years old, she and her siblings were playing with sparklers on the Fourth of July.  The front of her dress caught fire and her chest was badly burned.  She had to endure many painful weeks in the hospital, receiving treatment for her burns.  Still, her brave spirit was undaunted by the scars.  She remained the happy-go-lucky girl with a sunny smile that she had always been.  Dolores grew up as a normal teenager of the 1940's.  During the war she volunteered at the USO with her two older sisters.  She eventually fell in love and married a talented American Indian artist. They were blessed with three beautiful, healthy children.  Sadly, tragedy would overcome her one last time.  While in her thirties, she developed scleroderma, an autoimmune disease that affects the skin and internal organs.  Her once beautiful features became hardened and wax-like.  Her graceful fingers became stiff and gnarled.  Eventually, the disease progressed to the point where she was confined to a wheelchair. 
 
For several years she and her family lived in the "haunted" cottage here, while my father and me, my grandmother and my two great uncles lived in the main house.   My father was a very good brother, helping Dolores whenever he could.  He would carry her when necessary and lift her wheelchair up and down the stairs.  One day someone had the idea to take Dolores to see the faith healer Morris Cerullo who was in town. Unfortunately, at the service they were informed that Mr. Cerullo wasn't healing that day. 
 
By the grace of God, Dolores lived long enough to see her firstborn daughter married at the Mission Dolores basilica in the heart of San Francisco.  I was the flower girl.  Then early one morning, almost fifty years ago, Dolores experienced a heavenly vision on the wall of her bedroom.  She was no longer living in the cottage but at an apartment on Albion Street.  She tried to waken her husband so he could see the miraculous sight.  He was normally a light sleeper, but he would not stir.  The vision was meant for her eyes only.  When her husband awoke, she asked him to take her to church, which he did.   Shortly afterward, she was admitted to the hospital for the last time.  Before she left her home, she said to her mother and brothers cheerfully, "Well, folks, here I go again."  Saying good-bye to her children must have been heartbreaking, because this time she knew she would not return.  She passed away at Golden Gate Hospital at the age of 39.
 
I was only seven years old when my aunt died.  I remember having a vivid dream about her.  This was my first experience with death.  My grandfather had died when I was three years old, but I only had vague memories of him.  He slept upstairs and the whole upper floor was off limits to us kids during his illness.  After my aunt's death, relatives gathered for three nights to pray the Rosary together here at home.  The older ladies threw cushions on the floor to kneel upon.  My great uncle led the recitation of the prayers and the Sorrowful Mysteries.  I remember how mysterious the prayers sounded in Spanish, the candles, the beautiful statue of St. Francis of Assisi embracing Jesus on the cross (after Murillo), the soft tinkling sound of rosary beads.  Afterwards, coffee and pastries were served to the guests.  Now that the old guard has passed away, the Rosary is only said in our family for one night at the mortuary. 
 
I don't remember going to my aunt's funeral, but I remember talking to my grandmother the following day.  I told her I didn't want her to die.  I hugged her and she promised me she would not die for a long time.  Then she taught me to say the "Hail Mary" in Spanish.  Four years later, my grandmother started to have heart problems.  I remember walking up the hill with her after shopping for groceries.  She had to stop, because she was out of breath.  In 1970 she had a pacemaker operation......but my grandmother kept her promise.  She lived for 18 more years.   
 
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My mom's birthday will be coming up soon. She would've been 87 too, MissionBlue. It'll be her first birthday in Heaven. I think it was last month that I had a scary dream about mom but I don't remember it anymore. That was the only dream.

 

Wow! Your Aunt Dolores went through so much. She had no idea when she said her good-bys that it'll be her last? That is so very heart-breaking. I don't think (I mean I know) that I wouldn't even be able to handle the good-bys if it was me.

 

My mom was going to have a pacemaker operation a few months before her death. Her heart rate was slow and something else that I can't remember. You know me and my bad memory. We kept asking, "Is it really safe considering her age?" The doctor kept saying that there are a lot of seniors her age go though the procedure.

 

She was admitted to the hospital. My niece went to go visit her and she was thinking the same thing as we were. We all were having second thoughts about the procedure but, our oldest brother in California said to go ahead and do it. A doctor came in and it was another cardiologist. He said that he reviewed mom's records and says that he does not think mom needs a pacemaker. Her heart is strong. That was good new to our ears. 

 

When mom was in hospice, the doctor would make his rounds everyday and listens to her heart. He would say that she has a strong heart. We told the doctor that she overcame so many hardships to provide for her family. No one ever knew our family's history or my abusive father. We've always kept it within the family. I'm pretty sure there are lots of other stories that I don't know about.

 

I think that I'm the only one who has shared it here. 

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MissionBlue

I think Aunt Dolores knew she would die soon, because of the heavenly vision, that's why I think it must have been more heartbreaking to say good-bye to her children. 

 

My Aunt Estelle had a pacemaker put in when she was 90 and she's still doing well.  She's 91 now.  Of course, it's way better not to need one.  My Aunt Lucy is going to be 90 next month and she's still well enough to travel quite frequently.  Aunt Dolores should have lived as long as her sisters, but I think the infection when she was a baby and then the burn trauma later on may have damaged her immune system, causing the scleroderma.   Or there could be a genetic predisposition in my family, because one cousin died of lupus which is related to scleroderma.  However, two people out of dozens of relatives may just be a random occurrence.  The two main illnesses in my family are diabetes and atherosclerosis. 

 

I have never liked saying good-bye to someone who is dying.  In fact, I wanted to give my dad "permission" to die, if it would make it easier for him.  I was going to say, "I'll be ok....."  but all I could get out was, "Everything's ok at home."  I wanted him to feel like there was still hope that he would recover. 

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MissionBlue

Thank you, Eve.  I wish you peace and comfort, too.  I just said a prayer for you and for the other wonderful people who have shown compassion towards me in this forum.

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MissionBlue

Here's another true ghost story that I recently received from an online friend, in his words (with permission):

 

I do have one true ghost story. Several years back, I was visiting cousins in southern California, spent the night with them, with nothing out of the ordinary. At breakfast the next morning, three of us were having coffee in the kitchen, with the mother of one of them still asleep in her bedroom. She went through a horrific auto accident at age 70, with very profound brain damage, requiring constant care. All of a sudden we heard a door open and close, very clearly and distinctly, and I jumped up immediately to see, but she was still sound asleep. Turns out that was just one of many examples of ghost activity, and it was good they didn't tell me the night before, for no doubt I would not have been able to sleep as well as I did.

Unexplained sounds, movements, lights, rearranging of clothes and furniture, doors and windows. On a regular basis, almost daily, and sometimes several times per day. And the consensus seems to be that it is the ghost of her husband who was killed in the accident, which happened right on the corner near their home.

Part of it I experienced for myself, leaving no doubt about the supernatural character of the activity.

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Another great story, MissionBlue. Love it!

 

EvelynM, mom's birthday is June 19...but, she goes according to the Chinese calendar which I don't know the exact date. I'll have to ask my siblings.

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MissionBlue

Glad you liked it, May.  Here is another amazing, true story from the same friend, in his own words (used with permission):

 

When I was about ten at summer camp in the mountains, I drowned, died, went through an out of body experience, witnessed everything, then came back to life.

 

It was in the mountains above Bass Lake near Yosemite. The river there flowed over a very massive slab of granite, which served as a kind of primitive water slide. The word was put out, to keep to your left when entering the natural pool below.

Somehow, I missed that, and ended up to the right, and getting caught up in a very powerful whirlpool, where the strong currents were directed straight down and into a natural underground tunnel of rocks and granite. Anyone or anything entering would usually be ejected downstream, although in some cases the object or person would get caught inside.

In my case, at first I was caught at the surface of the whirlpool, and was unable to escape. Another camper, swam over and tried to assist, but was unable to do so. He returned to safety, and I went under. At first I was able to see the light filtered through the water, then complete darkness, but with a sense of rapid movement, being carried along by the powerful currents underground. This was, after all, part of a rather steep mountainside, with the watershed eventually entering the lake. Within seconds, I lost consciousness.

When I regained consciousness, I was about 12 feet in the air, but my body was still on the riverbank right below me, and surrounded by camp counselors, i.e., seminarians, taking turns attempting to revive me. During this time, I was experiencing complete awareness, peace and clarity, but unable to communicate with anyone. I could see and hear them perfectly, but not vice versa.

At one point a couple of backpackers arrived on the trail, and asked if they could help. The head counselor asked them to run down to the road and attempt to procure an ambulance or sheriff. I watched them run off down the trail towards the highway. This was in the days before cell phones. I saw all of them clearly, even more clearly than would be possible under normal circumstances.

A few minutes later one of the counselors became frantic, first saying I think we are losing him, followed by it's too late.. we have already lost him. Since these were seminarians, most of them were praying intensely, and their prayers were soon answered. I lost consciousness again, and when I regained it, I was back inside my body, looking up at them.

Such joy and relief, for them, and the same one that was previously frantic, remarked that he thought he had lost me. I responded with "I know", which puzzled all of them, but not as much as when I asked about the young married couple who had left for help. When I was able to inquire about them and even describe them, I think you can imagine how profoundly disturbed and in awe they all were. Under these circumstances, skepticism was not an option, even if none of them understood what actually happened.

I must say that even then, I realized that this so-called altered state seemed to be the real, valid state of being, in contrast with normal human consciousness.

This was also back in the days when there was very little or no publicity about out of body experiences!

What could have been very traumatic, turned out to be a very beautiful, peaceful experience. It wasn't until many years later, as a Psych major at university, studying about near death experiences, only because this particular professor had an interest in the subject, that I understood what had actually happened to me.

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MissionBlue

Here I am, it's after midnight, I'm all alone, feeling miserable, thinking about how my life will never be the same without my dear dad.  My sister-in-law called me earlier today to tell me that they can't come to my Fourth of July barbecue, because they're getting ready for their trip to Prague on Monday.  What bugs me is that my half brother put his wife to talk to me, instead of him coming to the phone himself.  I could hear him saying in the background, "I'm thinking of you!"  Sure, he's thinking of me, but it's too much trouble to come to the phone?  He does this quite often -- has his wife talk to me for him, and she acts like it's a big hassle having to relay our messages back and forth to each other.  Why doesn't he just call me himself? -- he has a state of the art cell phone.  Is he doing this on purpose as a passive aggressive way of dissing me?  All it does is emphasize my loneliness that my own brother can't be bothered to talk to me -- he has to get his wife to do it for him, and I know she doesn't want to do it either.  What did I do to deserve this?  I don't do crappy things like that to them.  I always treat them with respect and courtesy.

 

I'm only having the barbecue, because it's not healthy to be alone 24/7.  Some cousins are coming over, the same ones who came to my Memorial Day barbecue, plus two more.  Even if I don't have such a great time, it's good to see other people enjoy themselves.  Nothing will ever compare to the fun barbecues I had with my dad when everyone was young and happy.. 

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Aww Evelyn and MissionBlue, I'm sorry you have family that treats you like that. I'm on the same boat. I've been feeling like I'm a stranger in the house. My sister-in-law and her daughter has been acting strange around me. Everything is hush hush. They don't talk to me like they used to. We never had arguments. I don't care.

 

My sibling don't really talk to me. When I want to talk about mom, I get no response at all. It's like talking to a wall. I gave up. I rather talk to the dogs. At least, they can lick me in response. My sister whom I'm closer to doesn't come visit anymore. She just lives one house over. I never liked visiting her house. She's the one that I can talk to. Every time we talk on the phone she has a different tone. I would ask her if she realizes her tone. Are you upset or something? She would always do that to me. I don't care anymore.

 

Sometimes I would think that it'd be nice to go back into the hospital. There, I can be by myself. No family. No heartaches. No pain. I feel alone anyways, so why not?

 

Hugs

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MissionBlue

Thank you, Eve and May, for your thoughtful, compassionate responses.  I'm so sorry that you both have also felt let down by your siblings.  It hurts, because we don't understand why they are like that. Hugs to you both!!!!

 

I understand about my brother and sister-in-law not coming to the barbecue.  I'm not upset about that.  I understand it is a big job to pack and get ready for their trip.  They invited me to go with them, but I don't feel up to travelling and I need to save my money, since I'm not working.  The last vacation I took with them twenty years ago was terrible, because his wife was moody and upset, because she had to drive the second car, since my father and I were going.  It's this thing about making his wife talk for him that is such an annoyance, because she makes it sound like it's an annoyance.  Maybe she doesn't mean it, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.  It stirred up bad memories.  I remember twice I invited my brother and his wife to take me and my dad to the Beach Chalet restaurant, and he declined, saying he wasn't interested. The second time I asked, he wouldn't even come to the phone, and his wife laughed, because she knew how rude he was being.  My brother can be very nice when he wants to be.  He's an RN, so I guess his compassion gets used up on his patients.   I have a lot of time these days to think about the past, so I am remembering every bad thing that ever happened to my father and me, and by whom.  I had a chance to dine at the Beach Chalet with my cousin on Valentine's Day, but I didn't, because it brought back the sad memory that I never got to take my dad there.   I know it hurts me more than it did my dad, but it would have been a nice memory for me to cherish, if my brother had taken us there one fricking time. I offered to treat everybody.   

 

It's not just this little phone incident, but the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.  I sent my brother an email last night.  I'm not usually this blunt, but grief has changed me:

 

You did it again today.  You put your wife to call me instead of talking to me yourself.  You have a state of the art cell phone, yet you don't want to use it to talk to me.  It's kind of silly to make your wife relay our messages to each other when you can talk on the phone yourself. I know you want to relax after work, but if you don't feel like talking to me then don't call.  Just send me an email or call me later when you can stand it.
 
I've complained about this before, but you still do it.  Are you trying to hurt my feelings?   Don't even bother apologizing, but I'm going to keep complaining until you stop doing it or not answer the phone.
 
I am hurting more than I have ever hurt in my life, so I don't need this kind of treatment from anybody.

Please respect my wishes.  This is not resentment about your not being able to attend the barbecue.  I understand that perfectly.  It's just that it's weird that you put your wife to talk to me for you, when you have a cell phone.  It makes it seem like it's a big chore to talk to me.  And if that's the case then just don't call me. 
 
Your sister

>>>>>
 
I have seen my brother pull over on the street to take a call, or call other people when he's out and about, but he won't do that for me.  I know we can't make people love us, but it's so phony when my brother says he loves me and then his actions demonstrate otherwise.  It's not that I want to make him feel sad -- I just want him to stop making me feel sad!  It's gotten to the point where I'd rather not hear from them.
 
This was his response this morning:
 
My cell phone was charging, and that's the truth!   I chose not to use the cordless phone since we have had reception problems before.  
 
Our phone in the living room is next to her chair,  so I thought you would appreciate  a follow up call from "us", period!
 
It seems you have issues with my wife!  
 
Sadly,
 
Your brother
 
 
I do have issues with his wife, but I've always treated her well.  I don't expect her to love me or want to talk to me, so my issue in this case is not with her but with my brother.  I can't forget that when my dad was in the hospital for six weeks, two years ago, my brother didn't visit him even once!   He called him Dad and claimed to love him.  I realize my brother lives across the bay, which is an inconvenience, but he drives hundreds of miles for his camping trips and dance events.   One year he took five months to take my dad to dinner for his birthday.  I think it hurt me more than my dad, but he was so stoic it was hard to tell.  When I complained about my brother's behavior, my dad said he felt sorry for my brother because he didn't have a normal family upbringing.  So now I feel guilty about complaining to my dad, and I wouldn't have had to complain if my brother had just acted a little more considerate of my poor father.  Other relatives and friends abandoned us when we needed them most.  I think it is better to have zero expectations.  I don't usually call anybody now, if it's not absolutely necessary, because I don't want to be disappointed. 
 
And to think, my brother and his wife hold bible study meetings every week!  I hold them to a higher standard, because they claim to be Christians.  My grandmother used to have a saying for people like that in Spanish:  "Candil a la calle, oscuridad en su casa" which means, "An oil lamp to the street, darkness in their house."  That refers to people who are nice to strangers but not to their own family.  A friend of mine told me that I've been complaining about my brother for twenty years, when am I going to accept that he doesn't really love me?  She said her brother doesn't love her, and she's not happy about it, but she accepts it.  I replied,  "But he's been supporting you for seven years (my friend's brother is a multi-millionaire and a pillar of society) -- if that's not love, then I don't know what is!"  She replied, "He just does it out of a sense of duty.  He was an Eagle Scout."
 
I know my brother didn't have an easy childhood, growing up with my mother and without his biological father who never acknowledged him (his bio-dad also was a multi-millionaire and a pillar of society).  I sometimes wonder if there's jealousy, because I had such a good father.   My dad was poor, but his character was noble and kind.   I don't know what is going on with my brother, but thanks again for your compassion.  I get more moral support here than I do from my own large extended family.  I guess I had such a wonderful father to make up for an indifferent mother and a half-hearted half brother.  I still love my brother and wish him well.  I wouldn't act this way if I didn't care.   I know half brothers are usually not as close as full brothers, but we used to be closer in the past.  He used to visit quite often when we were growing up, because he liked my grandmother's home cooking.  When he was struggling financially, I saw him more often, but now that he's comfortable, I hardly see him. 
 
Well, I'm off to see my grief therapist.  I don't think therapy is helping me, but it's nice to have someone to talk to in person. 
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MissionBlue

I'm sorry if my posts are triggering sad feelings.  I'm thinking that maybe this is the new normal for society:  just have fun and don't worry about anybody else.  We're all going to die anyway. 

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silverkitties

It is fun....and selfies. Rinse and repeat.

 

Your brother--I nearly wrote bother--has problems. And it seems his wife does as well.  Now, it's been a while since I've been active on this board but is he the one who invited you to Prague?

 

I want to add this too: it seems to be very much a baby boomer problem. (Don't worry, I'm one too so I cannot be accused of being biased!) Folks from our parents' generation were more giving and generous. They cared about community.

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MissionBlue

Yes. my brother invited me to Prague, but I'm not up to travelling and I need to save my money since I'm not working yet.  Well, I'll have to make peace with him before he leaves, because he's flying.  Never let the sun set on your anger.  It's just lousy when relatives call or I call them and I feel worse instead of better afterward. 

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Yes, I agree with silverkitties, your brother has a problem. Too many excuses why not to call.

 

Don't apologize, MissionBlue. You can vent anytime. Remember, we don't judge. We are your friends. :)

 

Where I used to work, our slogan was We're Here For Life. That is if I don't croak tomorrow. LOL

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