Why Have I Vanished?

Why have I vanished off the face of the earth?

Many complicated, time-sucking, emotionally and mentally draining events have shaped the last fifteen – sixteen months of my life. I won’t go too much into the weeds with explanations into all of it but the rough chronology is still so overwhelming to think about that listing them is not as cathartic as I hoped it would be. So: failing second floor shower (discovered when the first-floor bathroom ceiling collapsed under the weight of the water), a water heater close to blowing and producing water from the tap hot enough to sous vide chicken, the furnace fan, four tires and an exhaust system for my car, my computer giving up the ghost, the air conditioner which actually did blow up, a bacterial infection in my left eye which required three months of antibiotics and all the joy that brings to one’s intestinal tract, and then a breather. Antibiotics ended in January and finally, I thought, finally I have some breathing space. The Fates laughed…

A call from my nephew sent me to Ohio to help with my sister who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She had moved from a 3000+ square foot house in South Carolina to a 1300 square foot independent living villa in Ohio the year before, but it became apparent she was no longer safe on her own, and we couldn’t find live-in 24-hour care. The same community had secure facilities which meant she would still see the same views from her window, the same staff serving meals or providing care, but it took three months of the family providing on and off respite care while we waited for an opening in the secure memory care unit. The move was hard on everyone. Of course that also meant distributing, selling, or giving away everything she couldn’t take to her room. 

How do you downsize a life? She was a master quilter, past president of the National Quilters Association, certified judge, appraiser, restorer, teacher. She collected antique quilts to use in her lectures – there were dozens and dozens of them. And there were her own quilts, prize-winning works of art. The furniture and books and clothing were easy by comparison to figuring out how to dispose of a quilting studio full of notions, bolts of batting and interfacing, three sewing machines, and 40 boxes of quilting fabric (all meticulously washed, pressed and folded). The stash sale is going to be epic!

She has no idea any of this is happening. Her world has become quite small, filled with her beloved DVDs of classic movies and murder mysteries. She knows every word to every song in Singin’ in the Rain, she knows who Ronald Colman is, but doesn’t remember that she just finished watching Lost Horizon and is perfectly content to start it over again.

She doesn’t recognize male faces at all. She has better luck with women, although it’s hit or miss depending on time of day. Mornings are better. She knows I’m her sister. She doesn’t know which one I am but is pretty certain I’m not Peggy. Of course she doesn’t know Peggy is Peggy either.

I have custody of her little dog, aptly named Sweet Boy. I try to call him Sweeney, because who has a dog named Sweet Boy? But the names fits. He gets along beautifully with my own Lili Mae. He meant the world to my sister – she’s never once asked about him since she moved over.

So life continues. I’ve stopped crying mostly. My part in the drama is done – I’ll help with the stash sale but it is being managed by my youngest sister. For the first time in months, I’m getting inspired to create. I’ve finished six charity quilts, several of them using fabric from her collection. I think she would appreciate that. 

And the writing will come.