Lately I've noticed a difference between me and my sister. She is a fixer. My mom has Alzheimer's and I go hang out with her when my dad goes to play golf. (Apparently golf is a necessity to live 🤔) When my sister spends time with her I get phone calls, text messages, and emails from her talking about how if we change certain things we could "fix" mom. Or make her "better." Everyone who has encountered this disease knows you can't fix it. It is something to be endured, survived, or experienced. Now when I hangout with Mom I find her fascinating. Some of the stories are old stories about her and my dad are still there. But lately there are new stories about another man that lives with them. We all know there is no other man that lives with them. She sees my dad and doesn't recognize him because she is remembering him as he was 50 years ago. I step into her world and try to see it through her eyes. Sometimes I can accomplish this, sometimes I cannot. But she's happy and her mind is still working although in strange and mysterious ways. But someday, in the distant future, I may use some of these stories when she's gone so a little part of her will live on. Of course I'll change the names to protect the innocent.
It's good that you can find some send of wonder in this hard situation. Everything ends up in our stories eventually. It helps us get through a lot, I think.
Lately I've noticed a difference between me and my sister. She is a fixer. My mom has Alzheimer's and I go hang out with her when my dad goes to play golf. (Apparently golf is a necessity to live 🤔) When my sister spends time with her I get phone calls, text messages, and emails from her talking about how if we change certain things we could "fix" mom. Or make her "better." Everyone who has encountered this disease knows you can't fix it. It is something to be endured, survived, or experienced. Now when I hangout with Mom I find her fascinating. Some of the stories are old stories about her and my dad are still there. But lately there are new stories about another man that lives with them. We all know there is no other man that lives with them. She sees my dad and doesn't recognize him because she is remembering him as he was 50 years ago. I step into her world and try to see it through her eyes. Sometimes I can accomplish this, sometimes I cannot. But she's happy and her mind is still working although in strange and mysterious ways. But someday, in the distant future, I may use some of these stories when she's gone so a little part of her will live on. Of course I'll change the names to protect the innocent.
It's good that you can find some send of wonder in this hard situation. Everything ends up in our stories eventually. It helps us get through a lot, I think.
I found flash fiction really valuable when I was finding my voice. Lately, I've been missing it. I'm feeling so stuck in my story right now.
It's a great way to get the wheels turning again. A lot of times my flash ends up becoming a scene in a novel.