A Clean Barn

/ authorkfrancoeur / Leave a comment

Sometimes, life becomes complicated.

Really complicated, and too busy, and you (or at least, me) begin to feel a bit lost.

Then, sometimes, even in the midst of the busy times, you begin to find yourself again.

My last post here was almost a year ago. In that time, we’ve lost two beloved members of our family, learned to deal with so many new pieces of equipment for Paul’s ALS, dealt with my parents’ house, sold the house, got a puppy, and did renovations on our house.

And with all of that, we’ve also had COVID, the actual flu, I blew out my knee, and we’ve made countless trips to Rhode Island and Mass General.

Through it all, we’ve managed to keep going, with humor and love. But along the way, some parts of me were pushed to the back burners. For example, while I wrote for ghostwriting customers, I wasn’t doing a lot of new writing for me. My garden last year was horrifying. The animal barn wasn’t as clean as I’d like — and don’t get me started on the baskets of laundry everywhere that need to be folded and put away! I barely knit anything, and cooking became a chore just to keep us alive.

Then, over the last two months, something began to shift. I remembered how much I love to cook. The barn is clean. I learned to crochet, and my gardens are thriving.

And I began to write again, as me and for me. First, I wrote a screenplay for The Stained-Glass Window, which is now being made into a short film, while I look for a company interested in making it into a feature-length film or a limited series. Today, I submitted the final version of the reboot of That One Small Omission, which will be released later this year.

Why share all of this? Because if you’d asked me late winter how I was feeling, I would have said defeated. Sometimes we all feel that way, and it doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Today, I feel more like me than I have for a while, and I feel full of hope again. If you are having a tough time, remember to find the core of who you are, and what you need to keep that amazing spark alive. You can do it!

 

Cinnamon Rolls in the Basement

/ authorkfrancoeur / Leave a comment

Once upon a time, I was a little girl.

To say I had an unconventional childhood and family would be a gross understatement. My parents encouraged creativity, political activism, education, and also a fair amount of asking me to parent them, or at least to be exceedingly independent from a very, very early age.

When I was young, five and six years old, my father was often hospitalized, most often at Mass General in Boston. We would drive down, he’d be in the hospital, and Mom would keep him company in his room. I would read, play, maybe draw, then get bored–it was pre the era of televisions in every hospital room.

Hunger would soon ensue, and I’d be asking for a snack. Mom would root around in her purse, hand me a dollar and send me off to find a snack in the hospital cafeteria.

If you’ve never been there, Mass General is an ENORMOUS hospital, and it was even back in the 1970s, not to mention being in the middle of a large city. But my mom would hand me the folded bill or four quarters, and I’d head out to explore the hospital and find my way to the cafeteria.

I’d always get the same thing, a cinnamon roll. I’d perch on a seat and eat the delicious treat slowly, finally licking the last of the icing off my fingers before I’d get up and head back to Dad’s room.

For decades, this didn’t seem like an odd thing to me, this freedom to roam a hospital searching for a snack at all hours of the day or night.

Now, I shudder at the independence I had in this particular case, thankful that I never got lost, and that no one ever bothered me.

Today, I revisited the memory for a strange reason. We are in Boston for Paul’s surgery, and as I impatiently waited for news, I got hungry. I headed out, and instinctively headed toward the basement of the hospital where the cafeteria was all those years ago.

It is still there–completely renovated and much larger, but my sweet treat was just as tasty.

For a few moments as I perched on my stool eating, I thought about that freedom I was given all those years ago. As a parent, I’m still not sure it was wise, but as the kid who wandered, I’m glad I did. I learned to read signs, ask for help when needed, and pick out my own treat.

Today, I wish I could call Mom to tell her I found my way to the cafeteria and back again all by myself, and it made me smile…

The Long and Winding Road

/ authorkfrancoeur / 2 Comments

Today I awoke, and by the time my feet touched the floor, I knew of the millions of tasks I needed to do before I could rest again tonight. I ran, whirled, twirled, and tried to make sure I was prepared for everything the day could and would throw at me.

Then I drove to an appointment, and took a less traveled route to get there. I realized in the hectic pace of our lives, I hadn’t driven that road in a long time. New houses dot the hillsides, new colors of paint adorn older houses. The sky was a bright blue, and colors crisp and clean.

And my brain and soul rejoiced. I stopped and visited with an old friend, and met some new people. I smiled, sang along to Queen on the drive, and stopped thinking about the to-do list for a while.

It has been a long and challenging year, and some days I feel that more than others. Yesterday was one of those days. Today? Today I remembered all the things I have to be grateful for, and our journey seemed a bit less challenging.

The different route gave me the gift of a shift of perspective, and I am so very grateful that I made that particular right turn this morning!

That Poplar Tree

/ authorkfrancoeur / 1 Comment

It has been quite a long time since I last posted. I’d like to say that was because we were off having some amazing trip somewhere, enjoying every minute of an adventure.

We weren’t…

The last month of 2022, and the start of 2023, have been rocky, to say the very least. My father entered the hospital in early December, then a nursing facility, then progressed quickly to hospice, and passed away. Around that same time, we had a massive windstorm, lost power for three days, and tried to find some joy in the holiday season.

January started with my father’s celebration of life, while we still dealt with issues with vehicles, wheelchairs, and damage from the windstorm.

Amid all of this, we also endured another huge family loss, and one that likely is not what you might expect.

The windstorm knocked down our poplar tree.

Our tree.

This tree was far, far too large. It had been for decades. When we were just dating, I can remember my husband saying that the tree wouldn’t last much longer, as it was already far older and taller than most poplars. Every big storm, we would talk about maybe this was the end for our old friend, and until December 2022, we were always wrong.

The tree had been part of almost every memory on this property. We played horseshoes and croquet under it. We sat under it and talked. In the late spring, it covered everything with its downy strands. We watched our children grow up playing in its shade.

The tree was as much a part of the family as any person.

Suddenly, the morning my father passed, the tree also passed. It fell without us hearing a sound. Now, it could have landed on the animal barn, or the animals themselves, but it didn’t. No, it took out part of the back fence and the chicken aviary, but otherwise spared the barn and animals.

Every person who has come over had commented at the root ball that now can be seen reaching up into the sky, and even experienced excavators have said they do not know how to deal with even just the roots.

As I grieve the loss of my father, I often think of the tree as well. It feels like in losing both on the same day, that some of the stability in our lives has shifted. No longer do I look up at that tree over and over each day, either from the window or outside. Now there is a gaping hole in our skyline, just as there is one in our family lineage as well.

Over time, other trees and relationships will reshape those spaces, but they will never be exactly the same as they were.

 

 

 

Thrashing and Gratitude

/ authorkfrancoeur / Leave a comment

 

 

Wow! It has been a long, long time since my last post here. I didn’t actually realize how long it has been.

The last months have been a whirlwind as we have tried to finish some accessibility projects, find an accessible vehicle, take care of all of our physical and emotional needs, struggle to get access to new treatments, and take Scout for all of her desired walks.

It has been a time of what I refer to as thrashing — wanting to slam doors and yell at the injustices in the world, and often, in healthcare. How can patients be denied the opportunity to even try treatments? How can we be FIFTY-ONE days past the approval of a treatment for ALS (not a cure, not even to improve things, just a possible way to slow it somewhat), and we can’t even get the “patient care” team of the pharmaceutical company to respond to multiple requests as to where we are in the process?

It has also been a time of thrashing in terms of grief.

Recently, a former student died of an overdose. Unequivocally, he was the brightest student I ever taught — and over the course of my teaching career; I have taught many more than a 1000 students. He made me laugh. He made me think. He questioned me constantly. I learned far more from him than he did from me. His light shone brightly, even as he struggled. I was, and am, proud to have known him, and he left an indelible mark on my heart and mind.

When Sam died, this student (now an adult and the parent of several children) came to see me at my work to express his support for all of us. At the time, he’d been in recovery for a long time. We sat and talked, and his understanding of my grief, and his gentle love and support, made me cry with gratitude.

COVID messed up that recovery, as so many recovering addicts could not get access to the supports they needed.

That’s not okay. We need to do better, period.

Much better.

Everyone is worthy of love, support, appropriate/affordable/accessible care. Period.

As I thrashed, I also realized that it has been a time full of love and support. Beautiful artwork arriving in the mail. Mystery postcards expressing support and love. Countless friends and family stepping forward to offer whatever help they can. Pruning, raking, fixing fences, walking Scout, helping Paul explore the natural world, all have happened, and are so appreciated.

So, I’m back — still thrashing, still grateful.

Won’t you join me in both being grateful, and in a commitment to making our world a better place?

 

The Changing Times and Views

/ authorkfrancoeur / Leave a comment

Lately, it has been a very busy time for us as a family, and a time full of changes and challenges for us all.

Health challenges.

New jobs.

Lost feathered friends.

Changing or adjusting goals.

New realities.

We have faced them all. All within the last month or so, and it has been a whirlwind. At times, it seemed almost overwhelming. No, scrap that. It was overwhelming, but then we refocused and found our way again.

This journey of ALS is teaching us so much. Our old self-expectations have to be re-visited and adjusted almost daily. That huge garden that could produce most of our produce needs? It has to be trimmed back as we just don’t have the time, energy, or enough help to accomplish it all. The hope of having the kitchen project done by the first of July? Not happening.

None of this is due to lack of effort or devotion. It is because of the sheer amount of work and time involved in the daily realities of our changing lives. The time spent on things like medical appointments and improving accessibility is almost unimaginable.

What we are learning is that the quality of life, and love, matter more than anything, and that, that we have!