The actual temperature is around 34 degrees; with the steady winds of 30-35mph, it feels like 18 degrees. It rained off and on this a.m. and during the night there was a sprinkling of snow.
DB is watching the Final Four, and I have been reading. I'm tired of the latter, so I ramble on here for a few minutes.
I wonder where that expression came from; "wild and wooley" or is it "woolley"? Whatever, it describes this weather today. We've had the April Showers, AND the March winds.
My poor miniature daffies are looking lonely out there. Crocuses are also braving the elements, and there are large patches of blue Glory of the Snow. I know spring can't be TOO far behind.
We buried another of our precious elders today. We now have 5 fairly new widowers. I think this is rather unusual. A couple of them meet for breakfast occasionally. When he is ready, I hope to link this new widower up with them.
Over the last few years, Don has spent every noon time sitting with his ill wife at the nursing home. I planned my visits to her to coincide with his so that I could also minister to him. Now I'm worried about what happens Monday noon, when all of his family has gone, and he has to face that hour or so alone, with no purpose or plan.
The other person I'm concerned about is her roommate at the nursing home. I'm sure it will be lonely without all of visitors who came to see Don's wife. One of Don's daughters set aside a plant from the many that were given to the family to take to the roommate. I'll stop in next week to see how she is doing.
Yesterday, I visited Bob, one of our 4th Street Cafe-ers, in the mental ward of our hospital. I left there in frustration at how this country of ours, the wealthiest in the world, can throw away people. The nursing home he was staying in won't take him back, and the social worker says that isn't unusual. Many of the nursing homes and assisted living institutions won't take people from the mental wards, even when they have recuperated.
There are many excuses; they don't have the staff, other patients don't want them, they don't want the responsibility, etc., etc.
In this area, Alsheimers patients have several options for good care; the mentally ill do not.
I spent some time with the social worker, with Bob in attendance, also, talking about Bob's options. It seems the only place that will take him is 35 miles from the city he has lived in for the last 20 or so years. He knows NO ONE in that place.
I told the Social Worker about the Cafe'. I said that Bob was one of the originals who walked in when we first opened the doors, and he even recruited a couple people. "We are his support group, his friends," I said emphatically. The social worker was stunned that Bob had ANY support system.
I don't know if anything I said to the social worker will make any difference ("Did you know Bob knows and can sing almost every song that has been written since 1955?" I asked. He had NO idea.), but at least I made him take another look at Bob. I hope this leads to an arrangement that makes it possible for us to keep picking him up on Thursday mornings for the companionship at the Cafe'
"We aren't psychologists or social workers or counsellors," I told the worker, "we just are a group who cares about each other."
The thing I DID accomplish was to make arrangements for Bob to get a pass to attend the Cafe' this coming Thursday. Also, I think the social worker will make sure we know where Bob is placed when the time comes.
I told Bob the same thing; to let us know where he is. "You are a part of our flock, whether you feel like it or not," I told him. "Oh," he said, "is that sheep or geese?"
I love this funny little man. And so do all the others in our group. I want him to be in a safe and happy place that understands his moments of depression and wants him anyway. And I want that place to be HERE, in our town, where we can see him and nurture him and enjoy him.
It makes me think about support groups. They come in many sizes and shapes. The good ones aren't officially Support Groups, but just caring people who come together to share and laugh and cry and ask questions and solve problems and wonder about life and its many mysteries.
I've written before about my most important support group; the people who come together at 7 a.m. on Thursday mornings to pray for each other and for others who need healing, and then to meet at the Communion Table. After the service, we gather in the kitchen for coffee and whatever goodies are on hand.
This group has sustained me through the years we struggled to run a fabric shop, our bankruptcy, the years we provided a home for MIL, her death and DB's terrible shingles on his optic nerve, my turn-down for the priesthood, and then my acceptance for the same, my struggles in seminary, my joys, my fears, my triumphs, my failures.
There is something holy about such groups of people. We hardly ever see each other outside those Thursday mornings, (except for Sunday Services)but we all feel sustained by the prayers and hugs, and the holy listening. And the 4th Street Cafe'? Strangers come through that 4th Street door, but they are very quickly made to feel like friends. And many of them come back, over and over.
I wonder about other unofficial support groups, what they look like and how they started. It would be an interesting study. What is the core that keeps them together? What brought them together? I'd like to hear about them.
Hey! It's 6:35 p.m. and the sun is out! Life is good when the sun is shining and when you can get together with friends. Thanks be to God.
Wild and Wooley Weather!
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