Every day is a winding road

We’ve reached the point in life that Sheryl Crow sang about years ago – every day is a winding road, and we can’t predict from day to day what reality will be.

I suppose it hits everyone at some point. If you live long enough, you’ll have elderly parents (if you’re lucky), elderly pets, achy joints, grandkids – things that can throw you curveballs when you’re expecting an easy catch.

All you can do is catch the curveballs the best you can and juggle all the balls that need juggling – and know that you’re bound to drop a few from time to time, because all we can do is our best. Perfection eludes me and I don’t even try for that anymore. (That’s a surefire recipe for  insanity.)

Yesterday Cathy and I were pretty worried significantly about Mother. Her blood count is way down again, which is part of the equation, and the events of the day were the rest of it. We took her to the 65th wedding anniversary reception for Bill’s buddy Burl and his wife Bernice. It was very nice and we were pleased to be there, but of course it took a toll on Mother.

Mother does her best Vanna White pose to show her new TV. Even on a bad day, she looks good.

Mother does her best Vanna White pose to show her new TV. Even on a bad day, she looks good.

She was pretty jittery and as we left we felt awful bad about her being 20 minutes away.

But this morning Mother called at 7:30 to tell me that she’d be hard to get a hold of today because she had lots of plans and places to go, but she didn’t want me to worry if I couldn’t reach her. She’ll be home after 8 tonight.

For today, the mother who raised us is back.

(A week and a half ago, John and I took her shopping for new TVs (and a new red cabinet for  the 50-incher) and she was definitely her confident self. We just never know what each day will bring.)

Mine's bigger!

Mother has the biggest TV in the family now, but the remote is giving her heck.

On a sadness S curve, Cathy and Paul finally put down their ancient Lucy, the blind and deaf white dachshund who used to be the best little red girl. She was a few months younger than our Toby, who would’ve been 17 in January, so that means Lucy would’ve been 17 next month.

Then Kitty texted me this afternoon to tell me that sweet Milo, their 12-year-old happy boy died this morning. He seems to have had a stroke and died in his own bed with his favorite toy and loved ones holding him, which is about as good as it can get, but we’ll all miss him.

Milo was a good boy. He's much younger in this photo, but he never looked much different. Just a little stouter and a little slower.

Milo was a good boy. He’s much younger in this photo, but he never looked much different. Just a little stouter and a little slower.

Pets teach us how to love and their shorter lifespans help prepare us for losses in life.

We know where the winding road is going to lead one of these days, and we anticipate those phone calls. We’ve had two heart-stopping ones since December (and a few heart flutterers) – but Silas’s close call has given me a new outlook on everything. Nothing really matters as long as my grandkids are ok.

(Sounds a little like a line Freddy Mercury might have sung.)

But my girl Sheryl is right: “These are the days when anything goes.”

And I try to be prepared for anything. But my heart still drops when my phone goes off early in the morning or late at night.

2 thoughts on “Every day is a winding road

  1. Lucy’s birthday was the 7th, same as my German friend Brigitta’s. We had to say goodbye, we had known it was coming but we’re very sad. I’m sorry about Milo too. Just hope we can keep our humans healthy, sis.

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