Not sure I understand

This morning I read the heading of an article in the Guardian in reference to the British Medical Association declaring that force-feeding the  prisoners who are on hunger strike at Guatanamo  is a gross violation of medical ethics.

Why so?  Is it not done to prevent suicide?  If it is done for other reasons it is political and not medical or ?

What about medical ethics when terminally ill patients or elderly that do no longer want to live are kept alive by force-feeding through tubes and other means? 

Why are my thoughts wrapped around this article which I only read the heading of?  If I had read the article I might have found the answer to my questions and would not have had the opportunity to get this off my chest....... Mutti was 88 when she died in hospital.  For three days she had to share space with other patients and each time I sat with her she would whimper "please let me die".  When I returned on the forth day she was in a private room and no longer whimpering.  I was trying to feed her the pudding from the tray that had been brought to her when a doctor walked in and said " why are you feeding her when it only prolongs her agony".  I stopped feeding her and the trays stopped coming . Maybe the trays stopped coming first but I can't help but feeling as if I had stopped first.

Moselito

I picked him up on Friday afternoon to be with Ellena, as he says, for 10 nights.  His vacations with me are not only highlighted with X on his calendar but are also referred to  by the number of nights he sleeps over.

Today, Tuesday, he said  "10 nights sleep here".  As I answered "some nights have passed already", he replied  "Friday 10, Saturday 9, Sunday 8, Monday 7, Tuesday 6, today 6 more nights sleep here".

Amazing!  Enough to 'make' my day.

I am so grateful for such surprises and wonder as to how much more is in his brain that I/we are not aware of. 

Just saying and to explain

why I was invisible in recent days.

Wrestled with a 20pound bag of earth - the bag won - my back lost.

10 days of wrong body predictions promising a better tomorrow.  Pain killers now at work.
Date with a 'Chiro' on August 8th.

Please, not more than a HI in comments.

Lac-Megantic

Human error - equipment malfunction - lax regulations - corporate greed - whatever 

I hear voices and read text messages

          "let's go for an after work drink"
          "wait I'll give you a lift home"
          "I am on my way home-getting into the car now"
          "come over to ....bar, we are celebrating her birthday"
          "what a beautiful evening, let's go for a walk"

and I hear screams and footsteps of people that could not run fast enough.

Instant cremation

My heart goes out to the families.      

And then I was thinking

"what is it with ones blog?".  I am not sure I would have asked my daughter Pasha to set up a blog for me had I known what having one, or should I say writing one, turns out to be.

What I wanted to do is get my house in order.

All photos are in albums in chronological order starting with arrival in Canada in 1956 and ending with NOT YET.  Photos of people that my children don't know are burned and others such as of office parties and other events are weeded down to two or three of the same event.  Why burden Pasha and Besito de Luz with 'who is this' questions after I am gone. Most photos have a little story to tell. I typed it up, cut it out and inserted it below the photo. That part of 'house order' is settled.  Shots of our family life spread out on a shelf. 12 volumes long.
Then there is a thick album which I named 'Je me souviens'.  
The first section contains 2 photos of German grandma and grandpa together and many photos of grandma's 4 siblings.
Next section shows Greek grandma alone and Greek grandpa with his 3 boys, one daughter.
Next section is filled with photos taken when mom and dad were courting, 2 of my baptism on a Greek island and a handful of other shots of my brother and I in Greece and some nieces and aunts and uncles.
Next section is my life in Germany, age 6 up to the day my husband, baby Pasha and I left Germany. Lots of '1st time' memories are living here. Some are typed and inserted and some.........................now my thoughts finally return to the why of this post.
  
This blog was meant to contain little life stories that mothers tell their children.  Things that they remember but never had the chance to tell them.

I have since realized that writing a blog also means reading blogs and reading blogs means making comments and making comments means that the writer looks at the blog of the commenter and, being polite, makes a comment on the writer's blog.

I know that you follow me but have a hard time following myself. Just said Prost to myself for the second time.  A wineglass filled with Baileys, the original Irish cream.  Ya, ya, I do have the little liquor glasses that this drink is served in but they are to small to be used for what I call desert.

So, where was I?

Yes, I found R's blog and liked it and thought to myself  "let me see if I like any of the blogs she reads, I can't go wrong" and that's how I got to you L. and to you N. and to you T. and to you RR and to B.  Of course I continue reading H's blog which is kind of a ground stone of my blog reading.
I never mentioned that it sometimes takes me more time to write a two-line comment than it takes you to write a two-page post.  Why, because I chose to read challenging blogers and/or blogers who inform me about subjects that have woken my curiosity.  I now feel that I am playing in a league into which I don't belong. But, I got hooked on you all, on your kindness especially, and don't want to let go.

So much about blogging.  

While writing this I realize that NO, I am not super organized, I AM controlling and the other thing I noticed, actually it rubbed itself in as I was writing, is the fact that I/we do not have a single picture of Mom and Dad together.  I know that they were married. I saw it written on their divorce papers.

PS I wrote this last evening. Just justifying time of drink.

One more time

did I have to tell the life story of Moselito, last week.

He has been a bit more anxious and stressed as usual lately.   The care givers at Maison E., a community founded in 1982 , invited me to talk about Moselito to a group of 15 people gathered in the living room of Maison C.  Caregivers, new volunteers and the leaders of music therapy, pottery workshop, weavery and farm wanted  to learn more about Moselito in order to see how they could help to bring him back to his usual rather easy to handle self.
Pictures of events and former coworkers were spread out on a table, covering 31 years of his life in the community.  All thoughts were concentrated on Moselito.
I began with my pregnancy- heavy cramps, kicking and boxing as if he were looking for a way out.  Very happy in his crib but unhappy if placed on the floor to crawl or to sit and play. Needed security of the small crib area.                                                                              Montreal Children's Hospital were the first to mention the word 'Autism'. Fine Motor Therapy was suggested to teach him to play and interact with other children. I enrolled him.  3 times a week I dropped him off at therapy, his sister at school and myself into the office and three times a week I had to run to the car park, drive to therapy, pick him up and drive him to babysitter and then drive myself back to the office, all in one hour (my lunch hour). Speeding at 125km an hour on three lane highway is still haunting me. Autism specialists at 3-day convention had Moselito on stage and over the microphone I was informed that they had a  very intelligent child in front of them.   At age 7, we (his father and I) registered him in a private school which served special needs students. Until school registration I used the 'I' because that is how it was done (mother did best).  
Divorce.                                                                                                                           School suggested home speech therapy.  I accepted to do it, was given a lesson as to how, the school came to tape first lesson and last lesson video and were happy about the results. Music therapy after school became also available and Moselito attended.
In the mornings I drove 1.25 hrs in all directions dropping one child here, the other there and myself somewhere else and in the evenings it was the same  with pick ups except that it took longer.
I did not know much about autism. How to, what not to and what to do.
There were all kind of incidents with M.
M. in the back of the car, no seat belts way back then, me driving on three-lane highway and him jumping at me from back seat and him banging his head on mine and biting my neck - M. sitting on passenger side, me turning left on one lane road and door on his side opening wide - and more of such. I always kept my cool and managed to calm him down.
As my strength and patience started to wear out and knowing that I would eventually not be able to continue like that (I was 47then) and  not wanting to burden his siblings with the responsibility of taking care of their brother, I decided to place him.  Needless to say that it was a heartbreaking decision.
This was 31 years ago. The Maison E. center had just been founded and has since grown from 3 to 22 'villagers' in need of special care and about 30 caregivers who share 5 residences. Moselito's home away from home is paradise to him and to Ellena, as he calls me.  
Although I am not ready to check out, I can die in peace because of this place so close to my heart.




This is Maison C., the home which Moselito shares with 5 other villagers in need of special care, houseparents and coworkers.