Bushel and a Peck: Hope, Healing, and Unconditional Love

 

My mother told me that she’d had a secret name for me. She called me her ‘Shining Star.’ Like a blazing trail of light, I was always the one thing Mom could come back to. When she knew nothing else, she still knew me. She said I’d been like a beacon of hope to guide her home. It was a title that rooted my love deeply for my mom. I could see the patterns of her life now. It became clear that she’d never been weak. My mother had only wanted to be loved . . .

 Mom’s mental illness stigma made my early life anything but ordinary. But my father’s quiet courage helped to guide us through. Later, from strong businesswoman to Alzheimer’s, my mother would leave a legacy of lasting love, and Dad, one of incredible strength.

It took me four years to write this novel, but a lifetime to live it. Though sometimes I look back now and feel there was never enough time with Mom and Dad, I know that my parent's lives and their love carry on in me, my brother, and son.

This memoir is deeply personal to share, and it isn't just another journey of Alzheimer's though there are many wonderful books on the subject from my fellow authors. This is a story of how one man loved one woman unconditionally enough to go through hell and back, and how a family's faith allowed them to glimpse times of miracles. It is my own story of insecurity, fear, anxiety, and tears. It is God's love poured into me so much that I pray it overflows into you as you read it.

Thank you for allowing me this little bit of self-promotion as I share my book with you. If you are blessed by it, I would truly love to hear from you. My email is scoutfinch15003@yahoo.com

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1944938303/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i0?fbclid=IwAR15DEv2Q8CMk7unr3wIP-15wDQWzOTToO3liMybwgY08CN101-nv7CyhBo

 https://www.amazon.com/Bushel-Peck-Healing-Unconditional-Memoir-ebook/dp/B08T243T5M/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=karen%20malena&qid=1610752671&sr=8-2&fbclid=IwAR1TJleeABOW-qDgHEG7mix3ymsyjsuZqjGGZzevCgx8PfuX1z2UQyAsuZY

Love with the passing of time

Recently I met a wonderful community of writers. Those who write about their true experiences with their aging parents, and dealing with Alzheimer's and dementia. A wonderful support group, and people who know how difficult it is as my family is going through it right now.

What follows is the post written for the community about the inspiration behind my fictional novel of love in the golden years.

Love in the senior years: A true inspiration to me. My parents are married over sixty years as of this writing. Sixty years of ups and downs, good health and bad, happiness and sadness. But one thing remains: a steadfast love. It is this love that inspired me to write; theirs, and another couple: my husband’s elderly aunt and uncle.

You see, when I was a little girl, my mother suffered from mental illness. There were times in her delusion when she barely knew who she was, much like Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t easy and she was hospitalized many times. That is why her recent diagnosis of dementia has been very difficult to take. But as I saw when I was a child, my father puts all of my mother’s needs first. At complete disregard for his own comfort, he would do anything for Mom. He’s remained by her side, loyal, loving, respectful, treating her as if she’s the young beauty he first married so long ago.

I saw another great love. Louise, my husband’s aunt, had a stroke several years back and was hospitalized and eventually moved into a nursing home. Her husband, Hubert, took the time every single day driving to see her, helping her to eat, talking with her even though she couldn’t speak well, and making sure every need of hers was met. There came a time he couldn’t drive any longer, and he would wait as the senior bus picked him up, not missing one day with his wife. When he suffered his own health crisis, he ended up in the same care facility. Though they weren’t in the same room, Uncle Hubert would wheel himself down the hall to spend time with his beloved each and every day.

Hubert and Louise didn’t have many family members, so I became a regular visitor of theirs. I watched as love appeared to grow even stronger as Hubert sat by his wife’s side, gazing upon her as if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and talking to her as if she was the only person in the world who mattered.

It was then that a story began forming in my mind. What if an older couple actually met for the first time in an assisted living center? What if a warm friendship was forged, and eventually led to love? My book Love Woven in Time was born.

It chronicles the lives of Harry and Rose, two people who meet in the golden years, both with their own sets of challenges, but the main one being Harry’s onset of dementia. It was carefully written with the help of a dementia coach and author, Carol Howell, and with thoughts of my parents and my husband’s uncle and aunt, giving a story that is tender, believable, and written from the heart.

Though Hubert and Louise have passed, I am blessed to still have my parents. I continue to watch, grow, and learn from them about true love. A bond that cannot be broken. Even with the ravages of time, age, and memory loss.
https://alzauthors.wordpress.com/2016/08/16/meet-karen-malena-author-of-love-woven-in-time/

He Ain't Heavy

This morning in church I saw a sight I would never have believed. As service was about to begin in my non-denominational church, a man walked in with a large child across his shoulders. At first glance, I thought perhaps they were joking around, and that the dad would place the child down after a few giggles.

We all stood to our feet as the band came out onto the stage, the first chords of music punctuating the air, and the wonderful feel of community and oneness. The father chose to stand two rows in front of me, and the child remained across his shoulders. What on earth? I began thinking. Then I saw the child had bare feet and had an I-pad of some sort clutched in her hands. She was older, perhaps ten or so. As the music progressed, the father adjusted her in his arms, never losing grip of this large child over his shoulders as her hands played across the I-pad.

In my judgmental mind, I thought it was the most insane sight I'd ever seen. Then realization dawned on me finally of the situation. This child was handicapped. And the father never blinked an eye, stood with the rest of the congregation swaying back and forth in a soothing motion to the music for his child as he readjusted her weight only a few times as he kept her across his back.

Wow, I thought, he must be one strong man. His neck and arms were heavily corded with muscles. No wonder, I thought again, he must do this all the time. I felt drawn to watching this scenario as the music played on. I found myself offering prayers for this man and the burden he literally shouldered.

When the music had finished and it was time to welcome one another with a greeting, this man didn't hesitate to turn in all directions to say good morning to those of us who were seated near him. He had a smile on his face that I'll never forget.

Even when we sat, the father took his child to him, placing her in front of him this time, cradling her throughout the service, occasionally soothing her with his body language.

Wow, Lord, I thought. Is this how you care for us? You are known as the Good Shepherd. You are known to take care of us, your flock. You are known to go back for that one stray lamb who wanders from the fold every so often.

It hit me how great the love of our God is for us. If a man can love his handicapped child so much that he puts his own comfort aside and can bodily carry her across his shoulders, how much greater is the love of our Heavenly Father who carries our weight and burdens across His?

Think about it friends. We serve a most awesome, powerful God. A God that adores us and carries us when we need it most. Let's let Him into our hearts. Let's not miss the beckon of His hands when it's time for Him to pick us up and put us onto His shoulders.

Grace

I've reached a time where bones hurt and aches and pains are prevalent. My aging parents weigh heavily on my mind and sometimes the sins of my past come back to haunt me in wicked ways. I think of ups and downs, triumphs and failures. I've made mistakes in marriage, hurt people with my words at times, but hopefully have been a blessing as well.

Have I raised my son well? Am I a good daughter, wife, employee, friend? I wish I had the answers. There are days I'm fresh and ready to face most anything. And then there are others that threaten to crush my spirit, leaving me hollow and aching, forlorn and almost hopeless.

I could never have faced the difficulties of this life without my faith. As a young girl in Catholic school, a teenager who watched every religious movie ever made, and an adult who finally found peace in a non-denominational church. The road of my faith was bumpy, filled with rocks and pebbles. Guilt was such a big part of growing up Italian and Catholic at the same time. I was never quite "good enough." Never measured up to someone, anyone who was better than me, smarter, kinder. Oh did I waste a lot of time.

I never understood grace. I thought I had to work my way to heaven, buy my way in with the ticket of perfection. Not until about six years ago and finding a church home which changed my life, did I realize that grace, perfect love of a perfect God is all I need. That's it. I don't have to be better. I'm good enough for God's love. I am His beloved and have felt the Holy Spirit stirring strongly in my life.

When those days come, the days that pull me down, reminding me how far I still need to go, or tickle at the outer corners of my mind with their lies of being worthless, I remember grace. Someone died for me. His blood, His love poured out for ME. No matter how imperfect and pain-filled my body is, how thoughts of past failures plague me, He loves me unconditionally. And nobody will ever take that away.

Bask in the thought today. Surrender to grace.

Love ourselves unconditionally

Last week on Facebook I wrote what I felt was a controversial topic: loving ourselves no matter what our size and shape. Today, I'm going to add to this. Love  ourselves no matter our ages.

We've earned those crows feet and laugh lines, every bump, wrinkle, bulge and gray hair. A long lifetime of raising children, dealing with death of loved ones, aging parents, divorces. All of these have taken their toll on us, and many of us have dealt with some of these numerous times.

As a child, I was a nervous little thing. You see, there were serious issues going on around me, unstable conditions at times. My fears were very real and life was chaotic. It was no wonder food became a comfort. Yet at another time, years later, when a husband walked out on me, leaving me for another, food would no longer matter, and my appetite would suffer.

I'm in my fifties now, living in a culture obsessed with beauty, stick figure barbie doll actresses and models. Diet ads and fads abound. And I'm tired of it all, I tell you. Tired of hiding behind huge, baggy, loose clothing thinking I'm the world's worst human being because I enjoy an ice cream cone, piece of cake or candy bar. Tired of thinking I can seriously lose ten or fifteen pounds to be the "ideal" weight, perhaps the weight I was as a young girl. No, I've earned my love handles, you see. In the real world I live in, my size should not matter. I don't care if you're size 2 or size 22, you are a beautiful woman of God.

How long should it take us to stop the obsession, to give permission to love ourselves right where we are, how we look, at any age, regardless of dress sizes? Why can't we buy clothing that accentuates our good points without worry of hiding the bad? Why can't we eat that brownie without guilt in front of another who is giving us "the look", the one which says, "oh my gosh, I can't believe she's going to eat that."

I've known ladies of all sizes. My own mother was particularly overweight most of her life. A beautiful woman nonetheless. In her older years, food hasn't held the appeal it once did, and she's lost an incredible amount of weight. This was nothing she felt she HAD to do, it was just one of those things I suppose.

I hate something. Why is it that when we see someone who's lost weight, we say: "you look so good?" I say to this: "What did I look like before, crap?" Why can't we learn to compliment our sisters at any size, any age?

Think about it. Don't you enjoy hearing someone say your hair looks particularly good today, or that top looks great on you? If you can't come up with one nice thing to say sometime, then tell a person they have a great smile. A smile is one of the single most beautiful face lifts any woman can have. It lights up the countenance, erasing frown lines and worry. 

You are beautiful, girl. So put that outfit on, get that haircut or style you've always wanted. Wear the sequins, the baubles, get the tattoo. Do it for you, not for anyone else. And to this, I add: pick up that paintbrush, the pen and paper, the crochet hook or some other artistic outlet. Enjoy your life, live it to the fullest. And by all means, love, love, love yourself unconditionally.