Tag: blessed

Blog

Annabelle

Jill L. Ware

I watch if she slips away from me each day.

She cannot see me, or hear what I say.

Many times, she watched over me when I was bedridden, her agenda not hidden. She, my faithful companion nursing me.

Soon My turn to nurse her it will be.

As the days go on, she makes it outside to relieve herself less, but, she tries her best.

Annabelle is strong and has a fight in her since birth. I miss the days she slept with me, went to work with me. We were great together.

It seems as if our time together is nearing its end. I pray that she goes on her own, to her death I cannot her send.

I will hold my love for her deep in my heart, even after this earth she parts.

Blog, Poetry

Faithful Companion

Jill L. Ware
A companion can come in many shapes and sizes. Mine happens to be in the form of a dog. She has seen me through many of battles with those that were supposed to be faithful companions. Her loyalty to me always holds true. Annabelle joined me when my oldest son left home after high school. She has seen me cry, scream, laugh, and sometimes act a complete nutcase. Yet she has never left me or judged me. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve moved, there she was at my side with no judgment, as always. We both have aged since our first meeting. Not long from now. I will be missing her scratching the food bowl at 2 AM and her snoring. A more faithful friend I shall never meet.
Blog, Poetry

Grandparents that raise their grandchildren

Jill L. Ware

Over the years I’ve had many grandparents raising grandkids frequent my place of employment. Have always had respect for them. Until recently, I had no idea how exhausting and stressful it could be. My son and his wife went on a four-day vacation and I stayed with the three kids. It was absolutely exhausting. The minute my butt cheeks hit the couch. There was one screaming “grandma come here”. The meals, laundry, baths and picking up never ends. What I’m getting at is that if you see grandparents raising grandkids, pat them on the back. I only did it for four days, and was ready to lose my sanity.

Blog, Poetry

Finding Balance Eludes Me

Jill L. Ware

You’d think with all the medications I am on that it would keep my moods under control. My thoughts lately I’ve kept myself. Needless to say, most of them are mean. I refuse to let them escape me.

I roll all these thoughts around in my head day and night. The conversations I’ve had with loved ones playing in my head. I picked them apart, one by one to decipher their meaning. The only change my doctor has made with my meds is swapping my Wellbutrin at night for olanzapine.

The doctor did this because he was seeing symptoms of paranoia in me. There is paranoia in my family genetics, the doctor actually a couple doctors have told me they think my pot smoking is causing several illnesses in me. I had never heard anything so stupid. I asked if I should quit for a few weeks and see. She said full results of quitting wouldn’t show for six months. I decided to do my research on the subject. In some cases by quitting, the issues fix themselves, and when the person starts back symptoms return.

I am sick of not thinking right. I started my pot free life five days ago. I pray that it fixes some of the wrong thinking. Also a few other things as well.

I could use some encouragement or advice. I haven’t blogged in quite some time. If I blog more often, it would probably benefit me. I’ve been in the state of “if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all”. I have been hiding from society, I don’t like the monster in me.

Poetry

Finding Fall

Jill L. Ware

To find the colors of fall you don’t have to look far, They are all around wherever you are.

The Birch with the color of bright yellow, calling after me as if to say be my fellow.

The Hickory with colors of golden bronze, across the lake the breeze it’s leaves calms.

The dogwood with leaves of purple red, as if it says words left unsaid.

The poplar with leaves of golden yellow, standing out as it screams hello.

The Tupelo with colors of red, soon it’s leaves will be dead.

The mighty oak its leaves golden Brown, it’s nuts the squirrels take down.

The sugar Maple with the color of Orange red, soon its leaves it will shed.

The ash colorful and its purple,yellow and red, sorry Birch I choose the ash instead.

Cool nights sitting by the fire, of this life I will never tire.

Watch the colors change when you can, this beauty provided to us by the Man.