Warrick propped up the soft pillows behind his granny's head as she lay like a gaunt specter of her previous spirited self in her deathbed. And deathbed it was indeed. At nineteen, Warrick knew death when it looked him in the face. He had become all too familiar with it when his mother had wasted away from cancer of the stomach two years ago. “My boy,” Kathy wheezed, fondly squeezing Warrick's hand with the last of her strength. “I'm so sorry you're burdened with me,” she added, tears flooding her faded eyes. Guilt overwhelmed her frail body, making her curl even further into herself. She was grateful that the agony that wracked every part of her broken body seemed suspended for now. “You're not a burden, Granny!” Warrick said , looking into the old woman's watery eyes. He was afraid to sit on the bed for fear of causing her any discomfort or hurt. “You were there for me when Mom passed away, and you've always looked after me even before that, so this is nothing. I can never repay you, so don't think or say you're burdensome to me. You're my blessing.” His words nearly undid the old woman's hold on her emotions. “I'm going to prepare supper now, all right? I managed to borrow a can of peas from Brian's mom. We've still got carrots and potatoes, so I'll make us a stew. I think there's enough rice left for one pot,” Warrick said, hating the fact that they were truly living on the edge of poverty. “Since this terminal illness struck down my granny,” Warrick said to Brian later that night, “I've had to become caregiver, cook, house cleaner and nurse. You know my dad abandoned us when I was only eight, and my mom slaved all her life as a domestic worker to provide for us,” Warrick added. Brian was his school mate; they were more like brothers than friends. “With your granny becoming ill, looking after her fell on you. You can't even look for a job 'cause your granny needs constant care,” Brian commiserated. “Is there any hope for her recovery?” “None. At our last hospital visit, her doctor told me to ‘make her as comfortable as possible' here at home. How can anyone who's dying so slowly ever be comfortable?” Warrick asked, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders hunched forward. “It's bad, bro. I don't know if I could've handled this, to be honest,” Brian said. He reached out to give Warrick's shoulder a long squeeze before going home. Kathy had heard the conversation between the two boys. By some quirk of the night or fay life, their hushed words had reached her clearly as she lay statue-still, imprisoned by her bed. She felt some remnant of fury trying to bubble up from her breast, anger that she had become this weak when before she had been energetic, industrious and a whirlwind of movement. Being this incapacitated often made her feel wrathful, but she swiftly smothered the emotion. It would only bring on the vicious barbs of pain. Her medication sat on her bedside table, within easy reach. Warrick is truly thoughtful, she thought, then she started to cry softly. He doesn't deserve to have his life placed on hold because of me, the bitter thought flitted through her mind, superseding the twisting, torturous pangs running amok throughout her body. As the last rays of the setting sun peeped through a chink in her bedroom curtains, Kathy slowly, painfully, sat up in bed. She reached for the morphine pills. With immense determination, she poured all the pills into her cupped hand. Closing her eyes, she prayed one final time. Forgive me, God. I know I'm damning my soul forever, but I would rather do that than have Warrick sacrifice another day of his young life. With a trembling hand, Kathy gripped the glass of water. She looked lovingly at her bedroom, at the knickknacks on her dresser, the antique wooden wardrobe her husband had made himself ages ago, her rocking chair next to the small, round reading table on which a novel waited for her to finish reading it for probably the twentieth time. She smiled wanly as she recalled the joy she had experienced upon first reading the book; that happiness had only increased with all the other subsequent readings. 'Gone with the Wind', by Margaret Mitchell. I have no regrets, except one. I'll be leaving Warrick sole alone in this cruel world. May he forgive me. Closing her eyes again, tears seeping from under her closed eyelids, Kathy brought the pills to her mouth. A warm, soft touch arrested her cupped hand. Kathy's eyes flew open in surprise, only to see Warrick standing in front of her. His cheeks were moist with his trailing tears. The forlorn look on his face broke her heart anew. “Granny, this isn't the way. God will ease our suffering. We only need to hold on to our faith and believe in His mercy,” Warrick whispered before carefully enfolding the tiny, fragile frame of the old woman in his strong, youthful arms. “My sweet, sweet angel,” Kathy breathed softly.

My wedding was in June, 2020 just after quarantine. Every woman does want to have a baby and lives with passion of beacoming mom. So did I. I had to wait almost 6 months to get pregnant. When I appeared to know that I was pregnant I was over the moon. I can't say I had really hard time during pregnancy. I was just sensitive to the smells so I couldn't cook meals and nothing more. However, I didn't know how hard days were waiting for me. At the end of May, 2021 I was informed that baby's water was gone and almost non left. We made several chech-ups but the answers were the same. So I had to go to the hospital. My baby was too small to be born but the doctors decided to take it out after five days of treatment otherwise it was really dangerous for me and baby. Because my temperature was getting higher and higher. They took my baby out by caesarean section in 29th week of pregnancy. It was too small that could not breathe itself. My mother prayed for me and baby all the time, my parents did everything they could so that I and my baby would get better and let it live. After a week baby started breathing himself. It was the biggest happiness for the whole family. We were at the hospital for about a month. Then we went home holding my baby in my arms. Thanks God he is now a healthy boy. He can run, jump, say several words, understand everything he hears, play with his dady and he loves his little brother, too.

I love my husband's family. When my husband and I first started dating, his family treated me as though I were already one of them. My husband became a widower the year before and I'd been single for much longer than that. Second marriages aren't always easy but when you have a family of in-laws that open their arms and accept you immediately, it makes life a lot simpler. While a few of his brothers were on the quiet side and others were more extroverted, they all were friendly and loving. The only exception was his sisters. None of them were introverted in the slightest way. When I say we were one big happy family, it's said with the absolute truth. Through the years, as each sibling's health weakened, communication became more important. The problem was that while they enjoyed speaking to each other, my husband is not a telephone person. In fact, he really hates speaking on the phone and avoids it as much as possible. Time past and now there are four of them left which includes my husband. While in my own mind, he should make more of an effort to call his sisters and brother, in his mind, he will when he has time. My husband is 80 and retired. I insist he can make time. He reminds me that he's too busy doing the gardening and general maintenance on the house. We don't live in a run-down, ramschackled house. It's 20 years old and in very good condition. He can take 20 minutes out and call his siblings. Unfortunately, he doesn't. I do. His remaining brother calls at least three times a week and leaves messages such as: “Hey, wanted to say hello and check in. Call back.” “It's me again. Haven't heard from you. Hope everything's ok. Call back.” “Uh, what's going on? Is something wrong? Call back.” “Come on, really? What's your problem? Call me back today! Damn it.” I give my husband the messages. He ignores them. No, he isn't angry with his brother. Their relationship is fine. It's my husband's problem with phones. The other problem is that his brother is an invalid, living in a nursing home, and has nothing to do. My husband keeps himself busy with yard work, and other things around the house. He never was one to sit still. There lies a good portion of the problem. His brother doesn't understand why Rich won't call him back immediately or why he doesn't answer the phone in the first place. Rich says his brother should find a hobby to occupy his time. Today, I found another messages on my husband's phone. I said, “Don't shoot the messenger but please listed to your brother's message.” He did. Then he grabbed the phone and said, “That's it! I'm going to straighten this out once and for all!” I tried reminding him that his brother lived over a thousand miles away, has no one to visit him, is easily bored. He's just looking to have someone to talk to. My husband remined me that he has things to do. One of his sisters called but is still trying to get used to her new cell phone. She kept disconnecting herself. She'd call and lose the connection. I'd call her back and she'd lose the connection. This went on for fifteen minutes and then I just didn't return her calls. I might try again tomorrow. I saw no point in telling this to my husband since there really wasn't anything to say. After that bit of thunder-rolling atmosphere involving my brother-in-law, I received a text from my other sister-in-law stating she was out of the hospital and staying with her daughter. I walked out the back door and said, “Jane called.” Before I could relay the message, he looked at me with daggers coming out of his eyes. I interrupted him. “Hey, just a quick message,” I began. “She's fine, out of the hospital, and staying with her daughter.” “Oh, ok” he said and calmed down. I know tonight, once dinner is done, he'll call his sister. Maybe I can even get him to call his other sister. At least, they'll be quieter conversations than the one he had earlier. Oh boy! It seems the older we get, the less patience we have. There are times when I could smack Alexander Bell on the head and say, “Why did you ever invent such a troublesome instrument?” There are so many times it comes in so handy but then there are other times!! As I walked away toward the house, my first thought was, “I'm not getting paid enough for this.” Then I realized, “Hey, wait! I'm not getting paid at all!”

Like most people I know, I can and often be impatient. You could also use the word intolerant because while they are different in definition and emotion, they often go hand in hand. We hired a private contractor to do some work and as we checked him out, we were told, “He's good, thorough, and efficient. Just not very timely.” I asked what exactly that meant and was told that while he would show up for work, his day began whenever he arrived. If he said he'd arrive by 9am, we could expect him by 11am or maybe a bit later. My husband called him and made an appointment to take place two weeks later for an estimate. He showed up three weeks later. We liked his estimate and hired him with a promise of work to begin four weeks later. He explained that he needed to finish his current job first. Taking that into consideration, we agreed. Four weeks came and went. The fifth week did the same. Finally in the middle of the sixth week, he called saying he'd be at our home by 9am the following morning. As promised, 9am sharp, he was at the door. We had the final consultation and arranged for the work to begin by 9am the next day. Normally, I'm a very patient person but I do often find myself intolerant of inconsideration. That's when my patience goes out the window. Nine o'clock came but the contractor didn't. As the hour hand on the clock snuck past the number 10, I tried to busy myself to keep from constantly glancing at it. Eleven o'clock passed as did noon. I commented to my husband, “It's a [expletive] good thing we didn't pay him anything.” He finally arrived at 2pm saying that he needed to make a quick trip to the hardware store and was delayed. I felt like screaming, “REALLY?” Here we are at the end mark of week one and 4 out of 4 days, he's been late. He has yet to show up at his 9am promised time. In fact, he has not once arrived before 11am. To his credit, he is not lazy. When he's here, he works constantly. He doesn't leave until around 8 pm (which interferes with our dinner, but we manage). You're probably wondering why I haven't confronted him about his tardiness. If it affected his workmanship, I wouldn't have hesitated but as I said, his work isn't just decent, it's good and he isn't lazy – just tardy. The work we hired him to do should take no longer than two full weeks. I'm eager to see if his tardiness affects that deadline. Our friends who recommend him urged us to not speak to him or speak as infrequently as possible. This man loves to talk, and it doesn't matter what the subject might be. He can begin about the weather and before you know it, he'll be telling you about the diamond mines in Africa. To avoid any lengthy conversations, my husband spends the day in the yard doing whatever he finds he can do; I close the door to my home office and try to keep busy but there is still only so much to do in here. Ergo, this essay. While the handyman is bustling around my living room, I'm trying to think of things to do. It was at that point when my brain's lightbulb illuminated. Ah! Write, I thought to myself. So, here I am, writing, and wondering if I can sneak out of here just long enough to make myself a cup of tea without getting caught up in a firestorm of time-consuming conversation..

Today I had a very prosperous day which ended not with a positive response but rather with a small "negative" incident at work. When you feel so positive and full of good energy to give yourself to a project or program, you expect a positive feedback on your work. But unfortunately i had to receive a negative remark on something that i was "supposed to do". This is of course under question, because when something is seen from both sides, you can't prove that one is right and other is wrong. And i wonder, what's the purpose of receiving bad remarks that ruin your psychology, when all you want to achieve is something prosperous and productive? How do you cope with these remarks? Sometimes its hard to keep your patience and try to keep a low profile when all you want to do is to defend yourself. And the result was that i defended myself in an angry way which i could not avoid. I felt that I was under control and i had to pursue my human rights and raise my voice. Because sometimes you have to defend yourself in order to raise your value higher. You have a personal value and no one should underestimate this.

I wish ... no I pray for someone to come along to talk to about priorities, hopes, dreams, prayer's ... but most of all - the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth... * life coach, goals, sobriety, finance's, therapy, but most of all - my kid's {secret}

I find myself losing patience Whenever I hear the phone ring Mom's voice is on the other end. But, it's always the same old thing. “Hello, dear, I'm just checking in; Wanted to make sure you're ok.” More than once, I'm tempted to scream: “Mom, I'm the same as I was yesterday!” I'm not as young as I used to be Where patience was there to spare. And too, Mom is older, she needs to hear That her daughter will always still care. I answer her many questions That she's asked many times before, I hold the phone tightly and fight back a tear And tell her I love her much more. I knew a day would come to pass When Mom would awaken no more; Each day, I saw she grew weaker, I knew she was near Heaven's door. The day arrived with an angel Who took hold of my mom's hand, Eased her soul from her body And took her to God's precious land. Mom's now with dad up in Heaven And the angels rejoice and sing. Yet, my heart is broken for I never again Will lose patience when I hear the phone ring.