On Bad News

I emailed a friend the other day and used the subject line of "Bad News" and she thought someone had died. In my lexicon, people dying is never bad news.

Now before you think I'm harsh, I've been taking care of a severely disabled parent for over nine years. Think about it, that's before the second George Bush started what I hate to call his "presidency;" perhaps we could just say his "residency" in the White House.

But I disgress. Dying is easier to deal with. You can cry, stay in bed for days sobbing. You can grieve and mourn and then you can move on with a new life or move or go on a date. Sure it's a life missing that person and frankly I doubt I'd mourn for more than five minutes if GW died, but that's not the point. When people live, you have to keep dealing with them. And dealing with them and dealing with them.

That means rinsing out urine soaked pillows every night because someone can't leave them under the water proof pull sheet or trying to teach someone how to say the word yogurt every other day or one thousand, six hundred times since this nightmare began. It starts with a "y." We draw the "y" with our fingers on the kitchen table and out comes "sharez" or some other non sequitur. Then we draw an "o" on the kitchen table and try to sound it out. "Sharon." Then five other words that start with the "sh" sound. Finally I say it starts with the sound "yo" and then the word "yogurt" is uttered.

Once we've established the word yogurt, we move on to cereal. And so it goes.