Benson’s Syndrome – Has Taken Her at Only 62 Years Old
Our oldest Sister has died, only two months after mom died. I was hoping that she would not decline, that if we did not speak of mom’s death, in essence it could be blocked by her dementia.
Her symptoms were spread out over a decade. She had aches and pains, then severe back pain, followed by poor eyesight. She was diagnosed with sciatica, the fibromyalgia, later cataracts. She was a grade schoolteacher, held a master’s degree. Seemingly one day, she started forgetting things. Her principal advised her to seek disability. About a year later she was approved and was put on disability. Then suddenly, she couldn’t operate her phone, nor navigate her TV remote. Mom and I insisted we take her to her doctor; we had a whole list of things to discuss. The hurdle was HEPA. After much cajoling, my brother-in-law allowed us access. Once there, my sister, barely walking at a snail’s pace could not even remember her birthdate. Her doctor revealed that a year prior, during an ER visit when she fell out of bed and ‘didn’t feel right,’ her scans revealed dementia. Mom and I were silent, not wanting to alarm my sister. She sat silently at that time she had a tick of smacking her lips. Finally, when asked she said that no one had ever told her that.
Fear Of Nursing Homes
Immediately, she became petrified of being put into a nursing home. I promised her that this would not happen, over my dead body and I meant it. After breaking the news to her husband, who claimed he was never told either, so mom and I got to work. We knew caregivers had to be put into place. She kept saying she did not want to be home alone, that if she knew she was going to lose her mind she did not want to live. Yes, it was awful.
Fidgeting Uncomfortable Repeating
Once home we researched the dementia diagnosis and prepared ourselves for the following weeks appointment. Mom agreed to watch her for the next weeks with dad until caregivers could be found. I was prepared to pay out of pocket, and I did so, until her needs became too great. Eventually all of her disability went to paying various caregivers. Early on, I took her to a counsellor. Afterall, what could I tell her about dying? During our research it became apparent that her lifespan was cut down by a third. We kept this to ourselves, knowing that upsetting news brought on hallucinations. She began seeing ants everywhere. My BIL went through the motions of insecticides to appease her. Her clothes itched or felt off. She couldn’t dress herself, nor bathe, nor brush her teeth. Make-up irritated her. She couldn’t find the toilet seat. Her stare was far off, never making eye contact but in the general direction.
Eating – Food For thought
Almost immediately I told her that she must eat. I told her “Food for thought” which she repeated. Mom was cooking breakfast and lunch for her, and we had hopes for 5 more years. By the time caregivers were onboard, she wanted to go out to lunch and shop, etc. It was costly for the first 4 months or so, but I was happy to keep her occupied. During that period, I cleaned her home a few times due to her inability. She grew accustomed to various caregivers, just wanting company. She always wanted visitors, anything to keep her mind preoccupied. The TV was on constantly; it was her crutch. She needed her little dog beside her for comfort. But eating became worrisome for us. She mostly refused her caregivers; she would only eat for mom and dad.
Benson’s Syndrome
A year later, for it took that long to get a neurologist appointment, she was finally diagnosed with Benson’s Syndrome. This rare disease affects the back of the brain, mainly sight, so that you cannot determine precisely what you are seeing. Also, it is early onset affecting those in their 50’s. She was 60 then. Looking back the symptoms started decades prior, so all of her ailments if strung together would have pointed to this. Once I looked into this and did some calculating, I knew we did not have long with her.
Mom
Mom’s unexpected stroke left me and my BIL with a decision to shield her of mom’s condition. Mom could not speak, and she talked to my sister several times daily on the phone. He covered for her, until it became clear that mom was dire. When mom was pulled off the ventilator and struggled to breathe, my BIL situated my sister as close as he could to mom’s side. Try as I might, I’ve retained the image of my sister trying to reach in the direction of mom, saying; “Mommy don’t leave me!”
Doomed
Afraid after the burial, that she would rapidly worsen and preoccupied with Dad, I tried to sparingly speak to her. Unbeknownst, due to her lack of eating and drinking, she had another UTI which had to be treated. It worsened and she was hospitalized for dehydration. When I visited her, she was starving, I fed her and I stayed there until she fell asleep. She came home for a few days, but had to go back in, this time for another infection and more dehydration. She never came home.
I Didn’t Realize She Was Dying
Still dealing with mom, helping dad and sorting things out, for Christmas was coming, I thought she would stabilize and come home. Afterall she just ate 1200 calories for me. The next day when I visited her in a different hospital room and she was unresponsive, a nurse told me that she was actively dying. She had hours maybe a day to live. I had no idea.
Missed Signs
On a prior visit, on a different ward, she was twitching jerking. I was told that was from lack of food. Starvation. They fed her with an IV to stabilize her. She pulled out her catheter twice. She had to be video monitored. On one occasion, when we were alone, she was sleeping. She roused and I became worried when see looked at the foot of her bed and said sweetly: “What’s your name? Oh, you’re not allowed to say.” I said, “Oh, no.” She replied: “what?” I said, “I didn’t want you to decline so soon.” I also told her of all the accomplishments she achieved. Her smiling reply: “No I didn’t!” Now, on the hospice ward, during which I fed her ice cream and candy, she paused and said: “Comfort Me!” She was distressed. I did my best and told her not to be afraid. She went back to jabbering nonsense, then once again panicked asked: “Comfort me!” I tried, but it did not cross my mind she was dying. Once the nurse told me, I cried. The nurse said she had been seeing children. My oldest sister who was so good at handling all of our family functions, orchestrating countless functions was dying of starvation. She was vivacious, social and compassionate. And it came down to me to tell everyone that she had hours or days to live. This was on a Sunday. Our priest who had already spent time with her on the other floor, came immediately. Later he told me he gave her the apostolic pardon. Her friends from out-of-state came. Her former husband, friends and extended family, too.
Lights Flickering
In her room a recessed light to her left started flickering. It wasn’t like that prior. It did this for an entire day, then righted itself. As with mom, I prayed as many rosaries as I could, and in Latin. I knew by this point that I could not move the mountain of God and concentrated on sparing her soul from penance. I whispered into her ear that she was a success. I told her that if she found herself in darkness, to look for the light. Call out to Jesus or Mary or Joseph. I repeated this for several days when alone with her. Again, as with mom, I noticed that several men could not stomach to see her. So, her visits with the men in her life were brief, usually 15 minutes at best. She never again was coherent. She was on medication and any agitation, grimace or leg movement warranted increasing her pain meds.
Six Days Later
My sister died six days later on her grandsons second birthday, at 1:20 A.M. My BIL called me at 1:30 A.M. He was at home when the nurse called him. He wasn’t going down to the hospital. I called my other sister and being upset; she wasn’t coming either. I woke up Dad, and he tried to dissuade me, too. I called the nurses station and asked if I could come. She met me at an entrance and granted me access. There my sister was in her dimly lit room at 1:55 A.M. Death is not pretty. Her mouth was open to her chest. She was sallow from starvation, and she was gone. Never again will I speak to her, nor will she enjoy her retirement, nor dote on her only grandson. I knelt by her bedside and sobbed. The nurse came in and said: “Oh, honey.” I stayed a half hour and prayed and paced and took pictures of her, for me. Michele, all of my days I will miss what could have been. May the Lord God in Heaven please take pity on the soul of my sister.
I drove my dad and sister to the funeral home of Mom’s choosing to make the arrangements. The funeral home was vacant, except for one lone car. We were greeted by a friendly, casually dressed Funeral Director. To my surprise the funeral home seemed to need some upkeep. The concrete steps needed repaired, paint was chipping, cloth awnings fading. Once inside the foyer, the oriental rugs were worn, carpet ornate but faded. The home was massive. He ushered us into a large, but vacant side office. He was very forward about the costs, which was very appreciated. There was no upselling, no pushy sales and no false sympathy. He also let us know that the funeral home provided the death certificates. He would get us three copies, the norm he said. If we needed additional to let him know. Any questions I could text him. He led us into a very small showroom of 8 caskets, samples of other models, visitation books, prayer cards, etc., while he went into another office. During that time he asked if we were expecting others as two men approached the main entrance. Surprised, I said no, and he met two men at the door. The Director explained that an appointment is preferred. These men in easily in their late 60’s, introduced themselves and explained that they were in the area and had some questions. The director stated that he was currently with an appointment and to return in about two hours. Afterwards, I thought, who in their right mind, would just randomly stop at a funeral home – in this day and age- just to ask questions? After we made our choices, I asked him if Mom was here. He explained that though he lived there, this was a satellite location and Mom was at their main home about 8 miles away. Later, when I explained this to dad, he was a little upset, as this location was only 3 miles from home.
Mom Pre-Planned
Mom had pre-planned her funeral, in the sense that she worked out almost 2 years prior with our parish Priest her choices. Mom picked all hymns and scriptures. She left notes in her office of her preference in casket (cherry) and her clothing. You even wrote a poem to be read for her eulogy. So, these things helped immensely. Also, she wanted the visitation, Mass and burial all in one day. This is a relatively new trend in our parish, but Mom really liked the idea. Also, thankfully about a year earlier, Mom and I had purchased 8 plots in our parish cemetery. Our Priest gave us a great deal and squeezed out enough plots for our immediate family. We were going to work on opening and closing costs in the spring when I got my tax return. When it came time to write the obituary and eulogy, the Director let me know that newspaper obituaries in our area are very expensive. For a modest in length obituary, for only one day, was $600.00. Regardless, we chose to have it in two of our local papers, as I wanted as many people as possible to attend her funeral. In the obituary I asked that in lieu of flowers, that any mourners please light a votive candle for her soul. Our parish has an exact replica of the Lourdes Grotto in France behind the church, which leads to the cemetery. Inside the grotto “cave” are approximately 100 votive candles to be lit for various causes and prayers. Later, by our estimation at least 30 candles were lit for the repose of her soul. Mom being of Irish decent, liked the idea of a wake, and the Knights of Columbus Hall is adjacent to the church, so immediately after internment, all were welcomed for luncheon. The church has a funeral dinner committee and dad made arrangements with them to purchase the food/drinks for 120 people. It was a great bargain at $1000.00, including the hall, courtesy of our brother-in-law, who is a Knight. All said and done, with opening/closing, funeral home services, obituaries and food it was just under $13,000.00. Mom had $21,500.00 in life insurance, but it takes weeks to get the payout. So, dad withdrew from the savings to pay for it. We had a brief meeting at the Parish house with our Priest to go over the arrangements. He had visited Mom at the hospital three times to anoint her and called me during her final hours and after her death. He started with a prayer for her and went over Mom’s Mass notes. I was surprised to learn that Mom’s eulogy needed to be trimmed for brevity. This was due to his concern over taking from the point of the Mass. So, when I was finished with my draft, I sent it to Father for the okay. He did okay it, though long, most likely out of love for Mom. Later, I made four photo boards for the visitation and hall luncheon. I had to drop off Mom’s clothing, compression hose, undergarments at the main funeral home. This location was situated next to a vast cemetery. This funeral home was much older, and it too, needed some upkeeping. At the main funeral home, which was massive, I had to walk around three sides of the building to find the correct entrance. As all the other entrances were locked with a ‘see main entrance’ sign. Once I found the main entrance, more of a side doorway with three steps, I had to buzz an old-fashioned intercom. I expected to be buzzed in, but no. I stated my name and reason, and an elderly woman cracked the door open just wide enough to take the bag of clothes. I realized that extreme precautions are probably in place due to curiosity seekers, or worse.
The Funeral
The family needed to be at the church by 9:00 A.M. This was to give us some time with her before the public visitation. That was the first time we were to see her since the hospital. Once at the church, I was surprised to see that her open casket was at the back of the church, near the entrance. Mom looked good. The funeral home prepared her with minimal make-up. They curled her hair and left her hands untouched. None of the excessive heavy flesh tone, that I had seen at prior calling hours. I prayed for her every chance I had. Especially at her casket. Having read a lot about the poor souls in purgatory, I know that the dead need our prayers for their deliverance. Soon the visitors arrived, to sign in and greet the family. One an old friend who has the ‘gift’ came from over an hour away. She explained to me that later I needed to call her, she had some information for me. Others filed past mom, some visibly upset, most praying for her, even more looking over the photo boards. A lot were taking snapshots of her old photos. I had a friend discreetly take pictures of mom and film parts of the funeral Mass. About 80 people viewed mom and stop to chat with various family members. Most visitors found a pew to settle in, waiting for the Mass to begin. The entire time the funeral director would approach to let me know what cues to wait for during the upcoming Mass. He was always straightforward, no false sympathies nor mournful expressions. At this time, he let me know Mass was to begin shortly and that we needed to view mom for the final time. The casket would be locked for Mass and burial. I placed a blessed Miraculous Medal on moms folded hands, and let the funeral director know. He asked if she would be buried with it, and I said yes.
The First eulogy was read by one of mom’s friends who was also a reader in church. It was the funnier one, so Father asked that it be read before Mass.
The Mass
The Mass began at the back of the church, mom’s closed casket waiting at the end of the aisle. Father started with the prayers as all the mourners faced the back of the church. Father blessed the casket with holy water, and on cue, my brother and I placed the pall over the casket and the funeral director placed the large almost 3-foot-long crucifix that mom wanted to lay atop her casket. Father proceeded down the aisle, with visiting priests and deacons while the funeral directors wheeled mom’s casket in front of the altar. My brother and I followed the casket and then took our place in the pew.
Mass proceeded with all of the readings and after the gospel the second eulogy was read by another reader friend of moms. This one pertained to her love of the church. After Father spoke about mom’s faith and virtues, communion was served. Soon the Mass was ended and all of the eight pallbearers took their positions behind the casket. Once again, the funeral director coached them. They carried her casket down the two flights of stairs unto the awaiting hearse and helped place her onto the rollers, sliding her casket in. The cemetery was directly behind the church, so we never had to drive on the road. No magnetic funeral signs were attached to the vehicles. We followed the lead car and hearse up the steep hill to the main entrance of the cemetery.
The Burial
Due to the recent rain, the burial service was not held over our actual plots. Instead, the green funeral canopy was located just off the gravel path under a cluster of trees, surrounded by graves. Dad was a little confused and the cemetery foreman let dad know that the burial was only staged here. She would be buried in her plot. In fact you could see the yellow backhoe from where we were. After all arrived and surrounded the canopy, all of the family sat and stood around her casket. The directors placed the flower spray with the ribbons stating, ” Wife Mother Grandmother” atop her casket. Father began the very brief prayer service reading from the Christian Burial Rites. Each of us took a rose from the spread and the funeral director asked all the please go over to the adjacent Knights Of Columbus Hall for the luncheon. The burial service was over.
The Luncheon Wake
We walked the short distance to the rental hall, the church funeral committee waiting for the mourners. I had removed mom’s photo boards from the church, plus added another for guests. Several of us loaded flowers, planters gifted from mom’s admirers and placed them in the hall. We all tried to maintain the front that we were strong and in good spirits. Several friends and extended family members came to the luncheon who missed the Mass.
After dining and much small talk, a sister spoke a few words about mom. The real highlight being my great nieces and nephew, only aged between 1 and 4 years old, running, crawling and laughing. How mom would have loved that! My oldest sister, who has Benson’s Syndrome, tried her best to socialize and walk by herself from table to table. This was a milestone for her. She even embraced her former husband. Of course, I knew that I could not nor would not even mention mom to my sister again. Any upset, hastens and deepens her dementia. Her health, especially eating, was progressively worsening. So no rocking the boat on my end.
As the attendees started to disperse, I made sure to insist everyone take home the flowers and planters, along with any take home food containers. After all was claimed, I loaded Dad into the Jeep for the short distance home. Dad was exhausted. But he repeated several times how all “those people told me how much mom meant to them.” Then he added and said twice “I’ve never felt so much love like what was in that room.”
Footnote: I started this blog post one year ago. It has taken me a year to even think about finishing it. It’s not for lack of content, as you will see in my next posts, but rather motivation. The moment, second mom died, something left me. I’ve determined that the “something” was my belief that I could no longer move the mountain of God. I would and could certainly pray, especially for others, but my prayers had little impact. After weathering a storm of family turmoil, I feel ready to start again.
I’m saddened to say that we buried Mom less than a month ago. Even though she had several ailments, we weren’t suspecting a possible stroke. All of us knew it would be an uphill battle, but we had hoped with therapy, she could swallow and hopefully, speak by Thanksgiving. Complication after complication mounted. Her weakened body, struggled to stay alive for us. She tried to breathe without the ventilator for exactly 24 hours.
Hard To Watch…
All of our prayers, joined together with parishioners, neighbors and friends could not bring about a miracle. So, our prayers changed for a miracle of another kind, that she dies soon as to relieve her suffering. Mom had a living will, so no extreme measures were to be taken. Due to the stroke, early on she tried to speak and sometimes you could decipher a word. But, as the days went on, she became weaker. Her not being able to tell each one of us something private, personal, left us without closure. Seeing your mother cry out of frustration and fear, took resolve not to react.
Dying Is Not Peaceful – She Suffered
Mom had shallow, labored breathing exactly two hours after being removed from the ventilator. The moment she started coughing and gasping for air the team had warned us, she would be switching from medical care to comfort care. Once that moment came, I feverishly prayed aloud for her soul. Afterall, what was left? We were losing Mom. They gave her more oxygen, until the pain medicine, which was given every 15 minutes started to relax her. Most of us stayed with her for another 8 hours, not expecting her to survive long, according to the medical team.
Clinging To Life
At 3:00 A.M. I called the hospital. There was still no change in Mom. Of course, it was hard to sleep, but I needed to stay home with Dad. Three hours later, more family was at the hospital, by her side. Still, her rhythmic, gasping breathing happened. Mom eyes closed, mouth open, lie motionless as the medication eased her struggle. When I arrived at 8:30 A.M., to relieve some family and pray more for her soul, I noticed here and there her breathing would take a split second longer.
Hospice Paperwork
Since Mom was in ICU, and not expected to live much longer, the hospital needed to move her to their Hospice wing. Dad signed the paperwork in the ICU waiting room. Later, the Hospice Doctor came by to see Mom and speak a little about what would happen. He examined her hands and feet. Took her pulse. He told me by his guess a few hours. I had heard that the dying waits for their family to leave until they pass. I asked him about this, and he explained that in his experience it’s either that OR they are waiting on a loved one to come. Yes, one wasn’t present, but had spoken on the phone. He paused and said, “Are you religious?” I said we are crazy Catholics and have been praying for her soul. He said; “Great. She should be fine.” I didn’t ask him to elaborate. I needed to start praying at her bedside.
Waxy Color
About this time, alone with Mom I noticed how yellow she was. The term “waxy” I had heard many times describing the dead and dying. But now I understood that to mean like the look of wax beans. The pale yellow, semi-translucent skin. Mom had purple and red small bruise-like spots over her arms and on her fingertips. Her feet were cold and then sometimes hot. Her left arm and leg had swollen, due to the stroke and lack of movement.
Her Death
After praying for her soul, really begging that her suffering be reparation for her purgatory, I spoke to her. I have known for some time that the dying can hear you. So, I had told her anything noteworthy about what was happening to her as well as any family concerns. This time, regardless of any past issues, troubles, I let Mom know something she has probably never heard. It dawned on me that neither her parents (which were never involved with her) nor her sisters or family had ever told her what she needed to hear. So, I told her. I told my mother that she was a success. That she was successful, more so than anyone in her immediate family. I told her that it was okay to go. And to look for the light.
I Took A Break
I let one of my family members know that I was going to step out, but that I should be back in about one hour. I no sooner drove about 2 miles from the hospital when I received the call. Mom stopped breathing; a nurse called for a doctor. When I returned to the hospital, Mom had been pronounced about 10 minutes prior. The nurse and family confirmed that as soon as they had mentioned aloud in front of Mom that I had left, her breathing became few and far between.
We Stayed With Her Body
Dad and I stayed with Mom for 2 and a half hours after her death. Mostly silent. I touched her hands and her face, her feet and her arms. I stroked her hair – all things we were never permitted to do while she lived. When I started to cry, I realized that I cried for myself out of pity and fear. I still repeat that over and over. I had taken a moment to call the funeral home of choice, there with Mom. I didn’t realize that she would go to the hospital morgue. Once received there, later most likely late into the night the funeral workers would transport her to the funeral home. Thus began the process of preparing for the funeral…
I’ve read and experienced, that the dead communicate through dreams.
During prayer I asked that if any poor souls, albeit if I had worked with them and not even known them, needed my intercession to let me be made aware. As par for the course, two days later I had the following dream.
The Funeral Home.
I found myself in the main showing room of a vast, formal funeral home. I knew it was a funeral home and, like those you are familiar with, it was well lit with many lamps, coffee tables, loveseat, chairs and a desk. All the furnishings facing towards the lights. The was a massive funeral home. The ceiling soared almost cathedral-like. And like many funeral homes, there were partitions. This well-lit section was huge possibly enormous 75 feet wide by 50 in depth before the open partitions. These open, looming sliding solid wood paneled doors, divided the showroom from the foyer. As you approached the partition doors, the room became dimmer and dimmer. Centered squarely in the foyer was an ascending staircase. Upon the landing the railing went to the left and right, with the second floor disappearing in the darkness. I knew not to cross over the threshold of the partition doors, into the darkened foyer.
Three cats to comfort me …
I soon realized that three of “my” cats were with me in the showroom. They were comfortable, sitting on tables and the desk. I knew they were mine and clearly recognized one of them that I currently have. I felt the foreboding, I knew I didn’t want to be there, but I was aware that I must stay. Again, like typical funeral homes, I made my way instinctively to the kitchen. It was off to the right of the showroom, so no need to enter the foyer.
The Kitchen
Once I entered the small kitchen, I went to the sink and peered out the window. It was dusk outside. The cat I recognized, jumped on the countertop. I opened a cabinet door to find her something to eat. It was then that while still looking out the window, I said to myself: “If I could only make it to morning I’ll be fine. I must stay until then.”
Return To The Showroom…
Once back into the showroom, I thought: “I need to stay here by the desk, sofas, in the light until morning.” I was uneasy about the open partition doors. This opening, humongous, approximately 30 feet wide, made me insecure. I felt the need to have it closed. But yet, it remained open. I was not to attempt to close them. I innately knew I could have crossed over into the darkened area, I was permitted, but with reserve. I didn’t want to go but would have if the need arose. I scanned the showroom to make sure all the cats were accounted for, and well clear of the dimly lit area. I told the cats to stay on this side of the room. I looked at the sofa by the desk, again, all furniture faced away from the looming doors. I thought: “Good, I won’t be looking that direction. I can wait out the night.”
The Young Woman
Just then I looked up at the darkened opening of the doors. I caught glimpse of her walking mid-way through the foyer. Striding easily, from right to left, a young thirty something, woman. She had long blonde hair, pulled back and wearing a distinctive red vest. The vests worn by the big box home improvement retail chain. (Remember I had asked if any former co-workers known or unknown in need). I did not know recognize her, but of course remembered the workplace. I immediately yelled: “Hey!” She turned her head to face me but continued her pace until she disappeared from the frame of the doors, into the hidden darkness of the foyer.
I Pursued Her…
Without hesitation, I quickly went after her into the darkness around the left partition door. She was there but lying down in the dark. The residual light from the showroom enabled me to see her. I bent over her and said: “Do you know you’re dead? You can’t stay here in this darkness? You need to be with God.” I was insistent. She sat up and said: “No, I like it here. I’m staying. You should come here, too.” I was incredulous; “Why would you like it here? No, no, this isn’t good.”
Justification, Persuasion…
The deceased woman stood and tried to influence me by saying: “I can do what I want here, I’m staying.” She tried to coax, justifying her reasoning. She waved me on as she went deeper into the dark. I had the impression there were a sparse few along with her. Amazed I shook it off and stepped back into the showroom.
The Dream Ended…
Immediately the dream ended. Upon awakening, I knew that not all souls want to be prayed for. A token few like where they are at. They do not want to be helped along. They want to roam in limbo. It was a revelation to me. I have no idea who she was but, apparently, we worked for the same company at one time. Also, I feel for me the “three” cats meant safety, a sort of security, like home. As you can read, this was an Indepth dream, with a clear message for me. And I didn’t fail to receive it!
Another fantastic tale from an unlikely source, your commercial/residential local plumber. A mutual friend of mine told me about her run-in with her companies’ plumber. After fixing their restroom sink, the plumber met her for payment. He went onto tell her about his years as a commercial plumber. So let’s begin…
He started out as an apprentice for a local plumbing company. Since he was low on the totem, he was given all of the grunt work and grimy jobs. He was usually teamed with a journeyman plumber. His first solo assignment was at the local metro hospital. There was a backup clog suspected to be originating from the basement. Maintenance lead him down into the dimly lit basement, where he drilled open access panels. From there down in “the pit” he started to smell it. After cutting the water supply, he wrenched open all threaded sections until he located the source.
THE SMELL…
He knew he found the source, because the smell preceded it. After cutting the section of pipe, that when he first seen “it.”
THE “BLUBBER”
There inside the pipe, lining the walls, blocking the center was the “blubber.” The “blubber,” a yellowish white, substance that resembled a jiggly like mayonnaise or Go-Jo hand cleaner. The stench was over-powering. After attempting to scoop it out, he made the decision to cut in a new section of pipe.
Coming Up For Air…
He needed to breathe, so enroute he encountered the maintenance worker who let him know that the “blubber” he found was actually human fat! The network of pipe connects the surgery rooms to the hospital morgue. And over the years the buildup of fat collects in the pipes causing the back-up. It was explained that during the prep in the hospital morgue, that all fluids and fat are drained from the bodies – right down the drain.
Once completed, he crawled out of “the pit” and called into his employer. He had to go home. He went immediately home to shower and throw out his clothes. But – now he was considered the “blubber” specialist.
FUNERAL HOME “Blubber”
From there, he became the ‘go-to’ plumber for several area funeral homes. It was explained to him that, during the embalming process, all fluids, blood, infections, fat are sucked and washed away before the preservation can begin. Now, he arrives fully aware of the stench and wears disposable clothing. He also factors in a stop home to shower and change. He digs up the drains, cleans up pipes or replaces existing. Still the “blubber” and the are smell over-powering.
His Own Company – after gaining a reputation, he started his own plumbing company. He scored several more funeral homes – and another hospital.
Another Hospital
The latest account, another hospital had a serious clog, so once again he suited up and went in. A similar scenario of basement level pipe layout. Again, there was an access pit. He could smell it…
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T LET IT CONNECT TO THE MORGUE…”
As he was wrenching on the pipe the odor made him gag. “Please, please, please don’t let it connect to the morgue!” He was muttering. Yes, it did connect to the morgue. Coming up for air, he encountered a doctor. “How can you take that smell?” The doctor looked at him.
“DON’T YOU HAVE ANY PASTE?”
The doctor just looked at him. “Don’t you have any paste?” Here, those doctors and workers use a waxy paste on their upper lip/under their nose to cancel out the odor. The doctor was amazed that the plumber was able to withstand the odor. He said –
“YOU’LL SMELL THAT FOR A MONTH”
The plumber was given the paste and now puts it on every service call to a hospital or funeral home!
HAUNTED ESTATE SALE CLOTHING
When asked about any clinging ghosts, he had several stories to tell. These were from a different sort. His parents are both auctioneers. And the plumber collects vintage men’s clothing. If he finds something that fits, he absolutely adds it to his collection. Once home, things start to happen.
Kitchen cabinets are heard clanking and banging. Out of the corner of his eye, dark, darting shadows. Rapping on walls and windows.
Several Girlfriends Have Left Him
He’s went through several girlfriends who just can’t take the commotion. He even relocated, purchased a new to him home, and the ghosts came with him! She left him.
HE MOVED
He did move, met someone new and things went smoothly. Then he was taking a shower. As he was shaving, he seen it in the mirror. The hand towel on the rack started to shake. It was shaking violently. There was no tremor. He knew it followed him – again. He’s hoping that his new girlfriend doesn’t leave him.
He told my friend several times – “I think I attract them.”
My question is this – does the “blubber” flush into our water supply?
I recently ran into Donna, an acquaintance. Having just experienced the total eclipse in our area, I asked her if she had a chance to view it. She’s a store manager and knowing the long hours she works, I wasn’t sure if she would have taken the time. “Oh, yes! It was wonderful. It was really something. That white light (during the full eclipse) reminded me of when I died.”
This surprised me, “What? You had a near-death experience?” I had to know the details, and Donna told me her story. She started and told me several times “I really don’t like to talk about it.”
Donna died during premature Labor
Several decades earlier she was pregnant with identical twin boys. She started to go into labor at only 7 months. Her doctors felt that was too early, as she was carrying twins, and they weren’t fully developed. At the hospital, a monitoring strap was placed around her abdomen. All information would be read from the strap and a long ticker tape would print out. The nurse would mark the tape at intervals. At one point, the doctors decided to prescribe medication to stop the labor. A head nurse explained to Donna that she would receive an injection to slow the labor. Another nurse came in a few moments afterwards and gave her a shot.
Donna suddenly was above her body. “I was above my body, looking down at the nurse. She ran out of the room. And then like that – (snaps her fingers) I was in total darkness. Everything was black. I started to worry a little because it was so black. It didn’t feel right. And then-
Two Bright Lights Sped Past Her
Two incredibly bright lights sped past me – like SWOOSH SWOOSH! I mean they zoomed by. I turned to follow them and then I saw it. The whitest light, far in the distance. It was white like the eclipse corona. I knew that there were others waiting for me in that light. It was peaceful.
Suddenly Back In Her Body
Just then I awoke on the hospital bed. I said: “You killed me! You killed me!” The head nurse was there trying to calm me. There was a time lapse, it felt like I had died and was gone for some time, when only a minute or so had passed. The head nurse explained that the other nurse had mistakenly given her the dose all at once instead of in intervals. So, she had to give Donna another injection. Donna fought this, but she reluctantly received it.
Her Twins Died
It was explained later that the first injection caused her blood pressure to drop, which caused a stroke-like effect to her twins. They had died. After the immense grief her and her husband endured, Donna finally asked for her hospital records months later. None were found. She couldn’t even get in touch with the head nurse who attended to her.
“I realized afterwards that those two white lights that sped past me – were my sons souls.” Donna paused, reflected and said, “I absolutely know that there is a God, and my sons are with him.”
The What ifs
“Every so-often I think of the what-ifs. Of raising them, how they would have turned out. Wouldn’t it have been something to see? Those two IDENTICAL twin boys growing up…”
I didn’t press her for more as her voice trailed off with the wonder. Thankfully, something work related came up to distract her attention.
An old friend reminded me of the fact that “the gift” runs in her family. In fact her Aunt, her two male cousins all have a “sixth sense.” Hers, deals with the discernment of spirits and communication with the dead, usually in her dreams. She recounted one of her earliest experiences. “When I was eight years old, I stayed overnight with my Aunt Carol. My Aunt also has the gift. Her house was directly across from an older cemetery, but still in use. She has two sons (both with some gifts, too) but none of us were scared of it. We were raised to respect the dead, so no thrill seeking. I stayed in her guest bedroom. Us kids went to bed around 9:00 P.M. Wee into the morning, I distinctly remember being woke up. Now, this room had a window that faced the cemetery. I was drawn to the window. After my eyes adjusted – I seen them! There were hundreds of spirits. They were dancing! These ghosts were of mixed eras – Civil War, Flappers, Dresses with corsets, I distinctly seen pinstriped suits, too.
I ran into my Aunts room, waking her up. I told her ghosts were dancing in the cemetery, come quick! She did follow me and peered out the window. I said, “let’s go over there!” But she wisely said, “I see them too, but we can’t disturb the spirits.” I really wanted to go over to them, but instead we watched them dance around for at least half an hour. Finally, my Aunt said we needed to get back to bed as it was almost 4:00 A.M. by this point.” I asked her to describe how they appeared to her. “Have you ever seen ‘Haunted Mansion’? They were like that, translucent, and white, but a tint of color.” So my take is maybe, just maybe, the film “Carnival Of Souls,” had it right!
Late Night At Old Cemetery
So here’s a few tales about visiting the old local cemetery at night. An acquaintance told me about her and her man visiting a local cemetery late at night. This cemetery sits high on hills and happens to have a shrine cut into the front of the hill. This is where pilgrims may light a votive candle, which at the time, was open around the clock.
So, neither one was Catholic, but decided to go because of all of the lore that surrounds this cemetery. First, there’s the “Stairway to Heaven” steps that rise up a large hill, leading to a life-size Crucifix. Again, this is a 200-year-old cemetery, so supposedly at night, thrill seekers have seen an eerie glow around the stairway. Second, there’s another nearby hill, where again after a series of steps, you reach a life-size Crucifixion scene mounted high on a granite base. Many have seen white mist surrounding this. So the couple are making their way to the candle shrine, when he suddenly stops. On the hill atop of the shrine were dozens of shadow figures, backlight by a white glow. She seen them, too. They watched for a few seconds as the shadows gathered closer to hill slope to watch them. The couple whispered to each other – “Let’s go.” And they back peddled out of there. When the had safely drove away, they discussed what had happened. They both concluded that the shadows did not want them there, because they were just thrill-seekers!
I have more tales about this cemetery which I plan on posting soon. Do I believe it’s haunted? No. I went to school there, classmates are buried there, I visit it regularly. Our family plots are there! If anything, this cemetery is blessed and serene. But I do know it’s protected, which I feel is what the couple witnessed.
I should know…I’m a Generation X who had to grin and bear it…
This is my story. As a Generation Xer, born to the Silent Generation parents – who did nothing to nurture me, comfort me nor show love, compassion or caring -I have a tale to tell. It turns out unbeknownst to me I was diagnosed at 2 years old with a PDD, high- functioning on the Autism spectrum. From there, the doctor wanted to do further testing, therapy – but No!!! My parents weren’t going to pay for that! (Oh, heck no they wanted all money for themselves. But that’s another story.) So no, special treatment for me. No help from teachers or specialists to help me progress. To help me understand, to help my fears to help me fit in. No. None. Nothing. In fact, my real diagnosis – though brief was concealed from me until I was 30 years old. You read that right. And I was told this by my Mother in one of her fits of anger and rage. I was left uncertain if what she said was true. She’s a classic refrigerator Mom. She never told any of us she loved us. Nor were we kissed, cuddled nor coddled. Just told to get away from her – she’s “busy.” My Father could have cared less about any of us. He never interacted with any of us, because he thought he was a “rock star.” Yes, for real.
What I remember Most Of My Childhood…
Rocking back and forth, constantly. For hours and hours on end. When I became drowsy, I’d bang my head into my pillow for hours until I fell asleep. When I was finally noticed/caught, my older Baby Boomer brother would mock me and punch me to stop. My older Boomer sister would shake me. But my Father would yell and say ‘Knock it off!’. Mom would yell to stop or make me get into the rocking chair. It was an open secret, but one that was never discussed, nor allowed to be shown to others. My parents drilled into me to never, ever, EVER let anyone else witness how I acted. Or else. We had to project the perfect family unit. When they were gone – which was every weekend (Dad thought he was a rock star, remember) I would stand and rock side to side and hum for hours. Make no mistake, I loved this, rocking and banging my head. This was THE only relaxation I got. And full confession. I banged my head until I was 26 years old. I rocked until I was 39 years old. I had to force myself off out it. (That will be discussed later.)
NOT Communicating Well.. I was always and still am to some extent, very afraid to speak to adults. I know that some of it is due to my rearing, but mostly because of the awkwardness. Because of that, and the realization that my parents didn’t care what I was going through, I took a lot of verbal abuse from other kids – and my other siblings.
Forced To Go To School..
No special classes for me. Oh, no, I had to be integrated with other kids. All was well for the first 5 years of grade school until 6TH grade. Suddenly, the other girls and boys were focused on topics I didn’t quite understand. The girls focused on their appearance. Trying to speak and act prissy toh get the boys attention. The boys also wanted to know which girls liked them. But I could have cared less about any of that. I was just stuck. Stuck, like I always have been. Caught up in one way, space, time or topic. And there I would stay. At school, to calm down either on the bus, or at the desk I had to constantly swing my feet. Of course, I endure TONS of ridicule and correction because of that.
Stuck. Hollow.Alone.
Conversations that my peers wanted to hold – meant nothing to me, nor did they hold any interest. At home, I sought out my younger neighbors to continue playing like I always had. I could ride bikes, play in the woods or play with their toys. (I never had any of my own). Because I would get frustrated and angry, sometimes I would be abusive to the younger kids. This got me into trouble twice with those parents. Those kids had parents that cared. My didn’t, so I was soon left friendless. I started playing with my older sisters hand me down doll, in secret. I would “act out” that I was the parent and no matter how the doll begged for me to love him and spend time with him, I’d beat his butt and tell the doll to get away. I did this for YEARS until I was thirteen easy. I’d hide secretly, and make that doll grovel, beg for my parental love, but no – he’d never, ever get it. But he got plenty of spankings and verbal abuse. At school, I’d find myself just tagging far behind the other kids on the playground. Mostly because they would mock me, because back then you would be called a tub of lard, or a beached whale if you were 5 pounds overweight. You read that right, too! Five Pounds!!! You were a fat – a**. Nowadays, I’m considered thin!!! I mean this. You haven’t a clue how cruel everyone was about this. And I stress only 5 pounds overweight.
Taught Morals By Sesame Street And Catholic School – Thank GOD!!!
I would never have been able to keep my anger and temper in check, if it weren’t for the morals taught by the Sisters and Priests, Bert, Ernie, Grover, Cookie Monster or Bob. PERIOD. And I thank them for it. Also Little House On The Prairie and Family. Thank you Kristy McNichol. I dreamed of a better world through those shows. I memorized all kinds of trivia about any teen idol, I could draw just about anything on scraps of paper or bags. I was never supplied anything except from school. Only to hear my Dad tell my older brother when he asked why we weren’t like The Waltons? “That’s not real. No family talks like that.” Oh, I beg to differ. The other kids at school had parents who came for events, to kids Masses, who participated in field trips. My only other refuge was my discovery of the band Kiss. Kiss kept me company through those tough years – and as any trur fan knows, only brought on more ridicule.
Any time alone at night in my room. I would rock sitting Indian style for hours on end. In the summer, it would be in front of the box fan. I would day dream my life away. I was always myself, but in a different setting. Usually, a mother figure who would come look for me out of concern, while I was off saving the world from bullies. (Whatever scenario I had just seen on TV that made an impression would be that week’s continuous daydream). This went on until I was 30 years old.
For many years, (even now I wonder) I felt hollow – like if I were to be cut open only a black empty void would exist inside. Like an automaton sometimes. Just going through the program, the actions, the motions of what is expected of me. Poems, love songs mean nothing to me. And they never will. When I’m forced to hug anyone, I feel – nothing. I’m not fond of being touched. I really don’t like it. I’m sure I could have learned to accept these early on, but I was left alone on my own to figure out this life. I excelled in art (I’m a natural artist) I loved history (I’m a non-fiction reader) and music. These all fascinated me, and again gave me comfort.
Huge Fear Of High School Transition
My Catholic school ended at 8TH grade, forcing my into public school. My parents never planned for any of us to attend Catholic High School, let alone any College or future hopes. So I was thrust into public school only 5 days before class began. My Mom didn’t want to be bothered enrolling me in a timely manner, so I came to school not knowing where ANY classrooms were. All of the so-called childhood friends shunned me because I wasn’t wearing any fashion – only Mom’s and my older sisters hand me downs. Mom needed the money for her flowers. She wanted to impress the neighbors with her yard and home to give the appearance that we had money. My parents could care less about our present or our futures. I walked alone in High School for at least 3 weeks every day at lunch break. Until I heard girls snickering at me saying “All she does is walk. She doesn’t have any friends.” After that I hid in the library during lunch until one boy said: “Why is she always in here?” The teacher hushed him. And I then started rotating hiding by going into various restrooms – in and out until classes resumed. Where were my former Catholic classmates? Oh, I tried the first day to sit with them at lunch. They glared at each other and rolled their eyes, suppressing a chuckle. (FYI- one is now a spinster, the other- still homely, wears her make-up with a trowel and is married to a MUTT!!!) Oh, and my neighborhood child friend? She ignored me COMPLETELY for four years until she needed to sell for her class fundraiser. But that’s another sad story…
Meanwhile, because I was accustomed to bullying, shunning and being unwanted I didn’t totally understand when I was told to get away. I thought those mean kids said it the way my family did. It meant get out of here but still be on the radar. Oh, no, they meant don’t come over again. So finally, relief came I thought, when about two months into school I was called over by a former classmate. She only attended four years of Catholic School but remembered me. She wanted me to hang with her and two of her friends. I did and was very relieved. But one of her friends was a HUGE morbidly obese girl would stand 5′ 9 inches tall and had to have weighed 450 pounds. She was disgusting. Super huge and gross. She was a HUGE bully. I had learned long ago to buy friends. I had stumbled across on a whim, bringing a huge bag of lifesaver suckers to school. Those swirled pops. I became very popular when I had something to share. So, I had brought a huge Cadbury Carmello bar to school to share. Big girl then demanded that I bring her one every week or I couldn’t hang around with them. I’m not kidding. That HUGE girl gave me this ultimatum. I didn’t bring it. She and the friends gathered around me and said: “I told you if you didn’t bring it, you’re not hanging around us.” Again, by the skin of my teeth an acquaintance overheard and said, “Come with me.” I did. She didn’t have any lunch money. So, every day, I gave her mine. So, for the next year, I hung around a huge burnout at school. We never did anything after school, nor did I ever call her nor me. We never really spoke. I just gave her my lunch money, so I wasn’t alone. You have no idea of the loneliness I felt. Of the fear. Of the anxiety of having to go to school. I hope no one ever goes through that. I had no prospects or hopes for a future. Only my daydreams. Because I’m from a rural area, I was able to attend a trade high school for my final two years. Actually, my mom told me I had to go, because I was not going to college. My older sister told me which class to take. She also insisted that my mom allow her to buy my school clothes. My sister sought out to reinvent me. She knew my issues; she knew our parents never gave me proper care. Both my older brother and sister left home as soon as they had established themselves, so home life became even scarier.
Vocational School
Because my classes were centered around my chosen trade – graphic arts, I excelled. My grades were great and our classes were only about 24 students. Much more like what I was used to at my Catholic School. There were cliques of course, but because of my makeover, I won an early friend. She was talkative, so I just went along for the ride. She did come over to my home several times for a day visit. But, sadly she moved after our Junior year. So come Senior time, I was alone again. And the same thing, shunned by so-called friends until finally the work program. Now, the last 6 months of the years we all worked part-time. Of course, I was one of the last to go to work. I had no car. I was deathly afraid to drive because of my wicked mother screaming at me while trying to drive just down the road. Once again, my older sister procured me a job – but with one other student. So, low and behold another mean girl SUDDENLY became my friend, offered to drive just so she could get a job.
Every day, she drove me into work acting all nice. I by then, became enlightened. But still bewildered by the job. I didn’t quite get it; I still did not fully believe that I was really expected to go to work. And go to work doing something that I didn’t enjoy or want. I really thought that someone a teacher – my mother – my father, would put me into a program to hone my artistic abilities. Or to pursue my archaeological interests. I wasn’t prepared for “this is it.” Everything I’ve endured has been against my grain. How could all of my hopes, fantasies be just left empty. My parents never even asked, nor showed an interest in anything about me. No, I was left to rot alone in my room. And that’s what I did. I was so petrified. Constantly under scrutiny. From my family throughout my childhood, in school and now FORCED to withstand it in the workplace. I was given no choice.
Graduation – Totally Lost
My older sister once more got me into her latest workplace. Without an interview, I was to show up at 6:00 A.M. My sister picked me up at 4:30 A.M. and I had to go to work. Terrified. Nervous, shaking. Me who could never even speak to an adult, had to go to work for 10 – 12 hours each day plus half day Saturday. And this printing shop was 1 and 1 half hours away from home. I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. It was technical and I was under intense scrutiny. I was 19 years old. Even writing this, I’d would never be able to fully express my utter disappointment in my life.
Workforce Misery
Put under a magnifying glass. Every imperfection scrutinized, corrected. With fiendish delight I was nitpicked by almost every co-worker. Why? Because of my condition I was a perfectionist. I RARELY made a minor mistake. So, envy ensued. Conspiracy – literally. Especially by those co-workers I was fond of. I had no idea until it was much too late. Because of my preciseness, I was made Department Assistant. Again, this brought on mutterings. After many years I gained confidence and began finding other positions, closer to home with better pay. These same scenarios occurred in every company. Over and over. And still do to this day. When I’m focused, the job or task must be completed correctly. And most subpar employees resent me. I can’t even begin to go into all of my so-called friends who conspired against me for their benefit. It took me an extremely long time – decades to try and figure out why.
ENVY – JEALOUSY- Because of my attempts at success! Yes, strange as it may seem, someone trusted confided in me that in years past, co-workers were envious of me because; I became friendly with male co-workers. The fact that I could be friends ONLY, was off-putting to others. Also my creative talents inspired jealousy – so much so that ONLY management gave me compliments. In addition, unbeknownst to me, I was considered attractive, nay, sexy by my male counterparts – which of course escaped me altogether. Because of the sum total of these occurrences I have never, ever had a best friend. And boy did I want one. I prayed for one. But each time, they would take advantage of me or back stab. So, I just started having male friends. If I wanted to go or do something, I recruited a male co-worker. I never had any problems, until they would get a girlfriend. But, there was no shortage of single male co-workers, so on to the next!
The Opposite Sex
I’ve always felt unworthy, not correct or right inside, and of course outside. I wasn’t good enough. That with the fact that my PDD Autism (though I was unaware of this) makes me process things much differently. Again, I stress love poems, sappy love songs -almost every song is a love song – to me were alien. I knew that certain men were very attractive, even sexy, but I knew that I would never be able to do anything with them. But I listened to most of their woes. I understood them. I feel it’s because I’m more analytical than emotional (besides anger). A lot of rumors swirled around me that I was gay, because I was always alone or just with “male friends.” Human love means nothing to me. I have pets whom I love and care for. Many who are my home, my little friends. I ‘love’ my family because God wants me to. I’m not sure to this day if I ‘love’ my friends, or if I’m just accustomed to them. It’s not something I think about, ever.
This Pattern Went On For Years…
I get stuck a lot. I repeat what feels comfortable to me over and over. I repeat phrases over, too, until people tell me to “stop saying that, you say it constantly.” Can you imagine a co-worker saying that to you in this day and age? I got it so-many times. So I did what I learned to do. Stop going near that person. That person was not a friend. I knew by the time I was thirty that I needed to find a way out of this life. I couldn’t foresee being working class and not pursuing my true talents. Big mistake. If I even expressed any rebuttals to my mom it was a big issue. In the course trying to ask for any guidance she blurted out that I have autism and I need counselling. If I didn’t have proof of an appointment the next day – she would have me checked into a hospital. Scared beyond fear, I called my work insurance and went for 6 weeks. I was so ashamed and embarrassed. I had never spoken to anyone about myself before. The psychologist asked me a series of leading questions. In one of them I told her why I had to come there. She asked me “Oh, are you autistic?” I had no real idea. All I knew is that it was a shameful, dirty word. You were really a lost cause if you had that. Like everything in my life I suppressed it. Until…
Mom Mentions Autism Again…this time in front of my sister years later. I was speechless. Mom had watched an Oprah episode and decided it was time to be open about me. I didn’t know how to react, so I just listened. Late at night I searched for info on the internet careful not to be seen. I was so very frightened by what I discovered. All of the characteristics, most I have. Also some testimonies on dedicated sites. At the time, there was NO way I would have ever dared to write anything, nor talked to anyone. Let alone divulge my deepest secrets. But here were these people similar to me sharing their experiences. I was so ashamed, embarrassed, to even presume that someone would care enough to know about me. Why would these others feel that anyone would care about their circumstances? It mystified me. Who did they think they are? Why did they feel worthy? Though it took years, I’ve learned the answer why.
Tried Living Alone
I attempted to live alone three times, but each ended with my fear of being isolated, not by myself but fear of being overcome by illness/disease. I essentially panicked due to thoughts of being alone in old age with no one to claim me. Then I would be institutionalized and left to die alone and locked up. I ended up having to ask to come back home. Though I was not wanted and was used to the hesitation – the power over me by my controlling self-centered, self-absorbed parents, I meekly, quietly came home. Certainly, per usual I stayed in my room and rocked every spare moment. I would bang my head into my pillow when I knew they weren’t at home. Unexpectedly, was caught by my mother and told I had better stop-or else. I tried to be discreet, so instead at night I began wagging my foot over the side of the bed until I drifted asleep. Eventually I was able to stop altogether. Rocking was much harder to stop. I later discovered that all of my actions were me decompressing. I agree and I can’t quite express the places that doing these things would take me. Yes, I was physically present, but yet my whole ‘person’ was elsewhere in whatever faraway place I thought of. This was my life.
My Peers Moved On…
All of those my age were marrying, buying homes, some starting families. Since I had even less now in common, any “friends” were even fewer and far between. Once more – I turned to younger acquaintances for any companionship. Because of my mentality/condition I looked much younger than I was, so this was never a problem. As more of the younger set moved on, I realized again that I was different. Becoming fearful once more, I decided maybe to pray and hope that God would help. I was always respectful but terrified of God’s wrath. I felt I was unworthy to ask personal favors. So, instead I asked Mother Mary if it were possible, if she felt I could do it, if I were worthy, did she know of any man who would understand me? Anyone who would want me? Anyone who would take care of me and vice versa? And I was answered very quickly. I feel that this really was a miracle granted to me. A mercy shown. We’ve been together 14 years. He’s tried to understand me. He’s worked with me. He’s patient. He lets me know if I’m becoming stuck. He explains when I just do not understand situations or conversations held in social circles, that I interpret another way. He’s also very physically beautiful. He’s a gentle soul. I’m very grateful, because I will not be alone. He understands that saying ‘I love you’ doesn’t hold meaning for me. I keep our relationship in perspective by thinking how it would be if he were to die. To me, a sadness must then be a ‘love.’
Socialization
I’ve tried to hone my social skills over the years, and yes, they are lacking. I’ve never enjoyed small talk; I like to say what’s needed and move on. I’m big on brevity, I also abhor personal questions, yet I understand that this is an integral part of society. I’m not adept, so I was able to find a profession that affords me the great freedom of working alone. I still interact with clients, but it is minimal and therefore doable. I go to extremes to earn a decent living but for me, I mostly avoid those awful judgmental, situations of the past.
Resentful Of Autism Awareness
Yes, I am. Why? Because I never received any assistance. I was repressed. If I had to conform, so can they. If I had to work, so can they. If I had to learn how to speak, so can they. Yes, I know it’s my anger. Yes, I know it’s wrong of me. Yes, I need to calm down. I know I need to move forward. I thoroughly do understand the missing puzzle pieces from the Autism logo. I completely understand the magnitude of never experiencing life like most ‘normal’ people. The fullness of life. I could expand on things, situations, scenarios, but it’s difficult for others to comprehend fully. Also, I’ve always been very aware that truth be told, most could care less. For instance, it took all of the courage I had to tell an old neighborhood ‘friend’ that I have Autism. This, I had hoped, would give some explanation to her about my actions all of these years. I literally had to fight back the tears telling her, I was so ashamed and embarrassed. The next visit I had with her I was nervous about seeing her after the ‘talk.’ And guess what she asked; “What did you say you had again?” Yes, really.
As a Generation X who was sold on the 401K Millionaire Myth, I know first-hand the truth. MY generation was THE first to rely on the 401K as a retirement plan. All the Baby Boomers landed what was left of the union jobs (they were bequeath from their Silent Generation parents via nepotism or networking). Which left us out, scrounging for any entry level jobs. And they were entry level. Made all the worse if you did not have a college education. Most of us in rural areas went to trade/vocational high schools. The idea was, that you would arrive at the work place with some specific skill sets geared to a certain industry. Thus, you’d have a leg up on the competition and your chances (though slim) would get you an interview. With that said, this is where the majority on Gen Xers found themselves within the workforce.
The Average Yearly Salary In The Midwest is $31,500.00
And for most Gen Xers it remained that amount for several decades. So we will use $32K as our base model for this article. By law you can only contribute 10% of your yearly income to your 401K. This includes any employer match. So if you put in 5% and your employer would match up to 5% you were very fortunate. But after a few years suddenly employer policy always seemed to change to 4% match, then dropping to 3% in most cases. Afterall, most of us were never employed by a Fortune 500 company. So small business or retail was our lot.
The 401K is Based On Compound Interest…
So if we take the $32K and contribute 10% (with our 5% and employer 5%) we are at $3200.00. So, if you enrolled into the program at say 25 years old, (the average age one started) back then once you chose your ‘portfolio’ you were pretty much locked in. Also, we had very little play in where and what we were investing in. You were given options usually three choices and given recommendations. This was in a brief hour long seminar. Many promises were given about investing in the stock market. Of course no details were divulged, but it seemed like a great mysterious plan to acquire wealth beyond anything your average lower middle class family ever had. It was an automatic withdrawal from your pre-tax dollars ‘you’d never miss it!’
Autopilot Deduction…
So…we let our deductions roll on year after year to accrue. Back in the 90’s the growth seemed okay (but nothing like 2016-2020) so after 5 years our $16K would be more like $20,800. Again, most of us had to ‘borrow’ from our 401K for downpayments on homes or help with large expenses. (We didn’t get much help from family – we raised ourselves more on that in another post). So for this model, we’ll let this 401K go on for a total of 30 years, hitting the 55 year mark. Why? Because after 55 you can increase your contribution without tax penalties. And even though there were raises, job changes, etc., once we figure in any cash withdrawals, this model still holds. So 30 years later at $3200. 00 a year our 401K should have an average of $ $144,000.00 Except that we lived through the recession of 2008 so subtract $35,000.00 and the great hit of 2022, which lost another $30,000.00. So with the gains on the last year we are back up to $120, 960.00
Retirement Age Increased…
So right when we were knee deep in the workplace, Social Security increased the retirement age from 55 years old to 62 years old. I guess were are living longer now. But! At 62 you would have to pay for your own healthcare if you choose to retire. So, 67 years old it will be for the majority of us Gen Xers. Back to our 401K contributions. So now at 55 years old, we better up our contributions. We have slight increase in salary let’s go with $37, 000.00 yearly. Let’s make a bold 20% deduction, too. Now we are putting in an aggressive $7,400.00 yearly – again no employer match. With the onslaught of easy online access to your 401K, it’s time to move into an aggressive ‘portfolio.’ We need to take this risk for bigger dividends. It works – do it. For the next 12 years (especially if a Republican is sitting in the Whitehouse) our $7,400 should easily balloon to $133, 200.00 plus our initial $120, 960.00 has grown to $181,440.00. This equals $314,640.00.
How? It always seems to come down to this formula. If the economy is good. The stocks doing okay, the amount will be 1.5 times the amount. The Trump years were greater, but for our model, the average Gen X er should retire at 67 years old with at least $300, 000.00 in their 401K. Period. The truth. Again – start at 25 years old. Contribute a sum total of 10% with employer match. We’ve taken in any withdrawals or borrowing. We’ve taken into account changing jobs where you hadn’t earned the right to participate until after 3 months or 6 months depending on the workplace. Also factored in are all of the years, decades where your salary remained stagnant at $32,000.00 a year. Again, keeping in mind that you finally received a small increase, albeit from finding a new employer or finally being recognized. Either way, when all elements are considered – the average Gen Xer Joe should have $300K to retire on. And that’s no small feat. We had immense hardships at work, in our upbringing and all we had to navigate in our lifetime.
As Opposed To Living Life For Others… My Theory On Long Life Versus Early Death
Keen Observation Theory On Shorter Life Span – Those that chase fun, adventure, take lavish vacations – all for their own glory – that scream look at me. The ones that want and need the attention, to beat others to it, one-upmanship, you know the types. They are the first here or there, posting photos on social media. Let everyone know of their accomplishments. Those that burn the brightest, are struck down early. Most often, they are childless. Also, in my experience are either located far from family or, choose to allow siblings to attend to parents or family issues.
I’ve seen this more often than not. The first time I was alerted to this phenomenon was by a friend. Her older sister, married, childless in her 50’s was diagnosed with colon cancer. Her and her husband had lucrative careers and would go off galivanting. Meanwhile, the majority of the siblings who lived close by, helped their aging and ill parents. These siblings kept up the childhood home and cared for their mother who had Parkinsons. They each took turns helping Dad and assisting Mom. But not said sister. She died two years before the mother.
Then within the same family, the oldest son moved out of state decades prior, would visit only once a year if that. He left all of the hard work, dealing with the parents, to the remaining family. A few years after the mother died, he came home to visit and stayed with the Dad. Sometime in the early morning, he died in his sleep. They were told later that he had just had a check-up and everything was fine. He had a massive heart attack.
Coincidence? I think not. Here’s another example.
A childhood friend years ago moved out of state with her new husband – why? Because they wanted the fast lifestyle. They were childless with substantial salaries – and they partied. I mean they drank, went to bars, out to dinner, seen shows, traveled all over to exotic locales. While they partied with “friends” and posed for group photos, back home the oldest brother died unexpectedly. He was out of shape and collapsed from complications. Then the father died. Who was there to get the mother and family through? The siblings who stayed local. They kept up the households and helped the widow. But not this friend. Sure the funerals were attended, visits made twice a year. But then came the cancer. She died two years ago. Had this friend moved back home, who knows? I think she would have lived cancer free. I think she would be right where her mother needed her. Instead, her mother went into a nursing home. None of the living siblings, who had families, were able to stop working to care for her.
And the most recent, Prime example…
A distant relative in his early forties moved out of state chasing the money. He had an exorbitant salary. So he travelled. Climbed mountains, had a houseboat, had all of the toys. Let everyone know about his great, selfish life. That’s right, back home some of his family and friends were struggling. No matter, he had his life to live. He married, had kids, but since the wife had a huge income, the goods kept coming. The mansion, the autos, the dinners, the excursions. Meanwhile, back home, the family struggles, the hardships continue. One day he wakes up with a severe pain in his abdomen. He couldn’t understand it. He was in tip-top shape. After a series of tests, stage 4 pancreatic cancer. He died 8 months later.
“For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required”; Those mentioned above – failed the test. The test of doing more for others with the resources they were given.
Again, I say, live your life for others. Help your older parents. Take care of your siblings. If at all possible, help your friends in need. Yes, it’s a sacrifice. Yes, it will suck up your time and money. But it’s the right thing to do. And you will lead a more rewarding, impactful life.
Rich and Strange! 