Tribal Drums Sound and the Healing Begins

Maybe you can relate to this:

I did not call you. I did not post this. I did not cry in front of anyone.

I held it close because that is safe.


My mother fell twice in the home this week. She has never fallen and has not been

at risk for falling.

She still gets herself up, gets her self dressed and makes her way to meals on time.

She still waits by the door looking for an exit opportunity.

She still wears lipstick and sometimes it is on straight.

My mother is a medical marvel. How is she is still alive? How can that possibly be?


This could be the beginning of the End.

The End of the End.

 Falling necessitates restraints of some kind. They put her in a wheel chair today.

Leaving her flat on her back can lead to pneumonia and then to death. She is upright and unable to take fluids.

She is not taking fluids.

I did not tell you or them or him or her or anyone,

Until I did.

I cry in the car with my music up loud loud loud to drown out the sound of my own fucking tears.

I drive the car around the corner and park; I turn on my music and forget.

I did not tell you or them or him or her or anyone,

Until I did.

I did call a friend. I am going with her tomorrow to see my mother.

I texted my Tribesman in the hinterlands of this world. His words said;

“Scars are there to show the past was real. I have the Tribal fire raging; lets rage on the Drums and Heal.”

Tribal Drums sound and Healing begins

And I am Here. Writing. Words.

I will go tomorrow to see my mother in restraints,

But I will not go alone.  I learned that here, writing this blog.

I have learned writing this that I am not alone.

I can hear my tribesman, so far away, and the Drums and the Words and the Healing begin.

I am not crying for my Scars or my pain. I am crying for a woman so alone in  this world.

My mother is  alone and the walls were built by her.

Safety is Fear.

I am my mother in some ways and I will bring my walls down.

David is pounding the Drums

and the Healing begins.

I remembered today what doing this alone can lead to and I chose another path.

Peace,  Jen

~ by Step On a Crack on November 12, 2011.

17 Responses to “Tribal Drums Sound and the Healing Begins”

  1. Your words have reminded me of my father’s final years. He developed dementia and eventually had to live in an aged care home. He was a security risk, so he was in a secure wing. He lasted there for several years, slowly becoming more unresponsive. In the end, my mother and I had to say yes to the home, to let him go if his health became bad. It did, and he left the world a bit over a year ago.

    Unlike you, I was lucky enough to have lots of good memories of my father. He was a good harness horse trainer, with many winners. I hope he was able to remember that through his dementia.

    I wish you well with your painful journey.


  2. Wow.

    You write so beautifully, so eloquently.

    I am very very sorry about your mother. I think sometimes the end, and the time leading up to that is harder when we have not had a healthy relationship with them. No chance of a ‘do-over’ I suppose.



  3. I am thinking of a line from a book a recently read: Little Bee. ” Scars are beautiful, it means you survived.”


    • Trish, You have not idea how much this comment resonated. I hurt my ribs the other day; they are tender delicate little things due the physical scars. You are right; the pain means I survived. I have that and so much more: I have YOU! I am one Lucky Woman. Love, Jen


  4. Beating those drums is a way to simultaneously express your rage and rally the troops, so bang on.


    • I am pounding these suckers! Feels good I hope you guys can hear it all the way to yeoman. (sp) Thank you Al, for everything. Tell the Mrs. I send my best and GO GET EM! Word count, word count!!! xx Jen


  5. Praying, praying for you and your family.


  6. Oh Jen … i have been missing you … and your troubles. My god, if you have time … write me … if not … I AM WITH YOU … YOUR HEART IS BIG … and we are all with you, cozy and warm … protecting you …

    I can feel the sadness, pain and anger. I know it … i live it from moment to moment as well …

    WE HAND IN … them’s the rules, lady!!! With respect and admiration and love,



  7. Praying.
    Merciful Father, please wrap your love around Jen. Let her know in some unmistakable way how much You see and know and care. Becaue of Jesus.


    • Kathy, boy. that prayer was very well timed my Friend! thank you.

      How are your eyes doing? I saw the thread on iamnotshe. You OK? xxx Jen


      • My eyes are expensive, but better each day. I can see to type, now, in the bad eye, and it will improve more before it declines I and need another injection.
        I think I have dicovered one reason I love coming to your site: Your loving care for your mother reminds me of Jesus, how He gave up His own life to give us so much, and we constantly fail even to notice, are sometimes even unable to notice, and sometimes go so far as to resent or reject Him. You are such an eloquent picture of what He endures.


  8. I am very happy for you & proud of you that you reached out! I know how hard that can be!


  9. Awesome writing and God be with your mother and you!
    I dread the thought of the time my parents start having more serious problems, and even more, the time I start having them.


    • Scott, it IS a ride to be sure. What amazes me is I went into this thinking I knew how I would react. Feeling I had some self awareness under my belt; only to have it turned upside down.

      Life is full of surprises, yes?

      I hope for you a LONG time before you walk this path and again, thank you for your kind words. Words. They mean so much to me. Thank you. Peace. Jen


  10. We are going through an awful time with my mom. We are sure she has werniche but not yet diagnosed by the many doctors that see her. Feel no one understands. I feel we have had several mothers over our lifetime, she just changes so much. My step dad just wants her sectioned all the time. We believe he just wants her dead. Feel lost


    • First I want to say I understand and I am so deeply sorry! Having an alcoholic mother with all the baggage and pain that comes with it is enough. You put it beautifully, ‘…several mothers in a lifetime.’ We only want one right? A stable, dependable, loving one. Wernicke Kkatsakoff is the rotten cherry that tops it off.

      It is THE most under-diagnosed dementia of all. Few doctors know about it and many family members of patients lie about the extent of the alcohol abuse only adding to the difficulty.

      There can be strides made with detox, sobriety and Thiamine therapy. Getting all of that in order is difficult at best. Thiamine therapy is helpful for any alcoholic and we as a family saw it slow the dementia of one of our relatives. Slow being the key word.

      A diagnosis can be a double edged sword, at least here in America. Good nursing homes are reluctant to take WK patients. They can be difficult.

      My heart breaks to read about your step-father! I am so sorry! Is it possible to enlist the aid of a social worker to help with your situation? Perhaps someone unrelated can help your cause. Social workers were Angels in helping me and my family. I hope that there might be some way to bring in an intermediary to help mediate the situation with your step-father.

      Alcoholism is tragic. I will be thinking of you and your family. I wish for you peace along this Twisted Path.

      Keep in touch and please know you are not alone. We are all here with you.




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