Narrative On My Life

My blog posts get precious few veiws in a day. Or week. To those of you who continue reading, commenting and/or following my, thank you. Perhaps you have noitced that the general theme of my posts has been less than conversational. Im feeling less than chatty these days. I’ve got lot on my mind. Can’t purge, much less sort.

Question my style, my flare for the dramatic, but don’t ever question the story of life–where and how I live, with whom, and all the little things that makeup life–I’m living the Visiplex life and it’s not for the fainted heart.

Caregivers of the world listen up! Because that we have to live in an assisted living facility doesn’t change who we are. Perhaps it changed your perception of who you want us to be. We are still people. We still feel, we still hurt, we still feel it when we are treated than anything less the respect one should give another; no less to another beholden to the care of a caregiver.

I met family here who took me in as one of their own. I have no family near me and this family was especially wonderful to me. I was me to me. Not someone with a brain injury or any of the other problems I have. I was good enough for them as the broken version of me.

All the things I’ve written about me, save the names of other people are quite true. Including the posts about death. It found my friend at around 2 a.m. February 14, 2015. My heart, my love, my respect go out to her family. She raised them well and will be missed by many.

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