Hello Followers: It has been over two weeks since I posted on “The Last Chapter.” This post is not a complaint; it is to update those that may be following my progress. I am also on an MM forum where one can chat about conditions, what works for them, etc.
I have tried to come to terms with Multi-Myeloma, but it is challenging. Myeloma is much like being held in a prisoner-of-war camp and tortured. It is a slow killer! There is always a certain level of pain with the available drugs, always running on a scale of one to ten, the lowest being three or four and at times increasing to nine or ten. Over-the-ten mark happens when you do specific movements. The entire thing is overwhelming and tiring. As I have said, I am on Chemo treatment 22 days a month. The days off Chemo are filled with either too tired to do anything or sick. I take approximately seventeen pills daily, each having something to do with keeping me alive. It is not something you can “get used to”; it can only explain your level, and no two days are alike. I am not alone; many have the same MM, bone cancer, or other illnesses. Thus, the forum is to see what is new, and it is sad when one never returns to the site.
Food no longer has a taste; no amount of seasoning can give it more than something like cardboard to chew on and hopefully stop the weight loss (approximately 80 pounds in the last year). Liquids, my taste buds have acquired the like of lemonade. Water is a must to keep the system working.
I have lost my desire to write, work on a book I began before diagnosed, and my journaling has also taken a back seat. My great love of creating a story, characters, and the well of words has dried up. As has my love of creating poetry.
I do not leave my apartment unless it is for a doctor’s appointment. Most of the time, I order groceries online, and my medication is delivered. Sometimes one or both of my sons comes by, or we plan to go out for a meal. Without them, there would be no reason to live.
I have shut myself off from the outside world; nothing any longer exists for me, no pleasure. I have begun to give away my artwork, things I no longer need. I have told my family to take what they want now; there is less to eliminate afterward. I have everything that needs to be done by me; I have never liked “loose ends.”
My last piece of approval is that I have donated my body to the local University of Medicine. There is no cure for MM, and the medicine holds it back. I must try in some way to help solve the mystery of no cure; there is only the waiting game left to play.
I do not need comments about depression, anxiety, or suicide; these have been a part of this journey and will be until the end. I am well aware of these things and also have pills for that. But I appreciate this being one of your thoughts. If you know someone who may be dealing with an illness that causes these things to erupt in their lives. Reach out. Help others if you can. Mental Health is another killer and needs to be faced without shame. We live in a world where mental health is not being taken care of because of the stigma that is put upon it. Be mindful that life begins with the unknown, but never give up on caring for those in need.
I appreciate everyone who commented on my site; every word is welcomed, as I know others in “Blog Land” have been through hard times. I will try to leave a bit of poetry that has already been created now and again. I will try to return with updates if I can do so.
Thank you to those who have purchased my books at Amazon; I hope they will give insight into who I am, as the poetry was created from my mind and heart, out of a life of depression and anxiety.
My love goes out to all of you; I wish you well and hope to touch base with you again.
Flying with Broken Wings is my daughter’s story, who passed on July 13,2010. There is not a day I do not mourn her, the space she occupied continues to be as big as life itself, but a void filled it. Flying with Broken Wings is about the life of Charlotte Jean Murphree. Charlotte was not a famous person; in fact, not many people knew her, but those who did know there were many facets to her life. The book tells of fifty-two years of daily testing of her will to carry on and the misfortune she faced. As a baby and young girl, she was made fun of by schoolchildren, her progress was slow, but she never gave up the fight to overcome her disabilities. As an adult, she fought Cerebral Palsy, Living with Bipolar, Depression, and Schizophrenia disorders. Charlotte lived not only with herself, but she endured the “”Voice”” that lived within her for over thirty years. This book is about her life’s beginning, middle, and end.
The Mental Health Facilities in Alabama were such that there are horrifying movies made of the people and the horror they endured at the hands of short staffing, some never in contact other than for electrical shock treatments. When Charlotte was born, the doctors suggested that I put her in a mental facility, That she would never walk or talk. My hope was to write a book on her life to show those who have children with these disabilities can live a life, a life that is normal as can be for them.
I was nineteen years old, and although my husband wanted to commit her, I refused (a book of my life with a monster is in the works). I took her home. The years were long and hard. At first, she could only crawl; I had her walking by sixteen months. I provided speech lessons for several years, but no one could understand her to accept my daughter sixteen months older. Years of speech lessons.
I contacted all of the Senators and Congressmen in Wisconsin, where we lived. The town I live in, Baraboo, Wisconsin, had a building made for children with her disabilities. Senator Proxmire of Wisconsin was the one who finally answered one of my many letters and/or phone calls. Charlotte went through life with the education level of a twelve-year-old. When God called her home, she was self-sufficient, living in her own apartment for adults with her problems. She lives her life with only the help of a Social counselor, who helps her pay her rent and utilities. She worked daily at Madison’s Yahara House.
Finally, her health problems won the battle, and she died with both physical and mental disabilities. I believe that you will find this book interesting, the challenges she faced from learning to live with three other people living within her mental space for over thirty years.
I have heard it so many times over the years. A friend calls in need, telling me they are at the brink, their depression and anxiety is overwhelming them, and suicidal ideation often follows.
These are men, strong, some fierce in their abilities, and certainly not fitting into any of society’s stigmas. They just can’t find a way to dig out of the dirty muck of life. Perhaps an event happened that pummeled them to the ground, leaving them bloody at the knees, barely hanging on. Whatever the case, they are at their breaking point. We all have one. Some of us are just fortunate to never reach it or even come close.
I talk to these men, telling them I am here for them, at least I try to be, but I have experience with this. I have lost men dear to me because they too reached the edge and decided to jump. I therefore know I can offer support. I can be a non-judgmental listener. I can share my stories to show them they are not alone, but most of them know that. It’s why they call in the first place. They know I have been to that dark place several times. The entryway to a personal hell where it seems like a rope, a leap, a trigger, a bottle of pills, will take away the pain.
When I recently received a message from an old friend, I became angry. Not at him. No! He is hanging on in a society that often is set up to test and cripple you. My anger was towards the silence. The never ending stigmas. I’m tired. Enraged. I’m saddened by it all because we keep losing people to suicide.
I believe we are making a mistake because talking about suicide makes people uncomfortable and there are many stigmas or guilt surrounding it. My favorite (insert sarcasm) is when people make the person feel guilty that contemplates taking their life by saying, “How could you do that to the people you love?” They like to think that they can guilt someone out of an illness. It’s harmful. Silence is harmful. Don’t you think the person that wants to die would take another approach if they were able?
I believe we are hurting our children by tiptoeing around the subject of suicide. I have been told in schools, sitting at student services meetings or with administration, “We don’t want to trigger anyone.” Well, I’ve got news for everyone, what we are doing is not working. In my community alone, there have been three young people who have killed themselves in the past year. I repeat, what we are doing, our silence, our not wanting to “trigger” anyone, is not working. It’s obvious. Suicide is on the rise. Anxiety and depression is on the rise. It’s time for frank, upfront conversations. People can handle it. Young people yearn for it. They want us to be real. They don’t want a bunch of adults trying to sugarcoat thoughts, ideas, and talk. Young people read into our bullshit. It’s harmful, not helpful. Real talk is needed.
I have written about mental illness. I have shared my stories so people feel less alone. I have been vulnerable for the sake of helping others. I have helped young people by being real, talking about things that would make some school social workers tell me that I was triggering them. Well, it doesn’t. Instead, I hear from them that they needed to hear what was said. They needed me to be real and upfront. They wanted the connection. Boys need to see men being honest and vulnerable.
Most of the time, I feel like my posts, blogs, writings, novels, are not reaching anyone. I feel like I am beating my head against the fucking wall, making myself dizzy, screaming out for anyone to hear in hopes of saving life. I’m exhausted! My first book was criticized for being too upfront about the subject of suicide. My second novel was criticized by some readers because they didn’t like the subject of trauma and sexual assault. What the hell do you think is happening in our world, especially to teenagers.
We are losing the battle when it comes to helping people survive mental illness. We do not have enough therapists, counselors, and psychiatrists to help. Doctors’ only solution is to put people on more meds, hoping to dope them up, masking the real issues. I am not anti-meds. In fact, I take anxiety medication. However, it is not the only solution. We must teach people how to build resilience so that they can live the lives they want and accept the pain with curiosity instead of terror. We need to teach them to work on the problem, build resilience, and not ignore the pain.
My head is sore from the imaginative wall that I am beating it up against. My fingers are bleeding from typing thousands of words, trying to get people to listen, understand, act, and raise their voice to stop what is happening to our society. I am fatigued because it seems like we just keep repeating the idiotic responses that are not working. It’s exhausting. Talking about suicide is not easy, fluffy talk. It’s tough, bare bones, hard talk that should make anyone feel uncomfortable. With that discomfort we will learn to speak the truth and actually take meaningful action.
I cannot stop being an advocate for people that are struggling. I cannot stop until my friends stop wanting to kill themselves. I cannot stop until my students look for a different way to display their fears and darkness besides taking their lives. I cannot stop because I have to speak up for all of those that are battling their minds, and all of those that someday will. No one, I mean no one, is immune to getting depression and anxiety, and no one is immune to one day waking up and questioning if life is worth living.
For now, know that you are not alone. Work on building resilience so that you can weather the storm. And, for all of you that think silence or censoring the truth because it may trigger people, realize that we have been spinning our wheels for years to no avail. Wake the hell up and take a different approach. Lives depend on it!
Chuck, Elizabeth and Carl Murphree “My Rocks”, My Son’s
Words to Live by…Chief Dan George
Happy New Year to all my faithful followers. Leaving 2022 left me with nothing but gratefulness. A year of Multi Myeloma (bone cancer) behind me and another year with my family. I am grateful for the time I have been given so far. MM is a slow killer. With no immune system, my enemy is getting pneumonia or any infection I could not recover from. I continue with chemo 22 days out of every month. One day of infusion in oncology and 21 days of chemo pills.
I have excellent health insurance that takes care of everything except the chemo pills. These are at an unbelievable cost of $22,000 each month. Yes, you are reading it right, $22,000 per month. I am so fortunate to have a sponsor who provides me with a grant, and the cost to me is zero. Without this grant, I could not take the treatment, and I would not be able to continue living. I am grateful to those who share their wealth with those who cannot afford this medication treatment.
I have continued being independent, living alone, writing, and painting for the past year. I am slower than what would be my regular. Sitting at the computer for less than an hour in each setting, making notes to follow later, or creating a story or poem. I hope to complete my latest project and publish it this year if God is willing.
I have managed to control my pain. I have had an increase in morphine only toward the end of this past year. I try to manage my pain as much as possible; sometimes, I ask for the impossible. I did have to increase the pain medication, and I hope to keep it at that level. I have a high pain tolerance and can take more pain than some.
Each time I go to oncology, I look around at so many who are undergoing the same treatment as I am; this, unfortunately, will never end. The staff are God-sent and have become my extended family. We are all trying to get through another day, and so thankful for an entire year for me.
I have everything in order, and I work at things I can leave behind. Throughout the years, the children and grandchildren have asked for certain things that I have; I have not allowed death to get in my way, but I have given them what they have requested now. The “Now” is so important, to see them enjoy all of these things now while I am still with them. Paintings have been removed from my walls, and Christmas items went this past season. The joy of now gives me pleasure and happiness.
So, I say to you, dear followers and friends, enjoy 2023, and make every moment count; time grows short as we are not promised tomorrow. Please continue to read my blog. Purchase my books filled with poems and stories from my thoughts and heart.
The mind is in a caged sleep, tears shed, and the thoughts of false caring that others portray as a lie. Their spitefulness in thought held captive the sleeping mind, not allowing it to wake. There are those who cannot be trusted; they show concern for themselves and their greed. They are always on the prowl to take, take, and take. They cause pain to the minds of the blameless and find in it joy; their tongue of fire knows not the truth. Yet, they will ask you for your prayers to engorge their needs. If they touch your life, it will never be the same.
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground. Summer was also spent going on vacations to Florida, where they had a small cabin on the Gulf Coast.
Nonetheless, the desire to write buried itself deep within; the dream wilted but did not die. It laid dormant, gaining experiences. These experiences became short stories and poetry, began painting as a child and later as an adult, and then lay dormant for years. She writes of life experiences in her poetry, questioning everything from Mother Nature to God…the poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world accept immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
Authors Note: This plain and simple bit of poetry was written when I lost my little dog Mason to illness, he was nine years old.
The picture is at the Vet’s during his last moments. I wanted to go with him. Today I have close to the same problem. My little dog Dixie is only two years old.
She is not only young but very healthy. This time it is not Dixie, but I that will be leaving her. I never thought that I would be leaving her alone, and soon. I make the best of every moment with her before I cross over to be with my Mason and we will wait together on the current love of my life, Miss Dixie. She is my reason for every waking moment. I hope that you all enjoy the poem as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Best Friend’s…
A little dog barked and leaped with his
Master in a quiet little town on a quiet
Little street. He fought with the he-dogs
And sniffed at the she-dogs, life to this little
Was a treat.
Years went by, and the Master walked with
A cane, the little dog limped along silently,
Their lives had changed. The little dog had
Lost his sight, he could no longer fight he
Dogs and the she-dogs, he had just enough
Strength to wag his tail.
The town people watched as the two of them
Aged, the Master never walked again; he had
Become just another tired old man. Within
Time no one saw the Master and his little
Dog, a neighbor knocked at their door, peeked
In the window, and there, they both lay on the
floor.
The Master and his little dog had watched the
The morning sky lose its cast of grays; it was to be
A wonderful day. Then they watched the sun.
Go down, and the lamp lights lit in the quite little
Town.
They closed their eyes; Master dreamed of
Walking along the quiet little streets, the little
Dog dreamed that he could see once again bark and
Leap.
Master woke to find the little dog lying at his
Feet, he thought maybe he was just asleep.
Painfully he knelt, knowing neither would ever walk
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
She lives with her Aunt Vina from birth to the age of three, then returned to her father. Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her Aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians.
As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives. Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground. Summer was also spent going on vacations to Florida, where they had a small cabin on the Gulf Coast.
Her poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world accept immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
“Dreams, words, the images, do not doubt them; try to find a meaning of what is tumbling around in your mind. Written below is what my mind laid out for me to explore.” EA MURPHREE
Beware Beneath the Ground…
Thieves, vagrants, gangs, satanic cults, and catacombs beneath the streets, where unsavory people meet. Ask the old man on the corner, and he will say it is below the earth where evil lurks; as he smiles, his face forms a smirk.
Rituals that are created straight out of hell; if you stay long enough, his story he will tell, then he will take you quickly to a doorway leading to that awful place. He will say, mind my word, if you go down below the ground, your body will have welts and scratches, and you will be surrounded by growling sounds.
Words of caution “Mate,” if you adventure out at night, ghosts are not the only thing lying in wait. If you poke fun at my story and go beneath the ground, you, too, may never be found.
Elizabeth Ann Johnson Murphree | Barnes & Noble® (barnesandnoble.com)
Authors Books at Amazon.com and Barns&Nobel.com
Author Bio
Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers she lived with her fathers’ sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com, under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
Echoing Images from the Soul
Beyond the Voices
Reflections of Poetry
Honeysuckle Memories
Sachets of Poetry on Adoration, Anger, Asylums, and Aspirations
Another great and heartwarming post from my son Chuck Murphree, Chuck and Karen are both in Education, she works with teachers to improve their skills. Chuck works with children, and young adults teaching special education. He is a published author, and speaker on mental health
Many of you have sat before me and asked me about the great mystery of love and companionship. As you come of age it is often on your mind, and I have witnessed your exploration into love in the hallways of the high school, cafeteria, football games, and dances, and for you former students, I get to see you fall in love through social media. It’s a new beginning for you, and I see the glowing, sometimes awkward look on your face.
I have often had one of you in my classroom or office in tears, wondering where love went wrong? Why did it not work out? You feel demoralized by the break-up, and you start to look for blame, or even your so-called flaws, in order to find a reason for why the relationship did not stay strong, intact
I see many of you on social media with a newfound love. In the still life of the photo, I see that same glow and look of wonder I did while you were in high school. It brings a smile to my face, staring at the screen before me, knowing that you are happy. Some of you have even gotten married, and many have invited me to your wedding. I apologize for not coming. A few of you have started your family, having children, and that is when I truly feel my age just a little more. I often think, I wish I could have shown you these photos of how your life was turning out when you were back in high school. I often tried to reassure you that it would be okay, but your teenage brain felt like losing love was the end of the world. My teenage brain thought the same thing, so there’s never any judgment.
Out of curiosity, you have often asked me about my love life. At times, I tell you my story about how I met my wife when I was thirteen, and how we were friends before I finally got the courage to ask her out on my fifteenth birthday. There is always an “awww” following my story, but a few of you say that it gives you hope and something to believe in. I tell you my story because I never want you to lose hope. It’s why I share with you many things about my human experience. I want you to know that life will throw many obstacles at you, but in the midst of the dark clouds, there is much light. Love is one of those lights and the brightest.
In the case of love, I have never claimed to be an expert. I do not have the answers to the mysteries of love and how to solve them. I am far from a perfect husband, if there is such a thing. However, I reflect on love often and the complexities, and more important, the simplicities, of being in a relationship. I have been one half of a relationship that has worked for over thirty-seven years. Thirty of those have been married years, but when you meet the love of your life at a young age, the years are a continuation and it would be remiss not to count them all.
I offer this, be mindful of your partner. Be aware of love and never stop thinking about it. Enjoy your moments and experiences that you have together. Love the other person with all your might and tell them. Tell them often how important they are to you. I believe that something that failed relationships have in common is that they do not express themselves enough to the other person, and we all need reminders that we are valued and cared about. We need reminders of how much we are loved, so say it often and with meaning.
I always want my wife to know she is loved. I do this in many ways, and one is writing her letters, or leaving a thoughtful note somewhere where she will find it within her day, and I hope it brings a smile to her face. I sometimes send or bring her flowers at her work. I am very mindful of telling her how beautiful she is or that she looks pretty before she leaves in the morning. I show her love by listening to her and paying attention to her needs and what she is saying. Other times, I show her my love by holding her and exploring her body with gentleness. I have been doing this since we were fifteen. For those that wonder about that last statement, and how I can put that into a letter to my students, then you have forgotten what it is like to be a teenager. Making love is on their minds as often as it was on ours, and we must understand this in order to educate them on what is appropriate and what is not.
You will have your struggles in a relationship. Perhaps you fear the other person will lose interest in you. Maybe your fear grows so you decide to move on before you are hurt. You have to build resilience in your relationship, and that comes from trust. You must trust that your partner cares for you as much as you do for them. If trust fades, so will your relationship.
Other struggles may come from wanting the same thing from your relationship or even the same thing from your life together. Certainly, it is important to have similar needs and wants, but also be mindful that you are different people, and therefore you will naturally have different priorities. Do not complicate things by expecting that because you have an interest in something, or because it is a priority for you, that your partner should feel the same. This becomes a source of resentment that I have seen many couples go through. I think a better approach is to respect one another’s values and passions, and the things that matter to them, and then give them the support and space to do those things. It could be as simple as them wanting to watch a movie that you are not interested in. The question I have is, are you more interested in getting your way and not watching the movie or do you value your time with the person? That may seem like a simplistic example, but selfishness in relationships are usually from small things that add up over time, and then become unbearable for the other to take.
I have found that when my relationship struggled the most, it has been from my own doing. It is usually because my depression has convinced me that I am not good enough for my wife. I am not worthy of her love. This can cause me to push her away. I have also let my own ego get in the way of me being aware of her needs. I have been consumed with my mental health, the pain my body has gone through, and trying to find a “fix” for it to stop. This strayed me away from her needs. As a published author, I jumped into promoting my books with vigor, and upon reflection, I realized my self-absorption took me further away from her, something I swore I would never do, but ego is a powerful thing. Be aware that in love, you must put your companions’ needs first.
If you stay together long enough, you will have times of great suffering. It could be losing people that you love, or maybe one of you will struggle with your mental health or stress from a job. You may even have money troubles that seemingly feel overwhelming and are drowning you both. Much of the stress that happens in relationships, is outside stress. It is the unexpected things that happen and will feel like it is out of your control. I have seen stress such as this torment couples to the point where they think if they leave one another, somehow the stress will get better. Perhaps, they feel resentment towards the other person and that is when blame sets in. None of us are perfect humans. Our relationships will not be perfect. Perfection is in the eye of the beholder. When times of suffering hit you, no matter what those things may be, be gentle with one another. Focus on your love and relationship. Take more walks together and remember what has true meaning in life. When things seem out of control, what you can control is the love you have for the other person that walks beside you. Couples who make it, make it through hard times.
If you stay together for long enough. If you have found a life partner, you will change. Your partner will change. They will not remain the person you knew when you first started. This is often a good thing, I know I would not want to be the man today that I was when I was twenty-five or even thirty-five. If I were, that would be a major problem. We should all want to grow and develop. The relationships that work, the ones that last, are when two people grow and change together. They support one another in that change and recognize it. The other option is that people grow apart. They no longer have value in the other person’s changes and maybe they even refuse to or have stopped growing as an individual. If you notice your significant other has stopped talking as much, going to do things without you more often, leaves you behind as they explore, or stops showing interest in you physically, they are most likely moving further away from you. It is a warning sign. Be aware of the other person and grow together, celebrating your differences, growth, and change.
Some other changes that will happen is your looks. Your partner may start to lose their hair. Perhaps they will have stages where their weight will fluctuate, wrinkles may start to develop on their face, and their bodies will start to look different. Our society is obsessed with youth. It is all around us on social media, movies, and magazines. It is as if growing older has become a bad thing, a flaw, that everyone tries to avoid. We see people trying every product they can to smooth out their wrinkles and keep a youthful appearance. Some go to extremes and get surgeries, which often make them look fake, like plastic. People tend to exercise because of vanity and aesthetics, instead of doing something because it feels good and is healthy. We are tied up in a superficial world where growing older feels like a punishment. If you want to make a relationship last, you have to find beauty in the person before you. It is a privilege to age together. I tell my wife often that she is more beautiful now than she has ever been. I am not just saying this, I mean it. I find that her grace, intelligence, and physical beauty has increased year after year. I wish she could see herself through my eyes because she often feels like she is not beautiful as she ages. Yes, she is growing older, as am I, and all of us should want to. When we stop aging, we die. There are people out there trying to sell you on their way of staying young. I say find beauty in growing old together. I always remember the girl I fell in love with so long ago, but I am in awe of the woman that stands before me.
I will end with this, communication will be the key to your survival when it comes to love. Tell them how much you love them, but go further and tell them why. Tell them your dreams and then listen to theirs. Find out what you both want out of your life together and talk about it. Then, when the tough times come, be honest and listen deeply. Those difficult times may come from you or they may come from something outside of your control, but nonetheless, you must sit across from one another and communicate. I have always told my wife if she loses interest in me, falls out of love, or finds another, please just tell me right away. Even though it might be hard and sad, it would be a tragedy to live a life with someone that you are no longer interested in. I would not want that for her, or for me.
However, a great life is one where you find a compassionate love where you lift each other up above the clouds. It’s the kind of love where you ache for that person when they are not next to you, thinking about them always, waiting in anticipation for them to walk through the door so you can see them come towards you and gently kiss your lips. It is feeling their touch and looking down at their hand in yours realizing that it is the greatest moment you have ever had. If you are lucky, one day you will look down and find that your hands have turned from smooth to wrinkled, with age spots and lines running through them that hold a story within their grasp.
I have enough memories from the past to last me for the rest of my life. My bountiful memory will not bury them from which they were born.
A small country church, a chorus of crows, the splashing sounds of the brook running through the Birch trees. The wind caresses the colossal row of Oaks in the field.
Death, a road away from the weathered house of worship, followed by black-feathered angels. No longer will the water beneath the Birch cool, nor will the winds surrounding the Oaks embrace flesh.
The rocker on the porch is stilled, and no hand waves goodbye. In a cobwebbed corner of the room, the sun shines through a cloudy window as the image of tattered curtains dances in a nearby mirror. Childhood is dead.
Author Bio Born in Alabama to a Native American (Chickasaw) father and an emotionally absent mother since birth, raised by a father, a Native American great-grandmother, and an African American woman who were all grand storytellers.
Summers, she lived with her father’s sister in Birmingham, Alabama; her aunt Vina would help her discover a library and mingle with a circle of friends that included local writers, artists, and politicians. As early as four years old, she was roaming the countryside alone or with her father; in the evenings, she sat at the feet of these strong-minded individuals listening to the stories of their lives.
Her aunt encouraged my imagination by introducing me to journaling, which I filled Big Chief Tablets with reports over the summer. Planted was the desire to write, a seedling waiting to spurt from the warm southern heart of a child. A cabin deep within the Black Warrior Forest was on weekends was also my playground.
She writes of life experiences in her poetry, questioning everything from Mother Nature to God…the poetry is raw, sometimes dark, and may not be understood by all. Yet, it comes from deep within and reads of truth within her soul. The harshness that shrouded her life would cause her to withdraw from most of the world except her immediate family; it fills the pages with heartache, abuse, and the denial of a mother, all frankly portrayed.
Today, she enjoys her children, grand and great-grandchildren, and four-legged companion Dixie, lives in Southern Wisconsin, far from her southern roots, and continues to write and paint almost daily.
Below are the books that have been published in paperbacks at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com under the name of Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree:
The Last Chapter 