Hymns and the Ritual of Blogging

Since my husband died four months ago, there has been less traffic on this blog and am not sure who actually wants to read it. Or maybe I have less issues to write about. I have six ideas in draft form. I do put bits and pieces on the Facebook Like page for this blog regularly--actually several each week--I wrote about a random act of kindness there recently. But what about this blog? What do you readers want on this blog? 

One issue that came to my attention was how hymns can reach the care receiver.  See the link HERE. 

Richard Gunderman writes about an old gentleman who came to life with the "ritual" of worship. That care receiver suddenly broke forth in song. 

God will take care of you,
Through every day, o’er all the way;
He will take care of you,
God will take care of you. 

Ritual–in this case, as in others, a familiar hymn–had transformed an otherwise hopeless recipient of care into someone quite different. At least for those few minutes, he had become a human being capable of reaching out and caring for others, a beacon of light and joy to everyone.

I did not think of my husband enjoying hymns near the end of his life as a ritual, however, Mr. Gunderman, but as worship. I do miss our worshipping together with listening to hymns in the master bedroom. Great Is Thy Faithfulness was a favorite one. I had moved the boom box into the bedroom and I used it to play hymns on CDs. That boom box is now back in the den and it would be a grief issue to use it now as I sit in the den writing this post.  

Blogging has been a main ritual for me. I do have two other blogs--one theological and one on my teaching of DUI classes, but Plant City Lady and Friends has always been my main blog, my ritual. I guess in the throws of grieving I am attempting to find my voice again. Hope to get that ritual of blogging back. 

Meanwhile, I am enjoying my daily Scripture that has sustained me over the years. I email five social media friends Scripture each day and several of them email back their Scripture. I returned to Weight Watchers and see slow progress there. I email four caregivers encouragement each day. I am tutoring Esteban and substitute teaching and as usual am teaching an occasional class for DUI offenders. Life goes on. A cruise is planned for me as a guest of a family member. The grave headstone has been placed and artificial flowers are now on the grave. 

God is taking care of me, but it is 
not His ritual--His care is my hope. 

The Soul Beyond the Senses

Senses Are Changing

This is hard to write because I am grieving as I see these things happen and so are others in his family I'm sure.

Cognitive Decline. Hubby and I still talk--but mainly about daily things like does he want yogurt, Boost, ice cream or water. I point out how cute our dog is, but he doesn't respond. Last Saturday, the day before Father's Day, he didn't recognize his own adult son and daughter, his only children from his first marriage. I am sure this is hard for them. They did not allow the grandchildren to see him, favoring letting their memories of the grandfather be of happier times.

Touch. Hubby used to object to our dog licking his head and toes. However, now he doesn't object. He doesn't like the feel of my hair when I bend down to kiss him, so I try to control that hair. At times he favors the fetal position in bed, but this may be because both knees have osteoarthritis it seems and we put a pillow between them. Last several days,  however, he is on his back with his knees bent and he rubs those knees.

Sight and memory. He doesn't respond to how he looks (buck-teeth look) with upper false teeth not completely in his mouth when I show him in a mirror. At times over the past few months he hasn't recognized sights in our home. He forgot about the backyard. I have to remind him that THIS is our house. I do that often. I also tell him that someone will be with him at all times now. I can't leave without someone being here. Usually they sit on the couch in the family room and look down the hall to see him in the hospital bed. No longer am I amazed that volunteers have come forward to stay with him when I need to leave the house. This morning a fifteen year old and a 17 year old stayed with him. The younger one touched his hand and my husband smiled warmly--a definite bond. Care receivers often live in an earlier time and I wonder if he thought Esteban is his son at a younger age. 

Taste and Smell. Hubby can chew a pill but not a capsule pill so he is not getting capsule pills now. Except for sweets his taste buds are gone. At one point I was crushing all his pills and putting them in applesauce. But it would take a long time to feed him and he needs his pain medicine at special times. His nurse has him on fewer pills now. He used to take Metformin for Type Two diabetes, but doesn't need it now and I do check his glucose. Fewer pills means fewer side effects. The Namenda and Exellon Patch for Alzheimer's wasn't working any more anyway. The Hospice nurse knows the protocol for pills. I am grieving about fewer pills, but this simplified medicine seems to be working and it is the dementia that is causing his downhill spiral.  I haven't done much with smell to bring up memories, but that is a caregiver strategy to use. On the other hand he does not smell his own excrement--but I sure do!

Hearing. Still good I believe, although he isn't interested in TV as he used to be. He does respond to my voice and if something is to be done (turn him in bed), you have to tell him that or he will get upset by shaking his hands. Tell him what is to happen, repeat it and do it. Then he is not upset.

So how do I communicate with my husband? 

Smiles and simple words. Elaine Pereira, author of I Will Never Forget writes HERE: "As the brain of an Alzheimer's person deteriorates neurologically, language plummets as mumbling trumps intelligent words." He doesn't answer questions now. I am learning to interpret hubby's mumbling.  If he doesn't want some food I am hand-feeding him, he will just push it away. On occasion he will give me an angry look or push my arm to get it away. I then back off. Mainly I smile and tell myself that if the situation were reversed (I had dementia), he would do the same for me.

Feelings. My husband will start to cry and I pick up on that as I say: You feel sad. It will be okay. This calms him down. Or I pray. Before the dementia, I never saw him cry. He definitely has emotions and often he smiles. He likes when I say I am his loving wife, and once he said "thanks" when I said this. I show him my wedding rings and his which, I noticed, is now on his middle finger since he has lost weight not eating much. I appreciate that a Hospice aide must have put it on the other finger.

Music. Sunday morning I put on hymns and he seemed to enjoy this so much. We could worship together. I mentioned Revelation 5:9 to him that in Heaven we get to sing a new songs to the LORD and he nodded. If the senses and memory are changing, his soul isn't. This Christian believer is with me when I pray. He listens to heaven talk. My faith helps me not cry, but to look to heaven where there will be no more tears.

I appreciate his soul and that he 

will be in heaven one day.  

It's great that with the decline of 

the senses his soul will remain. 

I look around the house now and am grieving for all of the changes. He is confined to our bedroom and content at that. Equipment has come to a halt. No more walker, wheel chair, Geri chair, and bathroom grab rails. Just a hospital bed with my twin bed beside him. We don't eat meals together any more as I spoon feed him and give him liquids with a straw.


When the Hospice Health Care Aide came Sunday morning, this Christian lady told me our house has peace. What a compliment to our LORD to say that the house has peace! The LORD is in this place.

The LORD is my peace. Psalm 119:165 reads:

Great peace have those who love Your law,

 And nothing causes them to stumble. 

I think of the words in the old hymn, It Is Well With My Soul by Horatio G. Spafford: 

When peace like a river

attends my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot

You have taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul.  .  .  .