Angela Pascopella

Ever have one of those mornings when you just sprung out of bed, felt vibrant, ready for work and you effortlessly tousled your hair, threw on some clothes and practically flew out the door with a smile and a yearning for productive success?

 

Well, I have. But I can't remember when that last morning was. 

 

It was definitely more than four years ago now. 

 

It was in my "past life," when I was writing, editing, creating and indirectly helping "the world" with a smart team of passionate dreamers. In other words, when I was younger. 

 

But here I am. Now. Most days, just struggling to get out of bed in the morning to get to my new work in patient access at the local hospital. It was a job that was supposed to lead me into another job but it's not working out the way I had planned.

 

The night before the work-week morning routine goes like this:

Hop into queen-sized bed with my large Akita/Boxer/everything else dog, and my horse farrier husband, whereby I'm barely able to stretch one leg out and off the edge of the side of the bed. I toss and turn. I heat up, sweat, and get cold...get hot... It just is. 

 

I recall something I need to do, and thank my brain for actually remembering.

I yell out to the bathroom bot: "Alexa, set alarm for 5:30 am."

Think about it... Angela, in your dreams.

I yell again. "Alexa, set alarm for 6 am."

Reality is still setting in. "Alexa, set alarm for 6:30 am."

Finally, I yell: "Alexa, set alarm for 7 am."

So Alexa, has her four alarms all ready for me, and I barely make it through to 4 AM before I wake up to relieve the bladder, and get back into bed and thoughts start racing in my scattered brain:

 

I need to help the world. I need to save the elephants from poachers in Africa. Why don't I volunteer anymore at a dog shelter? I really should get back to the horse rescue work.

 

Why did that patient act so menacing yesterday? Did they ever go to kindergarten and learn how to treat people? Are they so miserable in their own lives that they just can't be kind, or at the very least, respectful? They need to eat more whole foods. 

 

I have to cut my nails tomorrow. They are getting dangerously sharp on some ends. I wouldn't want to use them as weapons. I digress...

 

Should I color my hair in a week, or wait two weeks? Do the gray strands bother me that much? Or do I really wear it as a badge of honor, as a sign of wisdom? Jury is still out.

 

Did I rub my face hard enough with that hemp oil seed? Hemp is in everything now. What a coup for the health and beauty industry. I should really get back to Orange Theory.  It was the only true workout to which I was loyal. 

 

 

God, I'm hot tonight. Skyli is my love bug, but she's really cramping my legs here. Rob is not helping. He is now, what I call, sleep-arming. It's when he raises his right arm straight to the ceiling, almost like the hand of God?... He does this often. Is he OK? What is he reaching for? Is he happy in this state? Or is he trying to hold on or... let go of something? Hmmm.

...

 

This is my 50-something brain... and body... and aura. It's an odd zone that keeps me from rising to my potential. 

 

And I always end with thinking of my late mother. Is she watching over me and keeping me here, in this twilight zone, to teach me something about perseverance, or strength, or character? Is this her way of teaching me "patience"? Will I see her tomorrow--in a bird or lady bug, a fox, or in the wind, in a ray of light? Is she guiding me to a better place, where I feel more centered, more creative, more helpful to the world?

 

Whatever it is, it's taking way too long, and I'm way too hot, and way too irritated to look for these things. I think of that Fuel song Shimmer. It's a must hear as far as poetry in songs go: "Here and now, will we ever be again? 'Cause I have found all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade away...again."

 

So I peel myself out of that way-too-small-bed, take a quick shower, put on some clothes that fit a bit differently from how they did in my 40s, and apply cream on my face. This new cream has special hemp ingredients, named Lord something, packaged with a golden-colored tiny spoon and wording on the jar that plays on the words of Lord and God, of which I'm sure devout Christians would disapprove.

 

I look at my hair that doesn't do what it used to do (sit there and look pretty awesome without effort) and run out the door, only to trip and nearly fall or bump into a piece of furniture, because my faculties and sense of balance are a bit haywire. And don't forget that, disturbingly, I started to have trouble swallowing normally these days. I tend to choke on...well, water.

 

In fact, last night, my husband kindly informed me of some fascinating science. "You know, choking on liquids is another sign of brain deterioration."

 

Lovely. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About 40 hours before your death, you combed your straight, fine day and applied lipstick. You were determined to get up from the hospital bed and walk the halls of the hospital.
I wanted to take a photo of you, sitting in that hospital room chair, but I didn't.
It didn't seem right, given that  Read More 

So I was talking to my sister in California this morning.
She's an epidemiologist, has a Ph.D. and is the 'smart one' in the family.
The subject was girl empowerment, choices, our childhood and my unfortunate unemployment situation.
And I told her that  Read More 

To her very last. quiet breath, mom lived and moved in the background, purely existing for everyone else around her.
Not wanting anything for herself.
“Don’t fuss,” she would say.
But she fussed over everyone else.
“Don’t worry about me!” mom would exclaim.
But she would worry and lose sleep thinking about  Read More 

While reading a book on "Honoring Grief," I was prompted to think of my relationship with my now dead mother.
The images that come to mind include:
Mom, staring off, into space. Sometimes eating/chomping on crackers or sipping coffee.
Her eyes far away.
She barely acknowledges or notices me.
I don't even recall  Read More 

November 11, 2017.

 

It's my mother's day of death. 

For years, I've been reading about death and dying, grieving and souls, near-death experiences, and those who communicate with the "dead."
I still can't comprehend where or who my mother is right now.
Some of the last words she said to me were: 

 Read More 

After a long hike in the woods overlooking Danbury, Connecticut with my dog, Skyli, a rescue from Tennessee, I saw the Monarch butterfly flutter to a purple clover on the ground.
I stopped and recalled my late grandmother's obsession with butterflies. "When I see butterflies, it means someone's going to die," she would often say, referring to birthday cards.
She did die  Read More