Processing Parkinson's, Parenting and the Past: Through Prose and Poetry

By Lori Jaffe-Brous

What do you do when you're flabbergasted and don't know what to do? Well, I eat and write. Although I'm better at eating than writing, both help me understand and accept the experiences in my life. This book, in three parts, has served as a processing exercise for me. The first part is a short story that springs from a real moment years ago and turns into a bit of fantasy, helping me get through some of the challenges of having Parkinson's Disease. The second part is another short story that is autobiographical, excising a year in the life, helping me understand my relationship with a parent. The third part contains five poems that helped me deal with loss and stress.
The author will donate half of every sale to The Parkinson Council, located in Philadelphia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543417678

Lori Jaffe-Brous

LLJB is quickly approaching the demarcation line of her sixth decade of life. She tries to employ humor and denial to pull through the ages, but it's really her family and her little service dog (Maya) that keep the positive momentum flowing. Diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2004, she has tried to find outlets to usurp the challenges PD so generously offers. Her outlets include writing and "fARTwork" (art work that stinks), and sharing time and laughter with her family and friends. She hasn't any real talent, but is loaded with real blessings.

Book preview

DEDICATIONS

Since I have the opportunity, I dedicate these stories to

Mark, my wonderful husband, who is stronger, funnier, smarter,

and more caring than anyone knows.

Rachel, Jennifer, and David – three incredible individuals who have given me

so many reasons to smile and laugh and be proud.

Mark James Jaffe – My little brother and oldest friend, who always knows how to make me laugh

Diane Arlene Weil Jaffe Varsolona

My mom

Our extended family units (Jaffe/Weil/Brous), past and present;

Especially my dad, Robert Jaffe; Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Al, and FB

I include Andrea Sheridan in this family mix.

My very dear friends, sharing laughter and stories, support and fun;

Always here for my family through every

event, memory, and experience… good and bad.

My former students, who taught me many valuable lessons.

My neighbors, who maintain a village of support.

My former colleagues and school district for doing everything they could do to enable me to work as long as I could physically manage

The staff of the PDMDC and TPC– especially the ones I dealt with on a regular basis.

I thank you for your compassionate care.

In fact, if there are any sales of this book, I would like to donate half of each sale to

The Parkinson Council in Philadelphia as a way to thank Sandy Fritsch, who started and maintained a support group of wonderful people; sharing their personal stories, obstacles and triumphs, with humor, comradery, and heartfelt sincerity. Amazing people.

WHEN DID YOU DO THAT?

Lori Lynn Jaffe-Brous

 2005 Lori Lynn Jaffe-Brous

CHAPTER ONE

SLAM! With the rumbling of an earthquake, David stormed into the house. Everything shook as the thud of his savage feet pounded the floor beneath him, giving new meaning to hard wood. His mom lifted her head as David entered the room where she lay upon the couch, horizontally posed like a loaf of stale banana bread. From this perch, Lori could see and hear her children in action, enabling the ability to cut her attention up into slices that could be served to her family. David’s mom called for him to join her in the family room.

I hate him! He cheats! It isn’t fair… I never get to pitch. Ball hog… jerk! It was obvious that player and umpire, David, had called the game. I will never play with him again. I wish he would move! David was flushed with frustration.

David’s mom donned the face of sympathy. Honey, what happened? Her question fell upon deaf ears.

And the others are no better. They all stink. I hate them all. They always side with him.

Sweetheart, was there a fight about the game? An inquiry that penetrated her son’s hearing.

David shot a look of disbelief. He was not ready for the patronizing words of a horizontally posed parent. He wanted to finish his fight, even if it was with himself. He searched for solace in the refrigerator, pouring juice into his glass and covering a good part of the counter.

Has my brain embedded itself into the fabric of this couch? What kind of stupid question was that to ask? As a mother, she could hear the sound of sticky liquid attacking the counter top. Hopelessly, she laid there wondering how to ease her son’s pain and who would finally chip away at the puddle of juice that would transform into a solid before she would get a chance to clean it up. Her body was much like that spilled-over juice; she felt as useless as liquid without a container.

She took another stab at it, calling out, David, come in here and tell me what happened.

Did you ever open a can of soda? Do you know that chhhhhhh sound it makes? That is what David needed to do in the kitchen. He needed to chhh.

Once David was ready to sit down and talk, their conversation was soothing for both. His mom felt useful and David felt ready to rejoin the game. David shared his thoughts before leaving the room.

I don’t play baseball as well as everyone else.

You are younger than most of your friends. You really don’t get a chance to play that often. And, to be honest, I just wasn’t that good of a teacher when it came to showing you how to play baseball.

David’s response took his mother’s breath away. When did you do that? You didn’t teach me how to play ball.

Years of memories darted through her mind’s eye. How could he not remember all the hours she played with him… soccer, baseball, football, basketball? Her life was consumed and defined by her role as a mother. She had ceased to be Lori; instead, she was Rachel’s mom, Jennifer’s mom, and David’s mom. At best she had evolved into a series of pronouns.

Three years had passed since she was able to go out and play. The oldest child remembered well the hours of playing, baking, reading and singing, and pick-up-and-go. The second child had vague memories that were reinforced by stories shared in the car and at the table. But this third child, at only seven years of age, had spent only the first half of his life as a recipient of action parenting. His mom now realized that he had no recollection of their active life together. Her heart imploded.

If you walk along the drab blanket of beige that meets the ocean, your eye will occasionally catch the rare grain of sand that captures the sun in such a way that it shimmers like a speck of gold. That rare shine, the twinkle among the ordinary… that is what a parent experiences when she shares special moments with her children. This mom had been blessed with a beach full of twinkles. Was she the only one who had witnessed this cascade of brightness? It was obvious to her that her son had merely walked along the beach, seeing the same view as his mother, but never looking below his feet to see what was supporting his stride; he was blind to the twinkles passing between his