Pictures Worth 1000 Words

Sammie

Well-Known Member
6a00d8357d58c369e20112791874d228a4-800wi



Keepin' It Real and Gettin' It Done...
 

ajblakejr

Age quod agis
I loved Ronald Reagan.
He was my President.
He was my first vote.
Ronnie was my hero.

It is impossible for me to write this post without feeling great emotion.

http://www.reaganlibrary.com/details_t.aspx?p=RR1001LT&h1=936&h2=937&sw=&lm=reagan&args_a=cms&args_b=1&argsb=N&tx=991

As a former President, Ronald Reagan was now much more accessible to the people around him and went out of his way to make himself available to those who wanted to meet him. He was patient and gracious in shaking hands with and signing autographs for anyone who asked, and he genuinely enjoyed meeting people from all walks of life. Reagan delighted in hearing the personal stories of his visitors and spending time with his guests. Often people were overcome with emotion when they met Reagan, but he would always put them at ease and reassure them with his kindness. Whether he was hosting a visiting head of state, meeting the building’s janitor, or being entertained by a group of school children, Reagan was always gracious and cheerful, truly energized by interacting with people of all kinds. He was grateful that he had been elected President of the United States by the American people. They had entrusted him with that position, and he wanted to express his gratitude to them everywhere he went, not out of duty or obligation, but out of a sincere heart of thankfulness and genuine interest in others.



http://reagan2020.us/speeches/announcement_of_alzheimers.asp
Announcement of Alzheimer's Disease

November 5, 1994
My fellow Americans, I have recently been told that I am one of the millions of Americans who will be afflicted with Alzheimer's disease.
Upon learning this news, Nancy and I had to decide whether as private citizens we would keep this a private matter or whether we would make this news known in a public way. In the past, Nancy suffered from breast cancer and I had my cancer surgeries. We found through our open disclosures we were able to raise public awareness. We were happy that as a result, many more people underwent testing. They were treated in early stages and able to return to normal, healthy lives.
So now we feel it is important to share it with you. In opening our hearts, we hope this might promote greater awareness of this condition. Perhaps it will encourage a clearer understanding of the individuals and families who are affected by it.
At the moment I feel just fine. I intend to live the remainder of the years God gives me on this Earth doing the things I have always done. I will continue to share life's journey with my beloved Nancy and my family. I plan to enjoy the great outdoors and stay in touch with my friends and supporters.
Unfortunately, as Alzheimer's disease progresses, the family often bears a heavy burden. I only wish there was some way I could spare Nancy from this painful experience. When the time comes, I am confident that with your help she will face it with faith and courage.
In closing, let me thank you, the American people, for giving me the great honor of allowing me to serve as your president. When the Lord calls me home, whenever that day may be, I will leave with the greatest love for this country of ours and eternal optimism for its future.
I now begin the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life. I know that for America there will always be a bright dawn ahead.
Thank you, my friends. May God always bless you.
 

bubsdad

"Hang in there!"
Ronald Reagan was my Commander In Chief when I was in the military. I was actually part of a detachment that took care of the roads and built the temporary helicopter pad on his ranch near Santa Barbara,CA. Every time we went up there I hoped for just a chance to see him. Unfortunately, I never did, but the secret service guys were real cool. They told some pretty cool stories about the way he treated people.
 

Jones

fILE A GRIEVE!
Staff member
A lot of eulogies were written for Reagan, but I particularly liked the one written by his daughter, Patti Davis:
A Daughter's Remembrance: The Gemstones of Our Years
Time taught me to appreciate a distant father—and cherish glimpses of an elusive soul

By Patti Davis
Newsweek

June 14 issue - The house I grew up in had large plate-glass windows, which birds frequently crashed into headfirst. My father helped me assemble a bird hospital, consisting of a few shoe boxes, some old rags and tiny dishes for water and food. When I lost my first patient, when the tiny gray creature died in my hands without ever eating any of the Cheerios I'd provided for it, my father patiently explained to me that the bird was free now, flying happily through the blue breezes of heaven, where there are no hazards such as windows. I was locked into his eyes, locked into the story. My father was always more accessible when he was teaching his children through stories.
Thirty-five years later, I would walk beside him along the beach, after he had already begun slipping into the shadows of Alzheimer's. A dark thief, it steals portions of a person, leaves remnants behind. He looked up at a flock of seagulls soaring overhead and his eyes followed them, shining with something I couldn't decipher, but which I interpreted as longing.
The years between those two events were often war-torn, weighed down with sorrow—with words he found difficult to say and words I wish I'd never said.
My father was a shy man; he wasn't demonstrative with his children. His affection didn't announce itself with strong embraces of dramatic declaration. We had to interpret it. Like delicate calligraphy, it required patience and a keen eye, attributes I had to acquire. I was not born with them.
Eventually, I grew beyond the girl who wanted more from her father than he was able to give. I began to focus on the gifts he gave me. He taught me to talk to God, to read the stars, respect the cycles of nature. I am a strong swimmer and a decent horsewoman because of him. I plucked from the years the shiniest memories, strung them together. It's what you do with someone who is always a bit out of reach. You content yourself with moments; you gather them, treasure them. They are the gemstones of the years you shared.
I returned to my family, the prodigal child, in October 1994, two months before my father disclosed to the world that he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It's been reported that his disease brought us back together. That's not quite true—it happened earlier, when my mother and I laid down the armaments of our long dispiriting war, allowing the rest of the family to breathe easier, drift toward one another. But the chronology doesn't really matter; the coming together does. I returned in time to say goodbye to my father, to witness his steady withdrawal from this world.
Losing a parent is an experience that has no comparison. Like childbirth, it exists beyond the realm of language: our words strive, but never completely describe it. At first, grief carries you out like a tide to an ending you always knew would come, but couldn't possibly be prepared for. With a long, relentless illness like Alzheimer's, you remember every detail of the journey, every slow mile you traveled.
Hope dies along the way—the hope that things will someday change between you and your parent; you'll be less hesitant, perhaps, with each other, more open. During the last couple of years, I would sit beside my father, silence floating between us, knowing that we would never be any more to each other than we were right then.
I don't know whether the loss is easier or harder if a parent is famous; maybe it's neither. My father belonged to the country. I resented the country at times for its demands on him, its ownership of him. America was the important child in the family, the one who got the most attention. It's strange, but now I find comfort in sharing him with an entire nation. There is some solace in knowing that others were also mystified by him; his elusiveness was endearing, but puzzling. He left all of us with the same question: who was he? People ask me to unravel him for them, as if I have secrets I haven't shared. But I have none, nothing that you don't already know. He was a man guided by internal faith. He knew our time on this earth is brief, yet he cared deeply about making his time here count. He was comfortable in his own skin. A disarmingly sunny man, he remained partially in shadow; no one ever saw all of him. It took me nearly four decades to allow my father his shadows, his reserve, to sit silently with him and not clamor for something more.
I have learned, over time, that the people who leave us a little bit hungry are the people we remember most vividly. When they are alive, we reach for them; when they die, some part of us follows after them. My father believed in cycles—the wheel of birth, and life, and death, constantly turning. My hand was tiny when he held it in his and led me to a blackened field weeks after a fire had burned part of our ranch. He showed me green shoots peeking out of the ashes. New life. I let go of his hand for too long, pushed it away, before finally grasping it again, trusting that even in his dying, I would find new life.
 

ajblakejr

Age quod agis
I like that ... true of every parent/child relationship.

Very true.

Guilty. I took this post down a very emotional path.

I posted three pictures hoping to fill that 1000 word requirement.
3 point contact in the New Orleans Superdome while climbing stairs.

Then I found myself climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to reread the words of Patti Davis. Patti pulled the unhealed heart strings of my past year open and exposed for me to finally examine.

My father was dx'd with Alz in May 2008. He was dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer in July 2008. He passsed away in September 2008.

I felt that being Dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer was a gift. He would rather feel the pain and look in my eyes and recognize the love deep inside me, than become an empty shell and not know who I am or understand who he has become.

Jones...thank you again for the post.
Patti Davis...thank you for the words.
Daddy...thank you for some how making me into me the strong confident woman I am today.
 
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ajblakejr

Age quod agis
Ronald Reagan was my Commander In Chief when I was in the military. I was actually part of a detachment that took care of the roads and built the temporary helicopter pad on his ranch near Santa Barbara,CA. Every time we went up there I hoped for just a chance to see him. Unfortunately, I never did, but the secret service guys were real cool. They told some pretty cool stories about the way he treated people.


Thank you for serving our great country.....
 

bubsdad

"Hang in there!"
Guilty. I took this post down a very emotional path.

I posted three pictures hoping to fill that 1000 word requirement.
3 point contact in the New Orleans Superdome while climbing stairs.

Then I found myself climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to reread the words of Patti Davis. Patti pulled the unhealed heart strings of my past year open and exposed for me to finally examine.

My father was dx'd with Alz in May 2008. He was dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer in July 2008. He passsed away in September 2008.

I felt that being Dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer was a gift. He would rather feel the pain and look in my eyes and recognize the love deep inside me, than become an empty shell and not know who I am or understand who he has become.

Jones...thank you again for the post.
Patti Davis...thank you for the words.
Daddy...thank you for some how making me into me the strong confident woman I am today.
Can't imagine how hard it must be to realize that being diagnosed with cancer would actually be a blessing. Either would be devistating. Can't imagine the emotional trauma your family went through. Focus on the good times.
 

toonertoo

Most Awesome Dog
Staff member
Guilty. I took this post down a very emotional path.

I posted three pictures hoping to fill that 1000 word requirement.
3 point contact in the New Orleans Superdome while climbing stairs.

Then I found myself climbing out of bed in the middle of the night to reread the words of Patti Davis. Patti pulled the unhealed heart strings of my past year open and exposed for me to finally examine.

My father was dx'd with Alz in May 2008. He was dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer in July 2008. He passsed away in September 2008.

I felt that being Dx'd with Pancreatic Cancer was a gift. He would rather feel the pain and look in my eyes and recognize the love deep inside me, than become an empty shell and not know who I am or understand who he has become.

Jones...thank you again for the post.
Patti Davis...thank you for the words.
Daddy...thank you for some how making me into me the strong confident woman I am today.


Made me cry too.
Have a good day!
 

ajblakejr

Age quod agis
And me as well. :crying:

Made me cry too.
Have a good day!

It is very appreciated, toonertoo and dilligaf, you helped me with my tears. Because sometimes I can't even force myself to cry.

2008 is the year of loss.

My father asked me for permission to die. I remember the moment and someday when I am stronger I will blog about it.

My father was sad and he looked to me to be his strength. He said that he was sad and he wanted to cry but he couldn't. The emotion was present but the body had ceased to work.

I told him that I had enough tears inside for both of us.

Those tears get pumped while I drive to work...Garth Brooks..."...does she know how much I love her....if tomorrow never comes..."
 
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