Spread My Wings

I get to pick him up. He used to rent cars, but not anymore, because he bought one. The stress in my life makes me want to abandon it again—though this time, Richard is going to get a full-time caregiver, until the doctor steps in. For twenty-two years, I have been his right and left hand. I refuse to call myself his provider or caregiver—I call myself his friend.

Come on—this would only take away all independence from her. Well, I am ready to spread my wings and fly. I am out of here. My twin was the first to know.

Yes, I drove to the races by myself last Saturday. I did not stay until the end. I get tired when I drive the F-150 2000. I am planning to take it to San Antonio. I am not afraid of driving it anymore. It has been 27 years since I stayed with my twin.

It is November 5, 2022, 4:59 a.m. The doctor’s assistant is going to see Richard on Monday.

I do not know what to do anymore. He has always been frail. I thank God He took away my fear of living with a severely handicapped person for 22 years.

I was ready to leave. Then—bam—my brother reacted and threatened to take my room away. I felt threatened in my small space, which has only been mine for a year.

I cannot leave. God said, “No, not yet.” How would I support myself? My dad and I clash at times. My older sister spends time with him.

My twin was here—she left yesterday after three or four nights, bringing two large cats. Peanut could not come inside—my little dog, a Chihuahua who never grew. One of the cats kept biting my sister’s feet when she got up. She got me a few times too.

It is still too hot to go anywhere. I need to at least take my brother up on his offer—two days and two nights, 48 hours off. He is leaving on Friday.

My courage is not what it used to be. I have gotten used to driving my son’s truck—the Ford F-150 2000. It may be old, but it still roars.

My son-in-law—well, not legally—calls me “Miss” all the time. He said, “That truck is a man’s truck.” I laughed.

It is what my son left me—not his father. I will go somewhere safe on the island. I do not know yet. “Mike, do you want to go with me?” That is funny.

Oh my God—27 years. Come on, Wendy, get over it. The Spirit was with me through moments of deep spiritual connection with the Lord.

He guided me through the darkest hour of my soul and gave me words to write—to share in the presence of Spirit—because I am in all the writings, in Spirit, with anyone who reads them.

The “I Am”—fully in the presence of Spirit. I want to be there again. What has been written is meant to be shared—opened up so that not just thousands, but millions, may read it.

I have 18 grandchildren—one in heaven—and one great-grandson. My two daughters, my son’s partners, and their children. How can I help them while hiding behind a website? Not being open or receptive to what is happening in our lives right now.

I believe InPresenceofSpirit.com is meant for more people. I do not know what to do. So I drift—doing only what is essential. I cannot tell you how many times I have woken him up to ask if he is okay—probably thousands. Twenty-two years is a long time.

What the PA will see is Richard—completely bedridden. I cannot transfer him, not even into a wheelchair. His body has atrophied since birth.

He has not walked in two years. His arms cannot straighten. His fingers barely move. His back and legs do not bend. His legs cannot even open an inch.

It takes technique to care for him. I could teach it—but I have no credentials. He could not do it without me, and I could not do it without him—all these years.

My back hurts. Routine: “day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year—time never ending, yet standing still.”

Now it is a whole different reality. I learned how to care for someone like this from my first patient in a nursing home. He had polio and was quite small. I never forgot. I know what to do—and I do it every day and night.

I do not know how to be free anymore. It is a path I chose—but still, what do I do?

I keep my writings online because I have to share them. I worked for 27 years on this project. One day, I may have to close it—but until then, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think about In Presence of Spirit and what I am supposed to do with it.

I cannot communicate easily with people. I never have. That is why I am not fully on social media. It exists here and there—but not everywhere.

Millions do not even know it exists. That is my fault. I wanted to share it my way. Not many come to the site. But when I do update it, it gets views.

There were 31,000 views in October, even though I barely worked on it. Yesterday, it reached 377,037 page views for the year.

This page alone has reached 1,037 words. It is now 6:56 a.m. I feel a change in the air. I have to follow through.

If I do not do it, no one else will. My heart’s desire is written on 6hr.ca8.myftpupload.com—over six hundred writings, and more pages to come. I have not figured all of it out yet.

“Essentially, this is a gift—to you and yours, from me and mine—to bring an end to pain and bring peace to our souls.” —Me, 1996

At first, I wrote that for my husband of my youth—but now I know it is for everyone who needs to know that Christ is alive in our hearts.

All we have to do is say:
“Lord, bring me back to the ‘I’ within me that is one—in the presence of Spirit—with You.”

I love you.