Aging isn't for sisies, I've read. This last year has proven that. I finally got my masters degree...a week after my youngest daughter got hers!!
Another daughter almost died this fall, and there was nothing we could do but support her in her fight to wellness, which was also taken out of my hands because she moved to the coast.
I developed crazy elevations in blood pressure and looked stroke in it's ugly face and made it through.
My mother died after years of being absent in the world of dementia/alzheimers.
I know all that sort of drama has always been in the world. I've watched others survive the same episodes and grow stronger. But it isn't for sissies, this growing and being what I've witnessed others do. It has been a hard year.
Happiness, you betcha, new son in law, grandkids growing healthy, stable, strong. Daughters chasing dreams and kids and men and more than they ever thought to look for. I love those beauties of older age. But it still isn't for sissies. Even the beauties are about being less, the goal of parenting is to do it so well, the teaching and prodding, supporting and pushing: until they don't need you. Isn't that a heartbreaking statement?
Being proud of the job we've done all together, this village raising our children, reinforces the fact that we all put ourselves out of the job. Like firing ourselves, laying us off due to no need. Winning at mothering makes me unemployed...it's a good thing I'm not a sissy. Just proud.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Josephine
Josephine was 85 but I quit counting at her 78th birthday.
"Happy Birthday Mom" I had greeted. "Whose birthday is it?" she asked. I reminded her that it was her birthday. "No it isn't. I would know. Now, who are you?" That was when I quit counting. It was a surprise that it was 7 years since that time. A foreverness exists in the lives of those dealing with Dementia/Alzheimers. There were times when it felt like I had always been trying to agree with ridiculous thoughts, following crazy conversations, being mistaken for her mother or no one she had ever met. Truly, that is one of the hazards of the caregiving position. You forget the mother, the grandmother, the women she was.
I especially remember the Lewey Bodies part of it all. Small little people she would try to talk sense into or yell at depending on what they were doing. Originally, we liked to believe that she was "seeing" young versions of ourselves or our children. But, it is a symptom of Dementia...nothing remininiscent in that. Mom had developed Leukemia and we were doing a program to kill it and the pain. She was in the hospital. We couldn't stand the thought of her being tied or belted down so we took turns with round the clock supervision. What a great nursing staff we worked with.
That night, she was telling them to get off the ceiling. They were bothering either George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. She told them over and over to get down. I said, let them learn their lesson the hard way. Let's just lie here and ignore them. She answered, "They could fall down and die." I said I didn't think a president would let that happen. "Well, they want me to die you know. But I don't want to go alone." I replied, Dad is there, your mom and dad and brothers. It could be good, I suggested. She would have none of it. I said, "Why don't you take Evelyn with you?" She paused, thought about it then used my name in the first time in so long, that I was taken aback. "Patty, I should take you with me. You won't get in otherwise I'm afraid."
Dementia has a mean core. She did many mean and hurtful things before we were aware of what it was. She said viciously ugly things. It was all part of the damn disease. It stole my mother and left her hurting, dying slowly and oh, so hard. I laughed that night. My brother Tom reminded me of that story as we stood in her bedroom the night before she finally fought her way out of this world. We laughed.
And that is how I will remember her. Laughing when it was hard, crazy and impossible. Laughing when her mother was gone, when she went to work at 14, when her second child was born with major physical handicapps, when Dad broke his back, when baby after baby showed up in her Catholic home, when all the ills and troubles of life threatened to win...she prayed, laughed, and loved her man. Till the disease took her. It had her prisoner for 7 years. Now, she is laughing at it. Na na boo boo Dementia.
"Happy Birthday Mom" I had greeted. "Whose birthday is it?" she asked. I reminded her that it was her birthday. "No it isn't. I would know. Now, who are you?" That was when I quit counting. It was a surprise that it was 7 years since that time. A foreverness exists in the lives of those dealing with Dementia/Alzheimers. There were times when it felt like I had always been trying to agree with ridiculous thoughts, following crazy conversations, being mistaken for her mother or no one she had ever met. Truly, that is one of the hazards of the caregiving position. You forget the mother, the grandmother, the women she was.
I especially remember the Lewey Bodies part of it all. Small little people she would try to talk sense into or yell at depending on what they were doing. Originally, we liked to believe that she was "seeing" young versions of ourselves or our children. But, it is a symptom of Dementia...nothing remininiscent in that. Mom had developed Leukemia and we were doing a program to kill it and the pain. She was in the hospital. We couldn't stand the thought of her being tied or belted down so we took turns with round the clock supervision. What a great nursing staff we worked with.
That night, she was telling them to get off the ceiling. They were bothering either George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. She told them over and over to get down. I said, let them learn their lesson the hard way. Let's just lie here and ignore them. She answered, "They could fall down and die." I said I didn't think a president would let that happen. "Well, they want me to die you know. But I don't want to go alone." I replied, Dad is there, your mom and dad and brothers. It could be good, I suggested. She would have none of it. I said, "Why don't you take Evelyn with you?" She paused, thought about it then used my name in the first time in so long, that I was taken aback. "Patty, I should take you with me. You won't get in otherwise I'm afraid."
Dementia has a mean core. She did many mean and hurtful things before we were aware of what it was. She said viciously ugly things. It was all part of the damn disease. It stole my mother and left her hurting, dying slowly and oh, so hard. I laughed that night. My brother Tom reminded me of that story as we stood in her bedroom the night before she finally fought her way out of this world. We laughed.
And that is how I will remember her. Laughing when it was hard, crazy and impossible. Laughing when her mother was gone, when she went to work at 14, when her second child was born with major physical handicapps, when Dad broke his back, when baby after baby showed up in her Catholic home, when all the ills and troubles of life threatened to win...she prayed, laughed, and loved her man. Till the disease took her. It had her prisoner for 7 years. Now, she is laughing at it. Na na boo boo Dementia.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Making memories
It was a mission. Four of us in a traveling jewelry case...otherwise known as a Honda Civic. Three of the most valuable things in my life - two daughters and a son-in-law off to see five more gems of Reruchaness. Sadly, leaving behind the wealth of love in Lincoln and the richness of my newset loved one. But, our trip to the memories yet to come was of great importance.
I always think to myself, and now my daughters know why they wonder if they are nuts - I am always having mental conversations with myself and they have modeled that well!!! I think to myself, what will they dredge up from the bottom of their hearts at some random moment? Which piece of this week will carry them through a rough time when they can barely believe that they are loveable? What wandering thought will comfort a broken-hearted day? And that is why we spend time together...building memories that will beat the wolves of insignificance away from the doors of our souls. We built for six and a half days and will reap the dividends for a lifetime. Now that, my friends, is a wealth beyond measure!!
My four daughters are the jewels in my crown, my son-in-laws the settings for my four precious stones that send the daughters' glowing sparkle into the world. And as for my grandkids...Oh, the liquid wonder of their constantly moving and growing joy!!
I read once that the heart is pointed because there is pain in love, but the safety of the small, close confines of the bottom of the heart provide safety for all memories to be preserved and saved until they can become cherished. And yes, there are always going to be disagreements, discontent, spots on the jewels but lordy, all God's children have problems. Just knowing we are not problem children, knowing that everyone has issues, and knowing how very lucky we are to be in the building stages of our lives....well...it is a happy new year!!!
I always think to myself, and now my daughters know why they wonder if they are nuts - I am always having mental conversations with myself and they have modeled that well!!! I think to myself, what will they dredge up from the bottom of their hearts at some random moment? Which piece of this week will carry them through a rough time when they can barely believe that they are loveable? What wandering thought will comfort a broken-hearted day? And that is why we spend time together...building memories that will beat the wolves of insignificance away from the doors of our souls. We built for six and a half days and will reap the dividends for a lifetime. Now that, my friends, is a wealth beyond measure!!
My four daughters are the jewels in my crown, my son-in-laws the settings for my four precious stones that send the daughters' glowing sparkle into the world. And as for my grandkids...Oh, the liquid wonder of their constantly moving and growing joy!!
I read once that the heart is pointed because there is pain in love, but the safety of the small, close confines of the bottom of the heart provide safety for all memories to be preserved and saved until they can become cherished. And yes, there are always going to be disagreements, discontent, spots on the jewels but lordy, all God's children have problems. Just knowing we are not problem children, knowing that everyone has issues, and knowing how very lucky we are to be in the building stages of our lives....well...it is a happy new year!!!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
do you remember?
Christmas decorating. So much of it is reliving my Christmas pasts. It use to be full of "Do you remember this one?" asked by a blonde with flashing eyes. Three other blondes echoing the same question. All self-entranced in the history of their Christmases. As they grew, so did the number of ornaments on the tree.
Then one year, their dad had this momentous idea. "Let's make an ornament every year for each of them. When they leave home, they will take peices of the tree with them." So we did. Every year, starting with the deer with antlers. One for each of them, one for the parents and every of of their teachers got one too. The star Santas were a big hit. It was fun and the painting was an annual family event.
Surprisingly, to me anyway, came the divorce. I couldn't begin to make ornaments, just started buying one for everyone so it matched everyone else's. They were content to continue the tradition. Even as the oldest moved out of the home into the home she created with her husband, we continued. Seeing her tree in Idaho with our ornaments kept us together. Second daughter moved into her home with her husband also. More ornaments left the tree making magic on their tree.
This year, all the ornaments are gone. Except mine. I know at least two of the girls have trees up with their children. I hope my newly-weds have one up also. I am the sentimental sop keeping up the tradition the dad they don't always respect started. But my tree, as a compromise to blending, is not the traditional one my family has always had. Oh, the actual family tree is at Liz's house...permanently slanted sideways since I plastered the post crooked one evening trying to fight the tree climbing Panther. It glows with love and pride and history there.
I, last year with the man I love, brought a new tree. Not his family's nor mine. His family tree went to Goodwill...what a nice name. We decorated our tree with all new ornaments, cooper and gold shining with wishes and hope of merging our children and our lives. It is a beautiful tree but still an unfinished hope. We will put it up again today and laugh and find some old Christmas past items we can't live without to scatter through our kidless house.
What about the ornaments? I still buy one every year for my daughters. I spent several years buying for each grandchild also, but dropped that due to the knowledge of each needing ownership of their own trees. Last year, a wreath from 1,ooo Villages...it was made from soda cans...figures holding hands and one another. Symbolic... This year, one for ever single family member, the kind that holds a picture. My problem, finding a current picture to put into every frame. The new man of my life said, "Have everyone take the picture at the same time on Christmas Day. You can all pretend you're together for that moment." He laughed and patted my head, a habit that can irritate me.
But that is what I am going to do. Give my pretty little frames. Ask everyone to take pictures at noon on Christmas Day. We will be together for the moment taking pieces of everyone with us. Thanks to the two men I have loved. Merry Christmas.
Then one year, their dad had this momentous idea. "Let's make an ornament every year for each of them. When they leave home, they will take peices of the tree with them." So we did. Every year, starting with the deer with antlers. One for each of them, one for the parents and every of of their teachers got one too. The star Santas were a big hit. It was fun and the painting was an annual family event.
Surprisingly, to me anyway, came the divorce. I couldn't begin to make ornaments, just started buying one for everyone so it matched everyone else's. They were content to continue the tradition. Even as the oldest moved out of the home into the home she created with her husband, we continued. Seeing her tree in Idaho with our ornaments kept us together. Second daughter moved into her home with her husband also. More ornaments left the tree making magic on their tree.
This year, all the ornaments are gone. Except mine. I know at least two of the girls have trees up with their children. I hope my newly-weds have one up also. I am the sentimental sop keeping up the tradition the dad they don't always respect started. But my tree, as a compromise to blending, is not the traditional one my family has always had. Oh, the actual family tree is at Liz's house...permanently slanted sideways since I plastered the post crooked one evening trying to fight the tree climbing Panther. It glows with love and pride and history there.
I, last year with the man I love, brought a new tree. Not his family's nor mine. His family tree went to Goodwill...what a nice name. We decorated our tree with all new ornaments, cooper and gold shining with wishes and hope of merging our children and our lives. It is a beautiful tree but still an unfinished hope. We will put it up again today and laugh and find some old Christmas past items we can't live without to scatter through our kidless house.
What about the ornaments? I still buy one every year for my daughters. I spent several years buying for each grandchild also, but dropped that due to the knowledge of each needing ownership of their own trees. Last year, a wreath from 1,ooo Villages...it was made from soda cans...figures holding hands and one another. Symbolic... This year, one for ever single family member, the kind that holds a picture. My problem, finding a current picture to put into every frame. The new man of my life said, "Have everyone take the picture at the same time on Christmas Day. You can all pretend you're together for that moment." He laughed and patted my head, a habit that can irritate me.
But that is what I am going to do. Give my pretty little frames. Ask everyone to take pictures at noon on Christmas Day. We will be together for the moment taking pieces of everyone with us. Thanks to the two men I have loved. Merry Christmas.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Thanksgiving
Opposite of love? Bet you said hate. I paid a shrink a lot of money to find the real answer to that question.
In my divorce I asked when would I stop loving him? I wrestled with it and said, "I'm paying a lot of money here. When will I know I am cured?" My attorney had said, "Never. You are never done with him. You will always tell the stories of him and them because you were in love, because they are part of that loving relationship and because it honors them. You will never be done."
My shrink said, "That man is a smart attorney. But your answer is...(drum roll and It IS Worth IT!!) when you don't care. The opposite of love is not hate, that's where you are. Hate is the other side of the double sided sword of love. When you don't care anymore, in any other than a human way, you are no longer in love."
Consider that free answer as priceless. (You're welcome) That answer came true for me months, almost 2 years after I sent Steve out on March Fourth...another irony of my life. Get it...march forth? That answer is priceless those times when the family gets together and we struggle with the independence of one another and the vast differences in our behaviors, outlooks, political beliefs, lifestyles....You Name IT. We are different!
Then comes floating into my mind...the opposite of love is indifference, not caring. This is caring exponentially too much. It is also about being sensitive to our differences and wondering if we are truly being accepted. Which is the next question....if I truly accept them, shouldn't I trust that they truly accept me? In the words of St. Francis of Assissi, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."
You probably already knew there are moments in the weekend that were not worthy of the Hallmark channel. Really, aren't the ones you like best when the difficulties are overcome by forgiving and caring and trying harder and someone growing up? We are all Hallmark Channel worthy...all of our families. But the moments that we struggle in our familyness are the moments where the growth occurs and the bonding builds. I don't worry when I can step back and think rationally instead of inside my bleeding heart. Then I think of those families spending 4 or 5 hours together in pleasant conversation as they plan their night out, or trip back to "sanity" or the other family.
I have seen them, I chose mine. The messiness, contradictions within them, the loudness, f bombs, silliness, wine guzzling women who bring my home much joy. I choose mine and we will never be done.
In my divorce I asked when would I stop loving him? I wrestled with it and said, "I'm paying a lot of money here. When will I know I am cured?" My attorney had said, "Never. You are never done with him. You will always tell the stories of him and them because you were in love, because they are part of that loving relationship and because it honors them. You will never be done."
My shrink said, "That man is a smart attorney. But your answer is...(drum roll and It IS Worth IT!!) when you don't care. The opposite of love is not hate, that's where you are. Hate is the other side of the double sided sword of love. When you don't care anymore, in any other than a human way, you are no longer in love."
Consider that free answer as priceless. (You're welcome) That answer came true for me months, almost 2 years after I sent Steve out on March Fourth...another irony of my life. Get it...march forth? That answer is priceless those times when the family gets together and we struggle with the independence of one another and the vast differences in our behaviors, outlooks, political beliefs, lifestyles....You Name IT. We are different!
Then comes floating into my mind...the opposite of love is indifference, not caring. This is caring exponentially too much. It is also about being sensitive to our differences and wondering if we are truly being accepted. Which is the next question....if I truly accept them, shouldn't I trust that they truly accept me? In the words of St. Francis of Assissi, "Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."
You probably already knew there are moments in the weekend that were not worthy of the Hallmark channel. Really, aren't the ones you like best when the difficulties are overcome by forgiving and caring and trying harder and someone growing up? We are all Hallmark Channel worthy...all of our families. But the moments that we struggle in our familyness are the moments where the growth occurs and the bonding builds. I don't worry when I can step back and think rationally instead of inside my bleeding heart. Then I think of those families spending 4 or 5 hours together in pleasant conversation as they plan their night out, or trip back to "sanity" or the other family.
I have seen them, I chose mine. The messiness, contradictions within them, the loudness, f bombs, silliness, wine guzzling women who bring my home much joy. I choose mine and we will never be done.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Officially I'm Grown Up
My youngest daughter has this title on her latest blog. I no longer aspire to the content of the message. It is my title of my story this time and it is for real.
I have 2 of my 4 girls going to a teenie bopper romance movie about Vampires even as I write. Yes, they are too old to be reading middle school books but hey...they're reading. Another daughter is spending time with a potentially serious boyfriend meeting his friends and family..."Mom, this is too big. He wants me to meet them all." And I harken back to the wedding he came to for littlest sis where he met all the family and friends plus decorated the wedding site....But she doesn't see the connection. My oldest is probably at the same movie as the two in Lincoln, just in a different state. And I? I am cleaning house for the onslaught of 3 of my 4 being home for Thanksgiving. Washing bedding, vacuuming unused rooms to freshen them up for the five grandkids coming and the 3 daughters, 2 spouses and the guy with potential.
Wonderful! You think as you read this. Well, here is where I know this is the day I became an adult. I live and love with Bob. In the house he raised his two children with my friend, and his wife, Deb. A lot of my things did not make it into this building. Liz got some things, I made the others take stuff too. I gave generously to Goodwill and had a free garage sale. Do I miss my platter, my green apple salad bowls, my coffee table in the living room where the little ones would sit. Yes. I do. But, as an adult, I realize I miss my family more. So this year I I will decorate with their presence. I will miss Laurel's being here with hers, much more than the goods that didn't make the move. The things I miss for a moment are actually just things at long last. I have become an adult. Today.
I have 2 of my 4 girls going to a teenie bopper romance movie about Vampires even as I write. Yes, they are too old to be reading middle school books but hey...they're reading. Another daughter is spending time with a potentially serious boyfriend meeting his friends and family..."Mom, this is too big. He wants me to meet them all." And I harken back to the wedding he came to for littlest sis where he met all the family and friends plus decorated the wedding site....But she doesn't see the connection. My oldest is probably at the same movie as the two in Lincoln, just in a different state. And I? I am cleaning house for the onslaught of 3 of my 4 being home for Thanksgiving. Washing bedding, vacuuming unused rooms to freshen them up for the five grandkids coming and the 3 daughters, 2 spouses and the guy with potential.
Wonderful! You think as you read this. Well, here is where I know this is the day I became an adult. I live and love with Bob. In the house he raised his two children with my friend, and his wife, Deb. A lot of my things did not make it into this building. Liz got some things, I made the others take stuff too. I gave generously to Goodwill and had a free garage sale. Do I miss my platter, my green apple salad bowls, my coffee table in the living room where the little ones would sit. Yes. I do. But, as an adult, I realize I miss my family more. So this year I I will decorate with their presence. I will miss Laurel's being here with hers, much more than the goods that didn't make the move. The things I miss for a moment are actually just things at long last. I have become an adult. Today.
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