Blog 64: It's a Hard Knock Life For Us

My sisters and I are drowning even deeper into the abyss.  It’s getting darker and darker as we sink even further down.  I see my sister Lynda's face as she disappears.   She looks scared.  I want to help her, but she’s gone.  She’s a child.  We are all children.  I feel cold and isolated, so alone.  I don’t know where my sisters are anymore.  They aren’t close to me.  Are they here?   I can’t see them.  I am scared.  I don’t see any light, only darkness.   I can’t breathe.  Terror takes over.  Who is going to save me?  Who is going to save us?

I wake up from this dream with a silent cry, full of despair.  A dream that has so many meanings.  My sisters and I are broken and it obviously is weighing heavily on my mind. We have lost all ability to communicate effectively after our Mom’s diagnosis with Alzheimer’s three years ago.    Instead of going through a rough patch, as many families do during times like this, we have managed to rip apart at each other until we are left in shattered pieces. 

Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply. ~ Jane Austen

It’s the lack of communication that got us here, the fear and unwillingness to talk things over, even if we didn’t agree. I have tried to reconcile but they aren’t trying.  Ever since Alzheimer's made its hard knock at our door, everyone is just letting this disease and it’s ugly demons come in to destroy our family.  This has been the problem all along and nobody is doing anything to stop it. 

We only have one shot at life.  Just ONE.  Is this our destiny?  I don’t choose this.  I see other families that are close, sisters who are what we once were to each other.  It makes me long to have my sisters back.  We are missing out on so much, sharing important events in our lives, our kids’ lives, getting together for visits with Mom and sharing our thoughts and fears with each other.  That’s what sisters are for.   We don’t have that anymore.  I swear, I feel like I’m the only one who is troubled by this. 

                    Who understands much, forgives much. ~ Madame De Stael

What if, God forbid, something should happen to one of my sisters, or me, and we don’t fix this and mend the hurts before that happens?  Then we each live the rest of our lives with regrets.  No chance of ever going back and making things right, or showing how much we love each other.  It will be too late.  I don’t want regrets, and even though I have reached out to them and they aren’t reciprocating, I still will have regrets.   At least I know that I’ve tried.

     Is solace anywhere more comforting than that in the arms of a sister.  ~ Alice Walker

  

Annie and I are the only ones who are talking now.  Texts with Lynda are sparse, I haven’t seen her or Kathy in a year and a half.  Renee and I stopped exchanging emails when they were causing more destruction to our relationship.  I did email her after my recent visit to see Mom and tell her she did a great job in finding this group home Mom is in now.  She didn’t write back.  It seems she only wrote when she had something to argue with me about.  Everyone is shutting each other out.  My daughter is getting married next spring and the only person to offer her congratulatory wishes was Annie.  This whole ordeal is affecting our kids.   Though some of the cousins are still keeping in communication with each other, they are feeling our pain, too.   They have their own pain as a result.

I think I come across as being a strong person, in control of my emotions.  I learned how to do that when I was young.  When I look back at things that happened after my parents divorced, I can see where that might have begun.  Without going into all of that, I just think that the responsibilities that weighed on my shoulders at such a young age, are the reasons for my strong front.  It is just a front though.  I feel every bit of pain and emotion that my sisters are feeling.  I am coming apart at the seams, just like they are.  I care, I understand, I feel.  I’m on an emotional downward spiral, too.  I have shared those feelings and emotions with them but I think they still see me as someone who doesn’t fall apart like they are, therefore I don't get to be included in their emotional whirl. 

             Sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow.  ~ Benjamin Disraeli

I worry about what’s going to happen when our mom passes away.  Are we even going to be able to comfort each other?  Is there going to be a fight?  God, I hope things get resolved before then.  Everyone is grieving the loss of our mom already.  We are emotionally preparing ourselves for the inevitable.  Even though she is still alive, she’s not with us like she was before.  We don’t have her to comfort us and make things all better.  Mom was our rock, our foundation, and the center of our universe.  We always knew that about her, but none of us really understood how profound of an influence she was in holding our family together, until she became ill with Alzheimer’s and dementia, and we had to face the fear of loosing her.  The decisions that had to be made, and the differences of opinions we had, are what separated us as a family.  Our sisterhood was shattered when the communication ceased.  If you Click here you can read a previous blog post to give you some insight as to what happened.  Blogs 27, 28, 29 and 30 are good ones to read about how things really fell apart with my sisters.  

It is a hard knock life for us right now, but we have to stay focused and try to look at the positives, even though that’s so very hard to do when dealing with this dreadful disease.  Our mom is still with us.  We have beautiful moments with her.  Oh yes, it hurts like hell to see her like this, but it happens to be the cards that she and we were dealt with, and we can’t do anything about that.  We have to hold on for dear life.  We have to embrace the time we have left with her, and the time we have left in this world with each other.  Life is a gift and one that you should never take for granted.   We only have one life on this Earth.  I want to live it well, with all of my family being a part of it.    

The greatest happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved…loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves.   ~  Victor Hugo

Blog 58: My Dad

I haven’t said much about my dad on this blog but I wanted to make this post about him because he was a very special person in my life.  He was my dad, and I loved him very much.

I don’t remember Dad being around much when we were little.   He worked for the government and was retired from the Army.   He was gone in the evenings a lot, and when he was home, he didn’t play with us, as far as I can remember. 

One early memory I have is when I was about six years old.  I went to my friend’s house a couple of houses away to ask her if she could come out and play.  Her dad came to the door and started yelling at me for no reason at all.  I quickly turned around and started running down the sidewalk as he came chasing after me.  My dad was in our front yard and he ran to my rescue.  He got up in the guy’s face and yelled at him, and I peed my pants before I reached the safety of my mom’s arms.  She whisked me into the house and changed my clothes.  I never did learn what that was all about.  My parents didn’t know why that man did that either.

Some of the other memories I have of my dad, when he and my mom were married, are not very good.  He was often grouchy.  Dad was very strict with us girls and we were afraid of getting spanked by him.  The thing is, we were pretty well-behaved kids, we were just kids, and sometimes we would do something he didn’t like and then we’d get it.  Many times if one sister got in trouble, we all got spankings.  We’d have to line up, oldest to youngest, or the other way around, and lay over Dad’s knee for a few swats to the rear end.   I don’t know which was worse, watching all of my sisters scream and cry before me, or being the first, when his hand was the strongest.  I do remember one or two times that he would start laughing…laughing at our kicking legs, our scared faces, us holding our rear ends in preparation for or after the spanking, or laughing at the fact that he couldn’t believe he was doing that, who knows.   

We always sat at the table for meals and we had to eat everything on our plates.  If I didn’t like something, Dad would cut a hunk of fat and put it on my plate and tell me to eat that instead.  There were times I sat at the table for hours, my sisters too.  I learned a few tricks of hiding my vegetables under the chicken skin or under my plate.  If Dad was engrossed in a television program he didn’t inspect my plate and I could get away with it.   I think sometimes my mom would grab the plate and let me get up.   

Dad wasn’t one of those dads that would hold us in his lap and make us feel safe, loved and protected.  None of us would say that we were Daddy’s girl.  I do have one or two pictures of me in Dad’s lap when I was a baby but I don’t remember that.  He did look lovingly at me in those photos and that makes me feel good.  I look at my son and my son-in-law and I see how wonderful they are with their kids, so engaging and playful, and so loving and protective, and how much my grandchildren love to sit on their daddy’s laps. 

The only time I recall sitting in my dad’s lap was after he slapped me across the face and left his hand print because I didn’t know how to light the stove to heat up my sister’s bottle when mom wasn’t home.  Renee was a little baby and she was crying loudly for her bottle.  I was eight years old and didn’t know how to strike a match and start the gas on the stove to light it.   I was scared to death of it, but I tried because I was more scared of my dad.   Dad came in the house from working in the garden and yelled at me because I couldn’t get the job done and his hand came across my face like a lightening bolt.  I remember he held me in the chair after he calmed down and realized what he had done and rubbed my face and kissed my hair and said he was so sorry.  I think he cried but I can’t remember because I was in shock.  My face stung, my eyes stung from crying, and my heart hurt, badly.  It didn’t feel good to be in his lap.  I can never recall that memory without crying.  It was one of the most hurtful times of my childhood.   I wore his handprint on my cheek for the next several days.  That’s why I was afraid of my dad. 

Mom and Dad divorced when I was around eleven or twelve years old.  Mom never talked badly about him, she just said they divorced because he liked to bowl too much.   There was a woman in Dad’s life soon after and we found out years later that she was the reason for the divorce.  Even though Dad wasn’t around much and he was strict, I didn’t want him to leave.  I went through a couple of tough years and my mom even brought me in for counseling.  I used to pretend to my friends that my dad still lived with us.  I used to beg Mom to ask him to come back.  But Dad wasn’t coming back.  While he was on his third tour of duty in Vietnam, he married a Vietnamese woman.  He went on to have two more children, a girl, and finally, a boy.  They were raised differently.  He mellowed out and didn’t spank them.  In fact, he was very lenient with them.  I think he wanted to make up for the way he was with his first five daughters.  

Dad used to pick us up and take us to church on Sundays and then bring us over to our grandmother's house.  He'd sit and watch football and have us all take turns combing his hair.  We'd sometimes play croquet in the backyard and go to Sandy's for lunch.   We didn't really enjoy being there.  His mom, our grandmother, was strict.  She was the opposite of our mom's mom (Grandma), who was very loving and kind.  Though I did love my grandmother, too.   I accepted her the way she was.  

My sister Lynda and I went to live with our dad in Germany, when we were in high school.   My mom thought it’d be a good experience for us and we were only there for a year.  It was then that he had his first daughter with his Vietnamese wife.  Dad was strict with us over there, too.  But the day we left Germany, when it was time to board our flight, Dad grabbed each of us and embraced us in a big bear hug and cried like a baby.  I didn't think he was so sad to see us go, until that happened.  I remember boarding the plane and feeling so sad for Dad.  That was the first time I saw my dad cry.  It was to be the first of many tears.  

After that, as the years went on we didn’t really spend much time together, and he seemed to change in those years.  Dad transformed into a different person, with a soft heart and a gentleness about him.  I think of that song, “The Cat’s In The Cradle,” because that’s kind of the way it was.  He wasn’t around for us when we were growing up and he had time for us now, but we were busy with our families, our kids, and had moved on in our lives without him being a big part of it.

Dad would call and we’d get together on occasion.  We would go bowling and out for pizza, or play croquet in our Grandmother’s backyard.  Sometimes we’d all get together at one of our homes.  He loved fireworks on the 4h of July and would have big cookouts at his house.  I always think of him on the 4^th of July.  My sisters and I would joke with him about how he made us eat everything, and we would all laugh about it.   We always talked about our childhood, but always in a light kind of way.  He often cried.  He regretted so much about how he was back then, and the divorce from our mom, that it got to the point where I couldn’t stand to see the pain in his face.  I told Dad that I forgave him and I reassured him that I love him so very much.  It just killed me to see him cry because I know that as bad as I felt about that slap across the face, he felt a million times worse, and I didn’t want him to live the rest of his life with that kind of suffering and regret. I’m so glad I told him I forgave him, and even though I don’t know how much better it made him feel, it really helped me to let go of a lot of the pain I had been carrying.

We had a much better relationship as I got older, and he got older.  I know there were many years of my young adult life that I felt a little jealous of my half sister and brother.  Dad was more loving to them, more involved with them, at least it seemed that way.   They got birthday and Christmas presents and we didn’t.   They weren’t afraid of him like we were.  They had the best years with him. 

Dad would call my sisters and me and want us to go to the family reunions.  He loved those reunions and he would say he wants to show off his daughters.  There were many times I didn’t go because I got busy with my kids, and life in general.  But the times I did go, I really enjoyed it.   Dad made it so obvious to us, and to our relatives, that he was proud of his daughters.  Dad was so happy at the reunions.  He was really a family oriented person, I just didn’t realize it when I was little.  I think the stresses of marrying so young, having five children in a relatively short period of time, was just something he wasn’t ready for and didn't take responsibility for.

My dad was an adventurous person.  He loved traveling and collecting things in his travels.  He read books and was knowledgeable about world affairs and subjects that interested him.  The Cubs and the Bears were his favorite teams.  Someone beating him in trivia?  Forget it.  He was a people person, and loved being with and talking to others.  He was always up for something to do, even when he became ill, he was always willing to get into the car and go somewhere.  He embraced life...he loved life!

Around 2000, we realized something was wrong with our dad.  It turns out he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s and Lewy Body Disease.  What in the world was Lewy Body, we thought, and how in the world did he get it?  Back then, even some of the health care professionals didn’t know what it was.  It was certainly something new to me.  My sister Lynda and I would go with our half sister to all of Dad’s neurological appointments.  Dad was getting worse.  It broke my heart!  Just when we were getting close and mending our past hurts, he was slipping away from us.  I spent as much time with him as I could.  Lynda did, too.  My other sisters didn’t seem to be as close to him then, but they really didn’t have many memories since Dad moved out when they were so young. 

I made sure my dad knew how much I loved him, and I forgave him.  I wanted him to forgive me too, for not being a bigger part of his life when I was a young adult.  I was hurting so bad to see him suffer.  Was this something that could have been prevented?  Why did he get this disease?  I didn’t understand.  I only saw a good man in front of me.  My dad, my wonderful, amazing, loving dad, was all I saw.  My only dad I would ever have. 

Dad went to a nursing home towards the end.  I put up a small Christmas tree for him.  He still knew me, but he became so weak with pneumonia at the very end that he just layed in his bed with a stare.  I whispered in his ear and I said, “Dad, it’s ok to go.  Don’t be scared.  Go on to Heaven, Dad.  We’ll be together again someday.”  In the middle of that night he was transported to the hospital and the next day he died.  That was December 12, 2005.  All of my dad’s kids were there except for Renee, who lived out of state, Dad’s brothers and his wife, and his ex-wife (my mom), were there when Dad took his final breath.   My brother said a prayer and a preacher came in and prayed, and the nurse administered morphine and pulled the oxygen mask.  Then he was gone. 

I sat with Dad after he passed and talked to him, but I don’t remember the words I spoke.  We would all go to the hallway and sit on the floor and then return to his room one by one to say what we wanted to say.  It was so hard to have him gone, even though his suffering was now over.  There was no more opportunity to learn more from him, to make up for lost time, to hear his voice and his laugh…and to go to family reunions with him.

I know my dad is in Heaven.  He turned his life over to Christ years before he became ill.  He was a changed man, and I’m proud to call him my dad.   I loved him with all the love a daughter can have for her dad, and I miss him so much.  

Blog 57: Memories of Nana

About seven years ago all of us girls wrote down our own special memories of our mom, and our children wrote of their wonderful memories of their nana.   We gathered these writings and put them in a book to give to Mom on her birthday.   This was years before Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.   

"When you look into your mother's eyes, you know that is the purest love you can find on this earth."  Mitch Albom 

Mom's 77th birthday is approaching at the end of this month, and I searched my file cabinet to find copies of the letters, because I remembered that time and how special it was.  The ones who could be there, gathered around and laughed and cried as we read our letters to Mom.  

The following were written by my three children... 

From Denise…

“I have many fond memories with Nana.  Some of my best memories come from the times when Nicole and I used to spend the night at her house.  Nana was always so good to us.  I can remember countless times when she’d drive us to go ice-skating or go to the movies, etc.  Oh, and I can’t leave out the yard sales!  We’d drive around for hours going to yard sales.  My items of choice were usually baby clothes that I’d use for my dolls.  And Nana’s negotiation skills were impeccable.  Seems like it didn’t matter if the item was marked $15, if Nana wanted it she’d leave having only spent a nickel.  Remarkable.  And other times we wouldn’t really do anything at all.  We’d just sit at the table and eat macaroni and cheese and talk.  I hope that Nana knows how grateful I am for all that she did for me and Nicole.  I’m sure we could be a handful at times, but we really enjoyed the time we spent not only with each other, but also with her.  Thank you, Nana.  I love you!”

From John…

“Nana is the best Nana anyone could ever ask for.  So many times I sit in my California home and reminisce about all the great times I’ve had hanging out with her, all the while remembering the little things I’ve learned in life by following her lead.   Little things such as the fact that I always have a refrigerator stocked with Coke to offer guests, and the reason I don’t walk around my house eating a sandwich without a plate (we all know how she is about crumbs).  She’s also the reason I blame the squeaks in the floor when I pick up any of those hard-to-find crumbs that slip off the plate and I accidentally toot.  Maybe I should learn to follow her lead a bit more so the next time I’m over at her house I don’t hit my head on the ceiling when I walk down the stairs.  But most of all I think about how she loved to be around the grandchildren; willing to take on me, Brooke, Rose and Michael all at once.  Babysitting Denise and Nicole had to be the biggest handful but I never remember Nana complaining one bit, never yelled at me for a single thing, even if it was completely obvious I was the one who made the mess in the basement.

If you all are wondering why in the world I would leave the great state of Iowa and move to California, blame Nana.  The main reason I moved out here was to get Nana an autograph of one of those ice skaters that she loves so dearly.  Which one was it?  Anyway, I’ll find that person and my duty out here will be complete.  And I’ll be sure to tell Tom Cruise to get a life.  I miss you Nana.  I love you soooo much and my plane rides home are actually enjoyable because not only will I get to see my parents and sisters, but I also get to hang out with you and talk to you as if you’re one of my boys.  I could write so much more about what you have meant to me but Kristi Yamaguchi is paging me and wants to know who the heck Nana is?!?  Take care and I love you lots!”

From Rose...

"So here I am, at my desk, beginning to write my contribution to a book of combined memories of my Nana. 

This will be easy, I thought to myself, when I was asked to come up with one of the fondest memories I have of my grandma.  Quite the opposite of my assumption, I have come to realize how much I was mistaken.  What if I have too many good memories to choose from?  Well, my Nana has provided me with 28 years of memories.

One of my biggest memories of Nana is when I was able to sleep over night at her house.  Usually I stayed the night with Brooke since the two of us always asked to stay over night together.  Brooke and I would typically stay up late in the living room before retiring to bed upstairs for the night.  Nana would always let us stay up later than I could at home so it was quite the treat.  Poor Nana was victim to many dance routines, singing ensembles, and plays since Brooke and I took great pleasure in performing things for anyone who would watch our final routine.  So one day she decided to take us to the mall for a video recording of us singing and performing the song of our choice.  I was extremely nervous to perform in a booth in front of strangers, and on camera.  Brooke and I had to sing first then dance to our recorded voices while pretending to sing.  To make things even more nerve racking, they displayed your performance to people walking by in the mall.  Bless Nana’s heart, she convinced us to do it and told us we were excellent performers.  So we did a routine to Madonna’s song (of course) Material World.  It was so much fun and it turned out to be the perfect gift for our mom’s on Christmas.  I will never forget how much fun I had on that day.

I cannot end with just the one story so I will have to briefly mention a few more memories.  I have to smile when I think back to how important I felt playing ‘Here Comes The Bride” on my tiny little organ when Nana and Grandpa Bill got married.  I had letters taped to my keyboard to help me play the song.  I felt so grown up that day.

Nana carried on her tradition of allowing the grandkids to order two things at a fast food place, just like she did with my mom and aunts.  One time she took a few of us to McDonald’s while we were having a yard sale at my house.  I ordered French fries and a shake for my two things.  I came home and threw up whole French fries while Nana and my mom took turns rubbing my back.  Nana joked and asked if I even chewed the fries before I swallowed.

I should probably write my own book of memories with Nana since I have so many more I would like to share.  Nana has been the closest grandparent that I have had.  She has played a huge role in my life and I look forward to many memories to come."

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My mom's family was more important to her than anything else in this world.  It's clear that my mom's legacy of love will live on and on, and she will always lovingly be remembered, and never, ever forgotten.   

Blog 56: How Do You Pick The Last Christmas Card?

I went to the store the other day, looking for a Christmas card for my mom.  As I perused the cards on the shelf, it suddenly occurred to me that this may be the last Christmas card I buy for my mom.  That thought saddened me.  It made picking out a card much more of an emotional experience than usual.  How do you pick out the last Christmas card you buy for your mom, the one who made Christmas so magical and memorable for the family, the person you love so much ?  I started feeling guilty for having those thoughts.  Mom could be here a lot longer than what we think.  She could make a big turn around, start eating more food again, hang on to life.  She could surprise us all.  She could!  But, she may not.  Even if she is here next year, she may not know us anymore.   Already she doesn’t show any interest in cards and things like that anymore.  She used to love them.  I realized that this card I choose has more meaning for me than it will my mom. 

So, what card do I want for my mom?  I searched a couple of stores before I found the card that made my eyes well up with tears.  When that happens, I know I’ve got the right card.  Along with the beautiful Christmas poem already inscribed, I wrote my own personal message inside the card.  I poured my heart out and as I went to the mailbox to mail it, I paused.  I stopped and held the card to my heart as if hugging my mom, and as my eyes welled up with tears again, I rubbed my fingers across the card and kissed it and said 'I love you Mom' before I placed it in the mailbox.   I sent my love across the miles and hoped my mom would somehow feel it when she gets the card.  Why was this so hard?

My daughter came over the other day and we were talking about Christmas and my mom came up in our conversation, as she often does.  I showed her some things my mom, her nana, bought for me in past Christmases.  Rose told me about some of the gifts she still has that nana bought for her.  One of the gifts my mom gave me is a little music box that plays the song "Unchained Melody".  I tried to upload a short video of it here but it wouldn't upload.  I had a gulp in my throat when I played it.  My granddaughter wanted to hold it, but I gently told her that it was something that was very special and she can look at it but not play with it.  I told Rose that someday one of her girls will get this.  Another gift my mom gave me is this...   

She bought this for me in Dec. of 1994, after I had a minor surgery.  Everything my mom bought me has so much more meaning to me now.  I even saved an empty lotion bottle, which was a birthday gift from a few years ago.  

Rose asked me if I remember the last gift my mom bought for me, and I said yes, as I went to my room and took the sweater out of my closet.  As soon as I touched the sweater I started to cry.  How come I’m so emotional now?  I can’t help it.  I brought the sweater out to her and showed her.  Rose hugged me as I told her the story about Mom buying the sweater.  I said I was with nana when she picked out five sweaters, one for each of her daughters.   I will keep it forever.  Mom had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s then, and she was going through a difficult transition period that you can read about in my earlier posts.  She still liked to go shopping at Dillard’s.  That particular day she wanted to go, but she had been out of sorts and agitated and tired all day.  I brought her there to make her happy and to help her because she was worried that she hadn't bought anything for her daughters yet.  The store clerk knew her there and she saw the cognitive decline with Mom.  As she rang up the purchase, she got out a chair for Mom to sit in because she could tell my mom was very worn out.   

When I put up my Christmas tree a few weeks ago, I realized the angel on top reflects in the mirror on the wall.  This mirror hung on my mom’s living room wall for 38 years.  When I look at it, it takes me back in time to when I was 18 years old and my dad gave me $40 to buy my mom a gift.  My sister Lynda and I went shopping and we picked out this mirror and two sconces.  The mirror was put out in the garage when my mom’s house was sold, and I took it out of a box and wrapped it up to protect it, and I carried it on the plane trip home with me.  It makes me smile to see the angel in the mirror, and I look at it as a sign that God has sent an angel to watch over Mom.  Maybe it’s an angel to watch over all of my family.  

I love listening to Christmas music and I do believe it is my favorite of all music ever made.  It often conjures up memories of past Christmases...those of my childhood and of my children's younger years.  Christmas was such a magical time when we were kids.  Mom made our Christmases so special, with presents piled under the Christmas tree.  We would beg her to leave the tree lights on during the night on Christmas Eve.  Mom would worry that the real tree would catch fire, but she said she'd leave the lights on for us.  I'm sure she turned them off as soon as we fell asleep and then got up early to turn them on again.  Of course, we thought she left them on all night.  She was probably up late wrapping more presents.  She would get up early in the morning and put more gifts under the tree from Santa, even when we were older and no longer believed in Santa Claus.  She’d make hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls and turn on the Christmas music on the record player.  We’d sit there by the tree with the twinkling lights, scanning the boxes for our name.  The anticipation was the best part.  I can see it now.  I can feel the warmth, the excitement.  I can hear our voices.  We were young, we were happy, we were healthy, and we had each other.  We all loved each other so much.  I miss those Christmases.   I hope I have made, and am making, more wonderful Christmas memories for my children and grandchildren, as my mom did for all of us. 

Before I close on this blog post I just have to mention how deeply saddened I have been by the senseless killings of 20 children and 6 adults at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut.   No matter how bad you think your life is, someone else has it worse.  How someone can look into the face of a child and pull a trigger to kill them is beyond me.  I’ve felt a heavy heart this Christmas season because of this tragedy.  I have three grandchildren not much younger than these children.  I know our entire nation, and the world, has mourned because of this horrible event.   There is no explanation, and all we can hope and pray for is that God gives these families who have lost a loved one the strength to go on and a purpose for living.   

May peace be with you all, and may God bless you this Christmas season.  

Blog 51: The Best Gift I Can Give My Mom

I just left California, where I had a wonderful week with my son, daughter-in-law and grandson.   We celebrated my grandson’s third birthday.  He is a very happy little boy who is so inquisitive and soaks up every new thing he learns like a sponge.  You can see him study things like shapes and objects, signs, numbers, and things we walk past and don’t even pay any attention to.  

While on a hike, my little grandson fell down a couple of times and it made him cry, but he got back up and continued on.  He could have stayed safe in his jogging stroller but he wanted to walk, even though we told him he might fall down again.  Just like life, you take a risk...and sometimes you fall, but you get back up and keep on going.  

It’s amazing how youngsters learn so quickly, and even with how much they learn everyday, they are able to retain that knowledge and still have room for much more.   Their brains are growing so fast, along with their bodies, and there’s so much more to learn and to look forward to in their futures.   Even though they are dependent upon adults to care for them, in a relatively short period of time they will soon be on their own.

Then there’s my mom, and other people who have Alzheimer’s/Dementia, where all the knowledge they once had stored in their brains is being destroyed by a disease.  They are no longer able to do the things they learned how to do so well.  All of the memories, the things they once knew, language skills, concentration, the ability to comprehend, and even show love, are all gone.   It’s almost like being a child again (yet it's different from that), only now there’s nothing to look forward to except a dismal future.

After leaving California, I flew to Chicago and am staying at my daughter’s apartment.  We will be going to see my mom at the nursing home tomorrow.   She was just moved to a new facility a little over a week ago and I haven’t spoken to her since that one time I was allowed to when she was in the hospital.  That was two weeks ago.   I really miss her, but I was told we needed to give her time to adjust.  

I called Kathy the other day to see if she had spoken to Mom and she said no.  She told me we can’t call her like we used to be able to because the nursing home won’t take calls for Mom like the assisted living center did.  I don’t know if that is true, but I will find out.  If it is, that means I need to come up with a plan, because I can’t go for months without talking to my mom.   Being 1,800 miles away means I need to be able to talk to her and hear her voice on the phone between visits.  I need her still!

Every time I come home I get anxious before I see my mom.  I wonder how much worse she’s gotten, and I wonder if she will remember my name.   Now I have new concerns…what is this nursing home going to be like?  Is it going to be a nice place, with caring and compassionate people who are caring for her?  Old concerns...will I see Renee while I am in town?  Will we be able to get along?

There’s no doubt I have been feeling very alone in my thoughts about my Mom.  Kathy and I talk on the phone every once in awhile and I told her how much I appreciate that we can talk to each other like sisters should.  Our conversations are usually pretty brief, but at least we are there for each other.  Annie and I don’t speak often but when we do we can be on the phone for hours.  I’m glad that I have them to talk to.  I told my daughter to call my sister Renee and apologize for what she said to her after I cried over that last email I received from her.  She did, and I am happy that she is there to support me, just as my other two children are.  

I know that we all go through challenges in life, and many times we are faced with things that almost seem unbearable.  Sometimes everything gets piled up at once and it can bring us down so low that it can destroy our quality of life, and it will, if you let it.  There’s a quote that goes like this…”Sometimes being pushed to the wall gives you the momentum necessary to get over it.”  

I have come to terms with a few things…I cannot change the course of my mom’s disease, she is not going to get better, I can’t save her, and I don’t want anymore drama with my sisters.  I have a life to live, and it is my choice whether it’s going to be a life of bitterness and sadness, or forgiveness and happiness.  I choose the latter.  Am I blissfully happy at this point, right now?  No.  But I am content and hopeful.  I have many blessings in my life and things to look forward to.  Even with this dismal part of my life with my mom’s disease, it is only a part of my life.  I keep reminding myself that the best gift I could give my mom is to live a life of happiness and a life worth remembering.   That’s what she always wanted for her daughters.   Even though it’s been a struggle sometimes, that’s what I’m doing for her, for me, for my kids, and for my grandchildren.  They deserve the best of me.   I deserve the best of me.  Mom deserves the best from her family.  Mom's legacy will live on. 

There's a place at Cornerstone in Sonoma where you can write a wish on a strand of ribbon and hang it from a chain.  All of these ribbons represent someone's wish, one of them is mine.  I have hope that my wish will come true.