Please, make it January.

(This is not one of my happy posts.  You can skip it if you need too. I won’t mind. Just giving a voice to feelings that I carry with me around this time of year - in hopes that putting fingers to keyboard I can shed some baggage that follows me during December.)

In the next few days it will be December 1.  

Again!

 December!

  My least favorite month of the year.  

I can already feel the holiday pressure of getting things done crowding me.  How I wish that was my only problem. The real issue is more complicated. I feel concern creeping up on me that the month passes without any bad stuff like illnesses or worse. I know that sounds a little bit paranoid - but December and I have a history together and it isn’t positive.   

How did December get such a bad wrap?   Truthfully, I didn’t always hate December and the number of happy December holidays far outweighs the sad ones ... so why can’t I just throw off the bad ones and enjoy the season? Being a generally happy positive person the other 11 months of the year, I gave this question a lot of thought and discovered only one answer for me: the intensity of events and life changing nature of some of my Decembers sit in stark contrast to the “let us all be happy” message of December.  

The first dent in my relationship with December happened in 1970 with the death of my dad right before Christmas. It was a sudden event - a fall down a flight of stairs that was not discovered promptly and after a few days in ICU he died - several days before Christmas.  His passing was a combination of sorrow and some relief.  He was an alcoholic and he made family life hard.  But I loved him in spite of all the pain he caused.  That Christmas without him was my first experience of sadness while all the world seemed joyful.   Even in the funeral home where our family gathered to say goodbye reminders of the season were everywhere ... tastefully done, of course, but there all the same.  

Ironically, like bookends - the death of my mother came just after Christmas in 2014.  

These events were 44 years apart - certainly healing should have happened in that time.  And it did. Each Christmas after his death I remembered him with forgiveness and love. That yearly remembrance felt like a healthy and realistic admission that sad things can happen at Christmas time, and you can move on and to be grateful for the happy events - recognizing that Christmas happiness is not ‘promised'.  

But my mom's death was preceded by many hard December experiences - each one more difficult than the last until I couldn’t stand the month at all.  

The first event happened about a year after mom moved in with me in 2007.  A vicious GI bug spread through our family the day after Thanksgiving.  It was the worst GI virus I have ever had.  While normal healthy individuals could survive that, my mom was in her 80s.  It devastated and hospitalized her - not once but twice in quick succession.  The second hospitalization landed her in ICU because she was septic. As with all her hospitalizations, I was with her 24/7.  Rehab followed and I followed her there as well.  Getting her well consumed me.  I approached her recovery as a battle to be won.  I pushed medical staff to get her home before Christmas.  She rallied quickly.  When she came home it was December 22 - little to no holiday prep had been done for my own family’s Christmas.  Some gifts were purchased but no wrapping, no Christmas tree, and no meal preparation.  But no matter, my mom was home.   The tree got put up on December 23rd, and the gifts that weren’t purchased by then where replaced with checks. I purchased a fully cooked Christmas Day meal from a local grocery store - and we called it good!  The real celebration was ... Mom was home and doing well.  I won that battle.

I won the battle over several other hospitalizations and rehabilitations over the course of a few years getting her back home, but  each left her weaker than before. At age 85 a hospitalization and a very long rehab experience ended with her being placed in Assisted Living.  And, of course, that happened in the month of December.  The community I picked was top notch, very homey with great staff, and beautifully decorated for the holiday, but I knew mom didn’t want any this.  She wanted to go home.  The final determining factor were the 20 steps up from the parking lot to my townhome - steps she could not climb any more.  I remember riding home that first night she spent in Assisted Living.  The December lights on houses I passed were twinkling brilliantly, the Christmas music was playing on the radio, and I was in tears the entire way home at this permanent change in all our lives.  That night I started to intentionally ignore December ‘cheer’ that tried to invite me at every turn to be happy .

The last 3 years of her life she lived away from home - 2 years in Assisted Living and 1 year in Nursing.  As always, the staff made the holidays as grand as they could.  But it was hard to ignore that fact that about half the residents were mobile enough to visit a family member’s home for the holiday. We couldn’t do that for mom.  I hated those last 3 Christmases more than you could imagine.  As December approached I felt disappointment and sadness begin to grow in me.  To compensate I spent as much time as I could during those holidays with her, and extended family came for visits as well.  We even arranged a separate Holiday family meal with her on site, but the one thing she always wanted was to go home,  and I couldn’t make that happen. Those 3 Christmases cemented my distaste for December and it was when I learned to yearn for January.

Starting in early 2014 at 88 years old she had a number of serious health issues that could not get resolved. Her dementia had pretty much consumed her with only short glimpses of who she had been as my mom.  In mid-December of that year her chronic problems were growing in intensity.  Her eating had dropped off and she had no interest in her surroundings. I was losing this final battle and it seemed like nothing could halt her decline.  When medical staff finally informed me that she was actively failing, I had already known in my heart she could not be pulled back.  The message - your mother is dying - I got on December 22.  They estimated she would make it to Christmas but not much past that.  Needless to say, there was no holiday spirit left to crush in me.  By this time Christmas Day was just another date on a calendar.  My only comfort in those last days and hours were that the dementia I fought so hard against, was finally her ‘friend’ ... shielding her awareness of another passing Christmas away from home. Mom and I lost this last battle together, but at least I was the only one grieving. 

She died on December 28th.  I was numb driving home that evening.  I don’t remember the trip at all - but I am sure without a doubt - those Christmas images I learned to ignore - were everywhere.

This year will be the 7th year anniversary since her passing.  Unfortunately traditional Christmas sounds and sights still remind me of our years of struggle.   I still yearn for January.  But now at 74, I accept that this will not change.  You can’t ‘un-ring a bell' - the memories cannot be wiped from the mind as if they never happened.   I accept them now, however, with more grace.  A grand daughter has helped me to find some peace in these celebrations, but I still feel it is a lot for those tiny little shoulders to bear, so I don’t rest entirely on her existence as my way out of holiday gloom.  After 7 years I am better at hiding that sad part of me by putting a smile on my face during December - especially with family.  But when I am alone with only my thoughts during this month, the memories of holidays mom and I shared appear like a flash flood - sudden and sweeping away everything else.   

Please, make it January.  

(Has the sharing of this helped me shed some of my ‘baggage?’  Maybe a make-up case worth.  Has it increased just one person’s understanding that others struggle mightily during the holidays?  I hope so.)

During happier times when she would sit on 
my front step and just enjoy the feeling
of being outside.

Mom and I in 2011
Taken at the rehab facility she eventually would call “home.”  

Mom, my sister and I in 2012
Taken 2 months after she moved into Assisted Living.

 Is it January yet?

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mom's birthday. 

 She would have been 91 years old today if she had lived.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

I haven't written about her recently.  As her birthday approached,  I realized that there was a time when this blog was almost totally devoted to our experience together as she aged reaching end of life, and as I cared for her.  I think it is time to make a return trip to the life of a woman I admired and loved.

If you are curious about caregiving generally, or my time with mom during those difficult last years, you can find those posts listed under the Label - Through My Caregiver's Eyes.  Labels can be found on the right side of my blog and if you select that label, the blog will sort out all those posts.

The caregiver part of my life seems like a far distant memory - even though it only ended four years ago.  But I am so very glad I documented that time on this blog. I hold the memories (good and sad) securely in my life through this link.  I consider that experience to have formed me into the person I am today.  I am stronger and more understanding of the road ahead of me as I age.  I am indebted to my mom is more ways than I can count.

Mom and her younger sister.
They were very close.
Mom was about 12 years old.

This post is not about the caregiving experience.  It is about the woman I called mom - who was raised in a loving family as a child, who was beautiful and smart, and appeared to have a bright future ... and who made one misfortunate choice - a choice sealed with a vow before God in a church - and who lived for 24 years honoring that vow at great expense to herself.

My mom and dad when they were dating.
She is about 19 years old.

My mom's name was Elaine.  I was named for her by my dad.  In the stunning random spin of  genetics, I have favored her in many ways over all of my life.  I thought we were different in only one way - the way we approached adversity.  She would live around it and with it.  Despite many terrible life experiences, she remained an easy-going sweet person all her life - even into dementia.  I have a tendency to meet adversity head on and fight through it.  I used to believe that difference separated us.  But as you will read later - maybe we were more alike than I ever thought.

Mom with her father, her grandmother and me.  She was
a dedicated and loving mother
but also strict in her child-rearing.

Sadly, by the time this picture was taken, she knew her marriage had been a mistake.  My dad suffered from alcoholism - an issue that I guess wasn't evident before saying "I do."  Now-a-days folks typically live together before marriage and some of these issues can be discovered before taking that vow.  I am not a big proponent of 'living together,' but I understand the value it holds in really getting to know a person.  Of course, this was the 1940s - a different time.

Our young family.
So much is hidden behind those smiles.

Mom was the glue that held us together.  She raised two girls to be completely whole and worthy citizens of this world - no easy task in the environment we called home.  As a young child and teen, I never understood why she continued this marriage.  But as I grew I began to see the whole picture somewhat differently.  She was a stay-at-home mom with 2 girls to raise, she was hundreds of miles from her extended family, she was raised to believe that once married - you were on your own - help from your parents was not to be expected, and because of her sweet personality, she did not appear strong enough to make such a difficult break in the family.  What I didn't understand at the time was that my mom took the difficult path ... the path that involved great strength.  At my dad's death I learned the true nature of her choice - it was simple.   What held us together wasn't glue - but the bedrock of her personality and her love for him.  Love is a powerful bond. My dad loved us as well - and he was a good man beneath the alcohol, but addiction is also be a powerful bond.  She chose to stay in her marriage until death.  Mom took the more difficult path in life.  I see that now.  

Hindsight is 20/20 - or so they say.  It is most certainly true in my case.  

After dad's death, mom's life bloomed.  She really was better without him.  She had a satisfying full time job, she became a grandmother several times over, she traveled to Europe with friends, and she had an active retirement.  She earned the peace of mind and fun experiences she had in the last half of her life.  And as I looked back at her married years - many married years that I was old enough to remember - I saw the raw strength she mustered to be a mother and wife. It is only as an adult myself that I could have judged that.

Mom and I during one of her first rehab experiences.

Her declining years are well documented in my caregiving posts.  When I saw mental changes that made me suspect she needed help - I stepped up.  She resisted, of course, but I didn't back down.  She eventually lived with me and then in the very last years she needed to be moved to Assisted Living and Nursing Care.  Her end was not kind to her.  Dementia is not a kind disease.  Her mom also had dementia so the genetic link I have to that line of the family is at times worrisome.  But - I have absolutely no regrets about the 8 years devoted to this woman's care.  Her gifts to me were the gift of life and her guiding hand to normal adulthood despite a dysfunctional father.  Her gifts cannot be topped by any care I gave her in the end.  It was a debt I owed.

I believe that sometimes life creates a mountain for you to get passed.

Some of us go around it.

  Some of us go over it.  

Some of us go through it.  

I am a 'go through it' type of person.

I think I chose the more difficult path.
I see now so did my mom.

Until you have had a mountain put in your way

you may not really know what kind of person you are.

Dear Mom,

I miss your smiling face every single day.  It is hard to write those words without tears even after 4 years.  Rest in peace dear mom.  Your legacy lives on in your daughters for whom you gave up much.   Happy Birthday!

Love,
Elaine

Made it!

Anyone who has read my blog for awhile knows that this holiday has become a hurdle I struggle to get passed.   By the time I get to the 27th or the 28th, I am thrilled to be passed another Christmas.

I love the fact we are over 360 days away from the next Christmas.  I am happy to see the holiday decor begin to disappear from the stores and homes.  The holiday music that has been playing 24/7 on my favorite radio station (since before Thanksgiving, for gosh sakes), finally will revert to normal "70,s 80's, 90's and hits of today."   I know, I know ... I hear whispers of "grinch."

Well, let me assure you.  I am not a grinch.  I value the holiday for what it should be - a celebration of the birth of Christ.  I love making someone smile with a specially chosen or hand made gift.  I find peace in an evening walk around my neighborhood to see the holiday lights.  But sadness does follow me.

It hasn't always been that way.  If life delivers enough hard hits during the holidays ... it can change how you respond to them.  My dad died 3 days before Christmas in 1970.  My mom died 3 days after Christmas in 2014.  And in the last 10 years, my mom spent many holidays stuck in Assisted Living or a nursing home - because she was too disabled to get home.  I know neither parent would want those experiences to ruin my holidays.  The holidays aren't 'ruined,' but they are changed, and maybe permanently so.

Looking up - this year's Christmas was easier than last year's Christmas  It was our second year in the condo.  I have stopped grieving the move from our townhouse of 30 years.  I still wish life hadn't made this move necessary. Stairs and a recently blind husband are just a bad combination.  So I am passed that loss and really appreciate the convenience of the condo.  I 'visit' my parents right after Christmas every year.  The trips are filled with less sorrow now and more just a flood of memories of my life with each of them.  I think it is good to allow those memories to surface (the good and the bad) - and to remember where I came from.  It gives me some comfort to know they are both beyond suffering now.  And we - as a family - are celebrating a soon to be born child.  Maybe this grand child will help heal some of those hard hits that make this season so hard for me.  Maybe life is finally giving me a mark in the positive column with a new little life to cherish.

Regardless ...  This year ... I made it!  Passed another one!

My Mom

Left to right: mom, my sister and me!

On this Mother's Day my mind continues to float back time and again to my mom and the last years of her life that we spent together.  They were the hardest years of my life, but they were also the closest years to my mom.  She needed so much help during that time and I gave my heart and soul to her needs.  I don't regret a minute of it - the hard, frustrating, and sad minutes, hours days - no regrets.  I wish I could  have her back for just one hour now to tell her how much I appreciated everything she did for me during the years she was raising her two girls with an alcoholic husband!  The years I gave to her at the end of her life do not begin to equal the years she gave me during the beginning of my life.

Readers who have been with me for a long time may remember a long series of posts I did on my mom.  They are found under the label of Through My Caregiver Eyes (just click on that title under Labels on the right side of my blog to bring them up sequentially)  I started that series in August 2010 and my final post for it was in January 2015 - she died in December 2014.   This series documents our time together and my growth into the caregiver role.  If you or anyone you know are heading into care giving for an elderly person, reading about another's experiences can be helpful.  Care giving can be a very isolating and sad struggle.  It helps to know your story is not so much different than many others.

If you are lucky enough to still have your mom, love, care and appreciate her - not just on this day - but on all days.  Some day in the future, she may not be around.

Happy Mother's Day

 to my readers who are themselves mothers!

It is the most rewarding experience of your life!

This Christmas

My Christmas decorations are up, 

much reduced over previous years - part of my less is more style of living.  

The gifts are all purchased and wrapped - and sit prettily under my tree.

Holiday cooking began in earnest two days ago - as well as a house clean up.

  I feel on schedule, 

in control, 

ready.

However,

My Christmas tree with gifts this year.

Just like every other Christmas for at least a decade
it feels like I am going through the motions.
Checking off my to-do list.
Preparing to make the holiday grand for the folks I love.
But it has been many years since the holidays
have been grand in my own heart.

Christmas is a hard holiday for some folks,
and I count myself among them.  

The Christmas season is filled with too many sad remembrances for me.  

I have spent years of Christmases just trying to get to the month of January!

This is the oldest ornament on my tree.
It was a decoration one of my Christmas gifts from my future mother-in-law in 1967.

My dad died on this day, December 23, in 1970.  He always comes to mind during this season. I have long since moved on from that loss, but it still left small sad memories for me.  

This metal flag bow was put on the tree the year my son went into the military in the mid 1990s.
It was the first Christmas my son was not home with us.

In more recent years, the Christmas season has been especially difficult.
In early December 2010, mom was hospitalized with a terrible stomach flu that landed her
in rehab on discharge.  The year was a race to get her home in time for Christmas.
And all the traditional stuff (tree, gifts, cooking, decorations) were held off till December 23.
But it was one of the most joyful Christmases - because she made it home.

  Mom moved from my home into Assisted Living in early December 2011.  A fall in October and extended rehab November did not help her. 

That was the first Christmas when she was not with family.  

Mom made this lighted ceramic Christmas tree.
I am sure most everyone has one of these!
But I am just as sure that this one is the loveliest one of all.
:-)

The elder care community she resided in was exceptional.   Always beautifully decorated for every season.  A festive holiday reception was held for residents and family with delicious food and wonderful entertainment.  The staff was gay and engaged with the residents.  But it never fully compensated for the fact she was not home.  She always asked to go home, especially during the Christmas season.  It was a conversation that always left me sad.

A Christmas angel made by my mom during a more  joyful time.
Not sure how I feel about the concept of 'heaven', but if there is one
she most certainly is there - wings and all!

Last year mom died on December 28.  Another difficult Christmas.  She had been markedly failing the previous months - and last Christmas was just one long sad goodbye as I sat by her bedside day after day watching her slip away from this world.  The cheer and decorations of the season seemed to be a cruel artificial shell that surrounded my intense sadness.

This Christmas is the first anniversary of her death.  I have completed a year of "firsts without mom." Now I feel that circle is finally closed.  She officially slips into my past, but not out of my heart.

I miss her - especially this Christmas.  I have been caught totally by surprise this week when I find tears are falling.  Sad images of our last Christmas together are common this week.  Loss is a lonely a feeling when it seems like the world has moved on and memories persist.   Although this memory will never be totally gone, the intensity will fade with time.

So this will be a pensive Christmas for me.  Christmas Eve will be filled with our small immediate family - our traditional dinner, gift exchange and a sleep over at our house.  Christmas morning will be our family breakfast.  I will go to Mass and then visit the cemetery, while my son visits with his in-laws - who also are mourning the death of a loved one this past fall.  The rest of my time will be quiet ... maybe a long walk ... maybe time spent with one of my many hobbies ... maybe a distracting activity like planning out my January 2016 calendar.  Once again, I look forward to January.  I just need to get to January.

I think 2016 will be a positive new beginning for me.  

In fact, I know it will be so!  

Christmas 2016 will be better ... 

because it won't be
  this Christmas ... 

the first one without mom.

I wish you all a peaceful and happy Christmas.

"Somethings in life cannot be fixed.
They can only be carried."
Megan Devine

July 20 - A Five Year Blog-a-versary.

Today is my 5th Blog-a-versary!

Gosh.  Five years!

Has that much time passed

 since I sent a first post out into the blog-a-sphere??

I recently paged through a few old posts.  I changed a lot inside since those early days.

A bit of naval gazing seems appropriate now.

My blog was launched in 2010 during a busy and sad time of my life.  I was buried deep in elder-care issues for my mom having slipped into that role in 2006.  But by 2010 I was drowning in it.  Solitary  full time elder caregiving can devour you in a way that is hard to put into words.  It is a slow depressing slide down hill for the senior and the caregiver.  In 2010 I felt I was waving a white flag in the battle to maintain both our lives.   I was looking for a safe place to hold the "me-things" that were slipping off my radar.  This blog was my life preserver ... literally a preserver of a life I was putting on hold.

And it worked.

I wrote about everything including things important to me - not me, the caregiver, - but me, the "used-to-be" working professional, wife, mother, crafter, walker, friend ... the me who was still interested in everything life had to offer ... but had to put it most of it aside to be me, the caregiver and daughter.  That receptacle of "me" was this blog.

But even with that goal, in 2011 my mom started to take center stage here as well.  I felt compelled to share the struggles and the emotional turmoil I was holding inside.  I needed to let go of some of it in a controlled bleed rather than an explosive eruption.  That slow controlled bleed of pressure was a  series of blog posts called Through My Care Giver Eyes.   Writing allowed me to put some space between me and the life I was leading.  It helped me to look at things through my mom's eyes and see that all this struggle was ours together.   It cemented my love and commitment to her even after I had to let let go of her primary care to Brooke Grove Assisted Living.  I felt closer to her in the writing process.  We were walking this path together ... to the end.

In hindsight, I am glad for other reasons that I wrote about that journey.  Now that she is gone ...  those posts and memories serve another purpose.  The blog holds the story how I changed as a person because of her.  It also holds those precious life experiences that would fade from memory with time unless they were written down.  What started as a coping mechanism, became a tribute to the woman who was my mom.

The decision to bring mom into my home have far reaching impacts to this day.  Some of life's opportunities have passed beyond my reach because of that decision. Delaying things so many years at my age does not allow much wiggle room in achieving bucket list accomplishments.  But I don't mourn that loss.  Some life goals we choose for ourselves are frivolous with no real value.  The role of caregiver that I naively adopted with an open heart ranks up there for me with motherhood.  I made a difference in the life of someone else.

And I learned like never before about myself.  The world did not end when I pushed back on authority, when I let my rough edges show, and when I walked away from unsupportive relationships.  A black hole did not swallow me up when I fired a physician, demanded accountability and questioned medical opinion.  I am now more results-driven, less worried about what others think, stronger in relying on my own decisions,  and more reflective on what is really important.

Did all these changes make me a more like-able person?  Probably not.  I still have trouble filtering the comments that escape from my brain.  I have less patience and understanding for some people.  But I am more at peace with myself - because my life has value in my own eyes.  My life had value to my mom especially towards the end when she had lost everything else.  

This blog holds all that for me.

In other five years, what will be housed here, will there be another evolution of me tapping on the computer keys ... hard to know.  I might not even be blogging.  I don't focus as much on the future.  I try to live in the "now."   But I am so grateful to have captured a small important part of my past in this space and a small part but important part of my mom's past resides here with me as well.

Something to cherish.

Happy Anniversary, dear blog.

Thank you readers for being there.

A Visit With Mom

Here I am in June approaching Father's Day, and I am writing about the month of May and what I did on Mother's Day.  Guess I wasn't ready to share that experience until now.

A red rose for my mom.  A white rose for my dad.

On Mother's Day I visited mom - or at least mom's earthly remains.  She is buried at Gate of Heaven Cemetery next to my dad.  It was my first visit back to her grave since she was buried in January.

I know that visiting the grave site after a death of a loved one is an important part of the healing for some people.  I have known friends who held full one-sided conversations with the person who died while standing at the grave. They bring flowers, they clean off the memorial, they say prayers.  It is a very personal connection they feel.

I have never felt that way about where she is laid to rest.  The essence of who she was is no longer on this earth.  Her life and my memories of her are housed inside me.  I carry her with me every day.  Sometimes I look in the mirror and marvel that I look a lot like her.  I do think of her often - usually when I am alone during quiet times.  Sometimes I am in tears as I think of what we lived through together.  Sometimes the memories cause me to smile.  But mostly I am just sad - and miss seeing her face.

Mother's Day seemed like the perfect day for this visit.  I wanted to be sure her grave marker was correct and properly mounted, and that I could remember exactly where her grave was since it is a very large cemetery.  I was distracted at the grave site service in January.

All was well.  At first I was surprised that her grave was not totally grassed over, but then I realized that they probably didn't seed it until late April.  New grass wouldn't grow in January.  Silly me.

The cemetery was busy.  I guess many people choose Mother's Day or Father's Day to visit their parents.  I know I will return next Mother's Day - but I will be back again before then.

Meanwhile ... she is remembered ... and loved ... and missed ... still.

Through My Caregiver Eyes: And thus we part

This is the last entry in a continuing series called 

Through My Caregiver Eyes.  

The full story of 8 years as my mother's caregiver 

can be found under the label "Through My Caregiver Eyes."

 (Label Section to the right of my blog posts.)  

My mom was 88 years old at her death.

The rocky path from independence to living with me, then assisted living

and finally nursing home care is documented in this series.  

While our journey together is peppered with joy-filled moments,

 it tells of many losses for her and sadness for me. 

For anyone who is a first line caregiver of a loved one, 

you may see yourself in my story.

A last letter to my mom.

Dear Mom,

How I miss your sweet smile.

Every day I think about you and wonder how you are doing.  Every day I think it is time for a visit with you and then remind myself, you are no longer on this earth.

My time at your side began 8 years ago when you moved into my home.  Neither of us fully understood how difficult this last journey would be.  Thankfully we didn't dwell on what could happen.  Life is a process and we just kept moving forward through it.

You were there during my growing years when living in a dysfunctional family was very hard - and I was there during your declining years when increasing age took so much away from your joy of living.  There is no one I have shared more of life's struggles with than you.  Through it all you showed how to keep moving forward through the hard stuff while still enjoying the simple pleasures.  I feel so much in your debt.

I am changed by this whole experience.  How remarkable is it that my personal plans and desires could be so dramatically altered by taking this journey with you.  Nothing I could have imagined for myself would have equaled the the importance of what I learned at your side.   The real diamonds of life are time with family and giving of yourself when it would be easier to walk away.  I wasn't born knowing that stuff - learned it from caring for you.  

Oh, the last 8 years were not without our personal disagreements.  Those bumps in the road were rocky at times.  But it never derailed you and me.  I lived the last 8 years knowing this day would come when you would be gone.  I worried that I would look back and wonder ... could I have done more or something different.  My motto became - Have no regrets!  I have looked back.  There was nothing left undone or unsaid between us.  I loved you, mom, without reservation or conditions.  I accepted your strengths and weaknesses and learned from them.  I met every challenge and pushed every boundary on your behalf.  No regrets.  I am now at peace.

I know you would be happy to know I am fine today.  Sometimes missing you suddenly catches me unawares and the tears begin to fall, but that is normal.  You have moved on and so must I.

Thus we part company in this life.

You are loved, mom.  You still hold a place in my heart that no one will ever dislodge.  You were there when I took my first breath at birth and I was there for your last breath in death. I hope when I take my last breath, you will be there with that sweet smile to help me find my way.

Love you always,
Elaine
Retired Knitter

Through My Caregiver Eyes: Peace

My mother passed away this evening.

My sister and I were with her when she died.

She is finally at peace.

Through My Care Giver Eyes - Waiting

Waiting.  Thinking.  Remembering.  Sleepless.  Sad.  Numb.  Waiting.

Waiting while my mom takes that last step in life, by herself, without my help, to let go of life.

I wait so that I can take a last step as a caregiver ... and finally let go of this woman I call my mother who I have cared for and loved with all my heart.

I am not ready to let go ...

... but she is.

Waiting.

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Light

So yesterday my post seemed only to see the shadows of mom's mind.  Today I witnessed some of the light.  I thought I would share.

It was a beautiful morning when I arrived at the Nursing Home, and she was happy to see me.  She seemed more alert than yesterday.

She asked for ice cream, but what she really wanted was a glass of water with ice.  Swallowing fluids is generally difficult now and all liquid are thickened for her.  Icy cold water was what she wanted without the thickening so I got her exactly that.  She enjoys the simple things in life now ... and a large glass of water with ice sipped slowly through a straw was do-able for her today.

But I did notice that picking words and completing sentences was hard today (ice cream for ice water is a prime example.)

We had a perfect day so we went out the front of the community and sat in the sun.   She remained alert enjoying the warmth of the sun.  So different from yesterday.  Yet not so different as communication was a struggle.

Soon a priest emerged from the entrance.  He recognized us and stopped to talk with mom.  It was a bit hard for mom, but this priest is a regular visitor and very skilled at interacting with all ranges of cognitive ability.

He was from New York and so was mom, so we chatted about that for a few minutes.

At one point, he directed a question to mom.  "So, Mrs. Mesavage, how old are you?"  Mom continued to smile at him but did not respond.  I thought maybe she didn't hear the question.  I regularly repeat questions aimed at mom with a slightly raised voice - making sure she can see my mouth.  I began to repeat the priest's question.

Before I could get passed the second word, mom turned to the priest and said,

"Can I lie?"

What a hoot!!

Not only was she following the conversation, not only did she have an answer ... a spark of her personality and humor emerged in a blinding flash of light for me.  I felt totally washed in it.  She was connected for that small period of time.  She continued to give the priest a dazzling smile waiting for his answer.  He laughed right out loud.  "Sure, why not!" he said.

She responded, "I am 81."

81???

She is actually 88 - and maybe she couldn't remember her actual age, but my guess is that she did know for those few moments!  Of course, she probably didn't want too big a lie to answer for in the next life so she just shaved her age a bit.  :-)  And seriously, if the priest said she could lie, should she need to answer for anything at all???

Too funny!

Now if it was me, and I was going to lie to a priest, I would have made it a whopper!

"I am 29!!!"

Thank God for the spots of light.  It makes her not seem so far away!

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Shadows

Today is Mother's Day and I would be remiss if I didn't recognize my mother on this day.  Her story has been so much a part of my blog and my life for years.

Mom struggling with her card.
I needed to open the envelope for her.

Today was a day for sun shine and flowers and cookies and a card!  Today was a day I had hoped the  shadows of her brain might clear a bit so she could enjoy this day.  But it was not to be.  She was happy to see me as I got a small smile on my arrival.  She briefly enjoyed the flowers I brought and she munched on a red sprinkled sugar cookie cut in the shape of a heart. But recognition of the holiday seemed lost on her.

We went outside to enjoy the sun shine - spending time in the center's gazebo is one of the things she likes to do.  But she promptly fell asleep.  Sleep seems to be her constant companion.  I have come to accept this.  It is enough that we spend time together.

Time to sit and think fills my visits.  My thoughts were interrupted by another family nearby.  They were sitting together with a grandmother in a wheel chair, and I could overhear them encouraging her.  She needed to work hard in PT and to eat all her meals and to not spend all her time in bed.  If she wanted to go home she needed to do these things ... otherwise she could not go home.

Such sadness I felt.  How many countless times I had that very same conversation with mom over our years together.  I tried to block out their voices.  Better to stay focused on the knitting I brought ... no sense in borrowing sadness when I had plenty of my own.

Shadows of the gazebo.

I looked up and saw the shadows of the gazebo about our heads.  How very much like the shadows of mom's brain that gazebo is - small spots of light and darkness.  When mom was admitted to the nursing home 6 weeks ago there were far more bright spots in her brain.  Lately the darkness seems to be gaining ground.

So on this Mother's Day I honor the woman my mother is!  She didn't have the easiest life but she raised her two daughters to be productive and caring members of society.  She held together her small  dysfunctional family when others might have given up.  She lived a long life with many satisfying and loved filled moments.  She might not remember any of this, but I do.

She does not suffer now.  She lives a calm life not disturbed by the loss of possessions and experiences.  For her Mother's Day is just like any other day.  It is as if her losses have been exhausted now - there is nothing more left for her to lose.

The Mother's Day card sat unopened on her lap.  She fell asleep while looking at the cover of the card.  I guess the warmth of the sun put her to sleep ... or maybe another bright spot is shrinking into shadow.

You are loved on this Mother's Day, mom.  

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Unfamiliar Faces

As I walk into the nursing center every day to visit mom ... (and it has been about 10 days now) ... I can never predict how the visit will go.  The face of my mother seems little different each day since the hospitalization.

Sometimes it is her contented face I see - happy to see me and other residents.  She gives a brilliant smile to everyone who addresses her.  At other times it is her sleepy face - asleep in her wheel chair for most of the visit.  She expresses no interest in her surroundings, no desire to eat, and only wants to nap.

Today another face greeted me.  She had rolled herself up to the nursing station and appeared to be looking around.  She recognized me as I approached, but the look was that of inquiry.  "Where were you?"  "I am ready to go home now."  "I think we need to go back home today."  "It is time go to see Walter."  (Walter is her brother who lives in New York.  She hasn't seen him for longer than I can remember.)

The focus today was "home."  It entered most of our conversations.  "Home" sometimes means her room - but not today.  "Home" might have been her assisted living bedroom or it might even have been my "home."  Regardless - the only home she has now is her nursing home room - and that definitely was not where she wanted to go today.

She was restless and irritable as the visit progressed.  At one point she stopped and looked around asking for me or my sister.  She wanted to know if we were still here.  I was sitting right in front of her.  She asked about home again.  She understood that she could not stand now without assistance from 2 people - but she couldn't make the logical leap to understand that her limitations made this environment the only choice for now.

It was a hard day.

And so I suspect I am seeing the many one-dimensional faces of advancing dementia -  unfamiliar faces that are rising to the surface as we discover what mom's new normal is.  And it is very apparent that she has both a new lower norm physically and mentally.

I miss the familiar face of the woman who raised me.  She was interested in her surroundings and the activities of her friends and family.  She was consistently friendly even when she was having a bad day.  She'd occasionally ask if she could go home - but she followed the logic that my house had too many steps - that her wheel chair would not work there - and she was safer in Assisted Living.    She had a multi-dimensional personality - even as she continued to decline.

I miss that woman more than I can express.

I fear that familiar face will not show itself again.

Another loss.

The losses never seem to end.

But I am thankful she is still in this life with me - no matter what face she is showing.  I know our days together grow few.  I will love all those unfamiliar faces that rise to the surface now - even the difficult ones ...

... because someday I might not even have those.

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Nursing Home

How to begin.

My mom was never one to express preferences in life.  She usually went along with life - adjusting to whatever was put in her path without much resistance.

With one exception!

She never wanted to be placed in a nursing home.

Today she sits in a nursing home - because her physical and mental abilities do no permit her to continue in an assisted living environment.  She is getting physical and occupational and speech therapies ... and it is hoped that this caring environment will help repair the damage to her dementia that that hospitalization caused.

It is hoped.

But as I look back over the last 7 or 8 years of being there while she aged - it breaks my heart to know she is now in a nursing home.

I console myself with the knowledge that this nursing home, Brooke Grove Rehabilitation and Skill Nursing Center, is an excellent facility.  This retirement community is number 1 in the county and in the top 5 in our state.  I have been there with her through several rehabilitations 2 years ago and during this admission as well.  The staff is very stable - with many of them remembering her from other times.  And since her hospital discharge she has improved markedly because the environment is very much less stressful.

When I am feeling very down, I remind myself of those facts.

But how do I overshadow some of the memories from the hospital ...

One memory is burned in my brain.  It brings tears to my eyes even now.  After one especially difficult and frightening hospital procedure my sister and I returned to the room and found mom quietly very upset - trembling.  We stood on either side of her bed - trying to be there for her.  I don't recall if she was aware of our presence, but she pulled the covers up and began performing the sign of the cross on her person.  She silently repeated the sign of the cross over and over again.

In her mind there was no other help for her except God.

I felt helpless.

My own belief in God is less traditional than mom's and certainly not as intense.  But in that moment I desperately hoped that the spirit of God was standing by her with us.  She deserved at least that much.

Today her medical record has an order ... no ambulence transports, no hospitalizations.

Finally I have found the silver lining of dementia  ...  hope that dementia has lost that memory in her brain.

Now I must find a way to cope with that memory in my brain.

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Are you paying attention?

It sometimes amazes me how much of life goes by unnoticed.

Oh ... I am not talking about the big stuff - big stuff is generally seen and sometimes promptly dismissed or forgotten.  But big stuff hits your personal radar - usually.

No, I am talking about the small, the inconsequential, the minor details that sometimes barely touch our consciousness.  The kind of little red flags that seem to grow slowly over the years, becoming common place and accepted ... and limiting.  

Here is an worrisome example in my mom's life and mine ...

Watching mom over the last 7 years, I realized the simple act of getting out of bed was getting not so simple for her.  In the final months at my home we had to install bed bars - not to protect her from falling - but to give her a hand hold for pulling herself up with her arms to get out of bed.  Now in assisted living, she has a bed strap that she grabs to help with rising or adjusting herself in bed.

Her torso muscles - those "core" muscles we hear so much about - aren't used for the function of rising out of bed anymore.  She uses her arms to do the work.  And last week, as I was sitting beside her - she in her recliner and reclined - she tried to get up but collapsed back.  She couldn't sit up.  She wanted me to lift her forward.  I reminded her she could adjust the recliner electronically with the touch of a button to help her sit up.  And she did.

None of this is news.  For her this is "normal" now.  Accepted. It didn't happen over night, however.  At some point in the past she must have noticed more of a struggle to do the simple action of rising from bed.  Or maybe not.  Maybe she wasn't paying attention.

But here is the "bone shivering" part of the story for me.

One morning about a month ago I was laying in bed and I started to sit up.  I promptly rolled back down. The first effort was a "fail."  On my second try, I was successful.  It took a bit of an effort and I didn't seem to remember that effort in the past.  

But as I sat on the side of the bed I thought, "Not good.  Not good at all."  Visions of my mother floated through my head.

I vainly tried to explain away the episode to myself as I looked in the bathroom mirror and brushed my teeth that morning.  Years ago I was instructed by a physical therapist to always roll on my side and push my torso up with my arms when getting out of bed.  And I dutifully have done that for about 10 years to help with back pain.

But what has that small action resulted in today?  What will getting out of bed look like in 10 or 15 years?  Will there be a strap hanging off the bed post to help pull me up?

Since that morning I added some core exercises to my routine.  At first those exercises just K*I*L*L*E*D me!!  Many unrelated muscles from my neck down to my knees tried to help with those core exercises to spare my abs from working.  Those lazy suckers just didn't want to work at all!  But I am nothing if not stubborn!

Recently the exercises seem easier to do.  There is an improvement in some things that abs are supposed to help with ... functions that were slipping and I hadn't noticed yet.   And now I can get out of bed without the use of my arms (unless the back muscles are cranky.)

I am not going for a flat belly or a "rack" ...  the usual goal of most doing core exercises.  I just want to get out of bed without help when I am 85.

We all share an aging journey.  But each of us moves through these years differently.  I am aiming for a different journey than my mom.  And the only way I can do that is if I am paying attention - to her and to me.

Frosty February

So here we are all in February.  Another wintery - and probably snowy - month.

Goals are the focus for me this month.

I am going to announce them here - so I have some way of checking back and comparing my results at the end of the month.

Here we go:

• Finish one of my jumbo knitting projects. I have three on the needles, but right now it looks like the finish-it project will be my daughter's shawl.  (a hard one) 
• Beat my January step average in February. (an easy one)
• Complete my exercise routine 4 times a week average. (should be do-able)
• Clean out my bedroom and upstairs hall closets. (Only God knows what is in them.)
• Blog at least one more time before the end of the month. (should be easy but ... famous last words)

That should do it for goals.  

February is a pretty significant month for two other reasons.  

The Winter Olympics start on February 8.  Yeah!!  I am a huge fan of the Olympics - especially the Winter Olympics.  And I am really excited about the venue - Russia.   I'll be spending a lot of knitting time watching the athletes of the world compete.  I hope the US does well, but really, it is all about excellence - human excellence - and I am totally human, so I am ready to cheer them all.   Just hoping we can have a safe event.

This month mom turns 88 years old on February 6.  It always stuns me when I think over the last 10 years.  I started worrying about how she was doing when she was 78.  She took 2 years to make any decisions about living arrangements.  At 80 she moved in with me.  When she was 2 months shy of 86 she moved into Assisted Living.  Now at 88 years old we have been on this rocky journey together for 10 years.  Ten whole years.  That is a big chunk of both our lives.  Mom has changed greatly during these years and surprisingly so have I.  Neither one of us has changed for the best I fear.  But I celebrate her upcoming birthday.  I wish it was a more active and healthy time for her, but long life is still a gift - no matter how it looks.

That is my February.

We are in the grips of Winter.  Even though I love love love winter, I am beginning to appreciate the values of spring a little better!  :-)  (Wow, I never thought I would say those words!)

So what does your February look like?

January fleeting

My gosh!  January is over.  I wrote this post 2 days ago hoping to get pictures attached.  Then January just slipped way - all because I waited for pictures.

I am posting without pictures!

I haven't been idle.  Here is a fast update.

My new guest room and yarn room and husband den!
With the departure of my son and daughter-in-law in October, once again I was left with a town house that is too large for our personal needs.  And then I got to thinking.

"Self ... you aren't moving somewhere else because living here is cheaper than anywhere else."

"Self ... you always wanted a guest room where the beds were ever-ready for guests.  Why not do that now?"

"Self ... you are outgrowing your current yarn / craft space (because you can't seem to stop buying collecting yarn and fiber tools.  But you didn't hear me say that out loud.)  Maybe it is time to fix that."

"Self ... your husband needs to have his own space - his own den - because his wife is becoming less of a sharer as she get older."  (someday insert a grumpy picture here of an aging grumpy woman - maybe even my picture. LOL)

"Self ... you have the space now to spread out and get what you want.  What are you waiting for?"

"Self ... you aren't getting any younger and before you know it these stupid stairs will become a barrier for you and you will be forced to move.  Stop wasting time."

"SO Self ... stop talking and get busy."

And that is exactly what I did.  Here are the pictures to prove it.

(Ha!  My space saver for pictures!!  No pics!  Use your imagination here.)

Thanks to my son, daughter and daughter-in-law for helping to move all the big pieces of furniture around and make this move possible.  Now I can stop talking to myself!

*****

Ocean City
And then there was the trip to the ocean that seems to be a regular event with the cousins - it is where we sit in the condo, look at the ocean, knit, weave, spin, laugh, eat, drink wine, and generally enjoy a weekend free of life's responsibilities all while never getting out of our pajamas.  I didn't take pictures this time, but pictures from the last visit would look exactly like this visit.  So here is the link to that post.

*****

Exercise
Staying active, walking and exercises, are going slowly.  A leg injury and outside temps near 0 have slowed me up considerably.  I am still wearing my FitBit pedometer and I will calculate my January step average this weekend.  My February goal will be to beat my January average.  Sadly the February goal won't be too hard to achieve because I suspect my January average will be embarrassing low.  But it isn't about today or tomorrow or next week.  It is about the long view.  The long view includes spring and I am getting fit for spring.  :-)  At least that is what I tell myself.  My back and knee exercise routine is created and sometimes done.  But again, not as regularly as I need to.  I have posted a calendar in my yarn room where I can easily see just how inactive I am.  The statistics should be posted in the local newspaper and tattooed on my forehead for maximum embarrassment, but I will settle on this simple calendar.  I will say that my arthritis in my knee is much improved.

******

Knitting
I am back to knitting every single day.  I had fallen into a slump.  Not a good place to be when you have a room full of beautiful yarns.  But I had hit a skill-level barrier with one project and the stall trickled into all my knitting.   Until I figured out how to work around the problem, I had lost my knitting mojo.  Back on track now.  I have three jumbo sized projects on the needles and I need to keep moving.  Pictures??  Ha!  Not today.  Whip out the imagination one more time.

******

Lap Top
I got a new Mac Lap Top computer this month.  After 5+ years of excellent service and several falls, my old Apple started doing wonky things.  That darn thing continued to work, however.  In fact I thought I was heading for a new computer in November of 2012 when it fell from my kitchen counter onto my hard tile floor, and here we are in January 2014. It still hasn't totally failed but it was time.   I will never never never own anything but a Mac!  It is a work horse and it is worth every single penny of addition money it costs to own one.

******

Mom
She has had mostly decent days.  Winter is hard on the elderly.  Yesterday, however, was a bad day.  Her ability to provide self care is slipping noticeably on some days.  When I arrived she was sitting in her wheel chair, her hearing aide batteries were dead so she wasn't responding.  When I reached her I noticed that a bathroom accident was evident all over her and she didn't seem to be aware.  It had not yet  been discovered by the staff so she was in a sad state - unable to help herself and has long since lost the ability to consistently ask for help when she needs it.  It was a very hard morning.  When I left things were back to normal.  But I left with a heavy heart.

*****

So that has been my January.  Although I haven't blogged a lot, I've been busy and I have been visiting with many of you.  You keep me inspired to put my fingers to the keyboard here.

I have some plans for February - but that is for another post!

And maybe even a picture or two!!

Through My Caregiver Eyes: The "Stuff" of life

It has been just over 2 years ...

Two years since my mom left my house for good - to move to Rehab and then to Assisted Living.

While mom lived here, she had a small suite of rooms: a private bathroom, a bedroom and a den.  She squeezed the stuff of her life into those rooms.  She was happy to do so because she had the things that mattered to her - and the security of living with family.  She had her "stuff" ... and everyone needs their stuff.

During her 5 years with me her stuff remained constant - never growing, never shrinking. She wasn't a spender and really needed little.   But other elements of her life shrunk and declined.  Some loss of independence, reduced ability to manage her small responsibilities, loss of driving, and finally declining health.  Eventually she even lost her ability to live with family.

And what of her stuff ...

Well I kept all her stuff just as she left it in her rooms for awhile.

Eight months after she moved, I decided to sort through her belongings and repackage them so that they fit snuggly into her bedroom.  It was time to reclaim the den for our use.  I downsized for her: for example she wouldn't need a Forman Grill, or craft supplies that her arthritic hands no longer could manage, or that mountain of papers she tucked away like a squirrel hiding nuts.  The downsizing was hard because it was an acceptance ...  she would not be returning. Still I kept her bedroom unchanged.  I couldn't seem to let that go.

After a year I removed the Chair Lift off the stairs.  It was a trip hazard for my husband who has limited vision ... and with mom not here, it served no purpose.  That was another small heart ache for me.

Now on the 2nd Anniversary of her life in Assisted Living - I decided to reclaim her bedroom.  Fortunately we have space in the lower level of our house to store her things.  But they no long reside in her room.  Her room is no longer "her room."  I have spent several nights boxing up her stuff and carrying it downstairs.  While that act has made me sad, it is not the worst.  Her total belongings have reduced to the size of one closet - exactly one closet of "stuff" left from a long life.  Her bedroom furniture will remain.  I downsized and packed away small stuff but not big stuff.

I know this sadness is mine alone.  Others may not understand my feelings.  Even mom wouldn't understand because she neither wants nor remembers any of these things.  In fact, the few things I brought to her Assisted Living room she did not want displayed.  It was like she had no plans to put down roots in that place.  Her roots were in my home and now they are in boxes.

The "stuff" of life can bring joy or sadness - even if the stuff isn't yours.

So I am fighting to focus on those things that aren't "stuff."  Her Thanksgiving was filled with family  - not things in boxes.  I fight those sad feelings since I can't control this decline and loss.  It is just a normal part of life.  I focus on "being there" for her.

Here she is with her family on Thanksgiving when we all gathered together to watch the parades and to share a Turkey Meal.  It was not home but she really enjoyed the visit.

Dear mom,

My home will always be your home despite the fact your legs will never carry you into it again.  You will always belong within the loving arms of your family.  Your stuff is just stuff.  Your real achievements are the great family you built and supported over the years.  You are much loved.  There is nothing else that matters.

Love,
Retired Knitter
Daughter and Caregiver

Through My Caregiver Eyes - Memories

This is the latest entry in a continuing series called 

Through My Caregiver Eyes.  

The full story can be found under the label "Through My Caregiver Eyes."

 (Label Section to the right of my blog posts.)  

My mom is 87 years old and is in Assisted Living. 

The rocky path from independence to living with me and finally to Assisted Living

 is documented in this series.  

While our journey together is peppered with joy-filled moments,

 it is mostly losses for her and sadness for me. 

For those of you who are caregivers of elderly loved ones, 

you may see yourself in my story.

Memories are intangible things that can make life worth living, and at other times, sad to recall. Memories can fade and be lost, and in the elderly, sometimes the loss is permanent.  I believe it is the loss of memories that is the cruelest loss of all in aging.

I got the idea to recover some of mom's happy memories by bringing one of her travel albums with me on a recent visit.  The album I selected was from May 1990 when she traveled in Europe.  It was filled her typed and handwritten notes of scenes and the people pictured.  I thought she had done an excellent job of documenting the trip and it might be fun for her to see it again.

She was initially happy to see the book - recognized the cover right away.  She seemed surprised to see her own handwriting - recognized it as hers - she said it looked like my handwriting.  I guess it does.

It made me happy to watch her page slowly through the book.  She was quiet, however, and did not make many comments.  I asked if she recognized any of the places and people.  She said, "some" ... and that was all.  It was the first sign that maybe some memories of this happy time were lost.  I felt a little saddness at that thought.

At times a small smile graced her lips - I assumed she recognized a scene or a person - maybe one of the pictures prompted another memory.  She did mention the name of the man who led the tours - so she did seem to connect with the images.

Then she suddenly turned to me and said, "This is your book, right?  There are some nice pictures of you in here."  No ... no pictures of me. The book was entirely of her travels.  Later it occurred to me that she was seeing pictures of a much younger self.  We are always told how much we look alike.  I guess she got confused. Another little red flag on memory lane.

She reached the end and closed the book, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.  After a bit she mentioned that she did travel a lot at one time. But 1990 was a very long time ago. The comment seemed like simple confirmation of what the book represented.  She sat quitely some time.

It was hard to tell how these pictures impacted her.  Did they make her sad at the passage of so much time?   Did it confirm that some of her memories were lost because she couldn't recognize some of the images from her book?  Was she just reflective?  I will never know because mom finds it hard to put her thoughts and feelings into words at this point.

I hoped she would keep the book with her for a few days to enjoy and remember.  But she clearly wanted me to take the book back home that day.  She said she was glad that I brought it, but she would not keep it with her.

My heart hoped she had a few moments of happiness paging through the photo album.  But the small voice of my mind wonders if these pictures had another unpredictable outcome.

Memories are fragile things.

Handle with care.

Retired Knitter
Daughter and Caregiver