Happy Birthday, Dad!
06 Feb 2012 2 Comments
in My dad Tags: The Silent Warrior
Yesterday we celebrated my dad’s 88th birthday. It was a bittersweet day. It was the first time we weren’t able to bring him home for the occasion. But there still was an occasion to celebrate, and to this daughter, that’s all that mattered.
In the past few weeks his health has been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. Last month he caught a flu-like bug which knocked him down for the count. Then, as is often his style, he rebounded heroically, only to become ill again just a few days ago with the same bug…which perhaps wasn’t completely wiped out in the first place.
That is just how life is right now. You have to learn to roll with the punches.
And as my dad continues to do his slow-dance with Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia, the punches come fast and furious when an illness comes to visit.
We had made some nice ground over the last weeks. Physical therapy got him out of that cold, steel wheelchair companion that seemed to follow him wherever he went. His strength returned enough to go back to using his walker, though with an aide safely by his side.
Yesterday, the wheelchair was back.
That darned party-crasher!
But though uninvited, I suppose it should stay. For now.
Over the last few months, our family has come to accept that the process of my dad slowly “fading” has begun. It hurts me to even write that. But it’s true. When he is with us, many times he is not really there. Smiles have become more polite. Introductions to familiar faces require more explanation and coaching. Names of people he sees every day no longer fall off the tip of his tongue.
And the faces of family members he hasn’t seen in a while are beginning to grow darker.
That’s the hard part.
My dad still ”covers” quite nicely. His inner salesman (or maybe the better term is “game show host?”) will smile wildly when he greets someone he doesn’t remember and his enthusiastic response makes the person think he remembers them warmly. But as someone who spends many days a week watching this unfold, I can easily see he is trying his best to curb any embarrassment on his part when he greets this new “stranger.” Deep down, he still wants the person to feel important.
That’s my dad.
In the days before party day approached, I spent my mornings at The Inn (the term he uses for his nursing home) chatting with his nurses, becoming educated on lab test results, and learning the fine art of how to don a paper mask without smudging my lip gloss.
I texted my siblings daily, giving them updates and play-by-plays. “Today he sat up in bed!” followed by “Tomorrow he gets to go to the dining room!” And finally, “He’s no longer contagious…the party’s on!”
The people who work at The Inn are amazing. During our monthly care-plan meeting (where my mom and I meet with nursing and other staff to discuss how things are going and areas that can be improved upon in his care) we talked about the difficulty of bringing my dad home for visits now. They offered to give us a private room and set up tables and chairs so we could celebrate with our family.
They even blew up balloons!
So yesterday, the family gathered. Two of my local sisters came with their husbands. My niece came with her husband and beautiful 2 year-old twin daughters. My husband and two girls arrived.
The room filled up with life.
We ordered take-out from Panera. My sister baked her world-famous chocolate cake.
The party had come to him!
My dad was wheeled down and was in good spirits. He was wearing a brand new sweater my sister bought him. We slapped a party hat on him and he was good to go!
He looked happy to have us there. He sat next to my mom. They held hands. He whispered to her occasionally. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take her hand and kiss it sweetly. I overheard him say, “I love you, Barbie.” She smiled and said she loved him back.
My older daughter who is 6 1/2, has a zest for life. She loves her grandfather. She plays with him and teases him. I watched as she took a balloon and rubbed it on his head. Her eyes lit up as the static electricity from my dad’s still-full head of hair, dangled it in place. My dad played along.
Now that’s a party!
Eight years ago when my dad turned 80, I made a memory book for him. I had everyone write a few paragraphs of what he meant to them and then I scanned in an old photo of when my siblings were little, alongside a present-day photo. I included contributions from his grandchildren, his brothers and sister, and even people who used to work for him. My dad who had just begun his journey with dementia, read that book every day for years. It honored him and he loved all the attention.
We thought it would be fun to try that again.
So each of my siblings wrote a page of what my dad meant to them as a Happy Birthday gift. We gave them to my dad to read after the party.
My mom did one, too.
It was a beautiful day. A bittersweet day. A day to celebrate with family and a day to celebrate a man who means a great deal to us.
Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.
“I’d like to thank the Academy…”
02 Feb 2012 5 Comments
in "Stuff"
Two people have nominated this blog for ”The Versatile Blogger” award (Thank you, Linda http://crudmykidssay.wordpress.com/ and Bill, www.billbrenner1970.wordpress.com)
Since I’m fairly new to the blogging world, I was pretty darned excited to get this nod. Between you and me, I honestly didn’t even know they had such things.
But, heck! Make no mistake! I’m glad they do!
In fact, if you’ll bear with me for a moment, I’d like to take a moment to share the speech I’ve been practicing in front of my bedroom mirror for the last…um…30 or so years:
(fumbles inside shirt pocket for crumpled up piece of paper) “Oh WOW!” (clasps face in utter shock) “This is SUCH a thrill! (takes a deep breath…face turning red) “I…I…don’t know what to say! (opens prepared speech)
“I’d like to thank the Academy and everyone who voted for me! Oh and my parents. And my best friend, Missy. And Rob Lowe. And all the actors who have inspired me from the “Afterschool Specials” of my youth…”
<CRICKETS>
What? Wrong speech?
Oh. Well…this is a little….awkward. I should have realized something was up when I didn’t see a trophy.
Okay, kidding aside. Back to the “Versatile Blogger Award.” There are some rules that I need to follow, and anyone who knows me knows that I am a stickler for rules!
RULE #1: List 7 Random Facts About Yourself.
Okay, if you insist.
- I am the youngest of seven children. They call me the ”family bonus,” who came along unexpectantly when my parents were in their 40′s. I didn’t really grow up with my siblings; they were quite a bit older. It was similar to being an only child. But don’t get me wrong, there were perks. By the time I came along, my parents had zero interest in discipline. I’d scribble all over the walls with crayons and my mother would proclaim, “Genius!” I’d sneeze, people would applaud. Life was tough.
- I am a creature of habit. Whenever I find something I like, I pretty much stick to it. My husband likes to call it, “Wonton Syndrome.” He is referring to the fact that one day, I discovered I liked Wonton soup from a Chinese restaurant. So then, I’d pretty much order it for the next 10 years. Of course, once year 11 rolled by, suddenly I decided I would never eat it again. And I haven’t to this day. This also applies to bagels and cream cheese, tuna fish, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, and cantaloupe.
- I never learned to drive a stick-shift. I know, weird right? I don’t know why. Maybe the situation never presented itself? Maybe I just couldn’t “stick” with it. (get it?)
- I worry a lot. (Sometimes I find this worrisome.)
- I like The Bee Gees. There. I said it.
- I’m fairly certain my personal trainer at the gym is trying to kill me. Perhaps I remind her of someone who caused her great difficulty in another life. (On my death certificate it will certainly read, “Death by Abs.”)
- I think I may be the only person in the world who does not like cheesecake. Maybe it’s the name. Cheese…cake. Gross.
Man, that was cathartic. Thanks for listening.
RULE #2: Nominate 15 Other Blogs.
1. http://crudmykidssay.wordpress.com/ This is my pal, Linda’s blog. She told me that I was one of the funniest people she knows. (AND I got it in writing!) But that’s not why I love Linda. Many moons ago we worked together. She would make me laugh until my cheeks hurt. And she still does. She has the best way of blending her edgy sense of humor with whip-smart observations on people. Trust me, she finds humor in almost any situation – even life’s difficult ones. Her blog captures some great life moments, particularly from her two children, The Boy and The Girl. They will have their own sitcom someday. I admire her greatly. Check her out!
2. www.billbrenner1970.wordpress.com The OCD Diaries – Bill is one of the nicest guys I’ve never met. Our common denominator is our mutual friend, Linda. He has been a bit of a mentor to me on this blogging thing and has been a great (virtual) sounding board. His blog contains some of the most honest reflections I have ever read about someone who struggles with mental illness and learning to navigate its challenges. Actually, I think the best part of his writing is the realization that his struggle has been a bit of a “blessing in disguise.” It has provided him with a great teaching tool for self-awareness and finding the almost-silver lining. His ability to document the rollercoaster known as “life” can resonate with anyone. I think he is very brave.
3. http://muffintopmommy.com/ How shall I describe this funny lady? She is a cross between Erma Bombeck and Ellen Degeneres. She is a great comedic writer. I love her fresh observations laced with a spot-on sense of humor. The more I read from her, the more hooked I become. She has a great eye for the funny! Combine that with her brilliant writing style and there’s no stopping her!
4. http://www.beamingbalance.com/ This is a great collection of personal stories from a working mom who strives to find happiness while maintaining a middle ground between work and family. And she has a smart sense of humor. I have her pegged as someone who truly enjoys her life, and who seems to find a way to effectively roll with the punches.
5. http://lakedaybreak.wordpress.com/ Kappy’s Sunrise Project. This is a photo blog that I can’t get enough of. I just discovered it. It has the most breathtaking and serene images, sprinkled with some great animal shots (wild and domesticated!) Kappy has an amazing eye for photography and her shots always make me smile. Be prepared to be taken on a great adventure!
6. http://notesfromtheboss.wordpress.com/ I just found this gem. A fun read. This is a chronicle of the silly things a boss has written to an employee on post-it notes. The more you dive into it, you wonder just which one is in charge. A hoot.
7. http://mydogisapancake.blogspot.com/ This is an art blog from my daughter’s art teacher. She is a trained illustrator and I love her style. She also makes greeting cards and does some commercial work. I enjoy dipping into her work as she often interjects her view as an elementary school educator. She is extremely talented.
8. http://www.sheilaomalley.com/ The Sheila Variations. This is the web blog of my friend, Kerry’s, cousin. She is a stunning, absolutely gorgeous writer. Much of her material is focused on the arts and if you take some time to dig in, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
9. http://culturalheritagelawyer.blogspot.com/ This is my friend, Rick’s blog. He is an attorney who has practiced in the cultural property and antiquities law fields over the last ten years. This fascinating blog deals with many aspects of archeological and cultural arts preservation. His topics on international art theft and looting during times of war are incredibly eye-opening and informative.
10. http://thewritingresource.net/ How cool is this site! It is a great resource for anyone who wants to up their writing game. Great tips and help with grammar, too. And I LOVE how it is organized. One of my new favorites!
11. http://www.chicagonow.com/mary-tyler-mom/2011/08/gold-is-the-new-pink/ Mary Tyler Mom This is a blog that was recommended to me. I glanced at it, now really knowing much about it. Until I started reading. This is no ordinary blog. A mother writes lovingly and movingly about the heart wrenching journey of watching her beautiful daughter succumb to brain cancer. With photographs throughout, you will get to know the little girl, Donna, and I promise you, you will never be the same again. A gift.
12. http://wendiaarons.com/ This is a new blog that I was just referred to by my friend, Janet. LOVE. IT. Very cool and funny stuff. I am enjoying getting acquainted with her dry and smart sense of humor.
13. http://lightenupweber.blogspot.com/ Another hilarious blog. Great, funny stuff!
14. http://www.noupe.com/photography/40-beautiful-examples-of-bird-photography.html This is a compilation of the most beautifully vivid bird photographs. I love these images. I’m a bit of a bird freak. Just wanted to share.
15.http://www.boston.com/community/moms/blogs/24_hour_workday/2012/01/norovirus-sick-kids-how-to-cope.html This is a funny mom blog that is intelligently written. Her perspective on life is hilarious.
Hope you enjoy. Over and out!
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Start Your Adrenaline.”
26 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in "Stuff"
Today, after I picked up my youngest daughter from preschool, we headed to the local grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things. I scored a parking space right out front by the main entrance. Oh, how I love when that happens.
Of course, “a few things” ended up turning into a grocery-cart-full, as is often the case when I carelessly leave my list behind.
As I wheeled the full carriage out to my car which, thankfully, was only a few feet away, I pressed the button on my keychain that automatically opens the back gate of my minivan. As the door rose up slowly, I noticed a strange man looking at me, walking in my general direction, a few car rows over. I figured he had just parked his car and was walking into the store.
As he got closer, I saw that instead of choosing to walk in the wide open lane next to him, he seemed to zigzag his way through the cars towards me. He was looking right at me. I kept my eye on him and kept walking purposefully. But then it seemed like he was honing in on me as if he had a purpose. So I braced myself (as my Queens, NY-bred husband has ingrained in me) and grabbed tightly to my purse while my other arm robotically pushed and held my daughter firmly behind me. My heart started to thump out of my chest. A woman was right next to me loading her car and I caught her worried gaze. He walked right over to me and stood in front of my cart. I heard myself say in an extremely loud yet-trying-to-stay-calm-voice, “CAN I HELP YOU?” He smiled at me and then said, “No. I’m here to help YOU!” He then took my cart and brought it over to my open trunk and proceeded to load all my groceries in the car for me.
I stood there, scratching my head, mystified.
I felt myself slowly release the death-vice grip I had on my daughter. (I’m sure she was relieved judging by the color returning to her face.) The woman next to me smiled at me in relief, and rolled her eyes as if to say, “That was close!”
I said to him in confusion, “Um…do you work here?” And he replied, “Nope.”
Just then, I see my older daughter’s school principal walk over to me as he was exiting the grocery store, picking up lunch after a meeting. He came over to say hello and instant relief washed over me as I immediately tried to involve him in the situation by grabbing his arm and pulling him over to the back of my car to meet this new acquaintance.
(Truthfully, I also wanted to get his “take.”)
I said loudly in front of them both, “Look, Mr. Williams! Look at this man! He is a COMPLETE STRANGER and he is loading all my groceries! Can you believe THAT?!!” He looked at the man and smiled. The man smiled back. Mr. Williams said, “Well, it’s because you are so nice!” Then he made his goodbye and left.
The cart was now emptied and the man backed up in reverse so I could lower the trunk. He started to leave and head toward the grocery store.
I called after him; “Um….Thank you!” He waved pleasantly as he maneuvered his newly-adopted carriage inside the store. Seconds later he was gone.
I got in my car and instantly locked all the doors for safety. Then I just sat there, trying to take stock of what had just happened.
In the span of 30 seconds, I had gone from thinking I was about to get carjacked and springing into “Mama Bear mode” to protect my daughter, to trying to memorize every detail of this man’s face for the police lineup, to being in total shock at the realization that a complete stranger was simply trying to help me.
Then a feeling of guilt took hold as I questioned myself for jumping to the wrong conclusion. But in reflection, the guy did sort of arrive at his good deed in a bit of an unconventional way. He circumnavigated the “personal space” rule and just kind of went for my carriage. I’m grateful it ended up the way it did, but I could easily see how someone can get thrown off guard when they are out of their comfort zone. I’ll admit it – he shook me. And it reinforced that voice in the back of my head (which strangely, has a New York accent and sounds a lot like my husband) that says, “Yeah, but you didn’t know the guy. And you can never be too safe.”
I decided to give myself a break and simply arrive at the feeling of gratitude. I felt gratitude at the man’s kindness, and gratitude that my heart rate had now returned to normal.
I strapped into my seatbelt and turned on the ignition. As I was about to put the car in reverse, I caught my daughter’s eye in the rearview mirror. I turned around to look at her in the back seat. She smiled at me. “Time to go home, Mom,” she said brightly. I exhaled, and smiled back. Enough excitement for one day.
That’s how he rolls.
18 Jan 2012 10 Comments
in My dad
What a difference a week makes.
The other day, as I made my way down the hall to my dad’s room at The Inn (my dad’s term for his nursing home), I was greeted by one of his nurses who I’ve become quite friendly with. (One of the perks of having a family member who has been a resident for several years is that many of his caregivers have become like extended family.)
This particular nurse is a pal. When she saw me walk towards my dad’s room, she smiled brightly at me and said, “Guess what? He’s doing GREAT!” She then reported that much of his flu-like illness had resolved and he was feeling much better. His fever was gone. His appetite had bounced back. Vitals were all good. I thanked her and breathed a sigh of relief. Buoyed by the good news, I made my way toward his room.
The lights were off and I found him lying down in his bed. When he heard me walk in, he propped open his eyes in surprise. Then I heard his familiar booming voice exclaim, “Well, HONEY! What a surprise! I’m so glad to see you!” He struggled to sit up on his own. “Hi, Dad! You look like you’re feeling better!” I said. He nodded and said, “Oh, YES! I’m feeling much better!”
I walked over to him and offered my hand to help him sit up a bit, and instead he grabbed it, brought it up to his lips and gave it his signature kiss. “You look just beautiful, today!” he proclaimed, beaming at me. At that moment, one of his aides breezed into the room to drop something off. As she turned around to leave, he stopped her and said proudly, “Do you know my youngest daughter? She’s #7! Isn’t she a beauty?” The aide who has known me for over 5 years, nodded and smiled patiently, then said, “Oh yes, Ed. I know your daughter very well!” She and I exchanged good-natured eye-rolls and she walked out.
Great to have you back, Dad.
Next month my dad turns 88. He once told me, “I’m not old, I’m chronologically gifted.” Well, anyone who is “chronologically gifted” combined with a rather complicated health history can sometimes be rendered incapacitated by a brief illness. Add to that the challenge of Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia, and one shouldn’t be surprised to see a period of decline. We are fortunate he has started the slow process of bouncing back after a few weeks under the weather.
I know better than to count him out just yet. It wouldn’t be the first time he pulled a fast one on us.
Six years ago, when my siblings and I made the heart-wrenching decision to bring him to The Inn, we struggled with the idea that we were “putting him out to pasture.” But he had become too ill for my mother to continue to care for him. Like many spouses who desperately try to manage the care of a partner when they become ill, my mother put my father’s health needs before her own. She became very ill as a consequence, requiring temporary hospitalization. It was then that we realized we had to step in and find a long-term solution when we discovered how my dad’s memory impairment and physical problems required around-the-clock care. My mother hadn’t wanted to alarm us, and so she had been caring for him quietly and with dignity, as best as she could. But the time had come.
When we brought him to The Inn, it was the hardest day of my life. I couldn’t do it. My oldest sister, a nurse, bravely took him over while I spent most of the day wracked with guilt and feeling like I was in mourning.
But when he arrived at The Inn, he began to thrive. He started to exercise and participate in group activities. Being around people reinvigorated him. His memory even improved. He regained his love of woodworking through taking classes and even authored a column in The Inn’s newsletter entitled, “Ed’s Famous Last Words,” where he would interview residents and staff on various topics he chose.
(The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.)
As my dad rebounds from this illness, he has an incredible army of aides and physical therapists by his side whose main responsibility is to help residents reclaim and maintain their independence. The only problem now seems to be that he has gotten way too used to his shiny new companion: his wheelchair.
In fact, I do believe he’s smitten!
No longer does he have to labor with trying to navigate his walker, which exerts great energy and exhausts him fairly easily. The wheelchair makes his life very easy. Too easy.
We want that thing GONE.
The other day when I was with him, he rhapsodized about how great his wheelchair was. It was as if he were talking about a new lover. “It’s just so convenient!” he told me. “I just get pushed wherever I need to go. It’s really great!”
Delicately, I said, “That’s nice, dad, but you know the wheelchair is just temporary. We really want you to go back to your walker when you get your strength back.”
He looked at me with confusion. “Why would I want to do THAT?” I went on to explain that the more he sits in a wheelchair, the more deconditioned he becomes. I went into great detail about how important it is to remain active and “upright.” His walker gives him much-needed exercise. It keeps him young! (Throwing him a bone about retaining his youth is always a crowd-pleaser!)
He thought about it for a minute, nodded and then said, “But it’s really great! I get pushed wherever I want to go!”
This may be harder than I thought.
Well, what can I say? My dad always did have a knack for finding the shortcut.
But then again, he’s “chronologically gifted.”
So for now, that’s how he rolls.
The Silent Warrior
13 Jan 2012 29 Comments
in My dad
My dad has fallen ill the last few weeks. He has developed a flu-like illness that has depleted much of his energy and drained his typical charm and charisma. It’s not unusual this time of year in nursing homes. Lots of bugs go around and it’s something we’ve learned to navigate around. ‘Tis the season. Like everything else, you just adjust. And you wash your hands.
A lot.
When I have visited him this week, I have found him listless and in bed with a new companion by his side. A wheelchair. He has been too unsteady to stand, so for his own safety, he has been transported here and there with these new wheels. I noticed his walker was folded and leaning against a wall in the background. Times seem to be changing.
His typical bright greeting to me has been replaced with a groggy and sleep-filled smile. My attempts at breaking out in cheerleader-mode to get him out of bed, (“Hey, DAD! Let’s get up and go for a walk!”) have been met with heavy sighs and “Oh, honey, not today.”
I really shouldn’t complain. My dad turns 88 next month so I guess I should give the guy a break. I would be knocked out, too, if the flu came calling at that age. But easier said than done.
I’ve spent a lot of time at The Inn (his term for his nursing home) lately because I’ve got my eye on him. I know that at his age and debilitated condition, a simple flu-like illness can wreak unexpected havoc. People his age don’t bounce back so easily. So I’ve been creeping around, hanging out with his nurses and aides (who I’ve come to know and have become quite friendly with) and hovering around The Inn as I negotiate visits inbetween carpool pick-ups and kid playdates.
We’ve dutifully added the “God bless, Grandpa” phrase to our nightly prayers and I’ve been emailing my six brothers and sisters - several who live in the midwest – to give them updates and funny anecdotes, so they can feel part of the process, even though we all know they sometimes feel helplessly out of the loop when my dad becomes ill.
I’ve tried to be a good daughter, fun-loving mother, engaging wife, and available friend, but truth be told, when an illness or problem strikes with a parent, things can get a little topsy-turvey. I try to figure out where I am needed most and race there accordingly. It’s a juggling act that I am sure is not unique to my family. It can be stressful, but I do not like pity parties, so I will not be inviting myself to this one.
But surprisingly, this story doesn’t belong to my dad. Not today. For I’ve discovered there is a power-player far more important right now. This person remains largely in the background, yet wields great strength and influence.
This person has been my father’s companion, best friend, partner in crime, caregiver, and steadfast supporter for the last 62 years. It is my mother that I tip my hat to for her bravery and unwavering love for my dad.
For the last 6 years since my dad has been at The Inn (where he struggles with the slow-motion thief that they call Alzheimer’s,) my mother has quietly and without fanfare, visited him almost daily. She often joins him for their lunch date in the Inn’s “restaurant” (dining room) and walks with him afterward upstairs to the third floor when his afternoon nap calls his name.
My mother lives in town, a short 5 minutes from The Inn, in a single-story home directly behind her church. She patiently answers her phone when my dad calls her repeatedly, asking when she will be coming over to visit. When I have been at her house and the phone rings, I hear her cheerfully answer the phone as if it is the first time she heard his voice that day, instead of the seventh.
Now, that’s love.
A few weeks ago, I popped over to visit my dad after lunch and found my mother in his room “tucking him in” for his afternoon siesta. I don’t know why, but I stood there in the doorway for a while without letting her know I was there. I just stood and watched.
I saw my mother lovingly and gracefully pull his covers up around his neck as he lay motionless in bed. She smiled sweetly as he began to softly snore. I watched her pat his shoulder gently and stand there staring at him, satisfied that he was safely launched into sleep-ville. It wasn’t unlike a mother checking on her child. It was pure sweetness.
With my dad’s present illness, my mother was discouraged from visiting him for a few days so that she didn’t get sick herself. She complied, though it was hard for her. I kept up my daily visits so he wouldn’t get lonely and every day he would ask me where she was and why she wasn’t visiting him anymore. When I explained it was because he had been sick, he couldn’t understand. He’d think about it and then say, “But she always comes to see me every day.” I replied reassuringly, “Maybe she’ll come tomorrow, Dad.” He’d nod and drift away.
After 5 or so days, I could see that both my parents were really missing each other. I spoke with my dad’s nurse who mentioned that perhaps they could visit in a “common area” like in the living area downstairs in the lobby. It was a large, ventilated area that would be much safer than her spending her visit up on a closed floor.
So I called my mother and told her she could come over that day to see him. I decided not to tell my dad. I thought it would be a nice surprise.
Yesterday was the day. I went to see my dad right after I dropped my daughter off at school. He had just finished breakfast. I wheeled him over to the couch in the lobby and pulled up a chair next to him. The first thing he said to me was, “Have you heard from your mother?” I said, “Yes, dad. I talked to her a little while ago. I’m sure she’ll visit you soon.” He looked at me pensively and said, “I sure hope so. She used to visit me every day. I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like myself when she’s away.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to chase away the tears welling in my eyes.
15 minutes later, I glanced out the window to see my mom’s 2001 white Honda Accord slowly creep into the parking lot. I watched as she took her walker out of her car and moved slowly to the main entrance.
A few steps later and she was inside The Inn. I met her at the door and gestured to where my dad was sitting in the next room over. She walked right over to him and stood in front of him. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up with the widest and most joyful smile. “My DARLING!” he shouted exuberantly. They embraced slowly. She straightened his collar and sat down in the chair across from him. I watched as an immediate look of peace washed over his face.
All was well again.
I remember thinking, in that moment, how incredibly lucky I am. The greatest gift my parents ever gave me is the love they have for one another. My mother loves my father unflinchingly. She is like a silent warrior, forever in the background, yet always available at a moment’s notice.
No matter who her husband becomes as he is molded and shaped by memory loss and occasional illness, she is there. She loves him without fail.
It is the greatest love story I’ve ever known.
A gift from God.
I am grateful.
How To Turn Your Mother Into Mush
18 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
STEP 1: After being sent to your room to contemplate why a Frisbee is indeed considered an “outdoor toy,” and the importance of “turning on your listening ears” (because mothers are psychic and know that Frisbees do not get along well with table lamps,) simply hand her this note with an apologetic face. Then, chances are good, she will probably make you brownies.
“One Last Word…”
16 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in "Stuff"
I have a good friend who teaches third grade. Today, she invited me to visit her school. They are learning all about authors and she asked if I would read, “Rosie Graduates from Kindergarten,” and “The Dog Who Loved Halloween” (two informal little books where I outfitted my dog in silly costumes, set to rhyme) to her class.
The kids were a great audience and asked some very intelligent and thought-provoking questions like, “How do you prepare to write a book?” and “How did you learn to write poems?” – One even invoking a very kind (and humbling) comparison to my favorite children’s author – Dr. Seuss!
As I prepared to leave, a boy named “Caleb” sweetly offered to escort me back to the school entrance. I remembered that he was one of the kids who asked some insightful questions during the class.
Walking together down the hall we chatted easily. Then he became quiet for a moment and said, “Is it okay if I ask you one last question?” With anticipation, I straightened myself up and gave him my full attention.
Then he said, “Do you dye your hair?”
“Hey Mister, Can You Spare a Quarter?”
14 Dec 2011 2 Comments
If you Google “12-Step Groups for 4 Year-Olds,” you’re plum out of luck. It’s a shame, because I certainly could use one right about now.
As a mother, I only want the best for my children. Which is why I am seeking treatment or perhaps just a support system for my youngest daughter. Sure, this isn’t easy to talk about. But I’m hoping that if I give voice to her affliction, maybe we will find others out there who are walking in our shoes. Perhaps there is a “silent majority” who is also living under this veil of shame.
You see, my sweet little angel-faced 4 year-old (to protect her privacy, I’ll call her, “M,”) is becoming, well…a serial gambler. I’m not talking about Vegas roulette tables or stealing away into smoke-filled hotel rooms playing poker, bleary-eyed, until dawn. No, her poison is far more dangerous and destructive. Bear with me, as I try to get this out. Okay. Deep breath.
“M” is battling a rampant addiction to the kid ”trinket” machines at the grocery store.
There I said it. I feel better. Hey, that wasn’t so bad.
Her addiction started innocently enough. My husband was growing frustrated that whenever he wanted to take her out of the house to accompany him on an errand, she would ”dawdle” and drag her feet. He’d be all set to jump in the car, but she would take her own sweet time. She is the kind of kid who when you say, “Okay, we gotta GO!” she’ll begin to move in slow motion. You’ll ask her to put her coat on, and she’ll look at you like you’re speaking in tongues. Suddenly she forgets how to slip on her shoes. It is an endless exercise in waiting.
My husband, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He will move at lightening speed and want to get cracking on his errands RIGHT NOW. When he is showered and dressed and all fed and watered, he’s ready to go! “Everyone, time to jump in the car!” And though we are entering into our seventh year as parents, he still hasn’t embraced the fact that when you have children who are part of your entourage, sometimes you have to add on a solid hour to that timetable.
One Saturday morning, in utter frustration as he tried to get ”M” to join him on a grocery store excursion, he blurted out something to the effect of, “If you come with me RIGHT NOW, I’ll let you get a toy from one of those slot machines. I’ll even give you TWO QUARTERS you can use!” Well, I’ll be darned if her little hazel eyes didn’t fly open wide and she high-tailed it to the door. On went her shoes. ZIP went her coat. Before he knew it, that little ponytailed girl had buckled herself expertly in the car, anxiously awaiting her Daddy to join her.
My husband stared blankly in disbelief. He had struck gold!
As he approached the car, a chubby little arm poked out of the window. “Give my my quarters!” she demanded. And he was more than happy to oblige.
The next step in her addictive behavior was fairly textbook. She began to hoard quarters. LOTS of them. Instead of being motivated to earn a sticker for her sticker chart each time she did one of her assigned jobs around the house, she’d say brightly, “I cleaned my room. Can I get a quarter instead?” Fair enough, we thought. After all, our child was now behaving beautifully and did everything we asked. A quarter here. A quarter there. What’s the harm?
Yes, we had become enablers.
Her hoarding soon took the form of stockpiling. She was saving up for her next “fix.” Then the thievery. My coin purse in my pocketbook seemed to lose its characteristic bulge. And finally, the manipulation began. She’d randomly open the door to the refrigerator and exclaim in a worried voice, “Hey Mom, I think we’re getting a little low on milk!” Yes, she had learned to play my emotions like a violin as she knew any mention of dwindling food supply in the house generated great anxiety in me, her Mother. ”We’d better go to the grocery store,” she’d warn.
One day as I gathered my grocery list and grabbed my purse to leave, I noticed she ran to her bedroom right before we left. Intrigued, I followed her to see what she was doing. I observed her, bent down on the floor, fiddling with something under her bed. I crept closer. She grabbed a little plastic bag and I saw it had some quarters in it. I had caught her red-handed with her “stash.” But instead of feeling threatened or agitated that I had confronted her, she turned and looked at me with a huge smile. “NOW, I’m ready to go to the grocery store!” she beamed.
Now ordinarily, when I observe negative behavior in my children, I am perfectly comfortable in attributing it to my husband’s contribution to the gene pool. But I suppose if I’m being honest, I have to own this one. You see, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I fear this may be MY contribution to my daughter’s DNA.
Many moons ago on our honeymoon, my husband and I stayed at a swanky hotel. When he casually mentioned one day that one of the attractions of this hotel was an in-house casino, I simply nodded matter-of-factly. After all, I had never gambled in my life. It simply wasn’t part of my life experience. I had no interest.
One night, about a half-hour before our dinner reservation, we decided to walk through the casino on the way to the restaurant. It was alive with bright lights, and bells and whistles, and people laughing with a twinkle in their eyes as they cranked machine handles and sipped fancy drinks.
My husband brought me a little cup of quarters. I was quite surprised. “I really don’t want to waste money on THIS!” I said, adamantly. “Oh, relax,” he said. “We’re on our honeymoon! Live a little. It’s just a couple of dollars.”
So we walked over and sat down at some slot machines. I took a coin and put it in the machine. I listened as it happily jingled its way down to the bottom. Then I pulled the handle and watched, transfixed, as three little fruit sections spun rapidly. The first slot stopped; then the second; finally, the third. “Well, that’s kinda cool,” I said to myself.
He took a seat in the chair next to me and tried his luck. I put in another quarter. This time I found myself talking to the machine. “STOP!” I commanded. 3 lemons lined up in a row! I HAD WON! I heard the happy jangle of coins twirl downward in the receptacle cup. I felt my face flush with happiness.
I was in love.
About a half-hour went by and my husband looked at his watch and said, “We gotta fly. It’s almost time for dinner.” I didn’t look away from my machine. “Cancel it.” I said, matter-of-factly. He laughed at my obvious joke. “No really, ” I said, “Cancel it.” You see, at that moment, nothing else mattered. I was having a ball! I didn’t need to eat! He looked at me and his expression changed slowly as he realized I wasn’t joking. I looked at my cup and only had one quarter left. “I need more quarters,” I said, turning to him pleadingly. “Give me your quarters.”
Though we were newlyweds and in the stage of our relationship where we still danced carefully around new conflict, my husband bravely whispered in my ear in a tone I hadn’t heard often, “We’re done. Let’s GO.” Like a spell had been broken, I snapped-to. I then realized that I had been swept up in the intoxicating romance of the quarter. It was like a lover. A lover that I had no choice but to leave.
I quit cold-turkey that day. And I’m proud to say that I have not entered a casino since!
So back to “M.” I suppose that being aware of the problem is half the battle. I understand how she feels. I’ve walked in her shoes. I have empathy. And I do know that there is a road to recovery that I will be happy to walk along with her, at her side.
But I still really wish they had a 12-step group for 4 year-olds. I can envision it perfectly. As everyone gathers together, and nervously awaits their turn at self-introduction, she’ll say, “Hi. I’m “M.” Hey, does anyone have a quarter?”
Great Timing
11 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in "Stuff"
(August 22, 2010)
My vacuum decided to go to that “appliance showroom in the sky” (may it rest in peace.) Coincidentally, my husband’s birthday is in a few days. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? What modern man wouldn’t desire a new appliance? After all, it’s machinery. It makes a lot of noise. It comes with gadgets. And there’s even an element of danger (if he’s operating it.) And, bottom line, who can resist the gift of a happy wife?
Work of Art
11 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
