Hello it's me.
I've thought about us for a long, long time.
Maybe I think too much but something's wrong
There's something here that doesn't last too long
Maybe I shouldn't think of you as mine.
...
I take for granted for you're always there...
Todd Rundgren said it correctly. I took it for granted that my mom was always there.
She is physically, but mentally, she is not what I am used to...and even more, I can still scream and remember when she used to say to me...remember these times Lisa, and the times I cannot call you.
Her phone calls were some of the best of my life. She called me when I was in college, only 9 blocks away in a small liberal arts college in the same town I was raised. She called me just to remind me that she loved me. Nothing was ever suffocating, or too much...she knew how to float the craft.
Her phone calls became more frequent once I left college, went south to Louisville, joined a weekly newspaper, and started life on my own terms. My anchor, my strength, and my rock.
I left Louisville, joined the love of my life, and started life in Indy...ready to try new experiences, new avenues, and new places to travel with the woman I called Mom.
And we did...she and I, and she and I and my husband, and even, she and I and my brother...England, France, Italy, all together for the shared moment and experience, and all because she wanted to share the inheritance she had from similarly loving parents.
Up until July 2010, I got those calls. And then they dwindled down.
Dementia had entered the picture. I would go to a certain spot, and remember something she and I did there. A certain mention from someone brought a picture of a moment with my mom. When shared, she did not remember it as I did. Or remember it at all.
Flatline.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Man of deletion...
My dad is a man of deletion.
Delete the most obvious troubles in your life, and you are happier. Correct?
No, not really, but if you delete things from your life that are extraneous, then maybe. I give him that.
He is 86, stubborn, and a true and loving father. He puts himself after all things he feels he needs he needs to do for others.
I am 54, knocking on 55, and still turn to this man who has shaped my life like no other. He is the reason I question all purchases, adore my mother, breath freely of college debt, and salute the flag. He is a WWWII veteran, and although this man does not ask it for it, we adore him. My brother, my sister and I look to him for guidance, for information and for continual assurance that our time on earth is real and valid.
Much like our father in heaven.
This man saved frugally all his life, worked a 40-hour job that had nothing to do with the bachelors degree he earned at Franklin College in 1949. He met my mother, dated her and then married her..all with the idea that his life would be different than then one he had been raised in…privileged, but devoid of love and affection.
Love and affection we had plenty of….from the time I was able to attend our city pool by myself, he would gravely hand me a quarter, and remind me to use it wisely, to the time I walked off the platform to received my college diploma, the father has been with me.
Nonetheless, as I face the door of elder care along with my siblings, the past week unrolled.
He is 86, soon to 87. My mom lives in assisted living, not more than ¼ mile from where he still lives. He sees her each day.
Today, he announced that he had lost power to his AC, his dishwasher, and his garage door. He needed to prioritize his costs, he stated but even more, he needed us all to know that my mother’s care was the top priority. We recognized that…because this man recognized it before the rest of us..he purchased long term care insurance before it was fashionable. We needed no reminder. He always put us first before himself.
Whether it was college, shelter, food or anything else, this man delivered.
He told me when I questioned the loss of AC(up to 85 in his home) that maybe it was at the top of his priority list….(really!). He said, with a garage door not working electronically, it is ok..I can still lift it with my hand and arms. With a dishwasher not working, I can still do the dishes the old-fashioned way…. By hand.
He spoke the plain truth.
I grinned at him.. I am the oldest, the one who is supposed to oversee all that happens to our parents as they age. But I have been graced by a sister, a brother, and a husband who share in both of the love for our patents, and the care of those parents. Could I force him to get the dishwasher and garage door fixed? My instinct told me no. He was his own person; his own man. However, letting him know I was aware of the situation helped motivate him to action.
Action in his time frame.
Is that what we call personal dignity? If not, that is what I call it.
So be it.
Delete the most obvious troubles in your life, and you are happier. Correct?
No, not really, but if you delete things from your life that are extraneous, then maybe. I give him that.
He is 86, stubborn, and a true and loving father. He puts himself after all things he feels he needs he needs to do for others.
I am 54, knocking on 55, and still turn to this man who has shaped my life like no other. He is the reason I question all purchases, adore my mother, breath freely of college debt, and salute the flag. He is a WWWII veteran, and although this man does not ask it for it, we adore him. My brother, my sister and I look to him for guidance, for information and for continual assurance that our time on earth is real and valid.
Much like our father in heaven.
This man saved frugally all his life, worked a 40-hour job that had nothing to do with the bachelors degree he earned at Franklin College in 1949. He met my mother, dated her and then married her..all with the idea that his life would be different than then one he had been raised in…privileged, but devoid of love and affection.
Love and affection we had plenty of….from the time I was able to attend our city pool by myself, he would gravely hand me a quarter, and remind me to use it wisely, to the time I walked off the platform to received my college diploma, the father has been with me.
Nonetheless, as I face the door of elder care along with my siblings, the past week unrolled.
He is 86, soon to 87. My mom lives in assisted living, not more than ¼ mile from where he still lives. He sees her each day.
Today, he announced that he had lost power to his AC, his dishwasher, and his garage door. He needed to prioritize his costs, he stated but even more, he needed us all to know that my mother’s care was the top priority. We recognized that…because this man recognized it before the rest of us..he purchased long term care insurance before it was fashionable. We needed no reminder. He always put us first before himself.
Whether it was college, shelter, food or anything else, this man delivered.
He told me when I questioned the loss of AC(up to 85 in his home) that maybe it was at the top of his priority list….(really!). He said, with a garage door not working electronically, it is ok..I can still lift it with my hand and arms. With a dishwasher not working, I can still do the dishes the old-fashioned way…. By hand.
He spoke the plain truth.
I grinned at him.. I am the oldest, the one who is supposed to oversee all that happens to our parents as they age. But I have been graced by a sister, a brother, and a husband who share in both of the love for our patents, and the care of those parents. Could I force him to get the dishwasher and garage door fixed? My instinct told me no. He was his own person; his own man. However, letting him know I was aware of the situation helped motivate him to action.
Action in his time frame.
Is that what we call personal dignity? If not, that is what I call it.
So be it.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Only so much to go around . . .
I find myself sitting in the front row of a packed conference room. The lights are low, the tension is high.
More than 400 people have come to see Scott Kelby, a renowed photographer and Photoshop guru, work his magic in a one-day intensive seminar.
The lights are still low. The tension is no longer high among the other 399 people...only with me. I have already received four emails regarding work related tasks, a call from an intentionally unemployed close friend wondering what I am doing today, a husband who needs to vent, and elder parents who seek my help in a technology issue.
And the conference hasn't even started.
To make matters worse in my little world, I failed to collect enough change to keep me stocked in DP for the day, so my concentration level would have to go the natural route. I pitied the Mary Beth to my left and a Martha to my right. They had no conceivable idea.
So I look skyward, grasping for the grateful list I was scribing in my head: job that pays for conferences, a car to take me there, a friend who watches over my dogs, and a brain to take in all the wonderful things that is happening in photography, a special love of mine.
I look downward. I have a blue sock and a black sock on. Great...so much for looking hip among all the creative types today.
At least I am grateful to have socks.
More than 400 people have come to see Scott Kelby, a renowed photographer and Photoshop guru, work his magic in a one-day intensive seminar.
The lights are still low. The tension is no longer high among the other 399 people...only with me. I have already received four emails regarding work related tasks, a call from an intentionally unemployed close friend wondering what I am doing today, a husband who needs to vent, and elder parents who seek my help in a technology issue.
And the conference hasn't even started.
To make matters worse in my little world, I failed to collect enough change to keep me stocked in DP for the day, so my concentration level would have to go the natural route. I pitied the Mary Beth to my left and a Martha to my right. They had no conceivable idea.
So I look skyward, grasping for the grateful list I was scribing in my head: job that pays for conferences, a car to take me there, a friend who watches over my dogs, and a brain to take in all the wonderful things that is happening in photography, a special love of mine.
I look downward. I have a blue sock and a black sock on. Great...so much for looking hip among all the creative types today.
At least I am grateful to have socks.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Always an I Love You
I look into the mind of the dementia and feel at a loss.
There is someone who is my friend, my mentor, my mother
A woman who bequeathed me her mind, her soul, and her love
She provided me with a breath of life and gave unconditionally as I lived my own
As she watched us grow, she grew as well.
The memories crowd in as fast as my mind can release the flashbacks.
I am scared I will forget them. I am scared she will forget them as I remember them.
Watching me get my driver's license,
Tall ships with Rosenbergers..giving me the $100 from her savings.
Peanut butter on a buttery cracker, placed on a paperplate for backyard picnics.
Holding my hand as I sit at Grandma's funeral, knowing that this woman that holds my hand is the connection between my birth and my death.
Her tears fall as her vision leaves ever so slightly, enough to make her feel lost and unsure.
What can I do she says, and who can I help this way.
It is easier to sit alone, watching the game channel, and to feel the darkness surround me then it is reach through the light and find what is good and left for me to do.
She does not negate what she feels for her children or her husband.
She negates her place with them.
This woman who brought God's love to my heart, and asked me to walk down the aisle
In a church she adopted, is the same woman who is forgetting that God has brought her into this life for a purpose and will not let her leave until that purpose is found.
Always known for her independent spirit, she thrived on her self-initiative, and her travels. She was beloved, and was loved. She was self-driven, and undecided. She was caustic and she was butter in her voice.
My throat tightens as I look toward her face. My grandfather looks back at me.
My eyes gather tears as I look toward her eyes. They are the eyes I see when I need assurance that another day will come and they will be there to talk to, reminisce with, and love.
She wonders if she did something to cause this turn in her life. Did she smoke too much, causing my sister's unfortune, or did she and my father not show enough love not to encourage us having children of our own.
She calls me, says hello…..never forgetting to say she loves me.
There is someone who is my friend, my mentor, my mother
A woman who bequeathed me her mind, her soul, and her love
She provided me with a breath of life and gave unconditionally as I lived my own
As she watched us grow, she grew as well.
The memories crowd in as fast as my mind can release the flashbacks.
I am scared I will forget them. I am scared she will forget them as I remember them.
Watching me get my driver's license,
Tall ships with Rosenbergers..giving me the $100 from her savings.
Peanut butter on a buttery cracker, placed on a paperplate for backyard picnics.
Holding my hand as I sit at Grandma's funeral, knowing that this woman that holds my hand is the connection between my birth and my death.
Her tears fall as her vision leaves ever so slightly, enough to make her feel lost and unsure.
What can I do she says, and who can I help this way.
It is easier to sit alone, watching the game channel, and to feel the darkness surround me then it is reach through the light and find what is good and left for me to do.
She does not negate what she feels for her children or her husband.
She negates her place with them.
This woman who brought God's love to my heart, and asked me to walk down the aisle
In a church she adopted, is the same woman who is forgetting that God has brought her into this life for a purpose and will not let her leave until that purpose is found.
Always known for her independent spirit, she thrived on her self-initiative, and her travels. She was beloved, and was loved. She was self-driven, and undecided. She was caustic and she was butter in her voice.
My throat tightens as I look toward her face. My grandfather looks back at me.
My eyes gather tears as I look toward her eyes. They are the eyes I see when I need assurance that another day will come and they will be there to talk to, reminisce with, and love.
She wonders if she did something to cause this turn in her life. Did she smoke too much, causing my sister's unfortune, or did she and my father not show enough love not to encourage us having children of our own.
She calls me, says hello…..never forgetting to say she loves me.
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