Sidney had a terrible death. Lots of pain, lots of misery. There wasn't a gentle slide, it was a bumpy tumble down a slope filled with sharp jagged boulders. His release was prayed for and welcome. Harriet has been going down a very shallow incline this past year since his death, probably even before that. She hasn't gotten out of bed in three weeks and has gotten weaker and weaker each day. Today I visited twice. She was sleeping so soundly I couldn't wake her.
Except for the one day a week my dear sister-in-law Leslie visits, I have been there every day since February. I was seeing her two or three days a week while she had the apartment. Once in a while Eri stops by and I appreciate that, too. Leslie has been a life saver taking the burden of organizing the move into the new apartment and now the moving out. When she visits Harriet on Mondays, I sleep the day away. There may be a whole list of things that must be done, but somehow I don't get out of bed until four and am back asleep by midnight. It is mental exhaustion I am sure.
Yesterday, I went out to the pool around five and was chatting with a neighbor when the phone rang. I walked over and checked the readout: Smoller. I knew Leslie would be there soon and did not answer it. I said it was my mother and I wasn't going to answer it right now. The woman said there wasn't a time in her life when she wasn't happy to hear from her mother. I saw red. She had pushed my not-good-enough button. I told her that I talked to her at least twice a day on the phone and visited daily. I said she was 98 years old and would not die. She apologized and I apologized and things are fine between us.
This morning I spent a long time on the phone with the Hospice nurse. Mom has some open sores on her back because she has no fat between her skin and bones. They are treating them. She can't swallow pills anymore, nor can she tolerate them ground up. This morning she threw up. Poor, poor, baby. Do you know what it is like to have dry heaves? Awful. By consensus we have decided to discontinue all medications. What is the worst that can happen, death? They have started her on an extremely low dose of morphine. Today I stopped by twice but couldn't rouse her from a deep sleep.
This is a definite change for the worse, physically. While I am grateful she is not suffering the way my father did, I am hoping for the welcome change, and soon.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Letting go, letting God vs. fighting injustice
Well, not such a Miss Mellow, after all. I've been doing pretty good trying to surrender the entwined circumstances of my mother's life and my own. Still accepting that things will happen on the Creator's timetable. OK.
Then, without notifying me, my hours and income get cut by 10% and I go from 0-60 in the blink of an eye. I am furious, indignant, and ready to take action. I will either quit this job, or give notice, or confront, or, or, or. Oh yes, Carol? Where is your peace? Where is your acceptance? Where is your patience?
I have learned something over the years and that is not to go off half cocked. If I am shooting, let it be straight, let it hit the target. Oh man, I am angry, but I need to give it a little time to percolate and then do the confronting. I have to be calm and I am not there yet. I believe it behooves us not to go like sheep to the slaughter and accept every injustice. I believe that we are called upon to use our heads and voices to right wrongs done to us and on a larger scale, to our community, the world.
This situation has really opened my eyes to what I want to do after Mom passes. I don't want to sell anything. I want to work for things I believe, universal clean water, the right for women to live safe lives, economic justice. I admire those who work to protect animals, but that is not the cause for me. I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. Maybe the trick is not to grow up; maybe the trick is to find what fires me up and put the energy of my youth and the experience of being older together.
Yes, it is a journey. One of the stops along the way is the little kiosk. I will do the best I can do, but get ready... someone is going to get a well thought out, clear and concise, piece of my mind. Just not yet.
Then, without notifying me, my hours and income get cut by 10% and I go from 0-60 in the blink of an eye. I am furious, indignant, and ready to take action. I will either quit this job, or give notice, or confront, or, or, or. Oh yes, Carol? Where is your peace? Where is your acceptance? Where is your patience?
I have learned something over the years and that is not to go off half cocked. If I am shooting, let it be straight, let it hit the target. Oh man, I am angry, but I need to give it a little time to percolate and then do the confronting. I have to be calm and I am not there yet. I believe it behooves us not to go like sheep to the slaughter and accept every injustice. I believe that we are called upon to use our heads and voices to right wrongs done to us and on a larger scale, to our community, the world.
This situation has really opened my eyes to what I want to do after Mom passes. I don't want to sell anything. I want to work for things I believe, universal clean water, the right for women to live safe lives, economic justice. I admire those who work to protect animals, but that is not the cause for me. I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. Maybe the trick is not to grow up; maybe the trick is to find what fires me up and put the energy of my youth and the experience of being older together.
Yes, it is a journey. One of the stops along the way is the little kiosk. I will do the best I can do, but get ready... someone is going to get a well thought out, clear and concise, piece of my mind. Just not yet.
Friday, July 6, 2012
You are a good mother
Today, for the first time, my mother's room smelled like a nursing home. The lovely West African aide had changed diapers for the roommate and Mom. He was getting them ready for bed. I was glad to see Harriet was on her side. She spends so much time on her back and I don't want her to get bed sores. She is not in any pain. She seemed more confused today. I tried to tell her it was a year since Dad died but she didn't understand. Who? Dad! Whose dad? Mine! Your husband, Sidney! Then she said he was a good husband.
Suddenly, she was lucid and her speech became clear, "I was the only one who took their children places. My mother used to take us on the streetcar. I guess I learned it from her. I tried to be a good mother." I said, "Mom, you were a good mother and you still are." She smiled.
When people go back to their childhood homes they often remark how small everything seems. They remember it bigger. That is because the memories made as a child are a child's memories. It isn't whether they are true or not, they were made when we were small and the world was large. My sister will swear that my father beat us every single night. I don't remember it as every night, and my mother says she would not have stayed with him if he had been such a monster. What really happened? My sister built him into this fearsome beast, I never learned to shut up around him and the poor old lady took her share of abuse, too. Harriet has adult memories, and I've got very few memories (not uncommon when childhood is chaotic) and my sister has a real memory of being knocked out as a teenager.
Looking at my step mother through childish eyes, she was not a very good mother. My birth mother had me from the day I was born and grew with me. She was my idea of what a mother should be, a rock, a shelter, my advocate and my protector. Harriet became a mother to a 12 year old boy, a 7 year old girl, and a three year old baby girl all on the same day. It would have been hard for anyone, even a child development specialist. It was especially hard for an immature narcissist who married a crazy man. Sometimes she would ask me what I wanted and all I could say was, "Be the mother." Maybe I was asking her to be my protector, to stand up to my father the way my mother did. I don't remember him being crazy and violent before she died, but then, I was very young.
As an adult, I can see what a hard time she had. I don't know that there is anything to forgive, but I do wish things had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to grieve my mother and talk about her. I wish Harriet had been better educated and able to guide me in school. One thing I do know is she did the best she could given the circumstances and her skills and understanding. That is what I did in raising my children and that is what most people do.
Take comfort. Yes, you were a good mother and, fragile as you are, you're still a good mother.
Suddenly, she was lucid and her speech became clear, "I was the only one who took their children places. My mother used to take us on the streetcar. I guess I learned it from her. I tried to be a good mother." I said, "Mom, you were a good mother and you still are." She smiled.
When people go back to their childhood homes they often remark how small everything seems. They remember it bigger. That is because the memories made as a child are a child's memories. It isn't whether they are true or not, they were made when we were small and the world was large. My sister will swear that my father beat us every single night. I don't remember it as every night, and my mother says she would not have stayed with him if he had been such a monster. What really happened? My sister built him into this fearsome beast, I never learned to shut up around him and the poor old lady took her share of abuse, too. Harriet has adult memories, and I've got very few memories (not uncommon when childhood is chaotic) and my sister has a real memory of being knocked out as a teenager.
Looking at my step mother through childish eyes, she was not a very good mother. My birth mother had me from the day I was born and grew with me. She was my idea of what a mother should be, a rock, a shelter, my advocate and my protector. Harriet became a mother to a 12 year old boy, a 7 year old girl, and a three year old baby girl all on the same day. It would have been hard for anyone, even a child development specialist. It was especially hard for an immature narcissist who married a crazy man. Sometimes she would ask me what I wanted and all I could say was, "Be the mother." Maybe I was asking her to be my protector, to stand up to my father the way my mother did. I don't remember him being crazy and violent before she died, but then, I was very young.
As an adult, I can see what a hard time she had. I don't know that there is anything to forgive, but I do wish things had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to grieve my mother and talk about her. I wish Harriet had been better educated and able to guide me in school. One thing I do know is she did the best she could given the circumstances and her skills and understanding. That is what I did in raising my children and that is what most people do.
Take comfort. Yes, you were a good mother and, fragile as you are, you're still a good mother.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Life goes on
I haven't written very much because what is there to say? Harriet gets weaker and weaker and is hanging on to life. When she squeezes my hand there is still quite a bit of strength. But she is unable to stand on her own and barely moves in bed. I have to tell her to hold her own cup with two hands and some days she can barely suck through a straw while I hold the cup. Her speech has become slurred and she sleeps a lot of the time. Today, though, she was much better. She complained that no one was getting her up. So I asked the aides to put her in the wheelchair and we went down to listen to patriotic songs. It is a funny thing about music played on an accordion by a Russian emigree, be it The Volga Boatman, Ain't She Sweet?, or God Bless America. It all sounded the same and a half hour was more than enough. But that is so much more than she has done in weeks. She craves company and was glad to see Leslie and Scott on the third. Eri will visit tomorrow morning.
They say that people don't change, but that is not always true. I have seen changes in both my parents as they approach death. My father will be gone a full year on Friday and his death was not an easy one. Harriet is having an easier time of it. She is not in pain, her mind is mostly clear, well clear enough to know when she is bored, or confused. I truly hope she just goes to eternal sleep sometime very soon. She is eating very little and drinking enough to get by, I guess. When I ask her what she wants she says, "You. I want you." So I sit by her bed, sometimes talking, sometimes listening, sometimes just holding hands and being quiet. She tells me I am making her happy just being there. Yes, she has changed. She is so grateful for whatever is being done for her and so gracious to the staff. They are very gentle with her.
It has been very hot, high 90's and humid. The air quality is poor and they are telling people with breathing difficulties to stay inside. I feel for my friends and family on the East Coast. It must be beastly hot with electricity cut off for millions. I have broken down and am running my air conditioning when at home and last night slept on the couch in air cooled comfort. My friend Connie and I went to the cheap theater in Hopkins to see The Dictator. It was gross and funny and I enjoyed it in a weird way. There were plenty of inside jokes and I wonder how many I didn't get. Connie just couldn't laugh at some of the really gross jokes; I admit to a guffaw or two. Today we saw a double feature, my favorite.
Moonrise Kingdom was Wes Anderson at his best featuring a cast with Frances McDormand, Bruce Willis, Bill Murray and other well and not so well known actors. It was just the kind of quirky movie I love. It is a little gem. The other joy of the day was bringing Connie upstairs to see Brave. It wasn't sneaking because we were bold as brass, entering with all the legitimate ticket holders. Imagine being sixty-six and giving into peer pressure. (Bwahahaha!) I enjoyed this Disney/Pixar movie where both mother and daughter were headstrong heroines and learned to bend after having some wild adventures. I won't be a spoiler but will say the four year old behind us got quite a scare! I still like hand drawn animation best. I think I spent too much time admiring all the detail in the scenes and in the heroine's wild hair.
So, a lovely Fourth spent in air conditioned comfort, appreciating my life. I encourage you, too, to look around and count your blessings. Hopefully your families are well and your electricity is keeping you cool. I wonder if any one today remembers the pleasure of leaning against a cool plastered wall next to their bed?
(Written from the comfort of her air conditioned condo.)
They say that people don't change, but that is not always true. I have seen changes in both my parents as they approach death. My father will be gone a full year on Friday and his death was not an easy one. Harriet is having an easier time of it. She is not in pain, her mind is mostly clear, well clear enough to know when she is bored, or confused. I truly hope she just goes to eternal sleep sometime very soon. She is eating very little and drinking enough to get by, I guess. When I ask her what she wants she says, "You. I want you." So I sit by her bed, sometimes talking, sometimes listening, sometimes just holding hands and being quiet. She tells me I am making her happy just being there. Yes, she has changed. She is so grateful for whatever is being done for her and so gracious to the staff. They are very gentle with her.
It has been very hot, high 90's and humid. The air quality is poor and they are telling people with breathing difficulties to stay inside. I feel for my friends and family on the East Coast. It must be beastly hot with electricity cut off for millions. I have broken down and am running my air conditioning when at home and last night slept on the couch in air cooled comfort. My friend Connie and I went to the cheap theater in Hopkins to see The Dictator. It was gross and funny and I enjoyed it in a weird way. There were plenty of inside jokes and I wonder how many I didn't get. Connie just couldn't laugh at some of the really gross jokes; I admit to a guffaw or two. Today we saw a double feature, my favorite.
Moonrise Kingdom was Wes Anderson at his best featuring a cast with Frances McDormand, Bruce Willis, Bill Murray and other well and not so well known actors. It was just the kind of quirky movie I love. It is a little gem. The other joy of the day was bringing Connie upstairs to see Brave. It wasn't sneaking because we were bold as brass, entering with all the legitimate ticket holders. Imagine being sixty-six and giving into peer pressure. (Bwahahaha!) I enjoyed this Disney/Pixar movie where both mother and daughter were headstrong heroines and learned to bend after having some wild adventures. I won't be a spoiler but will say the four year old behind us got quite a scare! I still like hand drawn animation best. I think I spent too much time admiring all the detail in the scenes and in the heroine's wild hair.
So, a lovely Fourth spent in air conditioned comfort, appreciating my life. I encourage you, too, to look around and count your blessings. Hopefully your families are well and your electricity is keeping you cool. I wonder if any one today remembers the pleasure of leaning against a cool plastered wall next to their bed?
(Written from the comfort of her air conditioned condo.)
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