Dear Alex, Asher and Isabelle,
Sometimes I miss you so much I hurt inside. Today is one of those days. Seeing you once a month is not nearly enough; and when you go back to Indonesia, maybe we'll see you once (if we're lucky) there or maybe not at all before you come back here again. Life is slipping away so quickly, and there's no place to grab hold of to slow it down.
I love you so very, very much,
Mama
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A Changing View of Life
I think your view of life changes as you grow older. It seems that almost every day something that used to be important drops out of my “Gee, everyone should do/think/say/feel this way” basket.
Take adverbs for example. Now, I’ve always been a stickler when it comes to adverbs. They’re one of the bedrocks of English grammar, and when one uses them, one sounds somewhat intelligent, which makes whatever one is saying much more likely to be noticed and heeded. Or at the very least, people will think you know what you’re talking about (which quite often is definitely NOT the case).
Just look at these two sentences, and tell me which sentence you would think an intelligent, articulate adult would use:
1. When Alex and Asher go ride their bikes, I watch them close so they don’t go into the street.
2. When Alex and Asher go ride their bikes, I watch them closely so they don’t go into the street.
Or these two:
1. Interesting enough, the fragrance emanating from his clothing originated from a brisk lumbering skunk that frequents this particular path in the park.
2. Interestingly enough, the fragrance emanating from his clothing originated from a briskly lumbering skunk that frequents this particular path in the park.
(Okay class, which sentences have the adverbs? Which ones sound as though you paid attention in school for a few years? Which ones contain the ‘ly’ words? If you chose sentence number 2 for both, you are a super star! Actually, I don’t really think an intelligent, articulate adult would say anything remotely resembling the sentences in the second group. First of all, how many people do you know who have met a skunk on a path in the park? Not many, that’s for sure. I can’t think of anyone who’s had that experience. Although, I must say that one time when Cousin Susie and I were at Diamond Lake, we came across a skunk while we were hiking around the lake…no, wait a minute, ignore that last remark. It was actually a porcupine we came across, and he didn’t have an odor, and he looked nothing like a skunk…so I stick with my original premise that almost no one has come across a skunk on a path in the park.)
Actually, I have a great website for adverbs that has multiple other websites for students to learn about adverbs and to demystify them:
http://newton.uor.edu/facultyfolder/rider/adverbs.htm
Here’s a little tip: If you come across an ‘ly’ word, it’s probably an adverb. (Ex: happily, strangely, frantically, hilariously – yes, they’re all adverbs – they modify verbs (and a lot of other things too). For example: happily singing, strangely creaking, frantically screaming, hilariously laughing, etc.)
Whoa! How did we get here? I actually began by talking about how my view of life changed as I aged.
So, what I was trying to say before we got into this morass of grammar was that as I age, many things that seemed so important when I was younger, don’t really seem important now. When I was younger, I had so many rules, black and white beliefs, and requirements for so many things. Since I’ve gotten older, many of the things that were topics of discussion and interest like which clothes to wear (wearing anything other than comfortable clothes and shoes seems complete insanity at my age), what brand of make-up looks best, holding in my stomach and “I gained 2 lbs, do you think it shows?”, not asking advice because I was afraid I’d look stupid, worrying what people thought of me (although I must say, I’ve never really cared much what other people think of me, but now I care even less – the only people I care about thinking well of me are those people I love – the others can go fly a kite), having the greatest car, and yes, even using adverbs, just don’t really matter anymore.
I’ve discovered that I DON’T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE RIGHT; and once I discovered that, my defensiveness level dropped significantly. What a relief!
So, here’s a story: When I was 19, I was staying with Auntie Lou and Crazy Uncle Karl. One day Crazy Uncle Karl and I were talking about Long Beach State, and I, for some inane reason, insisted it was really called the University of California, Long Beach. He disagreed, and I set out to prove him wrong. I said I had a brochure from the school in my drawer, and I’d get it and prove to him that I was right. Well, I found the brochure, and guess what? It said “Long Beach State. Gulp. So, instead of going back with the brochure to tell him he was right, I instead told him I couldn’t find it, but I KNEW I was right. What an idiot! It just goes to show you how insecure and defensive I was at that age. [By the way, Crazy Uncle Karl was right about almost everything. He was maddeningly right, but right nonetheless.]
To continue…
As an older, wrinkled person, I think I’m much more willing to forgive faults in others (and in myself) and adopt more of a “live and let live” attitude rather than “my way or the highway” attitude. I think with each passing year, I realize more and more how very little I know, and I’m willing to make allowances for different opinions and lifestyles. I’ve realized that everyone isn’t (and shouldn’t be) a “me” clone; that people can actually have completely different opinions and beliefs about life and still be my friend, and I can still love them (sometimes I don’t, of course, but that’s okay too – I’m a work in progress). God must like variety, because there are so many of us here, and all of us are different. I’m also much more aware of how much I need other people and how important they are. I realize that the people I love aren’t always going to be here, and I need to enjoy them and love them while they ARE here because the next moment I turn around, they may NOT be here. (I love you, Auntie Grace and Mam and Uncle Red Red and Auntie Lou!)
And I guess most of all, the older I get, the more I TRY to be a better person. I really WANT to be a person I can be pleased with and that God can be pleased with too, and know in my heart that I’m doing the best I can at the moment. Kindness has become so much more important than almost any other characteristic, and when I fail to reach that mark, I disappoint myself and try that much harder the next time. I think I’m learning from my failures, and they don’t just fly over my head like they did when I was younger. The criticism I receive now is something to be taken to heart and examined; and then I decide whether I believe it’s valid or not. And valid criticism is something that will change my behavior and something I try to be aware of so that I don’t continue to make the same mistakes over and over and over…I try to make new mistakes – oh, hey! Wait a minute! I don’t actually TRY to make mistakes, what I do is TRY not to make the same mistakes over and TRY not to make new mistakes either. Oh, how hard that is! Because many times, I don’t realize I’ve made a mistake because to me, it wasn’t a mistake until someone pointed it out. I say “I’m sorry” often, and really mean it – and “I’m sorry” means I try not to do whatever it was again.
One of the most important things I’m doing with my life right now is to care for mom and dad. It’s so important to me that I make their lives as happy and comfortable as possible right to the end. And one of the greatest gifts God has given me in my life is a husband who is so loving and supportive that he wants to care for and love mom and dad as much as I do. I couldn’t do what I’m doing without his help and support. Never has he made a disparaging remark or hinted in any way that he’d rather do something else rather than care for mom and dad, when I know there are many times when doing something else would be more fun or more relaxing or more interesting. There has never been the slightest look or harrumph noise or suggestion that we find someplace else for mom and dad to live or that they should find someone else to take them to their doctor’s appointments or to visit when one of them is in the hospital or nursing home. He just keeps on volunteering and supporting and offering and loving. Family is the most important thing to both of us, and caring for our family ranks the highest of all.
There should be a Medal of Honor for a husband who, from the very start of our marriage, has lived with his in-laws and loved them. We’ve weathered the bumpy parts (and there have been bumpy parts and still are sometimes – but love won out – and it’s important enough to care for them when they can’t care for themselves, that we don’t give up), and we’ve come to a point where mom and dad have become our children and need us to help them through this last part of their lives. Again I say, what an honor to be given this opportunity; but within the core of this opportunity is a man whose sense of honor and enormous heart have encompassed all of us and made everything possible. His life isn’t “It’s all about me!” His life is “It’s all about love and caring and giving back some of the gifts that have been given to us.”
I believe that a big part of love is sacrifice, and Papa (My Sweetheart) is a perfect example every single day of love and sacrifice in action. It’s so easy to TALK about love, to TALK about being kind, to TALK about caring, to TALK about the things we should do, to TALK about being a better person, to TALK, TALK, TALK … BUT to actually live a life that shows acts of love in almost everything we do ... we don’t see that very often.
I’m different in that respect, because I see love in action every day of my life in the way my husband cares for my parents. What a most amazing gift! God knew that I would need a husband who would do this, and He gave me that husband. How completely cool and awesome is that?!? If anyone ever thinks God isn’t active in our lives, this is a perfect example of Him actively caring and helping us right now on an ongoing basis, every single day. God is AMAZING!! And so is my husband with a heart so big, he can encompass our entire life together, including my parents, our children, and our amazing grandchildren. Even when I go wait in the car (a euphemism for “I’m going to go away now until my Sweetheart isn’t grumpy anymore), I’m so grateful and so blessed to have the husband I have. And best of all, he puts up with me so well. And lots of times, that ain’t easy! Because as much as I really, really want to be that wonderful person I’m writing about, many times I can’t do it, many times I don’t try hard enough, many times I’m just too tired, many times I just plain fail – and then here comes ME again! The ‘me’ that gets in the way of being that wonderful, kind, loving, all-forgiving perfect person; but you know what? He still loves me, and that’s another thing that’s just so darned great, I can’t even begin to tell you how great it is! And so I just keep trying.
I think your view of life changes as you grow older. It seems that almost every day something that used to be important drops out of my “Gee, everyone should do/think/say/feel this way” basket.
Take adverbs for example. Now, I’ve always been a stickler when it comes to adverbs. They’re one of the bedrocks of English grammar, and when one uses them, one sounds somewhat intelligent, which makes whatever one is saying much more likely to be noticed and heeded. Or at the very least, people will think you know what you’re talking about (which quite often is definitely NOT the case).
Just look at these two sentences, and tell me which sentence you would think an intelligent, articulate adult would use:
1. When Alex and Asher go ride their bikes, I watch them close so they don’t go into the street.
2. When Alex and Asher go ride their bikes, I watch them closely so they don’t go into the street.
Or these two:
1. Interesting enough, the fragrance emanating from his clothing originated from a brisk lumbering skunk that frequents this particular path in the park.
2. Interestingly enough, the fragrance emanating from his clothing originated from a briskly lumbering skunk that frequents this particular path in the park.
(Okay class, which sentences have the adverbs? Which ones sound as though you paid attention in school for a few years? Which ones contain the ‘ly’ words? If you chose sentence number 2 for both, you are a super star! Actually, I don’t really think an intelligent, articulate adult would say anything remotely resembling the sentences in the second group. First of all, how many people do you know who have met a skunk on a path in the park? Not many, that’s for sure. I can’t think of anyone who’s had that experience. Although, I must say that one time when Cousin Susie and I were at Diamond Lake, we came across a skunk while we were hiking around the lake…no, wait a minute, ignore that last remark. It was actually a porcupine we came across, and he didn’t have an odor, and he looked nothing like a skunk…so I stick with my original premise that almost no one has come across a skunk on a path in the park.)
Actually, I have a great website for adverbs that has multiple other websites for students to learn about adverbs and to demystify them:
http://newton.uor.edu/facultyfolder/rider/adverbs.htm
Here’s a little tip: If you come across an ‘ly’ word, it’s probably an adverb. (Ex: happily, strangely, frantically, hilariously – yes, they’re all adverbs – they modify verbs (and a lot of other things too). For example: happily singing, strangely creaking, frantically screaming, hilariously laughing, etc.)
Whoa! How did we get here? I actually began by talking about how my view of life changed as I aged.
So, what I was trying to say before we got into this morass of grammar was that as I age, many things that seemed so important when I was younger, don’t really seem important now. When I was younger, I had so many rules, black and white beliefs, and requirements for so many things. Since I’ve gotten older, many of the things that were topics of discussion and interest like which clothes to wear (wearing anything other than comfortable clothes and shoes seems complete insanity at my age), what brand of make-up looks best, holding in my stomach and “I gained 2 lbs, do you think it shows?”, not asking advice because I was afraid I’d look stupid, worrying what people thought of me (although I must say, I’ve never really cared much what other people think of me, but now I care even less – the only people I care about thinking well of me are those people I love – the others can go fly a kite), having the greatest car, and yes, even using adverbs, just don’t really matter anymore.
I’ve discovered that I DON’T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE RIGHT; and once I discovered that, my defensiveness level dropped significantly. What a relief!
So, here’s a story: When I was 19, I was staying with Auntie Lou and Crazy Uncle Karl. One day Crazy Uncle Karl and I were talking about Long Beach State, and I, for some inane reason, insisted it was really called the University of California, Long Beach. He disagreed, and I set out to prove him wrong. I said I had a brochure from the school in my drawer, and I’d get it and prove to him that I was right. Well, I found the brochure, and guess what? It said “Long Beach State. Gulp. So, instead of going back with the brochure to tell him he was right, I instead told him I couldn’t find it, but I KNEW I was right. What an idiot! It just goes to show you how insecure and defensive I was at that age. [By the way, Crazy Uncle Karl was right about almost everything. He was maddeningly right, but right nonetheless.]
To continue…
As an older, wrinkled person, I think I’m much more willing to forgive faults in others (and in myself) and adopt more of a “live and let live” attitude rather than “my way or the highway” attitude. I think with each passing year, I realize more and more how very little I know, and I’m willing to make allowances for different opinions and lifestyles. I’ve realized that everyone isn’t (and shouldn’t be) a “me” clone; that people can actually have completely different opinions and beliefs about life and still be my friend, and I can still love them (sometimes I don’t, of course, but that’s okay too – I’m a work in progress). God must like variety, because there are so many of us here, and all of us are different. I’m also much more aware of how much I need other people and how important they are. I realize that the people I love aren’t always going to be here, and I need to enjoy them and love them while they ARE here because the next moment I turn around, they may NOT be here. (I love you, Auntie Grace and Mam and Uncle Red Red and Auntie Lou!)
And I guess most of all, the older I get, the more I TRY to be a better person. I really WANT to be a person I can be pleased with and that God can be pleased with too, and know in my heart that I’m doing the best I can at the moment. Kindness has become so much more important than almost any other characteristic, and when I fail to reach that mark, I disappoint myself and try that much harder the next time. I think I’m learning from my failures, and they don’t just fly over my head like they did when I was younger. The criticism I receive now is something to be taken to heart and examined; and then I decide whether I believe it’s valid or not. And valid criticism is something that will change my behavior and something I try to be aware of so that I don’t continue to make the same mistakes over and over and over…I try to make new mistakes – oh, hey! Wait a minute! I don’t actually TRY to make mistakes, what I do is TRY not to make the same mistakes over and TRY not to make new mistakes either. Oh, how hard that is! Because many times, I don’t realize I’ve made a mistake because to me, it wasn’t a mistake until someone pointed it out. I say “I’m sorry” often, and really mean it – and “I’m sorry” means I try not to do whatever it was again.
One of the most important things I’m doing with my life right now is to care for mom and dad. It’s so important to me that I make their lives as happy and comfortable as possible right to the end. And one of the greatest gifts God has given me in my life is a husband who is so loving and supportive that he wants to care for and love mom and dad as much as I do. I couldn’t do what I’m doing without his help and support. Never has he made a disparaging remark or hinted in any way that he’d rather do something else rather than care for mom and dad, when I know there are many times when doing something else would be more fun or more relaxing or more interesting. There has never been the slightest look or harrumph noise or suggestion that we find someplace else for mom and dad to live or that they should find someone else to take them to their doctor’s appointments or to visit when one of them is in the hospital or nursing home. He just keeps on volunteering and supporting and offering and loving. Family is the most important thing to both of us, and caring for our family ranks the highest of all.
There should be a Medal of Honor for a husband who, from the very start of our marriage, has lived with his in-laws and loved them. We’ve weathered the bumpy parts (and there have been bumpy parts and still are sometimes – but love won out – and it’s important enough to care for them when they can’t care for themselves, that we don’t give up), and we’ve come to a point where mom and dad have become our children and need us to help them through this last part of their lives. Again I say, what an honor to be given this opportunity; but within the core of this opportunity is a man whose sense of honor and enormous heart have encompassed all of us and made everything possible. His life isn’t “It’s all about me!” His life is “It’s all about love and caring and giving back some of the gifts that have been given to us.”
I believe that a big part of love is sacrifice, and Papa (My Sweetheart) is a perfect example every single day of love and sacrifice in action. It’s so easy to TALK about love, to TALK about being kind, to TALK about caring, to TALK about the things we should do, to TALK about being a better person, to TALK, TALK, TALK … BUT to actually live a life that shows acts of love in almost everything we do ... we don’t see that very often.
I’m different in that respect, because I see love in action every day of my life in the way my husband cares for my parents. What a most amazing gift! God knew that I would need a husband who would do this, and He gave me that husband. How completely cool and awesome is that?!? If anyone ever thinks God isn’t active in our lives, this is a perfect example of Him actively caring and helping us right now on an ongoing basis, every single day. God is AMAZING!! And so is my husband with a heart so big, he can encompass our entire life together, including my parents, our children, and our amazing grandchildren. Even when I go wait in the car (a euphemism for “I’m going to go away now until my Sweetheart isn’t grumpy anymore), I’m so grateful and so blessed to have the husband I have. And best of all, he puts up with me so well. And lots of times, that ain’t easy! Because as much as I really, really want to be that wonderful person I’m writing about, many times I can’t do it, many times I don’t try hard enough, many times I’m just too tired, many times I just plain fail – and then here comes ME again! The ‘me’ that gets in the way of being that wonderful, kind, loving, all-forgiving perfect person; but you know what? He still loves me, and that’s another thing that’s just so darned great, I can’t even begin to tell you how great it is! And so I just keep trying.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
ALEX
A – is for awesome, as we all know he is,
L – is for lovable, he’s in the hugging biz,
E – is for enthusiastic, about that, there’s no doubt!
X – is for eXtraordinary, hear us all shout:
A-L-E-X spells Alex! Alex! Alex! Hooray!!!
To be a friend with Alex really makes our day!!
A – is for awesome, as we all know he is,
L – is for lovable, he’s in the hugging biz,
E – is for enthusiastic, about that, there’s no doubt!
X – is for eXtraordinary, hear us all shout:
A-L-E-X spells Alex! Alex! Alex! Hooray!!!
To be a friend with Alex really makes our day!!
ASHER
A – is for adventuresome, all engines ahead full,
S – is for spontaneous, his face all aglow,
H – is for hearty, a tough outer shell,
E – is for energetic, high spirited as well,
R – is for rosy cheeks, a grin from ear to ear,
Put them all together, they spell ASHER far and near!
ISABELLE
I – is for iridescent, sparkling in pink,
S – is for shining, she makes our eyes blink,
A – is for artistic, with clothes she knows her style,
B – is for beautiful, with an award-winning smile,
E – is for enchanting, a princess through and through,
L – is for lovely, dancing angel on review,
L – L is for literate, her vocabulary knows no bounds,
E – E is for exceptional, her intellect astounds.
This is our Isabelle, the princess of our hearts,
Daily she astounds us, with her 30-year-old smarts!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
“Mama, show me your muscles,” Grandson Alex said. So I lifted my left arm, flexed my muscles, and waited for Grandson Alex to tell me how impressed he was with my sinewy arm. Instead, he said, “Mama, your muscles are on the bottom. My muscles are on top. Why are your muscles on the bottom?”
I felt like Popeye when someone took his spinach away. Remember how he sags and the big muscles on his arms suddenly fall so they’re drooping down instead of shooting up? I couldn’t stop laughing – and I don’t think Alex laughed. I don’t think he thought it was funny. He was just asking a serious question while Mama was almost rolling on the floor in hilarity.
“Mama, show me your hand. Mama, you have a grandma hand,” Belle stated thoughtfully. I said that of course I do, because I’m a grandma. She nodded and very seriously said, “Yes, you are.”
And Asher just pats my tummy and grins. He knows a fellow eater when he sees one.
Getting older is a learning experience every day. It’s harder to walk, harder to get up, harder to sit down, harder to bend over – physically, everything is just harder to do. And I guess from here on out, it’ll just keep getting harder. Everything hurts. It’s just a matter of degree. Does my body hurt more today than yesterday? Am I able to walk without limping too much today, since yesterday I could barely make it across the room without staggering? Or is today a good day, and I can walk almost normally and I almost forget the pain of taking a step, legs almost giving out, pain shooting down both legs from my hip. Physically, life doesn’t look so good for the foreseeable future.
But the very best thing about getting older is that we have grandchildren! And having grandchildren means I don’t notice the pain as much as the miracle of these three little babies who constantly surprise us and keep us filled with awe and wonder. I’m actually able to get on the floor with them and play superheroes or cars, and my joints are so happy to be with the kids, that while we’re playing, my joints are quiet and stop hurting (until I get up, that is-ha!).
Children keep you young. It’s true! You laugh more, you move more, you think more, you enjoy everything with more intensity, and through all of this, you continue to be so filled with wonder at the beauty and intelligence and the love that flow out of these three little grandchildren. It’s just overwhelming.
I have also become an expert Wii player and expert X-Box player.
Well, now, that’s actually not true.
I’m really a terrible Wii player and an even worse X-Box player, but in the eyes of Grandsons, Mama rules! Or at least she gives it a good try. Asher says, “That’s good, Mama! That’s good!” and “That’s okay, Mama. Don’t feel bad.” And while he’s saying this, I don’t even know what I did or didn’t do or whether I did something great or something bad. Most of the time, I don’t even know which character I am on the screen. I just keep pushing buttons. But Grandsons think I’m doing great (or not so great).
While Asher and I were playing X-Box over the weekend, I kept losing. And Alex kept saying, “Asher, don’t be mean to Mama!! Stop being mean to Mama!!” He thought Asher should let me win sometimes. So Asher would jump off the roof and die so that I could win once in a while. I told Alex that it’s okay if Asher tries to win because that way I’d learn how to play, but Alex thought that was completely unfair, and kept telling Asher not to be mean to Mama. Alex has a heightened sense of fairness and unfairness. He wants everything to be fair – and he didn’t like it that Asher was winning all the rounds and I was losing all the rounds. He thought we should take turns winning. He was so sweet.
And now we’re just counting the days until we can be together again. Asher wanted to come home with us. We should have taken him. No home is complete without a child in it.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Dad's Birthday
Dad turned 98 on the 11th of August. Can you believe it? He’s 98 years old! It just doesn’t seem he could be that age, particularly since I’m so young . . . or at least I’m young inside my own head. He’s probably young inside of his head too.
The only real indication that he’s 98 is his gait instability. His balance is very poor, and he can’t walk around very well without his walker or at least without having a wall or furniture to hang onto. And of course, he doesn’t like change of any kind.
He enjoys having the great-grandchildren around, and he especially likes it when they go to visit him in his sitting room or at the computer. He thinks that’s just the greatest – and so does mom. Although she can’t hear them or see them very well, she really enjoys having them sit by her or show her their toys.
Dad’s birthday party went well, and he really enjoyed it. The next day, he said, “That was a nice party last night.” So I know he had a good time, even if he didn’t say too much while everyone was there. He watched and listened and liked having everyone there. He never gives compliments or says something nice unless he really means it. So that means that it’s rare that he says, “Good dinner, Carol.” But when he does say it, I know he means it. He almost always eats whatever I give him, but I rarely know if he likes it.
I so much want to go stay with the kids on the weekend of the 27th of August, but so far, we haven’t been able to find anyone to stay with mom and dad. Robbyn is sick, Missy is working, and there’s really no one else. Uncle Bill can come, but he can’t help mom with her bathroom, diaper, and bedtime things. I think dad will let us get someone to put mom to bed in the evenings, but there’s still the daytime when the caregivers aren’t here. I just don’t see how we’ll be able to get away. I’m praying for a miracle.
The only real indication that he’s 98 is his gait instability. His balance is very poor, and he can’t walk around very well without his walker or at least without having a wall or furniture to hang onto. And of course, he doesn’t like change of any kind.
He enjoys having the great-grandchildren around, and he especially likes it when they go to visit him in his sitting room or at the computer. He thinks that’s just the greatest – and so does mom. Although she can’t hear them or see them very well, she really enjoys having them sit by her or show her their toys.
Dad’s birthday party went well, and he really enjoyed it. The next day, he said, “That was a nice party last night.” So I know he had a good time, even if he didn’t say too much while everyone was there. He watched and listened and liked having everyone there. He never gives compliments or says something nice unless he really means it. So that means that it’s rare that he says, “Good dinner, Carol.” But when he does say it, I know he means it. He almost always eats whatever I give him, but I rarely know if he likes it.
I so much want to go stay with the kids on the weekend of the 27th of August, but so far, we haven’t been able to find anyone to stay with mom and dad. Robbyn is sick, Missy is working, and there’s really no one else. Uncle Bill can come, but he can’t help mom with her bathroom, diaper, and bedtime things. I think dad will let us get someone to put mom to bed in the evenings, but there’s still the daytime when the caregivers aren’t here. I just don’t see how we’ll be able to get away. I’m praying for a miracle.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
THIS AND THAT
Yesterday as we were coming from the dining room table and going to get Grandma’s jammies on, she stopped, looked out the front windows and said, “When are the kids coming home? It’ll be so nice when they get here. It makes the house so alive.”
Now, that was a moment of lucidity and clarity that we don’t see very often. So many times she just doesn’t connect with what’s happening in our world, only in hers. I think we’re all on the edge of our seats, so happy and excited, waiting for the kids to come home.
Grandpa talks about the kids almost every day and laughs over something Belle did or remarks on some of their toys that are in the living room. He’s waiting for their arrival too.
Yesterday Papa and I stopped on the way home to pick up four half-gallons of milk to get ready for those little sweethearts. We can’t wait to see their sippy cups being used again and find them (both sippy cups and kids) all over the house. It makes life worth living! :O}
Around 5:00 yesterday afternoon, I went to see if Grandma was ready to get up from the potty, and she said, “Are there people waiting to come in?” I said that there had been a long line waiting, but they were gone now and that I thought they had used the potty by the laundry room. For some reason, she keeps thinking there’s a line outside the potty door every time she uses it. It’s easier to agree with her than it is to try to reason with her. It just frustrates everyone, so I agree with just about everything.
I also asked Grandma about Uncle Axel, and she said he was her dad’s brother, not Mam’s brother, so I had it wrong earlier. She said her dad was teaching Uncle Axel how to use the edger (it’s a woodworking machine in the lumber mill), and Uncle Axel’s sleeve got caught in the machine, pulled his arm in, and cut off his arm about in the middle of his forearm. That’s how he lost his hand and part of his arm. I asked her if he ever married, and she said he told her that no one wanted to marry a one-armed man, so he never asked anyone to marry him. It’s so sad because he was such a sweet, gentle person. And Grandma said he was soooooo handsome. I remember him as being nice looking too, but mostly I remember him as being gentle and shy and sweet.
Grandma has days when she’s stronger than other days. I came home last week and found her by the front door with her walker. She had gotten herself up from the couch and wandered around the first floor for a while and was standing by the front door, not sure where to go next. Grandpa was sleeping, so he didn’t know she was wandering.
The one thing we’ve been so grateful for since Grandma’s mind has been going away is that she’s been too weak to wander around on her own. She usually needs help getting up and never walks anywhere without someone’s hand on her back because she tends to fall over backwards or go sideways. But this was something new and scary, since she could fall down the stairs or possibly open a door and fall outside, or worse yet, heaven help us, she could turn on the stove and start a fire.
I asked her where she was going, and she started to walk toward the wall saying, “I don’t know. I was just going around and around.” I stopped her before she ran into the wall, took her to the potty, and got her back to the couch without grandpa waking up. I told Papa about it, and he was able to find the baby gate in the basement; so we put it up in front of the basement stairs. At least she won’t fall down the stairs even though she may fall someplace else in the house. She just can’t be trusted alone . . . ever.
Kaiser has let us know that Medicare won’t cover home care after December 31, 2010. That means the people who come to bathe and dress mom and clean the house won’t be covered by Medicare, and Grandpa will have to cover the entire bill instead of 25% of the bill – that’s around $1850/month if he has to pay it all. We can’t afford that much money, so we’ll have to see what’s going to happen. I haven’t told Grandpa yet because there’s nothing we can do about it, and he would only continue to worry. Papa and I think it’s better that he only start to worry toward the end of December, so we’ll tell him then. Who knows what could happen between now and then, and there’s no reason for him to worry while Papa and I are doing such a good job worrying about it on our own. Especially with Papa’s job loss, the worry about how to pay for Grandma’s care will fit in nicely with the worry about a new job for Papa. (Huh?)
Now we're just waiting for the kids to arrive today. We have errands to run just after work, then home to sit in front of the window to wait for the kids . . . and all will again be right with the world.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sunday Morning
I’m making turkey soup. I put in two turkey legs, 1 stalk of chopped celery, 2 chopped onions, about 20 tiny carrots, about a teaspoon of salt, marjoram leaves and thyme leaves, and about 1 ½ teaspoons of sage (I love sage), 1 large can of chicken broth, and about 4 cups of water. It’s on the stove now just beginning to heat. Once it begins to boil, I’ll turn down the heat and let it simmer for about 45-60 minutes (it depends on when the meat is ready to fall off of the bones). Then I’ll take the turkey legs out and let them cool. Once they’re cool, I’ll take the meat off the bones and I’ll also taste the vegetables, if it seems the flavor has been cooked out of them, I’ll strain the broth, throw out those vegetables, and add new ones to the broth, along with the turkey meat, to simmer for about 15 minutes. Then taste for seasonings, and it should be ready for lunch.
As I always tell Papa, exact measurements – that’s what cooking is all about. It’s basic chemistry. Everybody knows that…
HOWEVER, I rarely use exact measurements. I add whatever I think it needs, then taste, then adjust the seasonings, then taste, etc. And somehow, it usually comes out okay.
I love to cook. I don’t mean that I love to cook everyday, every meal, three meals a day forever. That’s not cooking, that’s maintaining the body.
I mean that I love to COOK.
I love to take the time to choose a recipe, shop, gather the ingredients and plan the approach, savor every action and visualize the outcome.
Yes, it takes ingredients, a plan, and the time and energy to create your special dish, but more than anything else, it takes love. You get out what you put into things (now where have I heard that before?). To create a special dish takes more than a rigid recipe and the correct ingredients. It takes a desire to please those you care about. A desire to see their faces as they first bite into that special dish you’ve spent hours creating just for them. It’s a very special way of loving your family and friends. [Did you notice that everything seems to revolve around family? Our greatest joys and our greatest heartaches. They're so very important.]
But to get back to the turkey soup, it's just now begun to boil, so I've turned it down to simmer. I am barely beginning to get a faint whiff of the turkey and spices scenting the kitchen and drifting throughout the first floor of the house. Not too long from now, the fragrant aroma of turkey soup will reach the second floor where Papa is sleeping.
Do you think it will float into his dreams and make him wish for a big, steaming bowl of freshly made turkey soup? Perhaps with crusty French bread and a salad on the side, and he might even put in a dollop of sour cream to enrich the flavorful broth.
Sitting on the couch in the family room, laptop blogging away, I can see the steam rising from the pot, carrying aromatic turkey soup-scented air throughout the house, and drifting out the door – perhaps the neighbors will come calling any minute to beg a bowl of this delicious nectar now simmering on our stove. Perhaps Alex, Asher and Isabelle will get a faint whiff of this wonderful brew bubbling away on Mama and Papa’s stove and beg Mommy and Daddy to take them immediately to Papa and Mama’s house for a huge bowl of turkey soup that was prepared so lovingly by Mama’s hands – made especially for those she loves…
Wistfully, I glance up to see the soup continuing to simmer and release it’s lovely perfume into the air; and envision scenes of grandchildren running through the house, racing out to playland, then rushing back in, begging anyone in sight to push them on the swings . . . hopefully it won’t be long now before they’ll be back home with us, giving hugs and filling our lives with so much joy our hearts almost burst . . . but that’s a story for another day.
Today it’s just turkey soup, Papa, Mama, Grandma and Grandpa, home alone, the silence broken only by the bubbling coming from the stove and the weather report coming from the TV in the dining room while Grandma and Grandpa have their quiet breakfast.
I’m making turkey soup. I put in two turkey legs, 1 stalk of chopped celery, 2 chopped onions, about 20 tiny carrots, about a teaspoon of salt, marjoram leaves and thyme leaves, and about 1 ½ teaspoons of sage (I love sage), 1 large can of chicken broth, and about 4 cups of water. It’s on the stove now just beginning to heat. Once it begins to boil, I’ll turn down the heat and let it simmer for about 45-60 minutes (it depends on when the meat is ready to fall off of the bones). Then I’ll take the turkey legs out and let them cool. Once they’re cool, I’ll take the meat off the bones and I’ll also taste the vegetables, if it seems the flavor has been cooked out of them, I’ll strain the broth, throw out those vegetables, and add new ones to the broth, along with the turkey meat, to simmer for about 15 minutes. Then taste for seasonings, and it should be ready for lunch.
As I always tell Papa, exact measurements – that’s what cooking is all about. It’s basic chemistry. Everybody knows that…
HOWEVER, I rarely use exact measurements. I add whatever I think it needs, then taste, then adjust the seasonings, then taste, etc. And somehow, it usually comes out okay.
I love to cook. I don’t mean that I love to cook everyday, every meal, three meals a day forever. That’s not cooking, that’s maintaining the body.
I mean that I love to COOK.
I love to take the time to choose a recipe, shop, gather the ingredients and plan the approach, savor every action and visualize the outcome.
Yes, it takes ingredients, a plan, and the time and energy to create your special dish, but more than anything else, it takes love. You get out what you put into things (now where have I heard that before?). To create a special dish takes more than a rigid recipe and the correct ingredients. It takes a desire to please those you care about. A desire to see their faces as they first bite into that special dish you’ve spent hours creating just for them. It’s a very special way of loving your family and friends. [Did you notice that everything seems to revolve around family? Our greatest joys and our greatest heartaches. They're so very important.]
But to get back to the turkey soup, it's just now begun to boil, so I've turned it down to simmer. I am barely beginning to get a faint whiff of the turkey and spices scenting the kitchen and drifting throughout the first floor of the house. Not too long from now, the fragrant aroma of turkey soup will reach the second floor where Papa is sleeping.
Do you think it will float into his dreams and make him wish for a big, steaming bowl of freshly made turkey soup? Perhaps with crusty French bread and a salad on the side, and he might even put in a dollop of sour cream to enrich the flavorful broth.
Sitting on the couch in the family room, laptop blogging away, I can see the steam rising from the pot, carrying aromatic turkey soup-scented air throughout the house, and drifting out the door – perhaps the neighbors will come calling any minute to beg a bowl of this delicious nectar now simmering on our stove. Perhaps Alex, Asher and Isabelle will get a faint whiff of this wonderful brew bubbling away on Mama and Papa’s stove and beg Mommy and Daddy to take them immediately to Papa and Mama’s house for a huge bowl of turkey soup that was prepared so lovingly by Mama’s hands – made especially for those she loves…
Wistfully, I glance up to see the soup continuing to simmer and release it’s lovely perfume into the air; and envision scenes of grandchildren running through the house, racing out to playland, then rushing back in, begging anyone in sight to push them on the swings . . . hopefully it won’t be long now before they’ll be back home with us, giving hugs and filling our lives with so much joy our hearts almost burst . . . but that’s a story for another day.
Today it’s just turkey soup, Papa, Mama, Grandma and Grandpa, home alone, the silence broken only by the bubbling coming from the stove and the weather report coming from the TV in the dining room while Grandma and Grandpa have their quiet breakfast.
Friday, July 16, 2010
RHYMING
I like to rhyme,
It saves time,
Out loud, not mime,
A wit sublime.
Oh boy, is that a bad one! A stinker some would say. I guess that’s why I’m not a poet or a writer, gainfully employed. I just write for myself and make up silly songs for our grandchildren, as I did for my beautiful daughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
♫ Pick-les, on-ions, and gar-lic,
Pick-les, on-ions, and garlic,
Pick-les, on-ions, and gar-lic, ♫
Pick-les, on-ions, and garlic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Sung to the tune of “Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, someone’s in the kitchen I know-o-o-o, someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, strummin’ on the old banjo.”)
Does Boots remember this? I’m not sure, but I’ve sung it for Alex. I don’t think I’ve sung it for Asher and Belle yet, but I can see it coming. Yup, no kidding, they have a grandma who’s silly to a fault. Can’t really help it and don’t want to. There’s just too much pleasure to be had from singing silly songs and seeing those sweet little faces crinkle up and grin or laugh out loud – or even roll their eyes and say, “Mama! That’s silly!”
I like to rhyme,
It saves time,
Out loud, not mime,
A wit sublime.
Oh boy, is that a bad one! A stinker some would say. I guess that’s why I’m not a poet or a writer, gainfully employed. I just write for myself and make up silly songs for our grandchildren, as I did for my beautiful daughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
♫ Pick-les, on-ions, and gar-lic,
Pick-les, on-ions, and garlic,
Pick-les, on-ions, and gar-lic, ♫
Pick-les, on-ions, and garlic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Sung to the tune of “Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, someone’s in the kitchen I know-o-o-o, someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah, strummin’ on the old banjo.”)
Does Boots remember this? I’m not sure, but I’ve sung it for Alex. I don’t think I’ve sung it for Asher and Belle yet, but I can see it coming. Yup, no kidding, they have a grandma who’s silly to a fault. Can’t really help it and don’t want to. There’s just too much pleasure to be had from singing silly songs and seeing those sweet little faces crinkle up and grin or laugh out loud – or even roll their eyes and say, “Mama! That’s silly!”
When Alex was a baby, I used to sing the “Mama Loves You” song to him. I think he liked it. I would sing it to him when he was going to sleep:
Mama loves you, yes I do,
Mama loves you, yes I do,
Mama loves you, yes I do,
Sweet little baby boy.
And I would watch him close his eyes, his little lips opening and closing just the tiniest bit, and I would be filled with so much love – it was so hard to put him down to sleep. I would want to keep holding him forever.
When Boots was a baby, I used to do the same thing. I would hold her for hours watching her sleep. I just couldn’t get over the absolute miracle that she was (and still is). I would sing to her, talk to her, carry her from room to room while I did whatever it was I needed to do. She was three-years-old before we ever had a baby sitter; and was it ever hard to leave her!! I think I called home at least 4 times that night, and we were only gone a couple of hours.
But, I digress… let’s get back on point with rhyming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a young boy from Vancouver,
Who said, “It’s hard to maneuver,”
When I park my truck,
I run over my duck,
And the quacker says, “Quack! Find a mover!”
Sometimes you just gotta rhyme, you just gotta! So here are three rhymes for our three most-loved grandchildren in the whole world:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Baby Belle,
You look swell,
You can really tell,
Where beauty doth dwell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Baby Belle,You look swell,
You can really tell,
Where beauty doth dwell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Superhero Asher, dear boy of my heart,
Our love for you knows no bounds,
Your life is ahead with a jackrabbit start,
And happiness reigns all around.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, Alex, my dear, my wonderful boy.
Such ideas race around in your mind,
You’re clever, you’re smart, your heart filled with joy,
You’re handsome, you’re loved, and you’re kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maybe ALL the talent isn’t on our side of the family. Oh, how I long for the sound of little feet running through the house - the laughing, the squealing, and yes, even the arguing. Smash Brothers is waiting to be played. Legos are waiting to be built. Superheroes are waiting to save the day. And Papa and Mama are waiting to give the biggest hugs ever given to our three little babies.
Oh, Alex, my dear, my wonderful boy.
Such ideas race around in your mind,
You’re clever, you’re smart, your heart filled with joy,
You’re handsome, you’re loved, and you’re kind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maybe ALL the talent isn’t on our side of the family. Oh, how I long for the sound of little feet running through the house - the laughing, the squealing, and yes, even the arguing. Smash Brothers is waiting to be played. Legos are waiting to be built. Superheroes are waiting to save the day. And Papa and Mama are waiting to give the biggest hugs ever given to our three little babies.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Caregiving
Every single day there’s a surprise waiting if you just look for it (and even if you don’t). Just about the time I’m ready to fall over and say I can’t do another thing today, Mom will come up with something that makes me smile – and sometimes, just laugh out loud.
Yesterday when I was pulling up her britches after she went potty, she said, “Boy, I hate these air-conditioned potties! They freeze my butt! Why do these people keep the potty so cold?”
Now, if you knew my mother, you’d know she wouldn’t say “butt” if you paid her; however, over the last few years, we’ve entered a territory, thus far unexplored, where nothing of the familiar resides. The mother I knew and loved is no longer the woman I’m caring for. She’s still my mother, make no mistake, and I still love her, make no mistake about that either, but she’s a different person than the one I knew growing up – a different person than the one I knew when Boots was a child – a different person than the one who helped care for Auntie Grace – and a different person than the one I knew last night. Each day is a surprise.
When I get home today, I have no idea whether she’ll know where she is (probably not), what time of day it is, whether she’s eaten or not (even if she has a cookie in her hand and she’s sitting at the dining room table), or what season of the year it is (we already know she doesn’t know what year it is – she thinks it’s 2002 for some reason, and that’s usually the year she’ll give you if you ask her what year it is) – as I said, each day is always a surprise waiting to happen.
Now, I’ve always liked surprises. I’ve always thought of them as something special, happy, exciting, something you look forward to – I’ve always liked them…always…right up to the moment I realized I was losing my mother.
When is it you realize that your parent is no longer the adult, no longer the person you can go to for help, no longer the person who knows everything, no longer the person you can run home to if the world kicks you in the teeth, no longer the person who’s going to hold you and tell you everything will be better in the morning, no longer the one who knows how to make gravy or how to get a stain out of a blouse or whether Uncle Axel was Mam’s brother or what year dad’s family came out to Portland from Minnesota and how the kids were split up and had to come out in batches – traveling until they ran out of money, then working wherever they were until they could get enough money to continue to Portland… what happens then?
It takes a long time for this to happen. People change slowly… slowly… slowly, and then one day the realization comes like a sledgehammer coming out of nowhere hitting you in the head: MY PARENT IS NOW MY CHILD.
You don’t know exactly when it happened. You don’t know exactly how it happened. You don’t know exactly why it happened. You just know in the deepest part of your mind and soul that IT DID HAPPEN, and nothing will ever be the same again.
You suddenly realize that YOU are the adult and your parent is the child. YOU are the person your parent goes to for help. YOU are the person who holds them and tells them everything will be better in the morning. YOU are the person who’s supposed to know everything. YOU are the person your parent runs to if the world kicks them in the teeth or they’re frightened. YOU are the one who’s supposed to know how to make gravy and get the stain out of blouses. YOU are the one who’s supposed to remember the family history and all the stories (like Auntie Grace shooting jackrabbits off the back of a buckboard or mom having a rollover in her car and getting people from the neighboring farm to come out to help her roll it back up again as she drives away not thinking much about it), YOU are the one writing all the checks, and arranging all their healthcare and dealing with all financial and medical matters that concern them. And YOU are the one who is responsible for protecting and caring for your parent (who is now your child).
The life cycle must be “Child, Parent, Grandparent, Child.”
Who’da thunk?
Somewhere along the way I missed the last cycle of life. I knew that Mam (my mother’s mother) lived with Auntie Hazel and Uncle Red Red until she died; and I knew that Ma (my dad’s mother) lived in her own home with Aunt Mert and Uncle Ike living upstairs, and Auntie Grace living with Ma in her second bedroom until Ma’s death. But I had no idea of the care they needed or the day-to-day activities of caregiving that was provided to them by their children. It never occurred to me that they might need a break or a little help with caregiving.
Mam was different than Ma in that she was scrubbing the front porch on her hands and knees when she was 92, fell off the porch and broke her hip, and became unresponsive a few months later and died at home. I’ll never forget the day she died (May 7, 1975). I was living in Kansas City and hadn’t talked to her since I was last home (at Christmas, I think). I cried all night – sometimes I still do when I think of her. She was one of the most loving people I’ve ever known. She was a hugger and a kisser – a lot like my mom.
Ma on the other hand was very heavy and didn’t do anything but sit in her rocking chair and look out the window. She had a stroke one day (also at 92), and that’s when Auntie Grace came to live with her and cared for her until her death six months later. She was of German stock and didn’t hug much and never kissed anyone. She loved us quietly.
How did I get to be a ripe young age of 62 and not have even one small inkling of the care they needed and were getting from their children, and even more than that, how could I have missed the real lesson I should have seen with my grandmothers, that we end as we begin – as a child, and the only hope we have of ending our lives in comfort is the love that’s given by our families.
After the shock and realization of that lesson dissipated a bit, it left behind that same great sense of awe, love, and responsibility that I had when Bootsie was born. A tiny, perfect little child who relied on me for everything from food, clothing, and housing to love, emotional support and leading her to maturity and adulthood. In other words, she relied on me for her very survival – which is what my parents do now, but instead of leading them to maturity, we are, in effect, leading them to their everlasting home and helping them die surrounded by love. What an honor to be given this opportunity, and what a responsibility too. After living with us for three years, we were able to be with Auntie Grace when she passed away one Saturday late afternoon in June at the age of 97 in her own bed at our home. Mom, dad, Rich and I were all beside her, holding her hands, touching her, and telling her it’s all right to let go and that we loved her. It was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything; and God willing, this is what I want for mom and dad too. It’s the ultimate gift we can give them. No one should die alone.
It can also be overwhelming and almost too much to bear if I let my thoughts get away from me. The responsibility, day after day after day; rarely getting a break, never able to go out to dinner or a movie without making prior arrangements for “childcare.” Never able to wake up on a Saturday and trot off to the beach on a whim. Never able to go upstairs to take a 2-3-hr nap after getting up at 3:30 am to go to work and being so sleepy my eyes cross. Having to take mom to the bathroom every hour and a half or so – and sometimes forgetting that she’s in there if I don’t set a timer – and dashing back to the bathroom to get her back to the couch. And all the while feeling guilty, so guilty. [How could I have forgotten her? What is wrong with me that I’d leave her in there for 20 minutes without checking on her? I’m a bad daughter for not being more diligent, more aware, more caring.] When I’m at work, I feel guilty that I’m not at home caring for mom and dad. When I’m at home, I feel guilty that I left work with some things undone. Now that I’m working half-time in order to be home with “the kids” more, I feel guilty because I’m not doing my share in bringing in the money we need to meet our obligations. Guilt, guilt, guilt. And occasionally I feel trapped, although fortunately, it’s not a feeling that’s often with me, but it’s certainly one of the threads that’s woven into the tapestry of our lives as we’re living them now.
Yes, all of these things can pile up and weigh heavily over everything I do or think or feel…
But, there’s another side to this.
All my life, through all the good and bad things I’ve done, always, mom and dad have been there. They loved me when they were proud of me, and they loved me when I wasn’t loveable – they always supported me in whatever I did in my life. They rejoiced with me when I was happy, and they ached and hurt for me when I was sad. How do you repay someone for a lifetime of caring, a lifetime of support, a lifetime of continuous giving of everything they had to give? How do you give back some of that same love and support and care?
I guess the answer is that you can’t repay those things. They were freely and happily given and would be given again if they had a choice. Repayment isn’t really an issue. What I can do however, is give back as much of that love, support, and care as I can. At this moment, our roles are reversed. I am the parent. My parents are the children. And I WANT to give them as wonderful a “childhood” as they gave me – as much love – as much support – as much care as I’m able to give. They need me now, as I needed them when I was a child. It’s not a matter of them not WANTING to care for themselves, it’s a matter of them not being ABLE to care for themselves. And as long as I’m ABLE, I will love, support, and care for them as they did for me.
The other day while mom was in the bathroom (we spend a greater portion of our day in the bathroom these days), she looked out the window and remarked on how beautiful it is here. Then she said, “These people have a nice house. We should buy this place.” I told her that it’s our house already, hers and dad’s and Rich’s and mine. She said, “Well, that’s good, because I told Earl he should buy this place a long time ago.”
Often I don’t know if she still knows who I am. She knows my name, but I think she gets confused and forgets I’m her daughter. Uncle Bill says the same. He doesn’t think she knows who he is; he thinks she accepts his hugs because she’s a loving person, not because she knows he’s her son.
It’s so sad. So much of this is sad.
But I’m so very fortunate in this adventure to have the most loving man by my side. When Rich and I were married, 12 years ago, mom and dad had been living with Boots and me for three years already, so when we married, he moved into a home that included two people in addition to his new wife. What a way to start a marriage! And how very, very blessed I am to have married a man who would not only accept my parents as part of our lives, but openly embrace and love them, welcoming them and asking them to stay in our home always. I don’t know that I could do the caregiving I’m doing now if I didn’t have a husband who is so filled with love that it overflows and covers my parents as much as it covers me. We share equally in the caregiving, each of us giving in the ways we each do best; each of us supporting the other – partners in “parenting,” enriching our lives together and also helping each other through the various fears, responsibilities, stress (yes, there’s that too!), heartaches and rewards of caregiving. And Uncle Bill and Robbyn are always there if we need to take a few days to go away. Uncle Bill takes dad out for dinner almost every Wednesday night, and that’s such a big treat for dad. It’s the only time he gets out of the house. I’m sure lots of caregivers have no relief from anyone, so having Uncle Bill and Robbyn available has made a monumental difference in our lives. Sometimes you just need to get away.
The other day, mom said, “Do we have any fingernail polish remover?” And I told her I think we do. She said, “That’s good, because I didn’t think I’d be spending a week here. I thought I was just coming to visit for a few hours or I would have brought my own.” I just smiled and nodded to show I understood.
These statements come out of the blue with no warning. Sometimes we laugh, and sometimes we cry – but fortunately, there is more laughing than crying. It’s just when she thinks someone is still alive that it hurts; we’re able to laugh most of the time with the “Alice in Wonderland” statements that come out of her mouth. She seems almost normal, like she always was, then she’ll say something that comes out of nowhere and surprises us. Often she’ll say, “Those people should be home pretty soon.” And when I ask which people she’s talking about, she looks very confused and doesn’t know who she’s talking about. I don’t ask who she’s talking about anymore; now I say, “You’re probably right. They should be home pretty soon.” And she continues on her way happy.
A few weeks ago, as I walked into the dining room, I saw mom wrapping up all the cookies that were left on the plate after lunch, and when I asked her what she was doing, she said she’s saving them for the two little boys that were just here. We think she’s talking about Alex and Asher, but we’re not sure. She may be seeing two other little boys running around the house because sometimes she does see people – at least we think she does. I told her that Alex and Asher weren’t here right now, but she could give them cookies when they do come back home, but it would be a while before they’d be back. So she put the cookies back on the plate and looked disappointed. She loves the little ones.
And there’s no getting around it, caregiving is hard. It doesn’t get any easier as time passes, it gets more difficult. Sometimes I think I can’t do it anymore; it’s overwhelming, it hurts so badly to see the people you love, slowly but continuously going downhill – getting more forgetful, their bodies getting weaker, their step slower, shuffling, and more labored, their minds getting more confused, seeing the confusion in their eyes and the expectation that Rich or I can fix whatever is wrong, the hurt in their eyes when they sometimes realize we can’t help them, and the fear of the unknown – whether one of them will die and leave the other one alone – whether they’ll be able to stay where they are or have to move to a care facility if we can’t take care of them – to know all of their friends and most of the family in their generation have died . . . it just goes on and on. And one of the toughest things about caregiving is that it happens every single day, every single night, every single week, and on and on. It’s not a superhero swooping in to save the day for one big gigantic event – that would be easy and filled with glory; no, it’s not that. It’s a daily routine where there are no heroes, no big wins, no saving of lives, no pats on the back, no one to know what you’ve done or how hard it is to do – you just keep at it every single day; and it takes the patience and endurance of a saint to continue to do this with very little help. Oh, for the days of big families, where you would have six or eight or ten kids in the family who would all do their share and who lived just a couple of blocks away. But that’s not our world now. Everyone is scattered all over the planet, and everyone is frantically busy, and everyone has their own lives to manage.
Yes, I could really get depressed and the self-pity could flow like a waterfall, pouring over anyone who would listen.
However, that’s not the life we live. Sure, we get tired, and sure we’d like mom and dad to be able to take care of their own needs, and sure we’d like to be free to go to the beach or to the movies or to just take a nap when we want one, but then I think of the great opportunity God has given us to be able to give love and care to mom and dad, and to be filled with such gratitude that we have them here with us for all of these precious days He’s giving us. And such a gift to be able to see what kind of people we’ve become and how much strength we have and how God has given us a mirror to reflect back the development of our character and who he wants us to be, and to know that no matter how the world sees us or treats us, that in our hearts, we know we’re doing something extraordinary every day of our lives because we make life easier and happier for mom and dad. So many people don’t have that opportunity. To be tested and to come out as fine gold – that’s what we’re aiming for – and somehow that goal seems possible.
More times than not, our focus is on how something will affect mom and dad rather than how it will affect us. I think we’re both less egocentric than we were before the caregiving became so intense, so demanding, so all-encompassing. We hesitate to ask for help, although we’re getting better at it.
It’s such a learning experience – every day – new surprises – many times not good ones, but the only way to get through this descending road to the end of this life is to pray, keep our good humor, and laugh as much as we can. And the answer I gave to her about the air-conditioned potty? Well, here goes:
“I guess these people want to have a high turnover in the potty. If it’s freezing cold, they can get people in and out fast. There aren’t any people outside the door waiting to use the potty right now, but if there’s ever a long line waiting to get in, we’re ready for them!”
She was happy with that, and when she’s happy, I’m happy too.
It takes a long time for this to happen. People change slowly… slowly… slowly, and then one day the realization comes like a sledgehammer coming out of nowhere hitting you in the head: MY PARENT IS NOW MY CHILD.
You don’t know exactly when it happened. You don’t know exactly how it happened. You don’t know exactly why it happened. You just know in the deepest part of your mind and soul that IT DID HAPPEN, and nothing will ever be the same again.
You suddenly realize that YOU are the adult and your parent is the child. YOU are the person your parent goes to for help. YOU are the person who holds them and tells them everything will be better in the morning. YOU are the person who’s supposed to know everything. YOU are the person your parent runs to if the world kicks them in the teeth or they’re frightened. YOU are the one who’s supposed to know how to make gravy and get the stain out of blouses. YOU are the one who’s supposed to remember the family history and all the stories (like Auntie Grace shooting jackrabbits off the back of a buckboard or mom having a rollover in her car and getting people from the neighboring farm to come out to help her roll it back up again as she drives away not thinking much about it), YOU are the one writing all the checks, and arranging all their healthcare and dealing with all financial and medical matters that concern them. And YOU are the one who is responsible for protecting and caring for your parent (who is now your child).
The life cycle must be “Child, Parent, Grandparent, Child.”
Who’da thunk?
Somewhere along the way I missed the last cycle of life. I knew that Mam (my mother’s mother) lived with Auntie Hazel and Uncle Red Red until she died; and I knew that Ma (my dad’s mother) lived in her own home with Aunt Mert and Uncle Ike living upstairs, and Auntie Grace living with Ma in her second bedroom until Ma’s death. But I had no idea of the care they needed or the day-to-day activities of caregiving that was provided to them by their children. It never occurred to me that they might need a break or a little help with caregiving.
Mam was different than Ma in that she was scrubbing the front porch on her hands and knees when she was 92, fell off the porch and broke her hip, and became unresponsive a few months later and died at home. I’ll never forget the day she died (May 7, 1975). I was living in Kansas City and hadn’t talked to her since I was last home (at Christmas, I think). I cried all night – sometimes I still do when I think of her. She was one of the most loving people I’ve ever known. She was a hugger and a kisser – a lot like my mom.
Ma on the other hand was very heavy and didn’t do anything but sit in her rocking chair and look out the window. She had a stroke one day (also at 92), and that’s when Auntie Grace came to live with her and cared for her until her death six months later. She was of German stock and didn’t hug much and never kissed anyone. She loved us quietly.
How did I get to be a ripe young age of 62 and not have even one small inkling of the care they needed and were getting from their children, and even more than that, how could I have missed the real lesson I should have seen with my grandmothers, that we end as we begin – as a child, and the only hope we have of ending our lives in comfort is the love that’s given by our families.
After the shock and realization of that lesson dissipated a bit, it left behind that same great sense of awe, love, and responsibility that I had when Bootsie was born. A tiny, perfect little child who relied on me for everything from food, clothing, and housing to love, emotional support and leading her to maturity and adulthood. In other words, she relied on me for her very survival – which is what my parents do now, but instead of leading them to maturity, we are, in effect, leading them to their everlasting home and helping them die surrounded by love. What an honor to be given this opportunity, and what a responsibility too. After living with us for three years, we were able to be with Auntie Grace when she passed away one Saturday late afternoon in June at the age of 97 in her own bed at our home. Mom, dad, Rich and I were all beside her, holding her hands, touching her, and telling her it’s all right to let go and that we loved her. It was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything; and God willing, this is what I want for mom and dad too. It’s the ultimate gift we can give them. No one should die alone.
It can also be overwhelming and almost too much to bear if I let my thoughts get away from me. The responsibility, day after day after day; rarely getting a break, never able to go out to dinner or a movie without making prior arrangements for “childcare.” Never able to wake up on a Saturday and trot off to the beach on a whim. Never able to go upstairs to take a 2-3-hr nap after getting up at 3:30 am to go to work and being so sleepy my eyes cross. Having to take mom to the bathroom every hour and a half or so – and sometimes forgetting that she’s in there if I don’t set a timer – and dashing back to the bathroom to get her back to the couch. And all the while feeling guilty, so guilty. [How could I have forgotten her? What is wrong with me that I’d leave her in there for 20 minutes without checking on her? I’m a bad daughter for not being more diligent, more aware, more caring.] When I’m at work, I feel guilty that I’m not at home caring for mom and dad. When I’m at home, I feel guilty that I left work with some things undone. Now that I’m working half-time in order to be home with “the kids” more, I feel guilty because I’m not doing my share in bringing in the money we need to meet our obligations. Guilt, guilt, guilt. And occasionally I feel trapped, although fortunately, it’s not a feeling that’s often with me, but it’s certainly one of the threads that’s woven into the tapestry of our lives as we’re living them now.
Yes, all of these things can pile up and weigh heavily over everything I do or think or feel…
But, there’s another side to this.
All my life, through all the good and bad things I’ve done, always, mom and dad have been there. They loved me when they were proud of me, and they loved me when I wasn’t loveable – they always supported me in whatever I did in my life. They rejoiced with me when I was happy, and they ached and hurt for me when I was sad. How do you repay someone for a lifetime of caring, a lifetime of support, a lifetime of continuous giving of everything they had to give? How do you give back some of that same love and support and care?
I guess the answer is that you can’t repay those things. They were freely and happily given and would be given again if they had a choice. Repayment isn’t really an issue. What I can do however, is give back as much of that love, support, and care as I can. At this moment, our roles are reversed. I am the parent. My parents are the children. And I WANT to give them as wonderful a “childhood” as they gave me – as much love – as much support – as much care as I’m able to give. They need me now, as I needed them when I was a child. It’s not a matter of them not WANTING to care for themselves, it’s a matter of them not being ABLE to care for themselves. And as long as I’m ABLE, I will love, support, and care for them as they did for me.
The other day while mom was in the bathroom (we spend a greater portion of our day in the bathroom these days), she looked out the window and remarked on how beautiful it is here. Then she said, “These people have a nice house. We should buy this place.” I told her that it’s our house already, hers and dad’s and Rich’s and mine. She said, “Well, that’s good, because I told Earl he should buy this place a long time ago.”
Often I don’t know if she still knows who I am. She knows my name, but I think she gets confused and forgets I’m her daughter. Uncle Bill says the same. He doesn’t think she knows who he is; he thinks she accepts his hugs because she’s a loving person, not because she knows he’s her son.
It’s so sad. So much of this is sad.
But I’m so very fortunate in this adventure to have the most loving man by my side. When Rich and I were married, 12 years ago, mom and dad had been living with Boots and me for three years already, so when we married, he moved into a home that included two people in addition to his new wife. What a way to start a marriage! And how very, very blessed I am to have married a man who would not only accept my parents as part of our lives, but openly embrace and love them, welcoming them and asking them to stay in our home always. I don’t know that I could do the caregiving I’m doing now if I didn’t have a husband who is so filled with love that it overflows and covers my parents as much as it covers me. We share equally in the caregiving, each of us giving in the ways we each do best; each of us supporting the other – partners in “parenting,” enriching our lives together and also helping each other through the various fears, responsibilities, stress (yes, there’s that too!), heartaches and rewards of caregiving. And Uncle Bill and Robbyn are always there if we need to take a few days to go away. Uncle Bill takes dad out for dinner almost every Wednesday night, and that’s such a big treat for dad. It’s the only time he gets out of the house. I’m sure lots of caregivers have no relief from anyone, so having Uncle Bill and Robbyn available has made a monumental difference in our lives. Sometimes you just need to get away.
The other day, mom said, “Do we have any fingernail polish remover?” And I told her I think we do. She said, “That’s good, because I didn’t think I’d be spending a week here. I thought I was just coming to visit for a few hours or I would have brought my own.” I just smiled and nodded to show I understood.
These statements come out of the blue with no warning. Sometimes we laugh, and sometimes we cry – but fortunately, there is more laughing than crying. It’s just when she thinks someone is still alive that it hurts; we’re able to laugh most of the time with the “Alice in Wonderland” statements that come out of her mouth. She seems almost normal, like she always was, then she’ll say something that comes out of nowhere and surprises us. Often she’ll say, “Those people should be home pretty soon.” And when I ask which people she’s talking about, she looks very confused and doesn’t know who she’s talking about. I don’t ask who she’s talking about anymore; now I say, “You’re probably right. They should be home pretty soon.” And she continues on her way happy.
A few weeks ago, as I walked into the dining room, I saw mom wrapping up all the cookies that were left on the plate after lunch, and when I asked her what she was doing, she said she’s saving them for the two little boys that were just here. We think she’s talking about Alex and Asher, but we’re not sure. She may be seeing two other little boys running around the house because sometimes she does see people – at least we think she does. I told her that Alex and Asher weren’t here right now, but she could give them cookies when they do come back home, but it would be a while before they’d be back. So she put the cookies back on the plate and looked disappointed. She loves the little ones.
And there’s no getting around it, caregiving is hard. It doesn’t get any easier as time passes, it gets more difficult. Sometimes I think I can’t do it anymore; it’s overwhelming, it hurts so badly to see the people you love, slowly but continuously going downhill – getting more forgetful, their bodies getting weaker, their step slower, shuffling, and more labored, their minds getting more confused, seeing the confusion in their eyes and the expectation that Rich or I can fix whatever is wrong, the hurt in their eyes when they sometimes realize we can’t help them, and the fear of the unknown – whether one of them will die and leave the other one alone – whether they’ll be able to stay where they are or have to move to a care facility if we can’t take care of them – to know all of their friends and most of the family in their generation have died . . . it just goes on and on. And one of the toughest things about caregiving is that it happens every single day, every single night, every single week, and on and on. It’s not a superhero swooping in to save the day for one big gigantic event – that would be easy and filled with glory; no, it’s not that. It’s a daily routine where there are no heroes, no big wins, no saving of lives, no pats on the back, no one to know what you’ve done or how hard it is to do – you just keep at it every single day; and it takes the patience and endurance of a saint to continue to do this with very little help. Oh, for the days of big families, where you would have six or eight or ten kids in the family who would all do their share and who lived just a couple of blocks away. But that’s not our world now. Everyone is scattered all over the planet, and everyone is frantically busy, and everyone has their own lives to manage.
Yes, I could really get depressed and the self-pity could flow like a waterfall, pouring over anyone who would listen.
However, that’s not the life we live. Sure, we get tired, and sure we’d like mom and dad to be able to take care of their own needs, and sure we’d like to be free to go to the beach or to the movies or to just take a nap when we want one, but then I think of the great opportunity God has given us to be able to give love and care to mom and dad, and to be filled with such gratitude that we have them here with us for all of these precious days He’s giving us. And such a gift to be able to see what kind of people we’ve become and how much strength we have and how God has given us a mirror to reflect back the development of our character and who he wants us to be, and to know that no matter how the world sees us or treats us, that in our hearts, we know we’re doing something extraordinary every day of our lives because we make life easier and happier for mom and dad. So many people don’t have that opportunity. To be tested and to come out as fine gold – that’s what we’re aiming for – and somehow that goal seems possible.
More times than not, our focus is on how something will affect mom and dad rather than how it will affect us. I think we’re both less egocentric than we were before the caregiving became so intense, so demanding, so all-encompassing. We hesitate to ask for help, although we’re getting better at it.
It’s such a learning experience – every day – new surprises – many times not good ones, but the only way to get through this descending road to the end of this life is to pray, keep our good humor, and laugh as much as we can. And the answer I gave to her about the air-conditioned potty? Well, here goes:
“I guess these people want to have a high turnover in the potty. If it’s freezing cold, they can get people in and out fast. There aren’t any people outside the door waiting to use the potty right now, but if there’s ever a long line waiting to get in, we’re ready for them!”
She was happy with that, and when she’s happy, I’m happy too.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Our beautiful daughter just brought to my attention the fact that I haven't posted anything on my blog since we visited Mt. St. Helens.
Yup, she's right.
I could plead exhaustion or overwhelming demands on my time or I could even tell a white lie and say our internet connection was down - but, alas, none of these are true. (Well, the exhaustion is almost true - and the overwhelming demands on my time is almost true too - and actually, our internet connection has been sporadically down over the last few days also - but none of these things have really stopped me from writing.)
The truth of the matter is that I was abducted by aliens and just returned from a very quick trip to the planet Boing-Boing. :O}
We had such a wonderful time at Mt. St. Helens, and getting away for a couple of days was rejuvenating. Since returning, we've been plunged into life as we know it - work, elder care, NCIS binge fests, laundry, etc. Seems like time passes so quickly with everything we do, but when I think of our babies being away, the time just crawls along - and Papa and I keep talking about what we'll do with our babies when they come back. Our little Belle will turn 3 while they're traveling, so we'll never see 2-year-old Belle again - we'll see 3-year-old Belle when she comes back. And Alex lost a front top tooth. We saw a picture of his sweet face with a gap in the front, but we haven't been able to be with him when any of his teeth have fallen out. That's still a hope in the back of our minds.
It's been 3 very long, lonely days since we've had contact with our sweet little cookie crumblers. When I spoke to little Asher, he said, "Mama, PLEASE can you come meet us? We're staying at a motel - and it has a POOL! Oh, please come NOW." I told him that I really, really wanted to be with him, but we had to stay here to take care of Grandma and Grandpa. He said, "Papa could stay with them. PLEASE come, Mama. Oh, Mama, I love you soooooo much."
That sweet little voice. It made me cry because he was pleading with me, and I couldn't say "OK! I'm leaving right now, and I'll see you as soon as I can get there!" I always want to say yes to our babies. The older I get, the more my priorities keep shifting toward our wonderful grandchildren (although they've been about as shifted as they could be toward our grandchildren ever since they were born.)
Being Mama is what I want to be for the rest of my life - and God willing, I want to do it close to our grandchildren. I think being Mama and Papa has been one of the greatest gifts we've ever received. And being separated from our babies is one of the hardest adjustments we've ever had to make. Everything we do or see or experience is filtered through our grandchildren. (Oh, Alex would just love this! And Asher would squeal and jump up and down if he could see this! And Belle would pick up this baby and hug her if she were here. Everything is seen through our Mama and Papa eyes.)
On Sunday, Emily and Elias came to visit. It's the first time I've seen Elias - I've seen pictures, of course, but not the actual E-Man in person. He is so adorable. Completely white hair, big blue eyes, chubby little legs - he reminds me of Alex when he was that age (although Alex had reddish blond hair, his big blue eyes and chubby little legs are the same). Papa and I would take Alex out on the back deck, one of us at one end of the deck, and the other one at the other end - and we'd count, "1 - 2- 3 - GO!!!" and Alex would run from Papa at one end of the deck to Mama at the other end, his chubby little legs just racing along - and his giggle floating through the air while he raced into our arms. It was so much fun!!
And now we await the return of the Super Trio! Alex - Asher - Belle. Superheroes to Papa and Mama. Always and Forever.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Mt. St. Helens
Well, my friends, yesterday was so beautiful at Mt. St. Helens. We went up to Johnston Ridge Observatory, and the mountain performed so beautifully - steam poofing out at various intervals, sun shining, idyllic temperature. Oh, it was a truly brilliant day! Grandchildren would have had a blast.The one thing that puzzled us was that other than seeing one deer crossing the road in front of us (a very young, handsome deer), 2 ants, a couple of crows and a few swallows, there was no wildlife anywhere (perhaps they went to the Grand Floral Parade in Portland). No chipmunks. No elk. No camels. No hawks. No horses. No snakes (happily). No elephants. Nothing. Where was all the wildlife?
[Papa just interjected that the wildlife we did see were t-o-u-r-i-s-t-s. He's right, of course. We did see a few tourists - one Australian couple in particular. Very friendly wildlife, I must say!]
Actually, I think I know where the chipmunks went; they moved to Battle Ground into our side yard. They're everywhere. They moved in last week. Never saw them before last week, but now they seem to have made themselves at home on our side deck and in the wisteria. I think they like it there. Can't wait to see if grandchildren approve of the new occupants of our wisteria.[Papa just interjected (again) that there is some debate as to whether they are chipmunks or golden mantled ground squirrels. Regarding this debate, I believe I come down on the side of chipmunks, and so does Uncle Bill; however, Papa is still holding out for golden mantled ground squirrels - and they're not telling, so the debate rages on.] Oh, how I wish Alex, Asher and Isabelle could be here with us. It would be so exciting to search for chipmunks with them. Will mid-July ever come?
Oh, boy, the chipmunk debate has just been settled. It IS a chipmunk, not a ground squirrel. The official title of this little critter is Yellow-Pine Chipmunk. And he's a real cutie! [as long as they don't come inside (Papa just said that).]
Friday, June 11, 2010
Alex - Asher - Isabelle
Three joys of my life.
Has Alex lost his front tooth yet? Is Asher playing super heroes? Is Belle still sleeping with mommy and daddy? Do they think of Papa and Mama and wish we could be together?
These are the questions that rule the morning. In a little while, my Sweetheart Papa and I will leave for a Mt. St. Helens weekend, but throughout all the fun we'll have and the beautiful scenery and new experiences, questions about our three beautiful grandchildren will be winding their way around and through everything we do, the pictures we take, the conversations we have... everything evolves around our loving, intelligent, sensitive Alex; our smart, rough and tumble on the outside, so loving and gentle on the inside, Asher; and our beautiful, brilliant, dramatic Isabelle. Do we ever have an hour go by that they're not part of our conversation? Maybe some day, but not so far.
And so we'll get things ready for our trip, pack our suitcases, change the beds for Uncle Bill, Jake, and Robbyn who are coming to stay with Grandma and Grandpa, get Grandma settled before we leave, gas up the car, and get on the road...and all through every item packed, cleaning the kitchen, remembering the camera - throughout everything, our grandchildren run, laugh, and sing - memories of sweet voices, whispered special secrets, and pictures of their beautiful faces drift in and out and around and through our minds and thoughts.
And so we'll get on the road and much of our conversation will be about Alex's tooth hanging by a thread, Asher racing to hug us when they arrived at our house a week ago and yelling "Let's play Wii Mama!!!!", and Isabelle showing us her pretty hair and saying something that makes our eyes widen and our sense of wonder explode. We never know what Isabelle is going to say, but we always know it's going to be something that amazes us.
And now it's time to be off getting ready for our big adventure to Mt St Helens and surrounding area. Papa has wanted to go to Johnston Ridge for so long, and we just never seemed able to get there, this will be a very special weekend for Papa (and for me because we get to spend the entire weekend together with no responsibilities), and I'm so grateful to Uncle Bill and Robbyn for taking care of Grandma and Grandpa so that we're able to get away.
Now, we're off!
Three joys of my life.
Has Alex lost his front tooth yet? Is Asher playing super heroes? Is Belle still sleeping with mommy and daddy? Do they think of Papa and Mama and wish we could be together?
These are the questions that rule the morning. In a little while, my Sweetheart Papa and I will leave for a Mt. St. Helens weekend, but throughout all the fun we'll have and the beautiful scenery and new experiences, questions about our three beautiful grandchildren will be winding their way around and through everything we do, the pictures we take, the conversations we have... everything evolves around our loving, intelligent, sensitive Alex; our smart, rough and tumble on the outside, so loving and gentle on the inside, Asher; and our beautiful, brilliant, dramatic Isabelle. Do we ever have an hour go by that they're not part of our conversation? Maybe some day, but not so far.
And so we'll get things ready for our trip, pack our suitcases, change the beds for Uncle Bill, Jake, and Robbyn who are coming to stay with Grandma and Grandpa, get Grandma settled before we leave, gas up the car, and get on the road...and all through every item packed, cleaning the kitchen, remembering the camera - throughout everything, our grandchildren run, laugh, and sing - memories of sweet voices, whispered special secrets, and pictures of their beautiful faces drift in and out and around and through our minds and thoughts.
And so we'll get on the road and much of our conversation will be about Alex's tooth hanging by a thread, Asher racing to hug us when they arrived at our house a week ago and yelling "Let's play Wii Mama!!!!", and Isabelle showing us her pretty hair and saying something that makes our eyes widen and our sense of wonder explode. We never know what Isabelle is going to say, but we always know it's going to be something that amazes us.
And now it's time to be off getting ready for our big adventure to Mt St Helens and surrounding area. Papa has wanted to go to Johnston Ridge for so long, and we just never seemed able to get there, this will be a very special weekend for Papa (and for me because we get to spend the entire weekend together with no responsibilities), and I'm so grateful to Uncle Bill and Robbyn for taking care of Grandma and Grandpa so that we're able to get away.
Now, we're off!
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