Thirsty

I am thirsty...in fact, parched.  Oh, it is not for lack of water or other liquid.  No, it is for something, anything that will change the conversation, the mood, the tedium.  I have been here before.  It was many years ago as a young mother when I was home day after day with a newborn.  I remember my mood, my emotions, my frustration.  I yearned for adult conversation, distraction from the daily duties that filled each waking moment.  I told myself that I needed to be a perfect mother.  Perfect!  Was that even possible?  I could not live up to perfection and was sadly disappointed by my performance.  Those moments of craziness were met by confusion as my husband struggled to understand, to sympathize and to try to fix what was wrong.  How difficult those times must have been for him -- feeling helpless and yet wanting to do something, to participate and repair the disruption of his happy home.

As the saying goes, 'Life goes full circle".  Now, when Skip comes home from work he finds me in the same place where he left me.  I am sitting in the family room, TV blaring for my mother to watch and be able to hear, eyes glazed and babbling a relieved 'hello' as I greet him.  Then I tell him about my day -- about all of the things that Mom did, all of the things she didn't remember, all of the little frustrations.

I pepper my conversation with tidbit learned from all of the daytime TV programming.  "Dr. Phil said..."  or "Judge Judy was..." .  Sometimes we have a moment of excitement as I leave the room to go get dressed or answer the phone.  Often my mother sees this as an opportunity to go AWOL.  Today it was a quick exit to the door I forgot to lock.  I was folding laundry in my bedroom when I heard the hall door to her apartment open and close.  "Huh...that is odd," I said to myself.  "I thought that I heard the door close."  Then I realized that I had forgotten to lock the door that Mom tries day in and day out multiple times.  "The door is locked," I remind her.  Then she grimaces and says that she is tired and wants to go to her room.  I tell her she must stay downstairs so I can watch her and keep her safe.  She is compliant but not happy.  So, as I realized that today she seized the opportunity to 'escape' through the unlocked door I ran to stop her. Jangling jailer's keys (metaphorically speaking) I reminded my mother that she could not go upstairs alone and certainly NOT during the day. She was sad.  She walked away despondently.

Frustration makes me short-tempered.  How many times a day am I expected to explain why she can't go to her room, why her safety and my supervision is important, why sleeping too much during the day will cause her to walk around all night.  Oh how I wish  that I could let her take a nap when she wants, go upstairs at will, live independently and do as she pleases.

I remind myself that she and I are both making sacrifices...unpleasant sacrifices and we are learning to live with them. Yes, I am thirsty, but I will try to quench my thirst in small sips of companionship from phone calls to friends and family, with brief visits, and with precious moments I share alone with my husband.

Meteors

Thank you Universe for once again providing us Earthlings with a spectacular light show. The Perseid meteor shower provided us with three nights (or early mornings) of entertainment. We do it each year. It is a family tradition that dates back to our early days when the children were just wee ones. We would pack them up at 1:00 AM and drive to a dark location where we could gaze into the heavens to watch the shooting stars. How many wishes were made? So many beautiful moments and loving memories were created as we talked, gaped in awe, joked and giggled in those early hours, those magical hours, when the world is still asleep.
As our children grew and moved away, Skip and I continued the tradition alone. It was still wonderful but somehow a little empty. We missed the sleepy presence of our children. We would call them and remind them excitedly that the meteor shower was going to be on August 11th. We would check with them to see if they had watched. Then, one year, we were all in the same place again. We were together to witness the event, to join as a family (now all adults) and to reminisce silently of days gone by and to create new memories. Looking upward we "ooood" and "aaaahd" excitedly. We remarked about the neon streaks across the sky as being the very best. We complained about the humidity or clouds that hid the smaller meteors from our view. We remarked that the frogs were so loud we couldn't hear each other. Such simple joys, such ecstasy, such perfect moments!
With clear skies this year we were treated to a special opportunity of a 'burst' event. The visibility was excellent. We were joined by our children, our son-in-law and our son's girlfriend. When the time arrived we met on the driveway with folding chairs and quilts to lie on. All gazing skyward. But wait...where was Skip? He was asleep and while he assured me he would join us, he remained in bed. Sadly, the special moment was tarnished by his absence. We decided to repeat it the next night. Once again we met on the driveway. Bill...Skip...me... Where was Dorie? Where was Gregg? Where was Christina (Bill's girlfriend)? Our numbers had dwindled. Was there apathy in the troops? Were there those who valued their sleep more than an occasional spotting of a shooting star? We texted and called. "Come downstairs!" There was no response. We enjoyed the 'show'...just the three of us.
The next morning Dorie arose complaining bitterly that she missed the shower. She had turned off her phone and forgot to turn it back on at bedtime. She missed our calls, our texts, our invitations. She was devastated and miserable. She said it was like missing Christmas. I felt so sad for her, but part of me smiled inside knowing that we -- Skip and I had instilled a sense of wonder, joy, and anticipation in our children: a family treasure. We were reassured that this tradition would continue no matter where we are and who might be with us.
Last night Skip and I decided to go outside and take one more opportunity to gaze upward. We were alone. The night was filled with the noises of the summer. The skies were clear and stars were bright. The meteors were not as numerous. Our dedication to watch was not as intense. Our viewing marathon was coming to an end and it was time to go to bed. With a deep sigh, I folded my chair and returned it to the garage. Smelling of bug spray I collapsed in bed to catch up on missed hours of sleep. My dreams were filled with happy images of our children, our grandchildren and family fun. They reflected my state of mind. They comforted me and reminded me that we are blessed with something that money cannot buy. We have learned and taught that there are myriad ways to enjoy life's simple moments and they can be the most important moments in our lives.

Adjustments

She calls to me waiting patiently for me to come upstairs to her room to help her dress.  She has given up the freedom to make personal choices of what to wear.  It happened when she began mixing different colors and prints.  My own fashion sense could not tolerate this.  I justify my actions by telling myself that she will wear the same clothes every day if I don't step in.  It is not unhygienic .  I want her to look good.  I want to preserve the woman who I used to know.  "Besides." I tell myself, "When she lived independently in her retirement community, I used to get calls from the director there to advise me that my mother was wearing the same clothes day in and day out.  It was not acceptable in that community.  She was being chastised.  People were talking about it.  My mother had become 'That old lady with the stained clothes.'  I would not have that!  I hurt for her."  At the time, we made the decision to hire a care giver to come in to help her dress each morning.  Now that she lives with us, I am that person.  I help her dress.  

I am reminded of the myriad books, articles, classes, sessions that discuss the elderly.  They tell me to allow for choices, for what the parent or loved one wants.  Still, I remain inflexible, demanding that my mother comply with my rules, my choices, my expectations.  "Do this...Don't do that...this isn't safe...this is dirty...this is bad for you...this is good for you...let's go...let's not go."  I decide.  I control.  I know best.  I perform my duties efficiently, with quick words and motions.  I spare no extras. I am too busy, too stressed, too annoyed by interruptions.

I am sliding downhill.  I feel the apathy, the doldrums of repetitive behavior.  No matter what I understand, what I hear, what I know, I do not seem to be able to pull myself out of this state.  I want to be a better Care giver. I want to be a good daughter.  I want to create good quality time for the  time that my mother has left on Earth.  I berate myself for not doing this.  I excuse myself.  Sure, sure.  We all get into a rut.  Our behaviors, responses, and interactions with our care receivers become automatic, more efficient, less thoughtful after repeating them day in and day out.  It is a common human failing particularly when we are busy and distracted.  I noticed with my mother, as she slows, communicates less, and forgets more, I interact with her less and less.  I give her a plate of food without saying anything beyond, "Your dinner is ready."  I turn and prepare my meal and sometimes take it to the family room to continue working on my lap top.  She eats alone, in silence.

It has been weeks of monotony.  I am struggling to find a spark that lights my motivation to change things; but I am busy, I am stressed with work, with schedules, with life.  Then suddenly it happens.  I hear a comment from someone who is also caring for her mother.  She says that she has a rule that no matter how many times her mother repeats herself or asks the same question, she and her husband answer like it is the first time.  Ah!  This is something to which I can relate.  I am a rule follower.  I like rules.  I too, can make rules.  Suddenly I am back!  I have purpose.  I am enthusiastic.  I create a personal rule book.  If Mom does this, I do that.  If Mom says this, I respond with that.  My mental rule book fills with actions and behaviors, counteractions and counter behaviors.  Suddenly I am patient, conversant, focused and dedicated.  

I am amazed that such a simple comment from a stranger has given me incentive to do it better, to be better, to enjoy better.  

Mom and I are sitting in the family room watching the Olympics together.  She is silent as I work and look up occasionally to see something.  There is an equestrian event being broadcast.  The horses are jumping in a steeplechase event and my mother seems to be watching with interest.  Of course she is silent but I see that she is engaged.  I remark that the horse is beautiful and she turns to me with an enthusiastic smile. 

"If I were there, I would kiss that horse on the nose!" She tells me.

"Do you like horses?" I ask.

"Oh yes.  When I was a little girl my father had horses and one of them was named Baby.  He would let me feed Baby a sugar cube.  Baby would take it gently from my palm.  He had such a soft upper lip."  I ask her more questions about Baby and suddenly she is reminiscing, telling me all about her father, their home, the horses, her life.  It is a wonderful moment that we share.  A few moments later, she repeats herself and tells me all of the same things again.  I smile to myself quoting rule #2 in my imagined rule book.  "Take in the information like it is brand new.  I am hearing it for the first time.  React with interest, with enthusiasm, with comments," I counsel.  A few minutes later she repeats the same words and stories once again.  Three more times...I continue to respond as if it is the first time I have heard it.  I am thrilled with the results.  It is pleasant.  I am smiling, Mom is smiling.  I get up and walk away to do something and feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.  There is no frustration, anger, impatience.  I am okay with the fact that Mom has repeated herself.  What difference does it make?  I remind myself that children repeat themselves.  Children ask the same question over and over.  We do not harbor grievances for having to answer over and over, so why should we with the elderly?  

I do not know how long this will last -- my newfound patience.  I will take one day at a time.  Again, I remind myself that I am imperfect and do not set up unreal expectations.  I make a silent agreement with myself that I will do my very best.  That is all that I can do.  I have just given myself permission to make mistakes.  Immediately, I feel my shoulders relax.  It is as though the Creator has whispered in my ear telling me that it is okay.  I take a deep breath and go fix lunch for my mother and for me. Today we will dine together and I will talk about the butterflies we see out the window, the pretty sky, the tasty food, or whatever else might come to mind.  We will repeat ourselves and I will not care.  I will do so because this is what I can do today to make my mother's day the very best that it can be. 

Tomatoes and Pies and Cookies, OH MY!

Our son presented us with a bag of Roma tomatoes the other day.  I had just been thinking about making a tomato pie, so when I saw these beauties grown at a friend's farm I was quite pleased.  Unfortunately it was a busy week and I didn't get around to making the pie.  Every day, I would practically hear the tomatoes ripening and calling to me.   Finally I found two free minutes and thought that I would begin preparing the pie.  Oh wait...first I would go feed my friends' cats. (My friends were out of town for a few days.)

I ran over to their home, opened the door and was greeted by two hungry cats.  One of them decided to curl around my feet as I was walking  and caused me to trip.  I caught myself before toppling, but not without twisting my ankle on the same foot that was trying to heal from an old break and some painful tendinitis.  Once back at home I pulled out an ice pack and treated the swelling.  Oh!  But the tomatoes were now shouting at me.  I had to make the pie.  I limped my way into the kitchen and began putting together ingredients.  I was halfway into the recipe when I discovered that I was out of a key ingredient.  Being a resourceful cook I found a substitute without losing any time whatsoever.  Putting together the special crust I felt reasonably assured that it would still be tasty.  I put it in the oven to brown while I began slicing the tomatoes.  I was rushing and didn't take adequate precautions.  Before I knew it I had sliced more than the tomatoes.  Looking at my poor finger I realized that I needed a bandage.  I ran to the bathroom cabinet and began administering first aid.  By the time I returned to the kitchen I had burned my crust -- not all of it, but the edges were definitely toasted! With most of the tomatoes sliced I couldn't scrap the project.  I had to make a new crust.  Once again, I had to use a substitute for the key ingredient and once again I assembled the crust and put it in the oven for browning.  This time I watched it very carefully.  I looked over at the previous crust and took a little nibble of the part that wasn't burnt.    Mmmm...it was delicious!  I cut away the burned edges and regarded the remaining crust.  It was made with 1 1/2 sticks of butter and I hated to throw it out.  All night long I thought about what I could do with the good part of the crust.  When I awakened this morning I had a solution.  I would crumble the crust , add sugar and coconut oil and make a crumb crust.  Then I would make a French cream coconut pie.  I forms the crumb crust and baked it until it was firm.  Meanwhile I found my recipe for a French Pastry cream.  It called for four egg yolks.  What was I going to do with the egg whites?  I finished preparing the pie and then decided that I would make chocolate meringue cookies.  I was halfway finished beating the egg whites when I discovered that I didn't have enough chocolate.  Once again, I improvised adding different ingredients to substitute for the chocolate shortage. 

Currently I am staring at a sink full of dirty dishes, a stove covered in spills and splashes, an oven covered in fingerprints, a rack of cookies cooling, a mixing bowl, spatula and beater being licked clean by my mother, dish towels strewn on the counters and a kitchen that is about 100 degrees!  I am sitting under the fan in the family room, feet up, icing my ankle and thinking that I never want to look at a bag of Roma tomatoes again!