Third time is a charm

Well, one would hope the third time will be the LAST time. My darling mother in law, who is more like a mom to me than my own mom, is back in the hospital for the third time in 30 days. First it was a heart attack, then it was anemia, and now it is anemia again. This time, though, Alex isn't heading down there to be there and to help out with his dad. Heck, he just got home 5 days ago from the last hospitalization. And we have other issues (namely, my mom) here to deal with, not to mention the impending visit of our darling daughter and her family (especially the three granddaughters). 

Through it all, I watch my husband try to retain some shred of normalcy as he is flung into crisis after crisis. When he acquiesced to mom moving in with us six months ago, I know he had no idea how complicated things would get. He keeps saying "nothing has changed, nothing has changed, we can still just live our normal life, our normal life," as if repeating this mantra will somehow make it true.  He acts as if he is still the same, that it doesn't bother him. But I know him. The worry lines that disappeared since he retired are now creeping back onto his face. His voice doesn't have that joking quality to it as often, and he angers a lot easier, misunderstanding comments and actions. As he made dinner tonight, I watched him and listened. He usually finds great comfort and even excitement in creating culinary delights for us. But tonight, although he made a great meal, the joy was gone. 

We are both so overwhelmed with our situation that at times we forget to comfort the other. I forget he is, after all, only human. He is not invincible, or unfeeling, or as strong as he thinks he is. And he does need me, to comfort him, to be there with him, to reach out and touch him, to listen, and to pray with and for him.

Hopefully, this third time will be a charm for me as well, and I will get it right this time.

Snow Week

This past week has been interesting, to say the least. Snowed in for the past four days with just my 88 year old mom, my husband in Florida taking care of his parents for a week longer than he said he would, the key to the shed (where the snow shovel sits, unused) in said husband's pocket. I really did not plan on it being this crazy. It was supposed to be fun, getting snow. Building a snowman.  Beautiful, beautiful snow. I am sick to death of snow right now. Probably because I am stuck here in the house, or at least within the confines of our driveway.

For the past week and a half I have been the sole caregiver for my mom who is, at best, difficult. Not complaining. Just stating how it is. First I was sick, then she got sick, then she got better, then she got sicker. She won't listen to me when I tell her to drink water, or eat, or to move around. She is dehydrated. And dizzy. And uses a walker. But she has no sense anymore. She walks on a wood floor with just socks and wonders why she slips. She leaves the walker in the other room all the time. She touches her ostomy opening and then puts her hand near her face (or near my face). She hasn't showered in over three weeks.

Today was the culmination of craziness. I found her on the floor in her bathroom earlier this afternoon, lying on her back, with two really angry looking flap wounds on her legs. Put big bandaids on them for now. Got her back to bed, and helped her with her ostomy care. Managed to get her to eat a banana, two sips of broth, an orange, and some crackers. Got her to drink about 16 ounces of fluid. Then she had to go to the bathroom again.  Helped her....this time let her sit on the walker as I pushed her in there. She began to fall backwards against the bathroom wall, and looked really weird at me, not focusing on anything at all. Like she was totally out of it. Got her back to bed, gave her more liquids. Called the nurse. Was reassured it was probably dehydration, that if she got worse, call 911. Yeah right. I am snowed in. Then, took a bath and went to bed. Tried to go to sleep. It was after midnight. Kept hearing her say "ow, ow, ow" but that is her normal talk. Says it constantly. But then it got more distant, more urgent, and her stupid dog started barking.  Knowing it was more than the normal "ow ow ow" this time, I got up, went downstairs for the umpteenth time today. Found her on her bathroom floor, with her head wedged between the wall and the toilet, and  was furious at her for going in there by herself. Furious at myself for thinking I could handle this on my own.  Furious at my husband for not being here. Furious at God for not preparing me for all this.

Then I saw my face in the mirror of her bathroom--I looked furious, foreboding, angry. So I took a deep breath, whispered a prayer, and did what I needed to do. Ostomy care, love, attention, and a patient spirit. Helped her clean up. Went upstairs and got a clean cup of water for her. Put her back to bed for the 8th time today. Took another deep breath. Said another prayer of thanks, for His grace.

And looked up into the hills, from where my help comes from.

In Christ I can do all things. All things. Even gross things.

If you give a girl a birthday party

If you give a girl a birthday party, she's going to want a costume.  And if she wants a costume, she's going to want to be a mermaid. 

Since she's going to be a mermaid she's going to want some makeup.  And odds are when she asks her Nana for makeup, it's going to be sparkly.  She'll get it on her eyes.  Her little sister will want some too.  After she gets her costume and her makeup, she's going to want to decorate.  And if she asks two grandmas to decorate, it's going to be really awesome.  She will have streamers and shells and jewels and whatchamacallits.   It'll be like the ocean.    

 

Now once it's all decorated, she's going to want treasures.  So Grandma will get a treasure chest to fill with all kinds of treasures.  But she'll have so many treasures she will have to invite more people.  Her aunt and uncles and friends will come   

And if she invites more people, she's going to need some helpers.  Those helpers will need costumes.  And then she'll need some food.  So her grandpa and daddy will need to go to the store.  And she'll need plates to put her food on.  After the food, she's going to get thirsty. So she'll need her grandma to make some lemonade.  And then she'll ask for a straw.  And it will have to be pink with a princess on it. 

After her food she will want dessert, and that means cake.   If she gets a cake, of course she will need candles.  And after she blows them out, she'll have to open her presents.  Opening presents will be so much fun, she will want to change her outfit.  

When she changes her costume she'll want to play outside.  And if she plays outside, she will want to ride her new bicycle.  And wear her brand new converse shoes.  While riding her brand new bike, she's going to want some roads.  So her uncles will  draw some chalk streets.  

 

When they start drawing roads, she's going to want a park with a pond.  Then she's going to start thinking about being a mermaid swimming in that pond.  And chances are, if she thinks about a mermaid, she's going to want another party. 

  

 

Why so glum?

One of my friends sent me a message today asking me if everything is okay, that I seemed distressed lately. Probably gathered that from my random yet urgent prayer requests via social media. Well, I just wasn't up to going into all the ins and outs of our life at the time.  It has definitely been a roller coaster retirement so far.  Lots of ups and downs and curves and bumps, thrills and screams, chills and that stomach is up in your throat feeling. Things have not gone as planned. Strike that. Things have not gone as we planned; they have gone according to God's plan. And thank GOD for that, and especially for our families, our friends, our church, our Facebook community, and to our prayer warriors out there. 

Life. It happens. To everyone. Every day. I get that. But every once in a while, we let our lives take on, pardon the expression, a life of their own. We get easily overwhelmed, well at least I do. I know you all have your own lives, your own issues, your own problems and joys to deal with. So I am so grateful and so blessed to have you all care so much about us.  Your prayers are being answered. God is working in our life.  And if you don't mind, I am going to list just how He is working in us, through us, through you and tell you recent events and His answer to it.

• Our daughter Becky and her husband Ben are expecting their first baby in less than a  month. And Becky is a cancer survivor.
• Our daughter Mandy and her husband Brian are safely in the US for six months visiting on hiatus from India. Of course with our three beautiful granddaughters, Lydia (6), Molly, (3), and Isabella (1). Disney here we come!
• My dad will be celebrating his 92nd birthday in two months, and he has overcome some serous health issues. His only complaint right now? Too cold for golf
• My stepmom, Sheila, is my rock, and is there for me always. She is also the reason why my dad is 92 and so cantankerous still.  
• My sisters, Mary Beth and Nancy, are healthy and have both gotten new jobs recently. Although their lives are in flux right now, they are doing great and we are all getting along okay. Quite an answered prayer, really!
• Alex and I have found a wonderful church home at Cornerstone Presbyterian here in Brevard...the folks are wonderful and the Gospel is the core. We also started singing in the choir.
• My mom is 88, and her husband of 26 years died a year ago. About that time her health and finances went sour, so we moved her in with us. There are lots of wrinkles and rough spots (the situation, not on my mom), but we are ironing them out with God's grace.  
• Also, my mom has an ileostomy (google it--I will spare you here) and for months I have said there is NO way I can help her with that. Nope, cannot do it. Well, God of course has other plans and He gave me and is STILL giving me the strength to do it, to deal with it.  
• Alex's mom, Connie (Conchi to her family in Spain), had a heart attack in December, and survived. She also got seriously ill last week, was hospitalized again, but is on the mend. We are blessed that Alex is well enough and that we have two vehicles so he could travel down there to help his family.
• Alex's dad has advanced Parkinson's disease, but the new medicine he has been taking seems to be helping him quite a bit. He still needs private duty nursing care for a couple of hours every morning, and with Connie as his primary (sole) caregiver, things get a little crazy when she is sick or hospitalized, but we are blessed to have the ability to help and to have Alex's brother, Dave, living in the Tampa area to be there for them when we cannot.
• We have three great dogs and my mom has her little poodle, and they all get along. They don't have too many accidents and we also had a wonderful pet sitter over the past year, Michele, who helped us a lot.
• Our neighbors, the Clarkes, are, well, they are angels. We love them. Couldn't make it without them.
• We got new neighbors this year, albeit parttime, Cindy and Mike MacConnie. We are looking forward to getting to know them better.
• Alex had an awesome time coaching high school soccer this past year, and I am truly loving volunteering at SAFE Attic Interiors in Brevard. I have made new friends and it helps getting out of the house.  
• Lydia, our oldest granddaughter, just turned 6. We celebrated in style with a mermaid party.
• Although I have had a serious stomach virus the past week, God's providence designed it that I was well enough by the time the virus hit my mom so I could take care of her.
• We are snowed in currently under about 16 inches of snow, and loving it. It is beautiful, and peaceful, and we are so blessed we have power and heat and each other
• God has answered so many prayers already. So many of you have asked me to pray for you or your family, and I am in awe of His power.  Thank you all of you for trusting us to talk to Him for you, with you. And for returning the favor when we asked.  

I could probably go on, but I think you get the picture. Thank you for caring enough to send prayers, to reach out, to think about us.  Love all of you.  

Snow Day and God's Grace

No I am not attempting to connect these two things into some profound, deeply insightful introspection of grace and snow.They just so happened to occur at exactly the same time. Enjoying one of the best snowfalls in years, 10 inches and still falling. Snowed in completely. Convalesced from a 48 hour stomach virus.  Dogs going out and frolicking through the snow. Birds thankful for the filled feeders.  And so much snow i couldn't go anywhere even if I wanted to.  The only drawback--no family with me here to enjoy it. No daughters or sons in law, no grand babies, not even my husband. Just me and my mom. But I am still loving the quiet, the solitude, the peacefulness of it all. Face booking with friends every now and then, sending videos and photos via social media, just chilling.

Mom is sick in bed, having contracted whatever virus knocked me on my ass for three days earlier this week. She isn't vomiting, thankfully, but Oscar is (Oscar is what we have named her ostomy. ). Last night we caught it in time...I found her nearly passed out sitting on the commode, and went down there to clean her up.  I will spare you the details of that. Suffice it to say it was gross, revolting, and disgusting. But I got her cleaned up and back in bed. Slept fitfully on the couch for a couple hours, then back down there at 8 am. This time I was too late...Oscar had pretty much imploded. All over Mom, the sheets, blankets, everything. Again, will spare the gory details. Cleaned her up again and changed Oscar. Two loads of laundry later, went back to check on her, give her some fluids, and Oscar was dangerously full. So, we maneuvered somehow into the bathroom and I was able to get creative with how to empty him without a poop disaster. Got her back into bed. And continued to pray from this morning. Then it hit me. I only did this because of God's grace. 

I have been so worried and focused on what I cannot do, what I wouldn't be able to do, what there was NO WAY IN HELL I could EVER do. Stressing over how to learn to not just tolerate taking care of her. How to get past the nauseating grossness of her ostomy. And to just serve Him by taking care of my mom and her needs. God's grace has covered me today. And calmed me. 

It amazes me in its completeness, its simplicity, its efficacy, its strength. 

You could be a parent if...

The person you care for...

• talks about bodily fluids and functions at dinner
• plays with fire and candles and lights napkins on fire by accident
• cannot be trusted to use an electric stove
• gets scared when she messes up
• has temper tantrums when things don't go as planned
• is easily frustrated and irritated, impatient, and self absorbed
• picks up everything and touches things, at stores, at other houses, and at home
• needs to be reminded about personal hygiene
• lets the dog eat off her dish, fork, or out of the container
• tells little fibs or exaggerates to look better
• never admits being wrong, hides things she has broken or ruined
• breaks and spills things constantly
• always wants to have what you're eating or drinking
• only wants to eat sweets and ice cream
• won't listen to those in authority
• is demanding and wants what she wants right away
• has very little comprehension of dangers or safety risks
• displays inappropriate social behavior (talking loudly, burping in public, pointing out physical differences in public, e.g. "she is so fat!" or "look at that hair!")
• licks the food off a salt shaker after it falls on her plate then puts the shaker back on the table
• affords you little to no privacy
• wants to be the center of attention
• wakes you up because she's awake, and only lets you relax when she is sleeping
• expects gifts without giving in return

Well, you might be a parent.  But you could also very likely be a caregiver for your aging parent.

Believe me, being a mom wasn't easy.  But being a daughter/mom of my mom is so much harder.  The scary part of this is that my mom was a pediatric nurse for 30 plus years, raised five children, was a Girl Scout leader, was impeccably dressed and coifed at all times, hushed us when we were too loud, scolded us for improper table etiquette like no elbows on the table (killing the table fairies!), and made sure we ate right and took care of ourselves and wrote thank you notes right away.  She never forgot a birthday or anniversary.  She wasn't perfect, oh no.  But who is this person who lives with me now?  I don't recognize her.  She, on the other hand, recognizes me, but only as she saw me 50 years ago.  She doesn't think I am capable of taking care of her, or qualified to give her advice or to help her, unless it is under her tutelage.  

Aging has become a national business, the cash cow of the "healthcare" industry.  You've seen the brochure, the internet ads, the not so subtle hyperlinks when you enter a web search for affordable senior housing.  It isn't all the smiling faces and adorable elderly people we see in ads.  It is hard work.  But service usually is.  If being a servant was easy or high paying, heck, everyone would do it.

Lord, give me a servant's heart.  

Caregiver Plan B

What happens when the caregiver needs care?  Whether through chance, a random sudden injury or illness, or just worn out from taking care of others, when the caregiver can no longer provide care, then what?  

If you have raised, or are raising, children, you have experienced this dilemma.  The mantra "moms are not allowed to get sick" resounds in most homes, at least in the minds of the children and the husbands.  And before you get your knickers in a twist, men, I am not saying only moms take care of kids.  Dads do too.  But we women, especially moms, do have that care provider, nurturing tendency imposed on us by God as part of our nature.  Heck even the drug companies are capitalizing on this--the commercials about "daddy's don't get a sick day" and "moms can't take a day off" are cute, but you cannot always swallow a teaspoon of magic elixir and feel well enough to take care of your charges.

Been there, done that.  Have the spit-up covered t-shirt to prove it.  But being a caregiver for someone who eventually will no longer need care is oh so different.  Yeah, yeah, I could lament about how we moms need "to be needed" but that is for another blog, another time.  And yes, my husband at times needs care, but again, he gets better.  I am talking about being a caregiver for someone who will never get better, who will always need your care.  Someone you must plan your entire life and its activities around.

Taking on the care of another adult is treacherous, tricky stuff.  As a caregiver, you must subjugate your needs to those of the one being cared for.   This happens continually on a daily basis, in big decisions and small.  When and what to eat.  When and where to go, what to watch on TV, when to have a conversation on the phone or with your spouse, when to go on vacation or have friends visit.  But I digress.  This is supposed to be about caregivers needing care.  I have three pertinent, relevant examples from my own life.  

My in-laws live in Tampa, FL, approximately a 12 hour drive from our home.  Daddy has advanced Parkinson's disease and his primary caregiver is my mother-in-law, who has diabetes and other illnesses.  She is from Spain, so her entire family is not in the US.  A month ago, she had a heart attack and was hospitalized, and then just last week, was hospitalized again for severe pneumonia and anemia.  Since Daddy needs help eating, dressing, bathing, and getting his medications, he was without a caregiver.

My brother, age 64 and mentally handicapped since birth, lives with my 92 year-old dad and 75 year-old stepmother.  While he works in a sheltered workshop and can bathe, feed, and dress himself, he is totally dependent on my parents for a roof over his head, health, and care.  My dad got very sick last year with pneumonia, and my stepmother nearly put herself in the hospital trying to take care of the two of them.  

Then there is my mom, age 88, who has an ileostomy (her intestine opens up and empties feces into a bag on her abdomen), is nearly deaf, severely arthritic, and does not have enough income to survive on her own.  We moved her in with us five months ago, and have had to adjust our entire life.  So has she.  But then I got sick three days ago...so sick I slept for 36 hours, couldn't keep anything down for two days, not even ice chips, and could not even muster the "mommy" bravado to pretend I was okay.  

All of these happened simultaneously this past week.  My husband had to leave to go take care of his dad and look in on his mom.  My parents are still taking care of my brother, and because of rancor and issues stemming from events over half a century ago, they cannot come here, at least not while Mom is here.  So Monday night, as I am violently ill, I had no idea how I was going to survive this.  I had no caregiver.  And we have four dogs to care for (again, me).  So what happened?  Well, I survived.  My mom actually tapped into her mothering instincts and did the best she could, taking the dogs out at times (albeit not for long enough, as evidenced by puddles on the dining room floor the next morning). And she still expected me to help her change Oscar (her ostomy appliance), and later on make tacos--neither of which are fun when your stomach feels like a washing machine filled with sour milk.  

This morning, as I walked the dogs in freshly fallen snow (yes, there is probably some sort of metaphor there, but I am tired), I realized I had lost three days.  Passing my neighbor's house, I also realized, embarrassingly, that I had not even called Marianna or Billy to tell them my predicament, or ask for help.  My mother-in-law didn't ask for help until she nearly died and it became a fait accompli.  And my parents are now taking advantage of respite care for my brother to give them a break at least twice a year.  

I need to do better.

I need a caregiver plan b.

Lydster is such a kidster

"Well, Nana, we won't be able to come to America this year.  The Indian government won't let us leave.  Maybe next year."

"Oh, I guess I will have to cancel that mermaid birthday party..."

"Nana, Nana, I am just kidding!  Daddy is kidding too."

"Oh thank goodness!  I was ready to cry!"

Self

Taking care of others, including elderly parents, can be, no, should be, selfless and God-centered. But it is not always as it seems. It is so easy to get caught up in our own pride, our own desires and accomplishments, and acceptance by those around us. We are, at the core, selfish and prideful creatures, always depending on our own resources and trusting in ourselves. Obedience to God is hard, and it is lonely. It costs more than we can bear sometimes, and it is so much easier to listen to the clamor of the world, our friends, our family, than to that still small voice that is Jesus. We begin to follow Him, obey Him, trust in Him, and then we see the cost--to our time, our independence, our relationships--and we turn away. We foolishly follow our own hearts, trading eternal joy and life for temporary, earthly pleasures.  

Obedience to God, succumbing to His will for our lives, is an all-or-nothing proposal.  It is not half-assed. We cannot place conditions on that obedience, for that smacks of the essence of selfish pride, to assume we can improve God's perfection. Yes our obedience has a cost, and at times it seems too high, too painful, yes even too selfish, to stay in His will. When family and friends turn away, when they don't agree with us and are hurt by our actions and our decisions it is so easy to think there is no way God would have us do this! God does not want us to abandon others or hurt others by our decision to follow him! It cannot be this way! It is too hard! I must be mistaken, right?

"Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.'" Matt 16:24

"'Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.'" Luke 14:27 

"For not one of us lives for himself, and not one dies for himself" Romans 14:7

"...so as to live the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for the lusts of men, but for the will of God." 1 Peter 4:2

God's Word is full of examples and commandments to obey Him, to trust Him. The question is not "What is God's will for my life?" but "What is God's will?" And then we must follow Him. Obedience is costly, but the reward, oh the reward of being in my Father's will!  

Listening to Him and taking in my mom to live with us is a process, and it is not easy (following God is never easy--ask Simon how hard it was to help Jesus carry that cross, or Noah how easy it was to be ridiculed by the world as he built the ark). I didn't jump in with both feet. I put a toe in the water and, like Peter, was reticent to close my eyes and take His hand and walk on the water with Him.  I balk at the cost of this decision--friends think I am crazy, family members no longer want to visit, I am the scapegoat for Mom's moods, I am tired, my marriage takes oh so much more work, my schedule is a joke, and I have to give up ALL semblance of control (notice I said semblance...). I must preface every thought, every statement, every plan, with the words "God willing" and believe it when I say them.  

And it is arrogant of me to tell God what part of His will I agree to do and what tasks I refuse (as if I know His mind!). He is breaking me down. He is showing me that yes, it is inordinately, impossibly hard for me to do anything--without Him.  Being civil to a woman who is rarely civil. Ignoring barbs and jabs. Not feeling sorry for myself just because family dynamics are so different. Avoiding the pitfalls of pride in what "I" am doing. Ignoring the desire to feel smug and holier than others.  Giving up my penchant, my obsession with planning. And yes, learning to do odious tasks willingly--even helping change colostomy bags.  

On this journey I am losing myself, but I am finding myself too, the self that God wants me to be, the purpose for which He created me...to glorify Him.  

From bad to better to worse

Today started out badly, with a migraine for the third day in a row. And it's too soon to take my migraine medicine. But Alex helped by helping me stretch and rubbing my head. He made me strong coffee and we had breakfast. 

The day was looking more promising despite a light mist outside. 

We went downtown and did a few things then came home and had lunch. He started dinner and I started a batch of goetta. Mom was up and not being mean. Alex agreed to take recycling and go buy lottery tickets.

The day seemed to be getting progressively better. Despite the mist now being a drizzle.

I went over to my neighbor's house and had a nice visit. Alex met me there and we went home to have that delicious chili he'd made. Mom had two bowls of it! She and Alex did shots of rum and moonshine. Everyone was happy. And full. And gassy.

The day was definitely shaping up to be a good one even with more rain. 

We all relaxed and did our own thing. Mom went to bed. We stayed up and were just getting ready to go to bed ourselves when we heard mom's stairlift come on.  What? She's coming up here at almost midnight? Oh no...could it be a...

Leak?

Certainly was. Mom said she guessed I didn't hear her hollering. Um, mom, you turned off your monitor, remember? Oh I guess I did, says Mom. She said she'd tried for 30 minutes to change it.  I reminded her she must get on a schedule before the home health service expires in two weeks.  She agrees.  Says it at least it lasted since Monday. I guess she forgot how she told me she changed it all by herself on Thursday. Even though there was no ostomy trash. I knew she hadn't. But I just let it go.

This day has deteriorated. It's nasty outside. 

 I call the home health nurse at midnight.   We have to wait about 45 minutes. Alex makes Mom's bed and I go in and get ours ready and find one of the dogs has peed on the bed. Through the mattress cover. I have to wash sheets and we cannot sleep in our own bed. Alex and I argue. I cry. I realize I am going to have to learn to deal with helping her with her ostomy care. Despite all my squeamishness. 

The day is not ending very well.

I should have stayed in bed this morning. I could have averted all this.

It stopped raining.  

Scapegoat

Right now, I am the scapegoat for all my mom's ills and problems. Not complaining...it just is how it is here. I knew this going in to this new living arrangement...that Alex would be the hero, the genius, the nice one.  Mom would never be able to admit she has any faults.  I would be the one who is bossy, a brat, moody, and difficult to get along with.  I cause her problems.  I don't buy the right milk. I don't cook her rice correctly. She has a cold because I keep the house too cold. If I ask her what she wants to do today, she asks me why I am so nosy. I treat her like a baby. That old saying "damned if I do, damned if I don't" definitely applies.  

 

I felt that urge to nay and bleat again tonight at the dinner table--that storm I referenced earlier is still brewing...just over the horizon, being held off by a competing low pressure system and El Nino and a couple of leftover hydrocodone I think she found in her purse. Mind you, just 30 minutes earlier I had rubbed pain relief cream all over her back, turned on the fireplace, and walked her dog, washed all the dishes, folded her laundry, and carried it all downstairs.  

To set the stage for what happened next, this morning I received a phone call from the home health nurse--the one who comes out for ostomy leaks and such. The one Mom has been trying to convince she is incapable of changing her own ostomy bag.  Well, with that storm brewing, Mom has been really zeroing in on how no one believes she can take care of herself, that she raised five kids, that she is independent. Back to that phone call...the nurse told me early this morning that sometime late last night Mom called the on call nurse at the home health agency and told them "I don't need you people any more." (probably right after she demanded Alex to cough up the car keys to HER car). News to me, but not surprising. This is, after all, my mom we are talking about. So, Alex and I decide to talk to Mom about it over dinner (my poor husband actually believes Mom listens.) 

Okay, so back to dinner. After dinner, we remind Mom Alex and I are going out of town for three days next weekend. She can come with us, or she can stay here. Then I tell her about the early morning phone call from the nurse, and we both express how we think it wiser to not prematurely cancel the service especially since she will be alone. Yeah, that didn't go over too well, but the one from way outta left field came when we were telling her we care about her and that is why we are concerned, not because we think she is helpless, but because it puts our anxiety at rest to know she has someone to reach out to. Next thing out of her mouth is "I know, Barbara is so moody and difficult and I just cannot fathom what is wrong with her. You're not like that, Alex." Right, the man who only 5 minutes later wanted to argue about the correct direction for a ceiling fan to turn in winter vs summer. For an hour. He is logical and even tempered.  

Being a scapegoat is so fun. And yes, I know the original meaning of a scapegoat comes from the Old Testament, the act of symbolically putting all the sins of a community on a goat and sending that goat into the desert. And yes, I could do some in-depth, insightful comparison about how Jesus is our scapegoat, or rather the sacrificial lamb, bearing all our sins.  

But you all are already there, right? You get the picture. And yes I know my problems are trivial. And temporary. But sometimes I just want to whine a little bit. Or bleat. It makes me feel better. I am only human, you know.  

A human scapegoat.

Facetime

By next weekend, my overseas family will be, as Lydia says, in America!  I am totally excited, but I must admit...I am going to miss those twice weekly FaceTime calls with Mandy and the girls.  I can be in the worst mood or have the most horrible migraine, and I hear the "quack quack quack" of the Stock family signature ring on my iPhone, and VOILA! I am better.  So, as I sit here and count the days, no, the hours till I see all my babies again, I wanted to try to capture some of my favorite FaceTime moments over the past three years.

A typical FaceTime call is between 9 and 11 at night our time, or sometime between breakfast and nap time in Bangalore, India.  Once I answer the phone, the first thing I see is almost always one of the kids, normally Isabella, or sometimes Lydia eating cereal, or Molly smiling that beautiful smile and then running away....always in motion, that one.  Once in a blue moon it is Mandy's beautiful smile, but regardless of whose face I see first, those faces always make me smile.  Sometimes the kids sing, sometimes they dance, sometimes they read to me.  They laugh, they cry, they eat (and "feed" me whatever they are eating), they show me artwork and block towers and outfits and headbands and Christmas trees.  But most importantly, they let me into their life, their daily routine.  I eat breakfast with them, stand by while Mandy disciplines whoever is in need of discipline, watch her get them snacks, open a milk drink, kiss the boo-boos.  Whatever happens during these precious calls, I am there.  A part of their lives.  Sharing in their every moment.  Watching my daughter raise her daughters, be a wife and mother.  Watching my granddaughters grow up in front of my eyes (albeit thousands of miles away).  Making them laugh, giggle, frown.  Here is a sampling....

-- Lydia and Molly singing "Barbara Manatee" to me...with changed lyrics to "Barbara Nana-tee"

-- Isabella saying "woof, woof" at least twice every FaceTime call (her way of asking to FaceTime with the dogs)

-- After Mandy saw my Facebook post about flying squirrels, she and the girls calling to FaceTime with Felix the Flying Squirrel (who we had trapped in our upstairs bathroom).  All of them squealing in delight as I screamed each time Felix flew across the room or ran over my bare feet.  Molly asking "Pop-Pop, could you pwease, pwease captcha a pet flying squirrel for me?  Pwease?"

-- Lydia proudly reading me a book

-- Molly showing me her dance steps

-- Listening to Isa's animal sound repertoire (especially the one she learned from her big sister, Molly:  What's a peacock say? Answer:  "tick tock tick tock"

-- Answers to what they want me to get them for Christmas (10,000 lip glosses, 20 sparkly headbands, a puppy, and a monkey) and what they want me to knit them (a puppy, a monkey, a ballerina, a monkey with a tutu, a jaguar, a Barbie house, a super duper twirly skirt)

-- Molly telling me she peed/pooped on the potty

-- Those smiles...oh those smiles.

-- Lydia telling me to get a pen and some paper so she could dictate her very large and very specific list of Halloween candy to mail to them

-- Watching them open packages

So many smiles, so many memories.  How I love these memories.  And with granddaughter #4 on the way at the Morrow house in Missouri, I plan on even more fond FaceTime moments.  Technology is great.  Yes, we survived wars and separation from family fifty years ago without computers,  without FaceTime, without instant connectivity.

But with it, we are so much more, well, connected.

And I don't know if I could have survived the past three years without it.

Reset Button

A couple of weeks ago Mom had a meltdown. I knew it was coming. I've experienced these meltdowns hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the past six decades. I can sense it, like the electricity in the air before a storm. Predictable. Like my migraines. But worse. It doesn't matter what precipitates the storm.  Or the meltdown.  You just have to ride it out, or ignore it, or confront it. None of those options affect the storm frequency, duration, or severity. Because the storm just is.  And regardless of what I do, it will come, and it will go as suddenly as it comes.

This last storm I got angry...I confronted the storm. Thought it would change the vector.  It didn't.  Hoped it would avert the next storm. It won't. Prayed it would make it easier. It did not.

Then Alex said something really intuitive and insightful (he does that sometimes).  "Don't worry, honey. She'll hit the reset button soon."

Reset. Exactly what happened within a couple of days. One day she is screaming and telling me to shut up and calling me names, taking all her stuff and putting it in her dresser drawers. Demanding her car keys back. Adamant she is leaving at the end of the month. She's had enough. She's through. She cannot take it anymore.

Then, it's gone. She is cleaning her room, planning how to rearrange her things.  Oblivious of the storm that was her less than 12  hours before. Sweet, loving, kind.  Again. Acting like a "normal" mom. She has reset.

But I have seen it all before, lived it.  And it still unnerves me.  Scares me.  I am a little girl all over again.

I am six years old, and I accidentally dropped the bowl of peas I was carrying to the dinner table.  I incurred the wrath of the storm.  I was screamed at and hit, and became the center of a huge argument between my parents.

I am 9, huddled in the bathroom with my brother and my three little sisters, being pushed behind Mom as she lashes out at my dad, screaming at him get out, get out, don't you dare hurt these children. What? My daddy never hurts us. Confused.

I am 11, watching her put my mentally handicapped brother's suitcase and pillow on the front porch and calling my dad to "come pick up your son." Where was he going? Was he coming back?

I am in the doctor's office at 13, undergoing a forced pelvic exam because Mom was convinced I was, in her words, a "slut." I didn't even know what that word was--I still played with Barbie dolls.

I am 16 and crying because she emptied out my hard-earned savings, money I had saved all summer so I could stay in Catholic high school, to be with friends I had known since first grade. I had to change schools twice after that.  

I am married and a mom, at 28, leaving her home in the middle of the night with a toddler and an infant after a particularly nasty blowup during which she threw a jar at me, narrowly missing the six month old baby.

I am an adult, and my husband is intercepting her acid-tongued letters (often 10-15 pages long) for "screening" to avoid more hurt.

Countless times, I have tried to reset our relationship, to start over, to forget the past. Only now, do I understand she LIVES in the past.  That her reset button is, to her, like that movie Groundhog's Day. But unlike that movie, it never ends.  There is no laugh track.  She relives the same reality. Pain. Rejection. Imaginary wrongs.  Distrust. Perceived slights. A victim of her neurosis. Made up illnesses. Miserable. A product of her own alternate reality for over 80 years, she no longer knows what is true or real and what is not.

This week, a storm is brewing again. I sense it. All the signs are there. We can delay it, face it, ignore it, run away from it, exacerbate it. But we can't stop it.

Thank God for the reset button.

Table manners

Yes, eating out at restaurants with the elderly is an adventure. Not necessarily fun. But an adventure nonetheless. Very little embarrasses us anymore-- we are prepared for anything. Literally.

• Going out to eat without combing her hair. Hair that has not been washed for two weeks. 
• being loudly critical of passers by's weight, clothes, hair, (said in a loud "I can't hear so I don't care if she can hear me" voice.)
• Yes, Daddy you must put pants over your Depends, and yes, you have to button your shirt
• Wearing  sweat pants with fringed hems (that she fringed herself in 1982) with fuzzy pink crocs and a crazy vest. 
• Bringing a thermal tote with her own beverage, a snack size applesauce for Daddy, and crackers.
• Approaching anyone with a baby and proceeds to ooh and ahh and squeeze the baby's face, loudly stating, "oh I am getting my baby fix!"
• Loudly asking "what is taking so long? Did they have to kill the cow?" if they have to wait longer than 90 seconds after ordering for their food to arrive
• Playing with the napkins by putting them on the candle until they catch fire
• Eating most of the meal then stating loudly "I hope they don't think I am paying for that!"
• Putting their fingers in your salad, eating from your plate, saying your food looks like baby poop. 
• Picking up the check, studying it, then putting it back on the table for someone else to pay
• Staring at other people and commenting (loudly, of course) on their crazy hair, outfit, jewelry, etc.
• Telling the server their list of medical ailments, including informing them of your colostomy bag
• Letting the dog eat out of the container of ice cream, cheese dip, or applesauce and then putting it back in the refrigerator for others to share.  

...and I thought eating out with toddlers was challenging....thank goodness most restaurants we frequent serve alcohol...

Happy (?) New Year

I am not big on celebrating New Year's Eve or New Year's Day; no big parties, no drinking and noisemakers, no special traditional dinners of ham and chickpeas, no New Year's resolutions to lose 10 pounds or be a better person or save more money.  But I always looked forward to what the New Year would bring, what God may have in store for me, and I had learned over the years to count my blessings from years past...to learn from the years I had been fortunate enough to live through so far.  I can honestly say I have never entered a new year with dread or fear or resignation.  

Until today...

Last night we went to a get-together at a friend's house to celebrate the New Year...I left two hours before midnight because I just felt out of place, blah, underwhelmed.  In absolutely no mood to celebrate.  And I couldn't fathom why.  

Until today...

Last year was full of joy and promises for 2016--a daughter and family (with three beautiful granddaughters!) would be arriving in the US for six months before returning to India.  Another daughter was pregnant with their first child...also a girl...and due in February 2016.  My husband and I, both newly retired, spent a few months in Florida, went on a month long trip to Belgium, India, and Crete, and then embarked on a 6-week, cross-country trip in our RV.   We then moved permanently to our beautiful log home in western North Carolina, and began planning our new lives.  I thought we had it all figured out.

Until today...

My mom moved in with us four months ago, and we knew she'd quickly want to find an apartment nearby, where we could visit and help but still have our privacy.  We were convinced she wouldn't want to lose her independence.

Until today...

Last month, Alex spent three weeks with his parents caring for his Parkinson's afflicted dad after Alex's mom suffered a life-threatening heart attack.  He convinced them to hire a private nursing service to help them cope with their daily tasks of getting out of bed, preparing meals, and taking medicine.  And I just knew that Alex's recent stay and perhaps ongoing daily phone calls would be more than enough to maintain their status quo.

Until today...

I talked about how God is in control but really, secretly, believed I had it all figured out.  I talked, thought, dreamed, and blogged about future events (kids visiting, babies arriving, mom's living arrangements, our retirement lives) as if I was in control.  I never really put my money where my mouth is, but held on to the thin vestige of being able to steer my future, or at least be one of the oars.

Until today...

Today, it hit me.  I don't control anything.  I don't know anything about the future.  Because, "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth" (Gen 1:1).  He was the great I AM before there was time.  Before there was order or a universe.  And definitely before me.  And only He knows what tomorrow, next week, next month, or the rest of this new year will bring for me.  And for me to think I can plan for something over which I have no control is narcissistic.   Even planning what I will do tomorrow, what I will make for dinner, what I will wear, is presumptious and egotistical, perhaps even sacrilegious.  Because I was not deferring to God's plan for me, not even with a simple, "God willing" before or after each thought or statement of how I thought the future would play out.  That is...

Until today.