All in a year's work

A year ago my sisters begged us to pick up mom's belongings and move them to our place; a year later they are harassing us to take her belongings back to a storage facility

A year ago Mom made me her power of attorney; a year later she and my sister revoked same power of attorney 

A year ago mom was ill and had no money but lots of bills; a year later her health and finances are stable--for now

A year ago we were looking into affordable senior housing and had mom all but moved into it when my sisters sabotaged it; a year later my sisters are looking into affordable senior living near them 

A year ago both sisters were more than happy for me to be mom's caregiver; a year later both sisters are convinced they should take over 

A year ago we were on our own. No support, no help, except from God; a year later all our support is from God, our church, and our friends and children 

A year ago I couldn't see the way forward or figure out how I'd handle this new responsibility; a year later I am breathing s sigh of relief as I transfer this responsibility to someone else 

A year ago I just knew it'd only be a matter of time before Mary Beth would undo all our work; a year later Mary Beth has moved mom in with her undoing all our work

Funny the difference a year makes 

Paying it Forward

This month, August 2016, marks twenty years since Becky was diagnosed with leukemia--more specifically, August 19, 1996, was the day we rushed her to a hospital in Bismarck, ND, to begin a 2.5 year journey toward remission.  She was only 12--my sweet and sensitive daughter, the light of my life, a joy to be around.  Time stopped for us that day, and it didn't start up again until over three years later.  This is not about those three years, though, or even about that horrible sickness.  This is about the child, the teenager, the young woman, student, sister, daughter, and amazing person Becky has always been.  This is about the wonderful young wife and daughter-in-law who is now also a mother, a survivor, and sponsoring yet another fundraiser to battle childhood cancer.  

I've lost count of how many events she has organized or participated in.  The earliest one was when she was only 7, and again at age 10, when she participated in a St Jude's Hospital Bikeathon--I can still see her corralling her little friends in the driveway in Ruthville, ND, and then leading a procession on her little pink and white bicycle, streamers flying.  I remember her showing the St Jude promotional video to us, her friends, our friends--basically anyone who came within a mile of our house--to tug at our heartstrings and get us to reach into our wallets.  That first bikeathon was five years before she fell ill.  I think she raised a little over $250.  

Since then, she has organized countless Leukemia Light the Nights, volunteered annually at Camp Kemo, and set up at least four fundraisers with the St Baldrick's organization.  She has made videos, promotional flyers, and been an honored patient several times.  

Every business she has been a part of, whether it was as a server at Red Lobster or Outback, or a consultant for Mary Kay or Scentsy, she finds a way to tie it all to raising awareness and donations to fight cancer, especially childhood cancer.  She is passionate about the cause, and not just because she is a childhood cancer survivor.  It is as if God created her specifically for this special mission and purpose.  No matter where she goes, where she lives, or who she meets, you cannot know Becky without realizing this is her mission in life.  

And one look at that smile or those giant eyes and you know it is futile to resist.  

In April 2017, she is the driving force behind yet another event--a St Baldrick's Shave-a-thon in Waynesville, Missouri.   This one is even more special--because she is not just a wife, or daughter, or cancer survivor.  She is a mommy to Sophie--a happy, healthy (thankfully), and beautiful little girl.   

You see, August 19, 2016, not only marks 20 years since she nearly died--it also marks the day Sophie turned six months old.  

Let's help Becky and Sophie pay it forward.  

Encouraging words

If the past year taught me anything, it taught me what a caregiver needs most is to be believed and encouraged. Because most of the time you just feel so alone, plodding through your day of caregiving. Because caregiving is not glamorous--making meals, doing laundry, driving to appointments, cleaning--at times it is downright, mind-numbingly boring. Because no one but the caregiver knows how draining, straining, and exhausting all of this can be.  

My stepmom, Sheila, married my dad nearly 50 years ago, and within a year was thrust headlong into being a full-time parent--when my mom abandoned my then 14-year old handicapped brother. Since then she has been David's caregiver, dealing with the daily grind and challenges of having a mentally challenged son.  She almost never asks for help, and rarely complains.  And when she would vent about behavior problems or issues, I am embarrassed to admit I thought she was exaggerating.  

Well, a week ago Sheila called and asked for help. My dad, who is almost never sick, was having trouble breathing and was getting very weak, so she needed someone to watch David for a few days. Of course I said yes; I drove to Knoxville and brought David here until things "settled down" at their house. I figured, how hard can it be? I've known David my whole life, so I knew what he was like.  Piece of cake, we thought. 

Fast forward seven days. I am convinced Sheila is a saint. Although David is 65 years old, and can handle basic things like eating, sleeping, some hygiene, and minor chores, he requires adult supervision. He has the mind of a child, and a recalcitrant child at that.H e only hears what he wants to hear, he is easily bored (bored=trouble), and he has his own way of doing things--his way.  Think Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. And while Alex and I managed to get through the week, I have so much more respect and admiration for this woman. And to think she does this every day!  

My dad was in and out of the hospital twice, and is now slowly recuperating at home. Sheila is getting some rest as well, and told us to bring David back this coming weekend. Time to get back into the routine, she says. Can't thank you enough, she says. You have no idea how much this helped us, she says. She's right. All I had was a very brief glimpse into her world.   

I am humbled by our experience over the past week. I thought I knew what she goes through.  I do not.  I thought I understood what it means to take care of my brother. I do not. And I thought I was encouraging her enough, and building her up.  I was not. From now on, I am her biggest fan, her most exuberant cheerleader, and her loyal encourager.  

"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how to stir up one another on to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near."

That was the reading from my Everyday Prayers last Friday, along with the author's thoughts on importance of being intentional and regular in bringing encouragement to friends, family, and those God puts in our path. This morning, as I reflected on the past week, I went back to August 19th and read it again. I never cease to be amazed and awed at how God speaks to me, and corrects me, in so many different ways. It happens so often I am no longer surprised by His divine "coincidences."  

Overcoming bitternes

 I live in a family of bullies...

It started with my mom when I was little; I was never good enough, smart enough, quick enough, nice enough, or capable enough. As I grew up, I believed her--all of her lies and hate and insults. I was the black sheep, the bad daughter, the difficult one, the "you will never amount to anything" one. I still remember this framed saying hanging our wall, called "Children Learn what they Live." It was as if my mom was trying to prove every word of the first half of that...my sisters were prettier, more intelligent, better behaved, and better daughters. I learned to avoid and escape confrontation at all cost, and to never look her, or anyone like her, in the eye. I learned to lie to protect myself, and to guard that kernel of self deep inside me by building walls around it. I moved away, but the shame, the torment, and the derision followed me. Growing up with that negativity affects children in so many ways, and that negativity threatens to follow us all into adulthood, but I was tired of being a victim, sick of being bullied, fed up with being a slave to my insecurities, and weary of the bitterness of it all.  

I have struggled to overcome these circumstances for the past 40 plus years, but every time I thought I had it conquered, something would happen to bring it all back up again. The bile and bitterness and resentment would bubble up, leaving me with the proverbial sour taste in my mouth. I would shove it back down, or try to placate it with something sweet, or bland, or numbing, but it was only a matter of time before that sour taste would surface yet again. And, like acid reflux, it was damaging me more and more, every time--no Prilosec, no Nexium, no Mylanta would help me. Ignoring it didn't work, and feeding it made it worse.  

So I began to pray, to talk to Christian counselors and friends, to immerse myself in God's Word. I called out that bitterness within me, pulled at the long, sinewy branches entwined around my spirit and my heart, tugged at the deep, thick roots embedded in my soul. With  each piece, each tiny sliver I pulled out, I felt lighter, more at peace, less angry. Situations and people that previously would make me cry, or sad, or even shake with uncontrollable rage, now bounce off me like water off a duck's back. Oh sure, there are still times when I feel that bitterness welling up in me, an almost irrepressible urge to lash out, to hate, to feel sorry for myself.  Especially lately, with all that we are going through with my mom and my sisters, things I cannot even begin to comprehend, let alone explain to someone, the desire for validation and for them to believe me, if not love me, is so strong it takes my breath away.  

But thankfully, I come to my senses...and give it BACK to God. I realize He is Lord, He is worthy, He is in control, He loves me, He comforts me, and He is sanctifying me. It is HIS approval I desperately need, HIS love I so hungrily yearn for.  And that love can never grow, let alone flourish, in a garden where the tree of bitterness lives.

So I get out the tweezers and pick those tiny, little splinters of resentment and anger out of my heart. Even as my sisters slander me on FaceBook and with other family members, and tell lies to my mother, and believe the lies she tells them.  Ouch!  That was a deep one!

I no longer am afraid of the bullies in my family--I don't even hate them. I pity them, I am sad for them, and I pray for them. For now, though, I no longer talk to them--their bitterness is too potent, too pervasive to be exposed to, for fear it would poison my soul. 

Most of all, I forgive them. 

Considering what Jesus suffered on the cross for me, it seems only right.  

The Family Circle

We just got back from a spur-of-the-moment trip to my birthplace in Cincinnati. We ate regional cuisines, went to local landmarks, and I relived a lot of memories--my nana's old house, the school and church I attended through third grade, the street where I wrecked my stepmom's car.  It was fun, that trip down memory lane, but mostly, this past weekend was a real eye-opener on the true meaning of family. Our primary motivation for our trip was to meet up with our daughter, her husband, and their darling baby girl; they wanted to travel to Cincinnati to introduce Sophie to some members of her family. And most of those folks are not related to her by blood, or even by marriage. It is confusing, and I had a lot of trouble trying to explain why we went there, who everyone was, and why it was important for Sophie to meet these people. "Well, we were visiting my ex-husband's second ex-wife who used to be Becky and Mandy's stepmom when they were little," was just SO complicated to say, not to mention it sounded utterly ridiculous and demeaning.  I suddenly realized, like a slap upside the head, that I was trying to fit people into some sort of family "mold." I was being a "family snob," confined by some preconceived notion and definition of what makes a family.  

Marriage and bloodlines are not the only things that define family. We are all broken, we are all sinners, and our weak, flimsy attempts at forming a perfect union, the ultimate family, often fail. And even if that little family survives, the nuclear family does not (at least should not!) exclude those outside the family from entering in to that circle of love, ever broadening it, extending it, testing it, growing it. Many times, it is our adopted family that is the truest family, the most accepting, the most loving, the most forgiving. They don't have to love us just because they happen to be related to us--they CHOOSE to love us. Despite all our faults and our quirks. 

My daughters are amazing young women, and I love them dearly and am very proud of them, but this weekend as I watched my youngest joyfully envelop people who have loved her for years into her new family, and introducing her child to those who loved her and were always there for her, my heart swelled with love and pride.  Her idea of family was not constrained by marriage or a shared gene pool--she knows her family, and cherishes every single one of them. And they cherish her. They accept and love her, and therefore accept and love the ones she loves.   

Including me. And by that, I am truly humbled.  

We would all do better to look at everyone as not just part of the family of man, but as the family of God. The potential for new brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents is limitless, which is awesome. Limitless love--God's love.

The family circle--it may be a family circus sometimes, but I am so glad I have a ringside seat!

Seasons

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven" (Ecc 3:1)

A season...as in a time characterized by a particular circumstance or set of circumstances. Yeah, I'll say.  

I started this blog back in December as an emotional outlet, a way to let off steam, to document, and therefore possibly make sense of, all the crises we have been experiencing over the past year as caregivers for aging and ill parents. Of all the roles we have held over the years, caregiver of our parents has been, and will remain to be, the most difficult, albeit one of the most rewarding. My father-in-law, Bud, with advanced Parkinson's disease, my adorable mother-in-law, Connie, suffered two heart attacks and is recovering from colon cancer surgery, and my mom moved in with us, only to have to move into a nursing home as her condition deteriorated. It has been one crisis after another over the past eight months, with little to no respite for either me or my husband. We have had to make snap decisions, usually without our other half, and nearly always on less than enough sleep. But we have plodded through it all whilst still enjoying time with our children and their families, visits with friends, and much-needed emotional and spiritual support from our children, our friends and our church family.  

It has been an interesting season. And now, that season is over, and we are embarking on a new season. Bud and Connie transitioned from several hospitalizations, to rehab centers, to assisted living, spending months apart. Now they are together, at least in the same building. Bud is being transferred to hospice on the memory care unit, where he will spend the rest of his days. Connie is moving to a smaller apartment down the hall from her husband of 52 years, where she will live until Bud passes away. Mom moved to Tennessee three days ago with my sister, where she will stay until she runs away again. More or less, everyone is fairly stable at the moment. After months of living on an emotional roller coaster, we can finally loosen our white knuckled grip and exhale.  

Part of me wants to hold on to the old season; I've grown accustomed to it. I feel as if I have not finished with it yet.  My head is filled with "what ifs" and "if onlys" and "yeah, buts." I stubbornly and arrogantly think I know what God's will is for me, for the situation, for that season. The interim guardianship motion denied, my estranged family becomes more distant, and I feel as if I have failed, that I did not "do" enough. But that is merely my pride. Father (God) does know best. He brought me to that season, through the season, and now I must move on.

A new season--full of promise and surprises. I've no idea what this season holds.  But I know that God knows, and that he created this season for me, and me for this season. I will obey. I will learn. I will glorify Him in enjoying this next, and every, season.