To Bed, to Bed, Said Sleepyhead

I’m ready to get up.

I want to go to the toilet.

Can I have a drink of water?

What time is it?

I want to go to bed.

I want to sit up.

I need help.

Where is everyone?

I forgot.

I don’t know.

No, this is not a four-year old talking. These are the late night responses of my 98-year old mother after she has yelled for me in her barely-audible voice and I have stumbled out of bed and slid down a flight of stairs and steep wheel chair ramp in a sleepy haze to ask her, “What do you want, Mom?”

It would be funny. In another lifetime. If I wasn’t so-o-o-o tired. But that’s life around here these days and I don’t think it is going to change anytime soon. Mom has her days and nights mixed up and no matter what we do to try to fix it, I still come up short on sleep. It doesn’t seem to make much difference if Mom stays awake all day, or if she sleeps in a recliner instead of the bed, or if she takes Benedryl or another light medication recommended by Hospice that produces drowsiness as a side effect. Whatever Sundowner-type phenomenon thing is happening, this childish, illogical, sleep-challenged person that I am now sharing a bedroom with, is not my real mom during these nocturnal hours. I can’t reason, cajole, placate, demand, or even guilt her into lying still. She is absolutely driven into getting the covers off and spinning her body sideways on the bed every twenty minutes so that her legs drape off the edge before she determinedly starts screeching for help.

Of all the caregiving challenges we have faced so far, sleep deprivation has always been my nemesis; the more tired I get, the more impatient I become and that is not what I want to subject these people to, whom I love so much. So, I spend all my waking hours trying to come up with a better plan for the coming night and spend all my sleepless late night hours praying to get through this phase as calmly and quickly as possible. As I get ready for yet another long night, I try to remind myself that this, too, shall pass and I will look back with thankfulness that I had the opportunity to share the struggle with Mom and that we made it through.

Digging In: A New Patio

The back deck area is in a state of rennovation. This is Jeremy's project but Danielle has been helping whenever she gets home and, of course, there is an assortment of furry overseers who inspect the work. Even Grammy comes out or peeks from her bedroom doorway periodically to monitor and inspire progress.

As with all changes, the first step is that of evaluation and demolition. Spongy and rotten boards from the old deck were removed, some long ago and others more recently. A tree stump was toppled, plants were potted, overrun grass, weeds, and mint were dug up, pond elements were saved, and a hole was filled in. This weekend saw the transition from demolition to preparation as the ground began to be leveled and sloped away from the house. Ah, the satisfaction of back-breaking, sweat-dripping, dirt-under-the-fingernails work that measures progress in square inches of cleared ground.

And the best part? All I have to do is...watch!

It's Time

Have you ever helped a child learn to ride a bike? I don’t know any way to do it other than grab onto a handlebar with one hand, the back of the seat with the other, and run along with the child until they develop their own balance. As any biker knows, crashing is not fun, so parents hang on tight, issuing orders like “Pedal faster!” and “Don’t look at me; watch where you’re going!” Remember what it was like, though, when you finally let go? At first I didn’t want the kids to know so I would run along side calling, “Keep going!” But when they pulled ahead of me and I could no longer keep up with them, pride turned quickly to panic. I knew what skinned knees and cut hands felt like and my kids were learning on gravel roads, which was worse than pavement. Suddenly I was yelling, “Stop! Push the pedals backward! Stop! Sto-o-o-o-p!”

I’ve had that same reaction in other areas of life. As a parent, a teacher, and a caregiver, letting go has always been difficult for me, yet I know it is an inevitable part of life and as important as hanging on. The trick is in the timing. Whether it is dreams, ideals, relationships, goals, strife, or life, there is a time for hanging on and giving it all the tenacity you’ve got while also asking God to help fill in the thin spots. If we quit before we start, before we weather some mistakes and bumps and bruises, we don’t accomplish much. Yet, there is also a time for letting go that is just as healthy, though, for me, much harder. It is easy to think of letting go as failure, but when the timing is right, it is not failure but the willingness to let change happen, to move ahead, to enter the unknown. I cannot become better at anything unless I hang onto my mistakes long enough to learn from them and then let them go so they don’t become permanent stumbling blocks. As dynamic beings, our goals, dreams, and relationships must grow and alter to better fit new situations and new phases. In my life, my biggest challenges have been in letting go of grudges, preconceived ideas, people and pets I love, and control.

Faith is said to be a gift, but I also think it is a choice, a verb, and I choose to believe the journey through this flesh-and-blood life is not all there is. Perhaps that choice is a comforting way of hanging on, but I am also learning that practicing such a faith involves a lot of letting go. So, as Mom’s grip on this life weakens, I struggle for the readiness to let her move on without me for a spell.