Noel

 
Not more than six or eight weeks old, Ellie followed Sarah home one December day and hopped on my knee as I squatted down to paint the outside of our front window. She was bright, beautiful, and impudent. She took up residence on Dad’s lap until he died, traveled with Mom, and inserted her rights and preferences everywhere she went. She adopted two other kittens and allowed them to enter her domain, albeit with parameters. She loved to play a rousing game of tag, stalk the fish in the fish tank, follow yard intruders from window to window, and wrestle no-holds-barred with Joey. She snuggled on my shoulder at night, kneading my neck, sat by us if we started coughing until we were better, dug her way into cupboards, closets, and drawers to find perfect napping spots, and thoroughly enjoyed ruling the roost when she became the matriarch of the household. I loved Ellie’s companionship, her sense of humor, her independence, and her dedication to Mom. She never left Mom’s side the day she died and she mourned for days until little Maia bustled through the doorway, insisting that Ellie accept her friendship.

 

Thank you, Noel, for your feisty love, devotion, and companionship. You are greatly missed.

 

(1996-2013)

One Year

One of the last things that Mom asked for was to go home to Aunt Blanche, who raised her after her mom died. I think, no matter how old we get, we always need our moms. It's true for me, anyway; even now.

 

But, when instant gratification isn't possible, the next best thing is to visit them in memory and know that they really aren't all that far away.

 

 

We miss you Mom, but we remember what you taught us. See you soon.



Miss You, Mom

 

Happy Birthday!



Rest

And suddenly, it's over. Mom and I both let go; not because we wanted to, but because it was time. Time for her to be strong and whole again. Time for her to be free. Time for her to dance in heaven. Time for me to mourn.

Trust Me

Danielle’s friend, Ashley, began coming to the house to give Mom perms shortly after she earned her beautician’s license. After going without perms for several years because lying back in the chair or leaning too far forward made her dizzy, it was a huge treat for Mom to have it done again. Alas, however, Ashley eventually moved to Montana so it was a great surprise when she appeared at the door the other day wanting to set up a time to do Mom’s hair while she was home visiting family for the week.

Mom was on the tail end of recovering from the fluid build-up in her system that is an occasional arrhythmia complication, so her first reaction was that it would be too much effort. Taking a chance that she was actually able to weather the process, I insisted that we try so she begrudgingly let us roll her into the kitchen and start. These role-reversed decisions are becoming more frequent. Instead of her cornering me to take a bath, amid avid 8-year old protesting, it is now me pushing past her 98-year old grumping long enough to do something that I feel sure will please her in the end. And, thankfully, this time it did.

Because Ashley could not bring her perm supplies on the plane, she had gone to the trouble of purchasing new curlers, chemicals, and papers for this rendezvous. However, buying another special cape to wrap around Mom’s head and funnel the rinse water into the kitchen sink was not an option so we improvised by using a clean shower curtain of mine to fashion a substitute. The first time, it worked great, but silliness during the second rinse resulted in leaks and minor flooding on the floor. Of course, we stopped to take a picture because, by then, Mom was laughing and quite happy to overlook the drips.

I am thankful that the gamble paid off and Mom is enjoying her perm. Ashley promised to be back next Christmas to do it again, although, I suspect that Mom may not be up to it by then and the effort may too greatly outweigh the resulting pleasure. Some of her appointments are becoming too cumbersome for her now, as well. For instance, at her last annual eye exam she had to be transferred three or four times because her wheel chair didn’t get close enough to the machines. Yet only one of those tests is really necessary for maintaining her quality of life at this point. It is a hard call as to what is truly essential and when; caregivers in all walks of life need lots of prayers to help them make the right decisions at the right moments.

Worth It

 

Mom is wielding a bean bag in the above picture, fulfilling her occupational therapist's belief in her that she can knock down every pin. Twenty minutes and over fifty tries later, it was a reality recorded in the picture below. Faith provided the motivation and willingness to risk failure, but hard work, trial-error-adjustment, and determination created the success.

Also pictured on the right is the pole that the physical therapist has helped her to learn to use as a transfer aid. The horizontal bar lifts and rotates around the pole, then lowers to lock into place to use as a grip. It all adds up to a little more freedom, muscle building, and greater self-esteem. 

Besides fear, Mom has had to overcome self-doubt, apathy, and bias (she didn't want the therapies nor aids in the beginning) and accept help (regardless of its form) in order to move forward in her healing. Before the therapy started, she was depending on faith, alone, for her progress, but we all know that God expects more from us than that. The journey has been psychological, emotional, and physical, and so have the achievements.

So what are we dreaming of that is worth our faith, hard work, and determination?

New Set of Wheels

Mom has a new set of custom-built wheels. Assembled especially for her, this new chariot is low slung with comfort padding and an extended brake system. Over the weekend she has learned to walk and turn the wheels simultaneously, fit through tight spaces, negotiate corners, and cross thresholds without high centering. Although not allowed to tackle ramps, she has the run of most of the main floor, which adds a little interest to her day.

You Never Know

When our kids were little, Don and I used to celebrate our wedding anniversary after they were in bed by cooking steaks and baked potatoes (sans microwave) and having a late night picnic dinner on our living room floor at Aunt Blanches’ coffee table. Although I tried to plot a way for us to spend an hour or two alone this year, too, it kind of backfired when Mom ended up in the hospital with her second stroke in two months. So, instead of a picnic dinner in the park or a movie, we grabbed a quick lunch at Arby’s between our separate doctor appointments and visiting Mom in the hospital. I guess after thirty-seven years we’ve learned nothing if not how to be flexible.

Luckily, both strokes were light and left Mom with only minor changes. She has lost a little peripheral vision on the right side as well as some short term memory. Speech and swallowing have been slightly affected and there is weakness in her right hand, but the first two have improved noticeably and she works relentlessly at all three. Thankfully, Mom is still able to bear her own weight and take small steps (with assistance) and her mind is still quite sharp. We have Home Health therapists and nurses coming out our ears, but we have learned a lot from them.

These changes are emotional for all of us. Mom fluctuates between being scared, discouraged, thankful, and irritated and I think we all battle moments of claustrophobia because of how enmeshed our lives have become. Even those people or institutions meant to help us sometimes seem to have more control over our lives than we do, which can be disconcerting, to say the least.  But we just keep plugging along and thanking God for each other, family, friends, and time. After all, you just never know.

At the hospital we learned about a shower cap that washes your hair without any dripping.

This pen from Staples gives Mom the greatest control over her writing.

 

This place setting of silverware from "Good Fit" provides a knife that cuts meat by a "rocking" rather than sawing action and utensils that bend at the neck and have thick, rubber handles for greater control for arthritic hands.

Belly to the Bar!

A physical therapist and an occupational therapist are coming to the house to help Mom for a few weeks. Already we have picked up some helpful information. Among other things, the occupational therapist showed us some bendable silverware that would help compensate for Mom’s crooked fingers and limited range of motion. The first week of physical therapy focused on Mom’s stance and center of gravity.

This first picture is the way she has been standing, even with help, for about a year and a half; in fact, she is straighter than usual in this picture. Normally, she is more bent at the hips and from the waist down she leans farther backwards, like the right half of the letter “X”. The more tired she is the worse she bends and leans.

Here she is after 40 minutes of therapy and practice. It wasn’t until I took these pictures and showed them to her that she understood what she was doing. Holding her hips over her ankles felt very foreign to her so she has to relearn what “normal” feels like. The therapist kept telling her to “belly up to the bar” as a reminder to stick her stomach out and bring her hips forward. It is amazing what a help this is to me during our transfers. I hadn’t realized how much I was unnecessarily being pulled against. I hope we are able to maintain what we learn from these patient women.

I Don't Mind

I don’t mind being on call for bathroom runs, being an extra set of hands for dressing, being the motor for your wheels and I’m glad to fetch, organize, and fix. It’s an honor to do for you as you did for all of us and it is with love that I try to provide companionship, entertainment, dignity, and support.

But I wish you could realize that I am still a work in progress. My patience is long but limited and I am not immune to my own aches, fatigue, and hurt feelings.

I suppose you thought the same thing, though, when I was little and you were over forty, when Dad was weakening, Letha was needing company, and Aunt Blanche was keeping you home. We needed the same kind of attention and care from you that you need now and our fears were often irrational, too.

You have taken care of everyone and now I want to take care of you. It’s not perfect, but I do the best I can and I keep trying to do better. I hope you don’t mind.

This Life

The proverbial “other shoe” has, indeed, dropped. Of course, it happened at the busiest time possible, but we are over the initial bustle, have adjusted, and things are finally settling down.

The long and short of it is that Mom had a mild stroke over a week ago. We did not see signs of it in progress, maybe it happened at night, but when we noticed the effects we took her in to the ER and a brain scan confirmed it. Her short term memory and her ability for complex reasoning are slightly affected. Sometimes she struggles for a word, but we feel really thankful that it isn’t worse.

 

However, that’s not all. Mom has been slowly losing the use of her legs, primarily from the build up of arthritis and poor circulation, and one morning, two days before the stroke, she got up and could barely move her feet under her own power. Although it is a little better now, two weeks later, it takes constant effort on her part and means that we needed to start using the transport chair in the house. Don put a ramp in from the living room to the apartment so that she can be easily brought into the living room and be allowed to keep her bedroom and bathroom in the apartment. He also was given a metal ramp with railings to cover the outside steps. The hardest part of all this was spending countless nights helping her out of bed and one step to a commode and back about every 1 ½ to 2 hours, but that is a little better, too, and we have caught up on a bit of sleep. Thank goodness for the lady who comes in to stay with Mom when I need a nap or to run errands.

I don’t know how Mom can be so fragile and so tough at the same time. I guess that’s how she made it to 97: staying strong enough to endure, yet vulnerable enough to enjoy it. Maybe that’s a lesson for us all.

You Are So Beautiful to Me

 

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY, MOM!! I love you.

A Celebration

Time. It's easy to take it for granted. Wasn't it only last week that I sat in her lap in the middle of the night, my pulsating ear up against her chest while she waited with me for morning when we could go to the clinic for some relief? And I'm sure it was just yesterday that she told me she would dry the dishes so that I could go on out and play before the summer evening was over since being a kid didn't last very long. She made my wedding dress, held my babies while they slept, and silently prayed us through every uncertainty of life. Mom, we are not just celebrating your birthday; we celebrate YOU.

97 Years Young

Ninety-seven. It's a number that is hard to wrap one's head around in regards to age. Even with her frailty Mom's age surprises people. I think it is because her spirit is still young.

Family and friends were all good about remembering her with flowers, cards, calls, and emails. I am touched by the people in this community who took the trouble to send her good wishes.

Coletta and Bob came up for a few days. Here Coletta is giving Mom a wild ride on her walker (or go cart, as she prefers to call it) into the dining room for a lasagna supper. Steering seemed to be a problem.

SKYPE calls and phone calls came in all day. Mom loved it, but sometimes got confused when too many people talked at once. Here someone called in time to help us sing "Happy Birthday."

Three amaryllis plants will bloom by Christmas.

Happy 97th Birthday, Mom. We love you. You have touched all of us with your gentle, determined spirit of love.