Adventures of a Passionista

Today she is 39 again...

Today: June 24, 2011  

  She was born June 24, 1934 

Happy Birthday little Momma! 

I know when I arrive at your house, in a couple of hours, the birthday greetings will surprise you... and when we joke about how old you are, you will say, for the hundred-thousandth time you are "39"... and when we try to do the math: "let's see 1934, 44, 54, 64, 74, 84, 94 - oh I'm 39!" meaning she really does NOT remember how old she is ... and I, her ever kind, considerate daughter will say: "wow mom, you're younger than me! and I'm your daughter!" which always, many times daily will elicit crinkled eyes and wide-mouthed laughter... 

(the following is an updated/edited reprint from 2007)

"Her hair crowns her head like a glimmery, silvery halo: slightly over-parted too far left, and bangs dangling a bit too close to her dim eyes, but so white - so pure.

Reflects the nature of her heart.

7ish Springs ago, a stroke played havoc in her brain.  Could have been far more severe, yet we discovered, who she was had been altered - forever altered. This was a new day.  A new dawn - a new mom. A new sister.   A new wife.  A new memory bank.

My mom who, formerly & quite prude-ishly,  would never have ever said the word "pregnant"  in full voice (whispered such words!) now freely referred to body parts by slang and would giggle, eyes scrunched up & tears flowing in glee. Young girl giggling in an elder body.

So cute.  So full of life.  Kind.  So inappropriately laughing at the weirdest times - socially unaware of her outbursts - always with hearty laughter and often happy to show whatever she was chewing at the time.  So strange...

Putting family first, always, however -that didn't change.  Her outlook.  Now THAT is what changed.

(L - R  Aunt Mary Lou, Me & My MOMMA!)

My mother had always, always, always purposed to look people straight in the eye: honoring others, demonstrating integrity and the fact that she "had nothing to hide".  She taught us kids, early on, to look directly into eyes - that honesty can be read by the eyes, after all they are "the windows to the soul you know."

One day, Momma said she was not going to drive again.  Ever.  Independent creature she was, was not going to ever, ever drive again. She had been harboring a secret: a deep, very dark secret, for awhile.  Months later, the low vision specialist called it "macular dystrophy".  Different than macular degeneration - it was from birth, just now manifesting itself to the level of "legal blindness" (took DECADES to get to this level).

No central vision.  Yes- Peripheral.  No central.

How do you look people in the eye, if you can't see their eyes?

She had hidden the changes as long as she could, hoping for healing, hoping a change in diet would make the difference - holding on to independence for as long as she could.

The pile of gravel in the road - same color as the road - was the "seal the deal".  Bottoming out on the gravel, the men at the construction site, helped her off the pile, helped her turn the car around, and she drove back - 10 houses away to the driveway - never to drive again.

Later, much later we found out.  My life, busy, stupid busy (single mom at the time) and I didn't know for months that she had not driven.

I had already watched my mom shift and change from full-sighted -professional- bookkeeper-of- family-business to someone who had to learn to feel her way - memorize her way around the house... Now her low vision was coupled with  Alzheimer's.

Crap.

I'm sure there are books to warn adult children about the changes their elder parents will go through, but I wouldn't have read it and it wouldn't have mattered a whole heck of a lot - then.

Now, well, now is now.. and now we live in the moment , for the moment, celebrating each precious moment.

It still stinks.  Sucks actually.  (I hate that term.  But dang is it appropriate)

Dad.  Dad is so amazing.  I watch him love her and snuggle her and hold hands with her.  I watch them smooch - her with her lips scrunched up to her nose (so "sexy" haha) and him, giggling all the way in for the peck, touching -oh-so-familiar, now wrinkled lips like he has a million times before.  Now they kiss with a tenderness reserved for those who are choosing to be present in this moment, almost as if they're saying:  " we must be present in this moment.  This moment is a gift and we are going to relish it , and drink it in, and celebrate it - because you never know when..."

It makes me sick to my stomach.

Not them and their beauty.

The "you never know when". Actually, only initially -  Being faced with mortality - their mortality has awakened me to a new day. I battle between celebrating the present and dreading the future.  The future without them in it.

I KNOW they will be in a "better place".  Oh yeah!!

But I know the "crowns of glory" that I love to observe - daily, will be oh, so missed.  So very missed.

I want my grandbaby to see the smooches between them and groan and say "gross" and smile inside at how cool it is to know them.

I want my sons to hear all the stories another 10 times - and know that they have become part of the next generation of love...

But the reality is, I've spent too much time on this blog - time that would be better spent giggling at Mom's wacky sense of humor and listening to Dad's "this is so funny I can barely get it out without laughing my own hiney off"  jokes!

So for now this "new" mom is MY mom - I love her and all her facets, new and older... she's cool!

Wonder what's made her giggle today?"

 

(Happy 77th Birthday, Momma!  I'll honor that you've achieved such a lovely  age, while you celebrate being "vertical" and "39 - again! ")

 

Copyright 2011 J. Allen G.

80th Birthday. (no "happy" about it)

 

No birthday candles.

No birthday cake.

No balloons.

No the same $20.00 passed from sister to sister in a "for my Sister" birthday card.

No celebration.

However...

...many tears

...much, so much pain

80 years today and the cancer cells are continuing to consume her now 68 pound body..bones are hurting so , so badly... lung tumor is growing causing labored breathing... now invading her brain, multiple fractures through her rib cage - bones compromised to the point of one wrong move could snap her little self...

...and she cries...

...deep, heart-wrenching sobs, shaking her little shoulders face pinched up in a howling wail of "I don't know what is happening to me!" " I hurt, I hurt..."

...and in one INSTANT she gathers herself and tries so hard to control herself - control her fear.

She tries so hard to remind her own mind that the worst part of these circumstances is her attitude about the circumstances...

...and the evil beast, Alzheimers, is keeping her from remembering just why she is dying...why she is now dependent on others as her caregivers after living her entire adult life - single, self-providing, never married, no children, always doing everything that needed to be done to give herself a good life...

and she tries and she tries this mental dance of "Mary - now stop this!"... (stop what? she forgets!)

HOW DO YOU BATTLE YOUR MIND WHEN YOUR MIND IS BATTLING YOU?

And yet, she regroups for yet one more round and says "I'm ready - I've lived a good life... I've had great friends, have traveled to Alaska, Panama Canal, took a trip with Darlene in Arizona - I'm content... I'm ready. I am so ready"...

...and then she forgets what she was saying and forgets why she is hurting (I must have fallen) as the tumor growing out of her bone is filling up her leg...

("honey, it's getting better then I can go home soon")

...

and I pray to God that, indeed, in His infinite wisdom - He allows her - please, God, please let her go "home"...

What kind of niece am I?

sad.

very sad.

and determined.

cancer is killing my loved ones.

alzheimers is killing my loved ones.

and I will do what I can to love them through this...

...and when they are gone - to help find / fund a cure.

but this hurts.

and

for this 80th birthday...there is no happy about it.

Picture of Mary Lou & I 1right before Christmas 2010... she was "rebounding" in a Hospice Center. They controlled her pain & the bugger began eating again! Stronger was moved to a nursing home... where she now resides getting the loving care and med she needs now that she is in final stages ... (I could not bring myself to show her now...) those sparkling eyes are the Mary I know.

 

 

Copyright 2011 J. Allen G.

neglected.

My little bloggy has been neglected.
My adult children have been neglected.
My miraculous, amazing, brilliant, beautiful grandson (yes BEAUTIFUL!) has been neglected.
My house repair progress has been neglected.
My hair has been neglected.
My side of the bed has been neglected.
My marriage has been neglected.
My health has been neglected.
Ultimately, my soul - yes, sadly, even the health of my SOUL, has been neglected- for too, too long...
 
I suppose my flurried, hurried, exhausted state is a product of all whirling around me: concern for others,  self-imposed commitments, family-imposed commitments (necessities), financially-imposed
commitments... Maybe more accurately, I should say my current state-of-being is directly related to my self-imposed commitments- because, ultimately I have no one to blame but myself for over-committing, when I am already "committed".  (or should be.  that would be a joke. hmm not a very funny joke!)

Lonely?
Sometimes, often actually.
Do I reach out? 
Heck no, who has time to commit to an "outside relationship"?!? After all, I don't even take time to see the few people who love me, why would I waste time with those who don't?  or try to develop friendships when my time is so limited & so precious?

Tired?
self-imposed, burning the candle from the middle (the ends were gone long ago...) only can point the fingers one way - me.

What do I do to correct?
Heck, I dunno that takes energy.

Actually I DO know, just don't know if I want to take the effort to focus on me.

Okay, so the reality is this:  If serving others is important to me (it is)  and I desire to continue serving others (I do) then I must make certain be achieve some form of "rest" in order to better serve.

Stink.

My nasty self and I had better take time to RE:

RE-  
    fuel
    fresh
    energize

By RE-establishing my relationship with my Lord who longs to "refuel,refresh and re-energize" me.

Actually, He's been longing for me to drop the load - for a long time.

Okay, Lord.  I get it.
Thick-headed.
Stubborn.
But too tired to do it on my own much longer.
Any longer...

Now,
I come back
to
You
cuz your daughter
has dried up
and needs
You
to make
it
one
more
day...

And so, with Grace and Mercy that You, alone, offer, (as a gift - I surely don't deserve it!) I receive your Love... and I begin, again, with You in the Lead. (where You belong)

Help me, God, to honor You, by honoring MY BODY, MY MIND, MY SOUL...
after all, You created me in Your image - I'm just not healthy enough to reflect You like you desire me to...

Help me be more like You.
Help me look like You do.
Help me see what You see when You're looking at me
Help me see me like You do...
So I can see what You see when You're looking THROUGH me,
So I can do what You want me to do...

(slow learner, Lord, but thanks so much for the REFRESHer course!) 

Love, love, love.

Your daughter.... me.

 

 

Living in the land of loss and love...

I received an email from a lovely friend of mine who said that when she read the following poem she thought of me...  I love my people.  I love my old people.  And even in loving them and celebrating who they are today - "altered" yet the same - I all to often find myself looking past them, to "next" the next thing, next task in taking care of them... Me thinks they just want me to look at THEM...


From her email to me: "
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa, Florida, it was believed he had nothing left of any value.  Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem:

Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? ...........What do you see?

What are you thinking.................when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man ......................not very wise,

Uncertain of habit .with faraway eyes?

 

  Who dribbles his food ...............and makes no reply.

   When you say in a loud voice ...'I do wish you'd try!'

  Who seems not to notice..........the things that you do.

  And forever is losing ................ A sock or shoe?

 

  Who, resisting or not................lets you do as you will,

  With bathing and feeding ......... the long day to fill?

  Is that what you're thinking?... ..Is that what you see?

  Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.

 

  I'll tell you who I am ............... as I sit here so still,

 As I do at your bidding, ..........as I eat at your will.

  I'm a small child of ten............with a father and mother,

  Brothers and sisters .... ..........who love one another

 

  A young boy of sixteen .........with wings on his feet

  Dreaming that soon now........a lover he'll meet.

  A groom soon at twenty........my heart gives a leap.

  Remembering, the vows........that I promised to keep.

 

  At twenty-five, now ............. I have young of my own.

  Who need me to guide ........and secure a happy home.

  A man of thirty ....................my young now grown fast,

  Bound to each other .......... with ties that should last.

 

  At forty, my young sons ...........have grown and are gone,

  But my woman's beside me.......to see I don't mourn.

 At fifty, once more, ................. babies play 'round my knee,

  Again, we know children ......... my beloved and me.

 

  Dark days are upon me ..... my wife is now dead.

  I look at the future .... ..........I shudder with dread.

  For my young ...................are all rearing young of their own.

   And I think of the years...... and the love that I've known.

 

  I'm now an old man............and nature is cruel.

  Tis jest to make old age ....look like a fool.

  The body, it crumbles........grace and vigor, depart.

  There is now a stone....  ...where I once had a heart.

 

But inside this old carcass .... a young guy still dwells,

And now and again .................my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys................ I remember the pain.

 And I'm loving and living...........life over again!

 
 I think of the years...all too few.........gone too fast.

 And accept the stark fact.................that nothing can last.

 So open your eyes, people .open and see..

 Not a crabby old man..................... Look closer...see ME!!

Once again... the EYES....  surely I will dwell in the land of "sight"...this my prayer...

Living in Alzheimer's land while obsessing in 3-Day land

There is a direct correlation between the thief "memory loss" in my dear family and the amount of time I spend buried into breast  cancer awareness, fund raising, team building , community involvement and training for the Chicago Breast Cancer 3-day in August.

I don't know the term for taking the stress/ emotional upheaval I feel for every moment THEY stress over not remembering what day it is or how to write a check - and pouring it (my stress) into action by totally DIVING into another world.

Obsessing, really.  Why don't I OBSESS about memory loss?  Or aging? 

Could be living it one more moment than is necessary is more overwhelming than imaginable.
Could be my puny human mind cannot take one more moment of it than necessary (I think that was redundant)
(see?)

You see, that's it.

"Alzheimer's Land" is a land of repetition.
I said, "Alzheimer's Land" is a land of repetition.
...repetition.
over and over again, which is, of itself, repetition.
alot.
see, there again, is repetition.

Diving into community activism re: breast cancer awareness and fund raising -  is new! exciting! invigorating! Passionate! Hope for the future! Faith for the cure!

Maybe I just need help...
Maybe I just need help...

hmmm... definitely.

Do I see a glimmer of light at the end?

No.
I do not see light at the end... I do not see the "end"...

I do not, in fact, see a glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel I am in...

My little momma and I took a ROAD TRIP to see her sister, my darlin' auntie.  It was a trip that proved to be an eye opener of such great magnitude my heart, my mind is only just beginning to understand.

These girls: Aunt Mary  on my shoulder, Momma on  the right - these wild, little girls chatted and giggled and playfully teased each other with the comfortable familiarity of a favorite pair of shoes-now-become-work-shoes-because-they're-much-too-comfy-to-toss...

"Guess what today is?!"
(In unison...)
"It's Mom's birthday!"

The OTHER one...15 minutes later...

"Guess what today is?!"
(In unison...)
"It's Mom's birthday!"

"You know, I hurt my hip"
"I know. How's it feeling? Does it hurt bad?"
"It doesn't hurt.  But it's sore"
"Do you think you'll drive soon?" (Momma has been told repeatedly her sis will NEVER drive again...)
"I miss getting around. I can't wait to 'motate' !"
"You know,  Aunt Mary,  with the memory that you've said 'goes blank',  you won't be able to drive anymore, but I surely can chauffeur you!"
"Yes, honey, my memory is bad.  I've got memory problems... You know, I hurt my hip"
"I know, sis. How's it feeling? Does it hurt bad?"
"It doesn't hurt. But it's sore"... and so on...

These two girls are traveling a parallel-memory-universe; each happily recalling detailed sections of shared history with joyful chat and an occassional simultaneous outburst of slit-eyed-laugh-till-you-cry (or pee).  Each forgetting 90% of the present - but retaining opposite parts of it - enough to create such confusing present tense dialogue - densely splattered with times that, in normal conversation, would require a response, but with these two is met with that thick-deafening-silence that accompanies not having a clue what was said - the big TOOTHY GRIN BLANK STARE that is only broken by the phrase " and everything" if not 100, then surely 300 times a day... 

"Sis, I really love that doctor. He looked at your hip and got you into that hospital and they didn't even have a room and he got you in there and took really good care of you"

(smile....................................................................................................................
..................................................................................)

"and everything..."

If it wasn't so cute it would make me bawl like a baby.

Actually, it has.

But, ultimately, what I'm learning as an "almost-52-year-oldster" - what I'm learning FROM these girls: Life is a GIFT! Be grateful for each breath, for each moment  - and each moment shared with another human being, for there is where treasure is found...

Glimmer?  NO.

I do, however, see bolting rays of light in - yes, within- this long, dark tunnel. Light that warmly embraces those who are swept up in the spiral; who are along this oft emotional, sometimes heavy journey.

78: naked and unashamed

When the CRAZY phone call came last week , it alerted us to trouble.

Making a late morning call, I was stunned to find my "always-early-riser" Aunt still in bed "her time" - 1 hour ahead of us.   She, who is notorious for rising at the crack of dawn was still in bed at noon.  An immediate visit was in order.

While traveling the 1 hour-on-a-clear-day jag to my Aunt's, I tried to prepare myself for what I would be finding when I got there.  I knew she had hurt her leg. I didn't know how badly.  I knew it had been "a few days ago".  I knew she was diagnosed with  DEMENTIA last October, but we had already seen many, many signs of memory loss  that popped up randomly-unexpectedly-inappropriately.

Now, a half an hour away, I reflected on her history - her roots in her town & what had been so familiar & comforting to her. What had now become a "prison" to her...

She's been a great tenant. Sharing a 2-flat historic home on red-brick streets 2 blocks from Lake Michigan in scenic mid-America, for the last almost-30-years, she has always shoveled the sidewalks, the driveway and the porch on this old home.  Younger families moving in and out of the lower flat, she's remained - having lived up stairs - up MANY stairs all those years, having traveled a steep, dark stair well for so long that her delicate fingers have smoothed out once-rough, now oh-so-familiar and friendly handrails that guide her up counted/memorized/visualized steps to her door.

She's been housebound for weeks. Although she earnestly claims her fall  - from shoveling the driveway for the landlord (she's 78 for pete'sake!) was "3 days ago" - a friend took her to the chiropractor on Feb 3rd AFTER weeks of pain.

We didn't know.

We've communicated NUMEROUS times with her.  I don't know if she was trying to protect her younger sister from worrying (my mom) or if she was merely forgetting to talk about it.

When I arrived, care packages in hand, she called me in - sitting on her new pastel sofa- bright eyed and oh-so-tiny and worked so hard to stand and give me a "proper greeting".  Dressed in her church finest - struggling to get up off the couch and grabbing the walker loaned to her by her neighbor "yesterday", she slowly, carefully, painfully moved to the kitchen, gingerly sat at the table and watched expectantly as I unloaded my packages.  En route, I had called her to see if I could pick up anything specific for her.  "Honey, if you don't mind, could you pick up a hamburger?  I haven't eaten today, yet." (3:00 p.m. HER time)

I joined her as she ate from a collection of all the favorite things I could think of - like a child given free reign at a dessert table. Joy. Delight. Starvation.  Without trying to - she has lost from 155 to 107 in 6 months.  Now I know why.  She's forgetting to eat.

I broke inside - wondering how long had it been since she'd eaten. Why didn't I know? Why didn't I make the effort? How could I love someone so much and not care enough to know - to call - to check in - to ASK THE RIGHT QUESTIONS - to care enough.  Regardless of my issues with my mom , this is my precious aunt, my family - and I am her power of attorney...

Throughout our visit, I approached touchy subjects with her. At one point she met my look and locked in - eye to eye: " I want you to know, I pray every night.  I thank God for my good life. I pray every morning when I wake up. I thank Him for my good life. This morning when I talked with Him, I asked him what I should do today.  He told me to 'take it easy', so I did. He really told me. I've had a great life.  I've experienced more than most people. I've traveled and done things some never will. I have no regrets. I tell Him I am ready to go." 

The intensity, the impact of those words disarmed me.  She was there.  Real and "present" and "current"  (I now understand the difference in the two). Immediately after, the "new her" returned, innocent, childlike, repetitive... it may have been fleeting, but I know it was real.

Trying to support her - 1 hour away (on a good day) is going to be so difficult. Hoping her desire to "caregive" her sister would overrule her resistance to move, to change - I tried to encourage her to take time to visit- I would be her wheels - take time now while they both know each other. She repeatedly asserted that "I'm not bad yet, I'm independent, I can take care of myself". Must have heard that 20 times.

Preparing to leave she caught me off guard by asking: "do you think you could help me into my pj's? I have a hard time getting my leg into the bottoms".  Happy to oblige this fiercely-independent creature, I stepped 6 feet away into the bathroom & returned to find a 78 year old little girl, sitting naked as a jaybird on the couch, ready for "mommy" to dress her. (how did she raise her leg? did she forget she hurt?)

I've never seen 78 and naked.

She was beautiful.  Her naked, little girl, 107 pound self sitting there so innocently, so trustingly, only her wrinkled face betraying her age.  Her innocence was beautiful.

And heartbreaking.

I dressed her.

"Don't lock the porch door!"                                                                                                                  "I won't."

Kissed her goodbye.

"Don't lock the porch door!"                                                                                                                 "I won't.  Surely love you, I'll call you tomorrow & see you next week!"

"Love you, honey. Don't lock the porch door!"                                                                                         "I won't. Bye! Love you!"   

"Don't lock the porch door!"                                                                                                                  "I won't."
            

Walked numbly down the steep, dark stairwell.
Drove off into the night, leaving her to fend for herself.
While I returned home to assist my parents.
While she sits there.
Little.
Alone.
Ready to go.
Forgetting to eat.
Forgetting her present.

Remembering to remind all, not to lock the porch door but...

Forgetting her very self.

of cackles, guffaws and powers of attorney...

"She hurt her leg shoveling. (laugh, hahaha) Well, actually she hurt her leg because she forgot to turn it when her body turned"  (hahaha!) She lies alot (hee hee ha ha)  She is the sweetest thing and doesn't lie at all (hahahaha) Oh, and by the way, who's her power of attorney? I want to help her in her checkbook. (haha ho ho ho, cackle, etc.)"

Above is a segment of a recent conversation to my folks.  Call came in late one night from someone they knew only by name - laughing uncontrollably, speaking sluggishly -as if drunk- bellowing rudely in the calm night with the intentions of helping her buddy (the sister, my aunt) because she's getting "senile".

And who, exactly, needs help here?

I'd say when a "getting senile" friend of a "getting rapidly senile" aunt is calling to get help for said friend/aunt - that said aunt must be in a whole lot of down-hill memory, functioning sliding.  Auntie is 1 hour away (on a clear day) and who has never had a roommate, nor spouse, nor anyone to give & take with.  You know how families do.  Sacrifice.  Compromise.  All the stuff that grows us into people who live within community.

She lives alone. Always has.  Always wanted to.  Still wants to.

When do I (power of attorney) intervene?  Is there a SIGN?  hmmm this call from senility about senility just could be a doozy.  Ya think? 

And just HOW do I intervene?  Traveling every week for a day of bookkeeping/stuff is do-able.  What about when she forgets how to climb back upstairs to her apartment.  What about when she gets lost (again) driving to a 30+ years of traveling to a familiar place and no one knows how to reach her because she refused, yelled, stamped her feet when given a new-fangled-cell-phone- for Christmas 2 years ago.

Independent. to a fault. independent, nonetheless.

My feeble attempt to connect and earn her trust for her future begins this week.
My strategy is to see where on her "caregiver" chart her heart is, these days.  If, indeed, she 's still the same "adoptive momma" to us nieces & nephews, then I've got some people who  would benefit from her "care".  People here.  Hopefully I can inspire her to be "utilized" - to come here to help take care of her sister (my mom) and my uncle. (widower) Move here - close by.

Hmm.  The best laid plans are merely IDEAS. Ideas sometimes merely equal an empty plastic grocery bag swirling around in the whirlwind... The next few days will show just how feasible this all is.  In the mean time I become a "parent" to this beauty and carefully guide and instruct - all the while trying to balance respect for my beautiful elder and care for this ever-increasingly-becoming-woman-child.

For those who wish to be young again - careful what you wish for.

"I see your true colors-

-shining through.  I see your true colors, and that's why I love you. So don't be afraid to let them show. You're true colors -- are beautiful -- like a rainbow"...

If you ever want to know how it is - how it really is - ask a young child.

Purity. Simplicity.
True colors.

Here we have a little man helping big man work with his stick-"scu-dwy-uh".
Little man putting his "screwdriver" into the screw hole and frustrated that nothing was happening.
Little man, how did you know that something was supposed to happen when you put the screwdriver in the screw hole? You're too young to know that!!

He always knew.

"Hey buddy, what do you want to be when you grow up all big like daddy?"
"Cars"
"You want to be a car driver?"
"Ca-a-rs" (a bit more emphatically)
"You want to be a car?"
"Ca-a-a-a-a-rs!!"  (holding out the word did not really help me get it any easier!)
"You want to have cars? a lot of cars?"
(nodding affirmatively)   "Cars!!!"

For the longest I thought he meant he would have cars, many beautiful shiny cars parked in a huge-o-mongo garage.

Here he is balancing.

This child has always "balanced" far better than I could ever dream to:

play vs work
save vs spend
family vs friends
He's balanced - or at least more balanced than anyone I've ever met before.
Which is foreign to me.
And scares me, a bit.

Showing me a shiny penny  "Momma, I'm c'lecting"
"You're collecting pennies?"
"Yes"
I corrected: "saving, buddy.  Collecting pennies would be called saving pennies."
(with furrowed brow and a frown, under his breath- yet loud enough to hear) "C'lecting!!"
He was right.
Collecting is a different mind set.
Collecting is gathering things that - to him- had value and enjoying them.  Saving is more like gathering and putting away.
The child WAS collecting.

Collecting pennies.
Collecting cars - metal cars, plastic cars, wood cars, calendars of cars...

As he grew, he collected many things:
Friends
And parents of friends who loved him
And baseball hats
And movies
And video games
And everything Pokemon (used to!)
And jokes
And joke books
And athletic shirts with team sponsor names - each one he had passionately played on- soccer and basketball

And drawings of cars
Drawings that I eventually learned would be to add to his collection
of things he longed to do, to accomplish

Fast forward - uh, say 10 years - back to cars.

"Son, now that you're in Junior High, have you been thinking about what you want to do when you're out of High School?"
"Yeah, cars". 
"Uh, more specific than 'cars' - are you saying you want to have many of your favorite cars - because in order to do that you're going to have to work in a field that makes a lot of money in order to be able to afford those cars and the huge-o-mongo-garage to put them in.."  (I'm so wise, seeing the big picture like I do)
"Mom, I've been thinking about making cars"
"Ohhh, like building cars?  like manufacturing?"
"Like where dad works"
"You want to work in a car dealership? oh! and work in the service department and fix cars?"
(with a look of disgust because it was obvious I didn't get it or him...)  "Mom, I want to DESIGN and build  and manufacture cars.  I want to have a CAR COMPANY and call them whatever I want to. I want to design and make cars for people to buy and drive".

Oh.

CA-A-A-ARS... I get it. Finally. (This boy's going to make me a rich old lady)

Okay, now the full truth is - this conversation is the GIST of what actually transpired.
What actually transpired was over numerous conversations, but it all boiled down to this: this child had vision - then and now.
This child researched what FIELDS he would have to go into to become a car designer.
His true colors.

Who thinks like that?  Not me, how foreign.  and a bit scary.

"I love you, Mom".
"Sure love you too, buddy"...

5 minutes later, I hear coming from the living room while engaged in a Tiger Woods golf game:  "I love you, Mom!"
"Love you too, buddy".

Never ashamed to say it or to kiss goodbye in front of friends.
True colors.

Saying goodbye to his stinky-old-man-friend- Bear

February will be 1 year since we had to put down our old-man dog, Bear. Broke our hearts. Timmy & Bear had a love-hate relationship.  Early days, Bear didn't like little boys.  Little boy was broken hearted over a doggie who regularly rejected him & preferred "the mom" in the house.  Little boy loved old doggie anyway.Little boy, now young man, grieving the truth before him: he will be a part of a convoy driving to the vet to put this old, stinky, lovable doggie out of his pain and misery. No matter the dog used to snarl his underbite at the boy. No matter the dog used to jump in mom's lap & not his.

He loved anyway.
Eventually his gushy, amazing love broke through and that old dog loved that boy. And followed him in the house. And jumped his old, hurting feeble self onto the boy's bed where he received a  gentle head rub and oh-so-tender-touch on his oh-so-painful-back.

At the vet, Bear looked into the eyes of the 2 boys from his life - these two- brothers -who loved this old, ugly dog unconditionally -  and this old dog found comfort - you could see it in his eyes - as he drifted off to forever-sleep - looking into the eyes of this man/child the one - the younger brother - who had loved unconditionally until he was loved back...
He collects love by giving it.

(here he's gathering love in from Molly-girl)

Here he's pouring in some love to baby nephew and collecting some beautiful, wet-kiss-I-love- Uncle Timbo, in return.

15 and headed to a ceremony...(6' 1.5")

" My beautiful son.  Happy 16th Birthday!!!  Today, this morning - precisely at 8:07 -as you know- you became 16 years old. Knowing how your brother's world from 16 to 28 was merely "yesterday" - this 16th birthday of yours is "bittersweet".

SWEET:
16 years of showing your family, your friends your world just what an amazing gift we've been given by, God.  Why He entrusted you into our care is beyond me (both of you boys - brothers, are nothing short of awe-inspiring in talent & vision - truly thumbprints of God).  Maybe He knew Dad & I needed you to help grow US.  Maybe He wanted those in our lives to come to know you and help grow you by experiences - rich and full - AND maybe in His wisdom, He knew our WORLD, the world Dad & I move in - needed what you had to bring to it.  What I DO know, is I'm grateful that you are you.  You love deeply.  You hurt deeply but you forgive easily.  You work to make good decisions and choose great friends.  You love the unlovely and unlovable - you feel them.  I'm so proud of you. 

Your growth these 16 years has been spiraling - the last 2 - spiraling UP in intensity and passion and interest.  I watch you calculate numbers in your mind - how you SEE them -and I'm in awe.  And yet as scholarly as you are - I'm so very proud that you are so HUMAN and balanced.  I'm proud that you choose to follow Christ and love that you are drawing closer and resembling Him more each day.  I'm so proud that you choose the hard way, the narrow way, and love all along the way... 

BITTER:  not really bitter - just a bit "sad" because this day brings you one day closer to leaving this nest, from my momma arms, and into the world that is waiting for your adult sensibilities and offerings...

Son, may this year be another milestone toward your goals.   Because intelligence, in and of itself,  is oft sensual and intoxicating, I pray you continue to seek wise counsel and His direction for each "next step". Keep true to your heart. Keep true to yourself for, my son, your TRUE COLORS are, indeed, beautiful - so beautiful.  I love you, buddy.   Happy Birthday! Momma"

I Scream for I Scream!

Nope, no typo there.

Scream.

Scream.   inside scream.  outside a wee bit scream... a widdle bit...

A day, today, of trying to ease life for others:
    -one person's fear issues (where? when? why? where again? are you sure? where?)
    -ease one person's allergic to animal in house- please disinfect it for me issues
    -ease one person's packing/travel/snack issues
    -ease one person's filing - I can't remember what I was doing, what is this and where do I put it?      
        issues
    -ease one person's running out of clean underwear issues and the dryer doesn't work (hard to INSTANT
        DRY COTTON briefs - I don't care how high you have the blow dryer)

... and I'm looking at the word "issues" and it looks wrong.  Why do correctly-spelled words look wrong sometimes? Like the word "please" or "me" or any simple, normal word, but to me right now it all looks wrong?  and could it be stress?  could it be busy, busy, busy and I'm going to explode any moment?  again?  like at a person who doesn't deserve it.  like a son who does 15 year 11 month old son-type-things, as sons do, and it JUST WAS THE LAST- THE VERY LAST STRAW and I explode - but didn't cuss (this time) because I was at least choosing to have some-minute-form-of-control- so as to TRY to be a Godly  example to this man-child...

-and it's only 2:52 p.m. and so much left to do...
-and, already I feel a little better...
-taking time to process...

Lord, I guess I'm grateful that I'm capable of doing so many things for so many.  You made me capable of doing quite a bit of stuff - some of it quite cool.  When it all piles up, like it has been over the past week - I too often fail to turn it over to You in the moment-to-moment.  All too often it's in the "too late - done blown a gasket" way, or when it's already to the point that my mind or body or combination, thereof, breaks down in some way FORCING me to take a breather.

You alone, are ALL things to ALL people.  Help me say "no" or "not right now" or "okay" but when YOU ordain it so.  As you lead, help me hear You better - I will work at choosing to listen and obeying - BEFORE meltdown or before crash and burn.  I can't be as effective as You'd like me to be when I'm doing to much in my own strength.  Forgive me for racing through this week planting myself in too big of a "pot" --- you alone can fill that sized thing... I'm quite scrawny on my own...

Okay, Lord, thank You and lead me into GREEN PASTURES where there is YOUR peace...

AHHHHHH... now that's better...

Who am I?! No, really...

8:30 am sitting here at computer after having scanned the huge-o-mongo Sunday paper/sales ads and have become numb to input, numb to outflow (ain't none) and numb to numb.

8:31 still here...

8:32 yep,still here...

Normal Sunday mornings find me @ 8:00am plugging in my ear monitors- #9, grabbing my hand-held wireless microphone-#3 and stepping either downstage left or stage right and warming up with one of the most amazing bands imaginable.  The kind of musicians that would make American Idol #'s 1 - 4 swoon with desire at their professional abilities.  Good band.  Good stinkin' band.  I'm a singer in a good band. I've been with a configuration of this band for 12 years. Fun. Good times. Cool.

So here I am, Sunday morning, having CHOSEN to take this morning off, and I don't know what to do with myself.  This relaxing down time is so foreign.

I've learned to consider myself as a "gap-filler":
def: Gap-Filler:
         I see a "hole" somewhere and I "fill it".
         A need: I try to fulfill it.
         A mess: I see to clear it.
         A project: I do it.
         A song:  I write it (or try) or sing it or provide the idea, in the least.
         A script: I write it, cast it and direct it.  Or used to.
         A missed detail: I see it and do it or somehow make certain that SOMEONE completes it.

Yep.  A gap filler.

Retired from drama a month ago - 20 years of teaching, leading, directing, instructing, personality-gingerly-drawing pictures using people to play other people and creating emotions , thoughts, scenes to result in walls being dropped, guard being dropped, something, even PROPS being dropped - all for the sake of theater in the church  - done with excellence and with authenticity ...

So this Christmas season, having retired, I find myself fiddling my thumbs.  Better than sitting on them, perhaps, but quite foreign.

Then choosing to take off from the Worship Team (cool band from opening) for a weekend - one weekend, I find myself grappling with my identity.

Who am I now?

It's all too easy to attach our identity to what we do- what we create- what we do.  Our field of reference often determines how we classify or justify or identify ourselves.

Hi, my name is Judy and I'm a singer in a cool band.
Hi, my name is Judy and I'm a drama director (who sees layers and the how to do)
Hi, my name is Judy and I'm a passionate awareness gal (breast cancer, aging, etc)
Hi, my name is Judy and I'm a mom
Hi, my name is Judy and I'm a wife... a daughter ... a hard worker...a good friend...a poor friend... a messy housekeeper... a good cook... and on and on.

8:48 am still here and trying to figure out "what's next"...

Is there a project?  I'm project minded.  I'm fueled by the desire to create and prepare and complete. When do I "be still and know"?

What REALLY defines me? 
WHO really defines me?

When my value, my idea of who I am become so defined by "what I do" rather than "whom I serve" - my whole being becomes an instrument of self.  Self aware at the sake of God aware will kill me.

8:51am  still here, but not for long.

"Lord, I am YOURS.  I desire You.  I long to be defined by how closely I resemble You.  I want to be recognized as Your kid, well loved, well "fed" and created in YOUR image.  The things I do or say or think or feel or create - all for YOUR glory and in YOUR image.  I wanna be like You."

8:58 and I'm outta here.  Gotta get ready for church.  Gonna LISTEN to a great band as they lead me into worshiping the One I so desire to be like.  Gonna LISTEN to the preacher as he teaches about the One who loves me and created me to love him.

I was created to love.

Who am I?

Judy, a King's kid, well -loved.

You've got dementia...

Aunt Mary Lou - cutie pie with her head by my shoulder.  Mom's older sister.
Mary  was the kind of aunt that would sneak you a puff of her cigarette and giggle and say "just one, honey, it's not good for you".  The kind of aunt that became a second momma.  Never married.  No kids, just us nieces and nephews.

Mary Lou was an executive secretary to big shot at Whirlpool in Benton Harbor for over 30 years.  Tough as nails. Used to handling life and handling people.  Told men in the office where to get off, what to do, and often where to stick it. :) 

Mary Lou lived large.   Loved large.  Hurt deeply. 

Many years ago, she was dating a fella, grew to love him and hoped for a future with him.  Mary had emergency appendectomy and while she was in the hospital, "fella" married somebody else.

Nice guy.

Nice guy ran into Mary MANY years later and wife was an invalid and he was lonely (horn-toad) and wanted to "rekindle" the romance with Mary.

She had wanted to build a life with this man.  This was a test.

She passed!

She told me she had told him to "S _ _ _ w himself" and NO way, and other choice words.  Bottom line, she valued herself enough to say NO.  I'm so stinking proud of her!

Witty, laughing till tears stream down her eyes, those eyes so often look lost now.  Those of us who have the privilege of seeing her 5 - 6 times a year have seen the changes -rapid changes.  Last year she couldn't remember 4 of the 6 visits.

We all knew.  Now she knows.

Going to the doctor, test after test, Mr. Professional, SENSITIVE Doctor-Guy says (while looking at test results) " I see you have dementia."

Like he was telling her the Strep test came back positive... Like he was telling her that her blood pressure was too high...   Like telling her: "oh, and by the way, you parked in the wrong spot"...

Moron.

And, just for clarification, because she's single, she was alone. ALONE.  BY HERSELF.   At the doctor's office, undergoing testing, and hearing a word that rattled her world.  Alone and being told her mind was slipping.   Alone to process, to grieve, to wonder...to wander.

Does she have presence of mind to really get it?  Can the whole picture be realized?  Living alone. Doing alone?  How do you function in this world by yourself, when your mental world changes and you don't even know it is changing?

So she lives alone - she refuses to move closer - or "in" with family. She does laundry - down 45 stairs (2 stories) and up 45 stairs.  She drives.  She shops. She maneuvers through town... with dementia.

My mind is a whirlwind of "what can I do?" and these days are being filled with helplessness AND "just do it" whatever "it" is, just do SOMETHING, anything to help.

And so I go drink another cup of coffee.

Who is this? she's a hoot!!!

Her hair crowns her head like a glimmery, silvery halo: slightly over-parted too far left, and bangs dangling a bit too close to her dim eyes, but so white - so pure.

Reflects the nature of her heart.

3ish Springs ago, a stroke played havoc in her brain.  Could have been far more severe, yet we discovered, who she was had been altered - forever altered.  This was a new day.  A new dawn - a new mom. A new sister.   A new wife. 

My mom who, quite prude-ishly wouldn't say the word "pregnant"  - now freely referred to body parts by slang and would giggle, eyes scrunched up & tears flowing in glee. Young girl giggling in an elder body.

So cute.  So full of life.  Kind.  So inappropriately laughing at the weirdest times.  So strange...

Putting family first, always -that didn't change.  Her outlook.  Now THAT is what changed.

(L - R  Aunt Mary Lou, Me & My MOMMA!)

My mother had always, always, always purposed to look people straight in the eye: honoring others, demonstrating integrity and the fact that she "had nothing to hide".  She taught us kids, early on, to look directly into eyes - that honesty can be read by the eyes, after all they are "the windows to the soul you know."

One day, Momma said she was not going to drive again.  Ever.  Independent creature she was, was not going to ever, ever drive again. She had been harboring a secret: a deep, very dark secret, for awhile.  Months later, the low vision specialist called it "macular dystrophy".  Different than macular degeneration - it was from birth, just now manifesting itself to the level of "legal blindness" (took DECADES to get to this level).

No central vision.  Yes- Peripheral.  No central.

How do you look people in the eye, if you can't see their eyes?

She had hidden the changes as long as she could, hoping for healing, hoping a change in diet would make the difference - holding on to independence for as long as she could.

The pile of gravel in the road - same color as the road - was the "seal the deal".  Bottoming out on the gravel, the men at the construction site, helped her off the pile, helped her turn the car around, and she drove back - 10 houses away to the driveway - never to drive again.

Later, much later we found out.  My life, busy, stupid busy (single mom at the time) and I didn't know for months that she had not driven.

I had already watched my mom shift and change from full-sighted -professional- bookkeeper-of- family-business to someone who had to learn to feel her way - memorize her way around the house... Now her low vision was coupled with brain damage.

Crap.

I'm sure there are books to warn adult children about the changes their elder parents will go through, but I wouldn't have read it and it wouldn't have mattered a whole heck of a lot - then.

Now, well, now is now.. and now we live in the moment , for the moment, celebrating each precious moment.

It still stinks.  Sucks actually.  (I hate that term.  But dang is it appropriate)

Dad.  Dad is so amazing.  I watch him love her and snuggle her and hold hands with her.  I watch them smooch - her with her lips scrunched up to her nose (so "sexy" haha) and him, giggling all the way in for the peck, touching -oh-so-familiar, now wrinkled lips like he has a million times before.  Now they kiss with a tenderness reserved for those who are choosing to be present in this moment, almost as if they're saying:  " we must be present in this moment.  This moment is a gift and we are going to relish it , and drink it in, and celebrate it - because you never know when..."

It makes me sick to my stomach.

Not them and their beauty.

The "you never know when". Actually, only initially -  Being faced with mortality - their mortality has awakened me to a new day. I battle between celebrating the present and dreading the future.  The future without them in it.

I KNOW they will be in a "better place".  Oh yeah!!

But I know the "crowns of glory" that I love to observe - daily, will be oh, so missed.  So very missed.

I want my grandbaby to see the smooches between them and groan and say "gross" and smile inside at how cool it is to know them.

I want my sons to hear all the stories another 10 times - and know that they have become part of the next generation of love...

But the reality is, I've spent too much time on this blog - time that would be better spent giggling at Mom's wacky sense of humor and listening to Dad's "this is so funny I can barely get it out without laughing my own hiney off"  jokes!

So for now this "new" mom is MY mom - I love her and all her facets, new and older... she's cool!

Wonder what's made her giggle today?