Just like me

This cartoon has absolutely nothing to do with this post except that it reminded me of the lift chair of one of the residents where Mother lives...

Today I learned once again that the very thing we dislike in others is often the thing that we struggle with ourselves. I was reminded of this while chatting with Mother this morning as I hooked up her TV to the cable outlet in her new senior apartment.
"I have to tell you," she began, "that I can't believe how many of these ladies in their 90's around here have Alzheimer's!"
"Really?" I was surprised.
"Oh yes." Mother began laughing. "I was sitting outside with one of them--what's her name? ...I don't remember it...and she told me the same thing three times!" She threw her head back, wheezing with laughter.
"Did she realize it was the third time she'd told you?" I asked.
"No!" Mother continued laughing. "I just listened to it each time to see if she told it the same way."
"Did she?"
"I don't remember," she chuckled.
"What did she tell you three times?" I was curious, because Sam accuses me of repeating myself already. But I do it because I'm trying in vain to get a response out him.
"Well..." Mother stopped cold, staring at me, her eyes widening. "I don't remember what it was now!"
We both cracked up.
"Who is this lady? What's her name?" I asked.
Mother doubled over laughing. "I don't remember that either!"

I was glad Mother was laughing and not crying. She's become quite forgetful and is aware of it sometimes. It could be very hard for her.

Driving away later, my mind drifted to the time I followed a woman into the post office. She was moving slowly, leaning on a cane. Because it took several minutes to walk up the path to the front door, I was able to scrutinize her closely. She was wearing those kind of polyester pants that have the front crease sewn in. Only she had them on backward and inside out. There, down the back of her legs were these odd looking seams and then little fringes at the edges of her pantlegs where the raw edges of the seams were flapping back and forth with every step. I wanted to laugh out loud. Too bad I didn't have a friend with me. I could picture myself pointing at the back of this lady's pants and holding my stomach in mirth, my mouth wide open and my eyes crinkled shut.

It gave me a twinkle in my eye as I stepped up to the clerk and mailed my package. By the time I walked out the front door into the sunshine, the lady was driving off. How hilarious! That was rich! I could probably put that little incident into a sermon, lecture, or article. It was just too good.

I kicked a stone down the path as I tried to fix the image of the lady's pants in my mind's eye.
My gaze dropped to my right shoe. What's this? My right shoe was brown. My left shoe was gray. Where was my mind when I got dressed that morning? What could I have been thinking?
I could hear the crunching of gravel as someone walked behind me. Probably laughing at my mismatched shoes. I was no better than the lady with the inside-out-backward pants. I slunk to my car, mortified.

Isn't that just the way life is?

American Vacation

Found here

I am supposed to be on vacation this week. My boss has mandated that I take two weeks off to play and get rejuvinated. I am on an American vacation--work in the evening, play so hard during the day that dropping into bed is the only appealing idea when I get home. Only I can't because there is too much to be done first.
I'm falling behind in how the house looks, keeping up with home projects, writing in this blog, not to mention all the things I have to do at work: publications, projects, meetings, presentations, course preparation. So I am taking an American vacation.

When I was in Germany, my friends wondered why I was traveling in the country for only two weeks. Why not take a couple weeks and go to the spa or the sea? I could lay around, get massages, read, and doze in the sun or mud baths. Instead, I ran like a crazy woman through Germany, taking in every castle, cathedral, historical site, and mountain I could conquer, snapping photos as I raced by. I saw so many wonderful things and ended up with marvelous memories: historical facts and images to go with them. But when I got home I was utterly spent. I needed a vacation just to sleep and get caught up with myself. It seems that this is how Americans relax.

Why is it so hard to slow down and make my health Number One here? There are lots of reasons. Perhaps because it took me 24 years to get my PhD after I started school. After all that time waiting to do what I want, I find it very hard to say no to fun-sounding things that I've always wanted to do. Maybe because I'm compulsive. I don't want to put my name on anything second rate. Maybe because I'm trying to prove that I'm capable, smart, worthy of holding an advanced degree--something that I've wondered about over the years. What my boss says may also be true: I have higher standards for myself than anyone else has. Maybe I want to give something back to my parents in the form of accomplishments that they can feel positive about. Maybe I'm approval seeking or narcissistic and want to get accolades for myself. Maybe I want to make important contributions to my field that will save relationships, lives, and homes. Whatever the motivation, I'm going 100 mph from morning til night and it's wearing me out.

At this point, I'm 45 lbs. overweight, have gastric reflux, fatigue, and mild sleep apnea. I also suffer from adhesions that feel like my appendix is on the fritz. I've been short of breath more than once--when I'm just sitting still--and have had palpitations and chest pressure.

Although there hasn't been adequate time to sit and let my mind idly reflect about my life, I have been able to realize through my catecholamine waves that I really must do something about how I'm living. Here's what I want to do:

1. Walk for 1/2 hour three times per week
2. Work out at the gym for upper body strength twice per week
3. Cut out at least 1/2 of the sugar and 1/4 of the calories I eat every day
4. Go to bed no later than 10:00 p.m.
5. Take at least 15 minutes each morning for prayer, Bible reading and reflection
6. Make time every single day to relax and engage in a pleasurable leisure activity

This seems a good beginning. And a much needed remedy for my faltering wellbeing.
Here I come...

Was it me?

Today someone who works for me resigned. She slid the letter across my desk while I was working at my computer and I didn't even see her do it. The letter was visible only when I shut down my laptop to leave. There it was: two lines.

The administrator and I met with this individual last week to give her feedback to the effect that her demeanor would prevent her from ever being an effective leader. Furthermore, others had complained about her behavior. She would look at me only when she couldn't avoid it during that conversation--which was very little. Today there was only a "hmmph" and "mmm" from her. Almost no words whatever in the half hour we rattled around in the office together.

Last week, after I had tried in vain to put a point across two times, she dismissed me by saying, "This conversation is over!" as she stood in my office. I left, livid--late to another appointment and feeling sick and tired of extending myself for people who are in dire need of professional development.

But it is my job.

I would love to think that I am tough-skinned enough not to be bothered by this event. But I was sick at heart all weekend and prayed for her off and on. It had to be very difficult for her to hear our feedback, even as carefully crafted as it was. She had cried--no, sobbed--at the end. And now I'm wondering if I did something that contributed to her behavior at work: not enough direction or clarity about what was expected, lack of enthusiasm, my own exhaustion from all that has been happening in my life. In the middle of it was this person.

As I left her working in the office today, her last day, I told her that I knew this had been a tough situation for her and that I was available to talk more about it if she ever had the interest to do so. She made a sound of acknowledgement and said nothing. I've never had this kind of response before. She was completely shut down and turned off.

The human element of administration can be completely unnerving. My administrator told me I had done the right thing when I passed along the resignation letter. I just felt sick. True, this person didn't respond very sensibly and has been quite challenging from the beginning.

It makes sense now why people in leadership are very careful how close they become to people who work for them. One never knows when the line between administrator and friend will be violated, or by what means a friend can bring administrative pressure to bear when needed. It is a difficult lesson to learn. Food for pondering.

Old Dust and Worn Tapestry

Tonight we got Mother's furniture moved into her new apartment. As we pushed the cart through the halls, I had the opportunity to look at all the cobwebs underside of her antique bedstead and chests of drawers. I wondered how many years ago the spiders had been there. Lots of dust and the smell of cedar.

We used to have a very tall cedar tree in our front yard when I was a child. I loved to climb to the very top and hold onto the part that had gotten sheared off when lightning struck. From that spot I could see farms for miles around. When the wind blew, I would sway back and forth and feel free as my mind flew free. One night lightning struck the tree for about the fifth time and it split down the middle and fell into the yard. My dad saved the wood for three years, allowing it to season, before having it sawn into boards. Out of that wood he made what was supposed to be a cedar chest, but that we called a sarcophagus. It was enormous. The rest of the boards were placed in closets and throughout the storage areas of the house.

Tonight I was thinking about that tree and Daddy's joy when he showed Mother the sarcophagus for the first time. He was so proud of it, and it made the whole house fragrant. I could smell the cedar scent on Mother's belongings.

There was Nana's bedroom suite of dark wood with that jiggly, squeaky old metal coil mattress that gave the family newlyweds fits during visits at home. Mother's old sewing machine, on which quilts, suits, dresses, and all sorts of things were made over years and years. And where she made the lavender and purple quilt that she made to surprise my father.

It's a new chapter in Mother's life. I'm honored and privileged to have helped her move, to have her in my home, and to give back something for all she has done for me over the years. The tables have turned and life moves on.

Mother Out

Tomorrow my mother will be moving into her own apartment in a retirement center. We went there today to sign paperwork and get her keys. She is thrilled to finally have an address and know where her apartment will be.

She does however, have very mixed feelings about moving in there. I can't blame her. Everyone looks different than she does. Her hair is dark, she walks with a spring in her step, she laughs often. Many individuals use walkers and are rather limited in their activity there. Her first comment when we went there was a loud, "These people are so old!" There are actually more individuals there in the 90-100 category than many places in the US, so part of her observation was correct.

The bottom line is that she is not like many of the very elderly individuals and she feels like she is going off to the end of the earth to live there. The good part is that I live 2 miles away and will be having her with me as often as possible. It is a bittersweet feeling to have the privilege of helping my mother as she ages, but also seeing her age.

Mother always has been a going concern: canning vegetables, baking 6 loaves of bread every week, doing washing, keeping a huge garden, maintaining the house, sewing all of our clothes for many years. After my father died, she lost quite a bit of ground and her energy has decreased significantly. But for her age she is still a going concern.

Mother tells people that she is beginning a new chapter of her life and that she is looking forward to whatever her life will be like. We have offered for her to live with us, but she would be alone all day, every day while we're at work. In her new setting, there are daily activities, field trips, shopping trips, and clubs that meet several times per week. THere are art classes and Bible studies and evensong programs. The dining hall offers social opportunities three times a day and she will no longer have to cook anything.

And yet, in my mind, I hover over her, trying to anticipate anything she will need--trying to help ease the transition to apartment living. It will undoubtedly be difficult at times for her to get used to living in a small apartment after having a big farmhouse on an acre of land. Her foibles that have been apparent over the years are now exaggerated. She is opinionated but good natured; energetic and funloving.

I was not prepared for how life has turned out for her, but I am grateful to have Mother nearby. I pray daily that I will be gracious and supportive--a daughter who truly honors her parents. It has been good to have her live with us for three weeks and part of me is quite sad to see her move out on her own.

Welcome Kaiden!

Here is the newest member of our family: Kaiden Michael. He weighed six pounds and was all of 15 inches long. He surprised his mother by announcing that he was ready to be born while she sat in class (It's not pleasant to have one's water break in the middle of a college class!) Mom drove 80 miles to the hospital and met her mother and Dad. The next afternoon Kaiden was born by C-section because he had the chutzpah to chose to show his posterior to the world first.

I'm a great-aunt! Isn't he beautiful?

Sweet and Sour Holiday Loaf

Here is a terrific vegetarian recipe, thanks to our wonderful family friend, Cheryl.

Mix together 1 can vegeburger (meat analog)

1 onion, finely chopped (cook 3 minutes in the microwave before adding)

1 teaspoon garlic granules

1 teaspoon sage

1 teaspoon chicken seasoning

1 stick of margarine (I use half of this)

6 slices whole wheat bread, cubed

4 eggs

Press into 9 x 13 caserole dish. Cover with topping:

Mix together:

1 cup catsup

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup water

Bake one hour in 350-degree oven. Serves 6-8.

Delicious!

Slip of the Lip

Yesterday I mixed up two figures of speech. I referenced an inexperienced student by saying he was "green behind the ears." My colleague looked at me, horrified. "Oops," I said. "Didn't come out right..."

My mother once informed the neighbor that I had just completed my "Bastard of Arts" degree. It was a slip of the lip, pure and simple. Just like the time she tried to tell my friend her horticultural ideas of incorporating sprays of sedum all around the front of my church. Instead, she announced that she would like to see "avalanches of semen all around the front of the church." Mortification is too tame a word for how she felt, sitting in the third row of church, facing my chortling friend.

I don't know why it happens, but children often suffer from the same issues their parents do. Standing in the ICU one day, trying to explain how respirator tubes cause air impedence, I announced to my female patient's handsome sons that their mother would have to get a tracheostomy because of her impotence. Surprised, they looked at the floor. I paused, hearing my own words echo in my ears. One of the sons looked up at me. "Did you say what you meant to say just then?" I bellowed with laughter. "I don't think so!" They were kind and we all laughed together. I was chagrinned beyond words.

Mother once invited some friends to come by and pick the parsley in her garden. They did come, but it immediately started to sprinkle outside. "Hurry," mother announced. "It only takes five minutes to piss in the parsley." Amidst bellowing laughter, mother looked around, confused. "Is that some kind of Italian custom?" laughed Bill.

Sometimes we may be clear about what we mean to say, but it all comes out wrong. Have you ever tried to compliment someone only to have it come out like a sidewsays insult? Or wish to correct someone's poor grammar but the sentence you suggest is even worse? I do this, quite often. It seems that it doesn't take much to end up in a verbal slip knot.

Have you ever blurted out something like these?

Staying Power

There is nothing like the staying power found in old friends or spouses. They understand who you are, where you come from, why you act the way you do, and are familiar with all your foibles. They still love you. They know of your dreams and believe that you could pull them off if conditions were just right. They see you at your worst, even your most shocking. But because they have known you for so long, they don't throw in the towel, don't think you're losing it. There are many years of knowledge about you against which to measure your current idiosyncracies. And they stay on, if not appreciating your behavior, at least understanding it.

Before I left New York earlier in the month, I went to visit two doctors who are married to one another. He is a physician and she is an academic. Bill is 86 years old and Margaret is close to 88. She has advanced Alzheimer's and doesn't speak any longer. Her eye contact is good, and she reached to hug me when Bill opened the door of their apartment in an independent senior facility. She beamed at me while Bill and I carried on a conversation. I couldn't tell what she could take in for the most part. At one point, he complained that she wouldn't eat much dinner. There sat Margaret, covering her eyes, her hands fluttering across her face in the manner of a five-year-old child playing hide-and-seek. "Margaret," I asked loudly, "Are you in trouble because you don't eat?" She nodded, grinning widely. "Oh dear," I lamented. Again, she moved her hands over her eyes. Her wig was askew and hung rakishly toward one ear.
Bill sat back in his easy chair and waved his hand to get my attention. "She doesn't know a light switch from a doorknob" he whispered. Margaret registered no sign of having understood what he said. She smiled warmly at him. It was clear that she trusted and loved him, even if she couldn't understand what was going on around her.
We all sat in the livingroom as I chatted with Bill. As we wrapped up our conversation, I said how much I had looked forward to visiting with them because they were such important role models to me when I was much younger. I directed that comment toward Margaret. "Especially you," I told her. She cocked her head to one side and made a clucking noise as if to say, "Oh, that's too kind of you." When I left she gave me a bear hug--much more demonstrative than her stiff, reserved, lucid personage would ever have done. Bill shook my hand.

I have thought of these dear people several times over the last two weeks. Margaret was the organist at our church and Bill made sure the bills were paid so we had lights and heat. Margaret's playing was atrocious. Bill's comments from the pulpit were formal and opinionated. But I looked up to them. Margaret was the only woman I knew who had a PhD. I wanted to be like her. This couple never had children, so it was just them. But she always had a shy smile and they were a sure thing--always there, pitching in with whatever responsibilities needed to be taken on.
Now they're facing the sunset years of their lives together. Bill wouldn't think of anyone else taking care of Margaret. He dresses her, fights her wig onto her head and makes her take a bath. She follows him around like a lamb, smiling, agreeable. He knew her for many, many years as an intelligent, strong-willed, creative educator. He would never leave anything about her to another person. He really can't leave the apartment much to get away for shopping or to go out to church or even for a drive. A friend comes in to sit with her while he goes for groceries. He wonders if he will die first because of his heart condition. But she is so frail that he wonders how long she will last. She is all he has and he is all she has--no children, no close relatives. They live for one another, even now.

Staying power. It's what old friends and lovers have for one another and what holds them together.

God's peace to you both, Margaret and Bill. You will never know how you have touched my life.

Unfixability

No one rushes toward unfixable situations. We don't like movies that end without resolution. Bridges of Madison County just about sent me over the edge because I was left hanging--as were the daughters in the movie.
I've noticed that various clinical populations are not first choice of a target group for many clinicians. People with progressive neuromuscular problems like Lou Gehrig's disease or children with cystic fibrosis--these are not top picks for new medical residents to select as an area of specialty. When it comes to therapy, few therapists are rushing to work with people with Alzheimer's Dementia. It is an agonizing, progressive illness that leaves family members in emotional limbo. It can't be fixed, only endured. It is a type of ambiguous loss--chronic, frozen, traumatic, unrecognized loss that cannot be resolved.

There are many life situations in which people may be held against their will. They may be too horrified to mobilize their energies to make a plan that will help them cope. They may be so off-balance and exhausted from trying to predict what will happen next that they have given up trying to influence their situation one way or the other. Or they become depressed from feeling helpless with the unfixability they face continually.

Parents whose children are kidnapped, adults married to alcoholics, people caught in family feuds, those with chronic illnesses--all of these people suffer ambiguous losses. These are complex losses. There are confusing, unresolvable and unrelenting aspects of their situations that prevents them from being able to move on.

I am acutely aware of an ambiguous loss that I have in vain tried to cope with for nearly 20 years. Family members have cut one another off and I stand at the edge of a dark pool of hostility, regret, pain, and misunderstanding. There is nothing I can do about it. I did nothing to make it happen, but I have been deeply affected by it. It is something that I cannot fix. There are no sides to take and yet I am pulled in all directions over the relationships I choose to maintain. An emotional Switzerland of sorts. There is nothing pleasant or easy about any of it.

Oh, there are reasons for it, all right, according to both sides--of which I hear no end of commentary. Everyone wants to be right. Everyone nurses their pain--significant pain, that is nearly palpable. Everyone justifies their attitude, behavior, feelings. Everyone pulls in friends, neighbors, counselors to see their side of things. It goes on and on without any way to escape unless I cut everyone off and go my own way. But then I will have lost even the illusion that I have a family left.

In ambiguous losses such as happened to the wife of Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway, it is hard to keep the emotional door open. Pain begs for closure and relief. The wife decided that Tom was dead and she remarried. It was too hard to hang in limbo and deal with the unknowingness of it all. Her worst fears were realized when Tom showed up, quite alive.

When children are kidnapped, their parents can make a shrine of their empty bedroom. And after a time, they can also make that same room into a study or hobby room--just as though that child never existed. Some parents will forbid their other children to ever mention the kidnapped child's name again. It is too painful. Shut the door on possibility and act as though it is over. Even though it isn't. That's how many people cope with these "leave-me-in-limbo" losses.

There are real temptations to aim at clarity and crisp boundaries in ambiguous losses, even at the expense of failure to deal with the situation. It is so uncomfortable to live with uncertainty, unpredictability, helplessness, and the emotional rollercoaster that accompanies the confusion of ambiguous losses. It is like living at the edge of an open grave and putting your whole energy into keeping from falling into it yourself.

Tonight, one of my relatives is in labor for her first child. The family schism prevents me from joyfully celebrating this with the very family member who would be most excited. Instead, I temper my words, censor my comments and wish inside that I could be free of all this intrigue and unfairness. If I slip up and mention a name or event that I shouldn't, or allude to anything on the "secrets" list, I'll either be denigrated and mistrusted, or grilled and mistrusted. Yet if I hold everything inside, I become the most flat, boring person in the world--the careful, stoic guard of everything privileged from both sides.

In the last year there has been more discomfort related to my family than in the rest of my years put together--watching the grief, pain, regret, anger, and finally death that has occurred. And my heart has taken a beating in all of this. The range of acceptable responses to everyone is becoming more and more narrow by the week. It continues on, trapping me in the tangle of unresolved brokenness.

Some things are unfixable. For now, I long for the Day when everyone will be able to know as they are known, and to see life and truth as it really is.