Not Just A Cup Of Tea

This morning there is steam rising from my cup and tears flowing down my face.  I can't seem to stop the bouts of tears these days once they've started.

For months I've tried to be strong while moving my mother to a new room, hobble on crutches and plan a Christmas show. I have had to forfeit exercise and motorcycling - both things I love and that help keep me sane.

Saturday the dam broke.  I found my mother with wet hair, sitting in her wheelchair wearing mismatched clothes and her shoes on the wrong feet.  I was horrified.  I took the necessary steps to notify whomever was in charge and let them know this was unacceptable.

You think a mama bear is nasty when her cubs are in danger......have you met a baby bear who's mama is in danger????  Just as scary, let me tell you, but this baby bear feels helpless to defend her mama.  Of course, those in charge were very apologetic but my heart took a severe blow that I am still recovering from.  It feels like Big Foot is stepping on my chest and I can't breathe.  I felt this way when my father died.  It's the familiar feeling of grief.

Tears poke a hole and let some air in so you can start to breathe again.  The tears just keep falling.

But this morning, on the other side of Saturday, things are looking more positive as I look into changing her care, whether it be bringing her home to live with me or moving her closer to a facility where I can get there in 5 minutes, bring her home for dinner and take her with me on jaunts...just to have some kind of normalcy again.

I am about ready to have a cup of hot tea.  The mint garden leaves are brewing now and their smell takes me back to the farm where we grew our own tea.  Mother would serve it in a yellow teapot that has a cracked lid, which none of us want to part with.

It's more than just tea.  A dear friend grew it in her garden and a few weeks ago I went to get some from her to grow in my own garden.  I took my mother along so she could get out and see a garden again.  That was one of her favorite things to do and she was good at it.  We all stood and talked about life and soil. My mother soaked it all in as she sat there with us.

When I drink this tea this morning, it will remind me of that morning with my friends, my mother and my home growing up.  The hot tea is like a warm blanket in my soul as I grasp the cup with my hands. My heart seems to need a lot of comfort these days as I walk through this aging process with my mother.

It's not just a cup of tea anymore.

My lips will sip and my heart will drink.

A New Edge - What If I Bring My Mother Home?

What if I would bring my mother home to live with us?  THAT would be a new edge.

I originally started out blogging this year with ice skating in mind.  That was my edge.  And it was life-changing for me, inside and out. But I encountered a setback with my ankle and so I turned to blogging about life on crutches.  An edge I would prefer not to experience.

I’m off crutches now but I’m still healing and tired of writing about crutches. You’re probably tired of reading about it too.  I can’t skate yet, so I won’t be writing about that either. Hopefully, I can return soon.  I'm now allowed to exercise from the knees up.  That should be interesting.

So thus begins my new line of thought. This will be a very crazy journey. But since there is a growing amount of readers, like you, who are participating in my journey, I have come to love sharing my thoughts in the blog. I love the feeling of this community.  You offer support and insight that is personally very valuable.

So back to my question:  What if I would bring my elderly mother home to live with us?  What if I could help usher her into her next phase of life, eternal life, with love and special care.

I have so many questions and thoughts churning in my heart and mind, as you can imagine.  I am sure this is a troubling question for many of us who have aging parents.  What is the right thing to do?  I suppose that I might make a decision that everyone won’t agree with either, but I’m taking that chance.

Someone recently came across an older blog post and sent me this message through an email. It was pretty timely because I haven’t heard from them for years and they have no idea what I have been contemplating. I don’t know what the outcome will be, but I feel like I need to pursue this and see where God takes it.  So here’s what I’m doing…….

• Talking with my husband, researching the possibility and gathering information. It always affects our family when we live on the edge. 
• Contacting friends and family to see if anyone might be able to help me care for her.  
• Meeting with the Office of Aging to find out what resources there are for this type of adventure.  I found out there is a whole program for this type of transition.
• Meeting with Hospice.  

Thanks for joining me in this new phase. I’m actually excited about learning about this process and giving it much prayer and consideration.  Maybe it will help others who are facing this very situation in their own family.  I’m not sure how it will all end up and it will be hard either way, but I am enjoying thinking outside the box.

I close with the message I received in response to “Crutch, Crutch, Goose”.

“Dear Frances,

I was searching some things on the Net today and happened upon your site, and the blog, "Crutch, crutch, goose".  It touched me deeply.  My mother had a severe stroke at age 72, in 1998, which left her completely left side paralyzed and wheelchair bound.  It changed her life and our life forever.  This was very traumatic for our family since she was "our rock" and so independent.  We cared for her, at her home or in our home, until she went to be with her Lord in 2011.  I then continued to care for my 95 year old father until he went home in March of 2013.  I resigned my job of 16 years and slowed down our ministry to do what I felt I needed to do.  I absolutely have no regrets. 

During this process and the many years of caregiving, I wrote the following.  It has comforted me on many occasions, and I'm hoping it can be an encouragement and comfort to you also.  I hope you do not mind me sharing this, but I felt compelled to do so. 

 ****************************************************************************

Just as they once shielded us, we now begin to shield them. Their eyes become a little dimmer, their walk a little more unsteady, and their talk a bit softer. Slowly they begin to slip through our fingers. No matter what we do or how much we offer, each smile, each step, and each word takes more effort than before. 

Who are these people who take so much of our time and unknowingly tear our hearts in two? They are called mom and dad; mother and father; grandma and grandpap; nanna and pappap. They are the forgotten ones of our new technological generation. The ones who have somehow become acquainted with the daily aches and pains of every day living. The ones who have learned that a simple task is no longer simple, but a long, drawn out process for which they always need assistance. The mundane is now elaborate, and every morning brings challenges beyond their control.

But then again, for us as their next generation, each day somehow offers new possibilities in caring and serving. We learn patience and understanding, often seeing ourselves in their struggles. We learn that love is more than receiving from these individuals who have given every breath so we could take our first.

It is not our duty, but our privilege to care for them. It is our chance to act on servanthood, and offer unconditional love to them for one last time. It is our chance to return the favor. Remembering this, let’s offer one more day, one more hour, one more conversation or word, one more act of kindness. We just never know when that "one more" may be their final step to eternity.” - Darlene Scott, Heirborne Promise 

When She Calls "Yoo Hoo"

My mother has a bird feeder hanging outside the window of her little room in the nursing center. It was empty when she moved in and I inquired as to how we go about getting it filled.  Since it's up to the family to keep it filled, I take bird seed with me every time I go.

When I first filled it, I would ask if the birds had come - with desperate eagerness every time I talked with her on the phone. They didn't come for days. I pleaded with God to please give her this small favor and send some birds. I knew they would brighten her day.

One day I visited her and sure enough a gold finch landed on the feeder and I about jumped through the roof with excitement. She did too, in an elderly woman kind of way.

When I go to see her, I usually fill the feeder first. She doesn't know I'm coming so it usually surprises her when she suddenly sees me appear right outside her window.

One day, recently, because of the glare on the window with the rising sun, I couldn't see well. I bent down and peeked in her room to see if she was in there.  I was about to give up when I heard something I haven't heard for years. Her familiar "yoo hoo". It starts up high for the "yoo" and goes down a few tones on the scale for the "hoo". Same way, every time. I smiled and waved.

A chill ran up my spine. The power of those two words, within a nanosecond, flung me back into childhood and a lifetime of being her daughter. I could see and hear glimpses of moments in time when I heard that familiar call.

...calling my father in from the fields

...calling up to me in my bedroom on the farm

...a call that sometimes irritated me like crazy

...a call that I have considered using when my own natural voice doesn't seem loud enough, but then wonder if I really have the gall to do what used to drive me nuts.

But today it was the most welcomed sound. A moment from the past, as if all was normal again.

I don't know when the Lord will call her home. She prays almost daily that it will be that day and usually asks me to pray with her that it will be soon and so I do. I know the Bible says that His sheep know His voice. I wonder if He will call "yoo hoo".

I'll probably have chills up my spine and tears down my face when He calls her.

Crutches, Grudges and Gratitude. The journey to healing.

My hero, Andy

I've known Andy for years.  He is always on crutches and I never thought much about it until I saw him on my first day off crutches.

We reconnected at a gathering of friends and I immediately began to tell him that I have a new appreciation for what he must face having to always be on crutches.  He smiled and said he'd be glad to give me tips on using them, and his tips made a lot of sense.

I asked him more about his story, something I had never really taken the time to do in depth.  He had polio in his mother's womb.  She was Vietnamese and they apparently never had access to vaccinations in those days.  He's never known anything but crutches.

I have been thinking a lot about how similar being on crutches is to healing from soul wounds or adjusting to changes in life.  So here's my take on the stages of life-altering events...whether for a short or long time.

Denial

First you deny that you are hurt.

Anger

You realize you are hurt and feel angry about it.

Humiliation

You start using crutches, seen or unseen and find it very humiliating and even hurtful to your pride.  (I honestly didn't think I had much pride, but wow - was I ever in for a surprise).

You have to ask for help. You become dependent on other people and that feels really yucky.

Discouragement

You start to feel down.

You still don't improve and you start staying home instead of going out because it's just too complicated and hope begins to dwindle.

Resignation

You stop fighting.  You become resigned to the fact that you are hurt and life is different.  "Deal with it" you tell yourself. Learn to adjust.

Adjusting

You start getting used to being on crutches (in my case) and they start to become part of your day.  This can be good and bad.  You become a little more bold about asking for help and being very thankful when people offer to help. In fact, you know now that you need help.  That’s even better!

Smiling

You begin to realize that many people have had much worse to deal with and if they can 'do life' with a handicap and thrive, so can you, at least until you can get help.

You start to smile more again.  You start to even think an unthinkable thought: "ya know, if I had to live this way the rest of my life, I probably could.  I'd have a lot of attitude adjustment to do, but I could make it".

And so there is my take on the stages of crutches.  It struck me as I was starting to get adjusted to them and moving a little more easily on them, that this probably isn't much different than any other kind of injury: body, soul or spirit or even similar to the stages of grief.  Healing takes time.

I hope that Andy can be free of crutches some day but without a miracle he most likely won't be.  I do believe in miracles and I know he does too.  But, I hope that no matter what stage I am in and no matter what type of injury I might face whether for months or a lifetime, I will have the smiling attitude that my friend, Andy, has.

Someone Else's Shoes

When I was a little girl, I loved trying on my mother's clothes and shoes.  Of course, they never fit, but that didn't matter. It was all pretend.

It takes years to grow into someone else's shoes and sometimes it takes something drastic to make them fit. I wish it wasn't that way.

My father passed away on May 31, 2001 and in the midst of my grief, I stopped writing songs.  It wasn't on purpose and I'm not even sure I noticed at first.  But I just didn't have anything to say.  I was still writing by 'inspiration only' in those days.  Grief had stolen my inspiration and the songs went with it.  Fortunately, since then I've learned how to write by inspiration and perspiration thanks to writing songs for terminally ill children.  I couldn't wait for inspiration then, I had to write a song no matter what.

A year after my father died, I took my mother to visit his grave and when I stepped out of the car to walk over to the sacred spot,  I heard a distinct melody and lyric in my head:

"Now I understand, things I couldn't see before"

I went on to finish the song and it remains one of my favorites to this day.  It jump-started my songwriting and I entered another season of writing.  The song pretty much tells the story.

When I was a little girl

we would go and visit my grandpa's grave

almost every holiday we would stop and see

I would watch my mother kneel

say a word maybe shed a tear

I would wait so impatiently

I guess I couldn't see

But now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

Here I am I'm older now

I go and visit my daddy's grave

almost every time I'm near I stop and say hello

I share my heart and shed a tear

I'm feeling things I never felt before

I guess I see what my mother saw

and what it meant to her

Now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

It's amazing how I'm right back in that same spot of awareness again, but in a different set of circumstances.  

I was recently in an airport utilizing the handicap services they provide because I've been on crutches for weeks due to an ankle injury.  The skycaps had to keep reminding me to sit down in the wheelchair from the side, not try to hurl myself over the metal feet sticking out from the wheelchair.   After having to be reminded each time, I had a flashback to my mother and I on many excursions where I continually have to remind her to sit down in the car first and then swing her feet around after her.  It's easier than putting her feet in first.  We learned that in physical therapy when she fractured her hip.  But she always needs reminded and I have tried to be patient with her every time.  

Now the tables were turned, or perhaps it's better to say the wheelchair has turned, and I needed reminded of the same principle, each time.  She has the excuse of being 91 years old and lapsing in memory.  I have no idea what my excuse is.  

But the last time I needed reminded, I smiled.  I was so glad I have been patient with her. 

My graveside experience with writing "Someone Else's Shoes" came to my mind and once again I knew that it's always easier to extend mercy to others when you yourself have somehow stepped into their shoes, if even for just a moment.  

Buy "Someone Else's Shoes" here if you like.

Crutch, Crutch, Goose - a new game with my Mother

You've probably played the game "duck, duck, goose".  You know, the one where you sit in a circle and hope you are the one chosen to run around the circle—like a maniac. Next, you bop someone on the head and they continue the frenzy of activity.  Such excitement and anticipation in the air. At least, that's how it felt when I was a young girl.

As an adult, I still play a version of this game. First I sit and meditate quietly, or I vigorously ride my bike. Then BOP, an idea taps me on my head and I'm up and running around in circles.

Bop - "let's do a Christmas CD"
Bop - "let's learn to figure skate"
Bop - "let's put together a Christmas show"
Bop - "move your mother to the nursing center"

oops.....that "bop" wasn't my idea.  

But there I was...off and running (well, actually, I was hopping on crutches) to get her situated in her new room in the skilled nursing department at the retirement community where she lives. Being on crutches has slowed me down......a LOT! 

In the midst of all this hustle and bustle of moving my mother, it is so easy to lose sight of the positives.

Until last Saturday morning.

I had been planning a special picnic lunch for my mother.  I spent most of Friday afternoon making food preparations and creating the perfect scenario in my head.  

Early in the week I had promised her that I would take her out for lunch. Going out to eat would be a nice change from the institutional food and the atmosphere she has had to adjust to.  

But I began sensing that what she really needed was a touch of home. Memories are all she has left and they are fading too. Familiar things that would tie her to the past.  

So I started conjuring up this picnic idea in my head:

Sunshine.
Picnic table in the woods.
Home-made foods served on her Fiestaware.
A family heirloom tablecloth.
Root beer floats.

And then we got a call at 9:00 p.m. Friday night.  

She had fallen in her bathroom, hit her head on the tile floor and would be heading to the ER.  

We arrived before she did. 

She had a massive goose egg on her forehead and I gasped when I saw it, trying not to let her see my reaction.

I held her hand at one point to help her lift her arms for the nurse and saw the skin drape down over her bones like a wet dish rag.  She's only 95 pounds and I'm convinced most of that is just bone. 

It was a long night.

She wondered about our lunch plans.  Could we still go through with them?  

"Let's just take it one step at a time", I said.

Saturday came and it was sunny, but there was a very blustery wind that came with the sunshine so I wasn't sure we could go to the park as originally planned.  Plus, I had no idea what kind of shape she'd be in from falling the night before.

I made the root beer floats ahead of time, put them in the freezer so they'd last in the cooler, packed the blue Fiestaware and cheery tablecloth. 

Would she even remember the cloth I wondered? 

Next, I packed chicken salad, fresh kale salad with fresh strawberries, avocado, almonds, feta cheese and homemade honey-lemon poppy seed dressing and drove the 30 minutes to the retirement home.

When I arrived, a nurse carried all the food in for me and suggested a little sunroom at the end of the hall.  It was obvious my mother wasn't up for an outdoor picnic.

I stepped into her room and gasped again.  

I don't have children so I don't know what it's like to watch your child suffer from bruises and ailments, but I do know the feeling of seeing your aging mother becoming more frail by the week and I shivered at the sight of her black and blue face.  

A child always has the hope of growing up and getting stronger.  At 91, it's a very different scenario when they are bruised or ailing.  It seems to only weaken them.  You take a deep breath every time you see the incoming call from the nursing center.  Is this going to be it you ask yourself?

I could see we had about two options.  Let her lay in bed and have the picnic lunch in her room or try to get her up and sit in the sunroom.  She seemed interested in the sunroom so I went to get it ready.

We hobbled out to the room together, she with her frail body clinging to the walker for support and me with my injured ankle and grieving heart.


When we sat down at that table, however, it was as if we entered another world.  She recognized the tablecloth immediately.  We talked of gardening, cooking, where the tablecloth came from, though she doesn't remember, and how she had walked by this sunroom many times never dreaming she would end up here.

I realized, as we ate, that it was the first time in weeks that we had been able to do anything 'normal' together.  The past few weeks had been focused on parting with her furniture, signing papers, releasing her old room, filling out more papers, getting used to a very small room, new staff and procedures. It had taken its toll on both of us in different ways.  

Now, we sat at a table together, sipping root beer floats, eating from her plates (that I inherited from her) on her tablecloth and enjoying home-grown food.

Every time she sipped the root beer float she would say "this is delicious!".  I would remind her that this was the treat she served everyone who came to visit her in her cottage.  She would put scoops of ice cream in a glass and cover it with root beer, then put it in the freezer.  When unexpected visitors came, she would simply remove the glass from the freezer, put a straw in it (the kind that flexes near the top) and serve it with some pretzels. I don't know of anyone who didn't love those root beer floats.  But she has no recollection of this tradition.  I sighed.  How can she not remember that?  It was one of her trademarks.

At one point, we ate in silence and suddenly she slid her hand across the tablecloth.  "This is a connection to the past", she said.  Gulp.  Lump in my throat.  She can't remember the root beer floats but she can remember the tablecloth?  Memory is so unpredictable.

It isn't the most ideal stage of life for her right now and I shed many hidden tears over it.  But on this day, there was no running around in circles like maniacs playing duck, duck, goose.   We just sat and enjoyed memories together.  Me on my crutches and her with her goose egg bump on her head.   It's making lemonade out of lemons they usually say, but we had root beer floats instead.

Thanks to her goose egg bruise and my crutches, we made do in our new situation and created a new game...."crutch, crutch, goose".

With or without the crutches and goose egg - we will do this again!

Invisible Crutches

Still no skating.....

Still on crutches.....

Living on the edge is much more fun when it's an edge you chose.  Crutches are not my choice, but they are necessary right now; at least the ones you can see me walking with.

A crutch is anything that serves as a temporary and often inappropriate support, supplement, or substitute; a prop.

A crutch doesn't always have to be a piece of wood or metal that props you up...it can be the invisible kind....

food

friends

chocolate

sleeping

comfort

sunshine

noise

music

clothes

feelings

dishonesty

perfectionism

silence

For instance, if I choose to be silent for the better of mankind, then that is not a crutch.  It is a wise choice.  However, if I choose to be silent as 'revenge' or a sort of 'attack' or to 'prove a point' - that isn't a healthy choice. It's a bad crutch.

Today I went for another laser treatment on my ankle.  Imagine lying facedown on the bed in a dark room while the assistant runs a warm metal thing over your ankle.  The laser beam restores energy and nutrients back into your cells they say.  Hopefully this works!

While you are laying there, it's tempting to lay your head down and take a nap.  But the girl who gives me the laser treatment is a bit chatty.  She wants to know what my day holds for me.  She probably can't see me sigh.  I don't want to talk today.  I just want to be left alone.

I have a decision to make.  Do I really tell her what's on my plate or do I make it short and sweet? 

There are actually some very monumental things on my plate, but I don't want to talk about it.

* A first time meeting with those who care for my Mother in her new room.   An emotional event.

* A brainstorming meeting tonight about my upcoming Christmas show.  A joyous event.

She wouldn't know what I'm talking about on either count, so I'm sure she'd ask more questions. Why bother to start.  I've already been prone to tears for the past few weeks since I've had to move my Mother and I don't want to turn on that faucet in front of a stranger so I just resort to crutches.  I don't say anything.

But I know that isn't fair to her, so I go for the short and bland, after I sigh again, inwardly. 

"Meetings," I say, with my head half down in the pillow.  "My day consists of meetings".  I knew that wasn't a great answer for an inquiring mind, but it would have to do. 

My invisible crutches are functioning well it would seem.

I'd like to be rid of both kinds of crutches.