The Music of Her Life.....

This has been the hardest week of my life.

As I work furiously to assemble WWII era songs onto an ipod for my mother, I wonder if I will even make it there on time. 'There' being the hospital where she has existed since September 2010. I wonder if she will even be able to hear them IF I make it there on time. I wonder why I am doing this now when I have had months, weeks and certainly the past several days to do so. The reality of the situation may be just too real now.

It's possible that I don't want to watch her leave this life. The years spent handling her many errands, her desperate and immediate needs and demands, and her numerous doctor and clinic visits wore me out. Nothing was ever right or was ever enough. It just began to make me numb. But, I never stopped loving her. I never stopped hoping that the next time I saw her that we would have an overall positive encounter. She can't speak now, so it's up to me to make this a final positive encounter. As the POA, it is up to me to make the call for hospice and all my siblings are not in agreement about the next inevitable steps. It is ripping my family apart.

I would like to help her leave this life listening to the songs of her youth, her glory days. They are the songs that defined the 'greatest generation'. The generation of so many immigrants who defended our freedom in so many of the most ultimate ways. The generation who may have given us too much because so many of them had grown up with so little due to the Great Depression.

So, I scramble to figure out how to help her exit this world, I realize that writing this blog just made it easier for me to deal with her passing.

Thank you for listening.

JOY IN SMALL PACKAGES....

It's the little things. Truly, it is!

Every day is not Christmas Day or my birthday or the anniversary of something fabulous that happened in my or a loved ones life. Lately, it's about cherishing micro moments in time. The ones that burst with sweetness. Or, those that are quick or cute or funny or just uniquely beautiful.

If I pay attention, there's at least one a day. How the sun glints off the gorgeous fall foliage, even as it fades. Kids tossing the football in the street. Playing chuck-a-ball with Harvey the Wonder Dog and reveling in the unadulterated, pure joy that he takes in retrieving the ball for me. Okay, he IS a Labrador retriever, but that's beside the point!

One of the best laugh out loud moments came not too long ago. After reading aloud the book that I wrote about Harvey to my two very young great-nephews, the 4 year old asked me to read "Harvey Finds His Smile" and pointed it out on the back of the book. I told him that I had yet to write that next book. He cocked his head in a most quizzical and thoughtful way and said, "Well, can't you just write it right now while you're here this weekend?" I paused, laughed, hugged him hard and thought about what he said and just smiled. A magical moment of pure innocence.

Truly a joy. In a very small package.

When your Mother is your Child...

Intrinsically, I must have always known. Always known that I was my mother's keeper. Certainly, always her emotional keeper, and not because I wanted to be. As a young child, adolescent and adult, I out of all four of her children would have to be the one to handle, deflect and absorb her immature outbursts and financial mismanagement. Never a task that I cared to shoulder and one that has kept us at odds ever since I can remember. One that I now realize figured in very prominently to my personal indecision about motherhood.

As a second-grader I was called into the principal's office. In all earnestness and with good intentions, both my teacher and the head of the school explained to me that they understood that my parents were behaving like children and that I would have to be the parent. Hey, it was 1962 and clearly, they had no idea what sort of impact something like this might have on a child. It was confusing. It was also strangely calming. At least they got it, I thought. They must have an idea about what I was going through at home. My position as peace-keeper in the family had only just begun.

Fast-forward forty-seven years later and not a lot has changed. Except for me. Or, at least the way that I have learned to cope and to shut myself down emotionally when it comes to her and to the family situations connected to her. It may sound cold,but it's for self-preservation and really important for emotional well-being and survival. It's important.

What is equally important is how distance, albeit even just emotional, creates perspective. She was/is a physically beautiful woman. A knockout, really. Even at 85 years of age people remark at her attractiveness. She is used to being complimented and a little bit vain but not in an unlikeable way. Her energy is high and her mind is whip fast. Her body is breaking down and she is pissed about it.

For the first time, I find her a little bit vulnerable. I begin to take the time to listen to what her childhood friends say about her, the stories they recall about times together when they were young and wild and free. They speak of their 'salad days' and how much fun she was back then. And, how drastically her outlook and personality changed with the sudden, tragic death of her father in her early 20's. The more I listen, the more I understand. The more I understand, the more bittersweet each exchange becomes for me. I want to be angry when she is verbally and emotionally abusive to me. It's a natural decades-old reflex. But, the specter of her mortality allows me to be softer, slower, a little bit more patient and forgiving. Ah, forgiveness. The gift you give yourself. That may be so, but it works both ways. By getting past my expectation of what I wanted our mother-daughter relationship to be, I am able to accept what is and even better, who she is. And that, is plenty good enough.

Family, Friends and all things important....

I bought a bunch of flowers today. They weren't anything special or exotic. Just a simple bunch of pink tulips. Grocery store flowers. Pretty, but not captivating. Not a 'must-have' item. They weren't on the grocery list. They certainly were not in the budget. It felt a little bit frivolous and unnecessary and like a real waste of money. But, I bought them anyway without even really being sure why.

On the short drive home, I thought about the past two years, twelve months,twelve days, and most of all, twelve hours. A meeting with the admins at the nursing home where my very physically frail but mentally alert mother is currently living, a phone conversation about a very attractive but risky job opportunity and an email from a close childhood friend who had just heard the word one fears the most-cancer.

I slowly unpacked, put away the groceries and arranged the flowers in a vase. One by one, I assigned a blessing or a prayer to each of the twelve (!) flowers in the arrangement. Some were sad, some bittersweet but all tinged with love. A moment in time that I would not have enjoyed had I not 'splurged' on the purchase.

Just one small bunch of flowers and a head and heart full of thoughts, hopes and prayers. Not a bad bargain for $5.99 plus tax.