Kinks

It was a long day yesterday, and just in case we had any delusion of control -- life exerted its supreme authority and delivered a smack down. Things at the hospital did not go as expected or as planned.

His surgery has to wait for another day; seems he had anaphylaxis to penicillin or perhaps the anesthetic. But no worries, they figured it out and he is recovering. He is disappointed that his procedure is deferred however his feisty spirit prevailed! Not to be silenced, he motioned for paper and pen and immediately started scrawling out directives, questions and feelings. We knew he was going to be okay when he wrote "how is my hair? His forehead wrinkled and his eyes squinted and I saw a flicker of his sense of humour ... I drew him a picture, and I think I saw a hint of smile. Just a little.

When we finally got to say our goodnight, he was talking and seemed calm and comfortable - a departure from the first glimpse we got post surgery. I can honestly say that it was the very first time in my life that I witnessed my dad in an utterly vulnerable state. His eyes seemed resigned as if to say, "this is exactly what I didn't want to have happen". He has made it known (and I suspect is a deep seated fear) that he does not want to become a perpetual patient.

So it will be a recovery of a different nature and we all shared his disappointment. He was so prepared and focused on getting to the other side of the operation to start his recovery. But that will have to wait for another day.

As the risk of sounding cliche, these life-imposed incidents remind us of what is truly important and to not leave issues unresolved, as well as provide us with opportunities to feel our family love and devotion merged into a powerful single force of support. It is times like these that we are tested, and feel the infinite power of a strong family. And despite the shreds of anxiety and emotion, there is gratitude for belonging to this wonderful, united, warrior tribe.

Care Package

We've all got the call -- someone near and dear to us desperately needs our help. It often comes without warning and it is rarely convenient. That's why they call it help. I can remember as a younger version of myself I thrived on being needed; being the one people turned to for advice, guidance and support. I needed to be needed. But if memory serves me correctly, I think I harbored a secret sense of martyrdom. Oh, I was sincere enough in my concern and assistance - but I was also somewhat self centered about it all. There was ego involved.

As I matured and had my metal tested, I grew to find the gifts in giving of myself. My mother became very ill and  lived with us as she waited for a lung transplant. The program was grueling, requiring her and her caregiver (me) to go into the city four days a week for a series of exercises, appointments and preparatory therapies. When we first started this journey I felt pretty darn proud of myself - bloated with self importance to be giving so much of myself to the cause.

But as the days passed and my devotion, stamina and patience were tested, I started to see the situation for the hot bed of opportunity that it was. I shared hours of dedicated talk time with my beloved Mom as we drove the 2 hour round trip and spent hours in countless medical waiting rooms. I was privy to her thoughts and private anxieties, as well as the benefactor of her theories, perspectives and philosophies on the mind-body-spirit connection, self actualization, how to pray and how to be the highest form of expression of one's self. She once told me, "This is important for you too Lyn. You are going to grow from this experience. You'll see." She knew what she was talking about.

I shifted my thinking from how this was impacting MY life, to this IS my life. Ever-changing schedules taught me to let go of that over which I had no control. Hours of waiting - for doctors, procedures, appointments - taught me patience. Witnessing her stoic, positive demeanor in the face of impending death inspired me to be grateful for my own health and the life I had created. Her appreciation for every breath of life taught me to cherish life that much more. Her attitude that there is always someone worse off than ourselves motivated me to want to be a better person. And in the end, she showed us that there are things worse than dying.

Needless to say I learned that it is an honour and a privilege to care for the ones we love; to give back a small fraction of the love and kindness that has been shown to me. And if we do it with our eyes and heart wide open, we can expect to forever changed, and blessed -- the ultimate care package.

Dedicated to MIH who always gives more than she gets.

Moments in Time

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled as she sat propped up with pillows on the sofa. We hugged her tightly as we greeted her and she tentatively touched our arms, polite in her non recognition of us. She is a short little lady and I couldn't help but notice how much less of her there was to hug. Mr Tibbs the rambunctious Sharpei sat vigil at her feet, never taking his eyes off her.

We chatted about pleasantries; we told her that she had just had a birthday and that she was now 98 years old. Her eyebrows lifted  in surprise and she exclaimed, "I am turning into an old lady", She laughed along with us. We complimented her on her crimson coloured finger nails (yup - blazing red) and she explained that a very nice lady had put them on for her. We told her that it was Thanksgiving and that we were about to sit down to a scrumptious turkey dinner. She simply smiled.

MIH worked hard to lift Nana up onto the high perch at the table. Nana looked down at the flowered china plate that had once graced her own table and commented, "This is very beautiful, isn't it?" Eureka! The flicker of recognition that MIH had so hoped for.

She said she wasn't hungry but proceeded to methodically clear her loaded plate of turkey and fixings. She didn't stop until it was scraped clean. She smiled across the table; she was clearly enjoying the moment. And that is what her life has come to - this is where Alzheimer's has taken her. She lives in the moment with little to no recollection of what has been and who is who. She knows she feels loved and she knows that she loves the sweet lady that is her daughter, who is now nameless.

We are generous with our hugs, snuggles and I love yous. She giggles and smiles and then momentarily breaks away to say "God bless you". After an hour and a half she starts to squirm in her seat anxiously. She stares out the window and comments that it will be dark soon and it is time to go back. MIH comforts her and rallies the family to help get Nana and her walker out to the Jeep. Kisses and hugs all around. As Nana stands she says, "I'll come again, OK?" I could feel the lump in my throat forming.

It is difficult beyond words to watch Nana suffer the ravages of Alzheimer's and even harder to see the pain that her daughter, my MIH, endures as she watches her mother slowly slip away into an unreachable abyss.

Who knows what the future holds? I just know that no matter what, MIH has the right idea. We don't worry if she needs yet another sweater or if she'll remember the hour drive to the house for dinner, or if she will even remember the good feelings she shared while she was in the cocoon of her loving family. The focus is on giving her moments of love and respite from her loneliness ... special moments in time. And no one does it better than my MIH.

Phew - what a Thanksgiving it's been. And I didn't even mention the new blue highlights our white bathroom sink is sporting courtesy of Kidlet's adventures in hair dyeing. OK .... maybe I just mentioned it ....

Compassion

The rubber hits the road. Kidlet has a friend who needs help -- she and her adoptive parents have been having problems and they have asked that after she turns sixteen in two weeks, she leave and figure things out on her own. (Keep in mind this is coming from one perspective only ...)

Kidlet wants to save this precious little girl. She is outraged that any parent would disengage from their child and say things so terrible that they could never be taken back. I couldn't help her in the way Kidlet wanted ...

And boy did she let me have it ... my words came flying back at me ...
"When people need help, it's never convenient."
"We have to look after each other in this world."
"You are willing to go all the way to Kenya -- when there's a kid who is all alone who needs help, right here in our neighbourhood."

Kidlet told me that she wasn't accepting it -- that every kid deserves to be wanted and loved, and she would find a way.  The disappointment on her face haunted me all night. I decided that just because I couldn't do exactly what Kidlet has asked, I could figure out how we could collectively offer this girl the help she needs.

My eldest daughter is opening her heart and we are all coming to the table with solutions and options. When I called Kidlet to tell her the news, she started crying on the phone ... saying thank you, thank you. I reminded her that it wasn't a done deal yet ... but she didn't care. She is overwhelmed by the kindness of her sister and relieved by the fact that her friend has options. The first step will be talking to the girl's parents to gage the situation. We want to help - not help tear a family apart.

I am not sure how it will all turn out but I am proud of the determination and compassion shown by all of my girls. Now I just have to follow in their footsteps. That's what I love about being a parent - our children - how they teach us.

House Calls

Yesterday as we gathered around, sipping our wine and catching up, the topic of calling came up. The kind of calling a mother (or in my case, a daughter) does to check that her loved one is alive and well. My hubby's sister recently had a medical emergency caused by inhaling some stain repellent she was spraying. In addition to the residual health effects my sister-in-law is experiencing, hubby's mom (MIH) is also experiencing residual effects - shock and awe over almost losing her daughter. Since sis-in-law lives alone, MIH has been calling her several times a day to ensure she can breathe OK and that she is alright. Sis-in-law is finding it too much.

When MIH finished talking, my eldest daughter, who lives down the street in her own condo, piped up that if she died, no one would find her for 4 days. I was shocked that she said that and quickly replied with "of course I would!". She smiled at me and said no - she had calculated it. I don't phone her every day and even if I did, and didn't get an answer, I wouldn't worry anyway. There's some truth to that, and sometimes I think I don't worry enough. MIH would be over in a flash no matter the time or day. And her daughter isn't crazy about that.

My daughter on the other hand would probably love it. I tried to explain that it isn't that I don't care about her and her sister (who also lives on her own) ... I have just tried to give them their own space; I didn't want them to feel that I am in their faces; I don't want to be the one who when they see my number come up on call display, they roll their eyes and sigh before picking up the call.

But my daughter's comments gave me cause to pause, and rethink my approach. As I have said, I am not wired for worry, but I should be wired for concern and caring. And when you have loved ones who are on their own, it's a good thing to make regular house calls - rolling eyes or not!

Worry-some. Worry-none

To worry - or not to worry. That is the choice.

I was taught from the time I was a young child that worry is a pointless emotion; an energy sucker. My mother used to say that when we worry we often imagine the worst case scenarios - which, in reality, are the least likely to occur. More often than not, the worst does not happen.

I am not wired for worry - sometimes to a fault. Years ago on a Caribbean vacation when our then 17 year old daughter was out with some kids she met and was still not back in our room by 4 am, her father was frantic. We split off to go in search of daughter; he was borderline hysterical with thoughts that she had been murdered in a foreign country. I on the other hand had a sneaking suspicion this was a girl on the loose who lost track of time. I headed for the beach and within minutes ran into her on the pathway, happily chatting with her new pals as she strolled along towards the room. I was spared the emotional upheaval and histrionics. Her dad- not so much.

My family member has some health issues and is getting medical attention to figure them out. We talked about what could be causing the symptoms and in the course of our conversation she said she wasn't going worry - there was no point; it wouldn't change the outcome. She was right.

Sometimes there are things we can do, actions we can take to affect the outcome but there are also things that happen to us that are completely beyond our control. Today Kidlet's dad texted her to say he would be late picking her up, and when she got a second text from him further describing the bloody scene, (he said his shirt was so bloody that he looked like he had been beat up) her concern escalated to worry. She began furiously "Googling" nose bleeds and rhyming off possible disorders ... tumours, infections, allergies. My heart melted for her - that she took the worry on. When I gently urged her not to worry, she said she had to worry about him, cause he doesn't.

It sounds trite to suggest not to worry. But really, to worry is to waste. It bears no fruit; it accomplishes nothing but rather, it depletes and destroys confidence and hope. Better to take whatever action is necessary and then release that over which you have no control. The universe is unfolding as it should.
Kidlet was going to the hospital with her dad so he can get checked out and I told her to call me if they need my help - or anything else. I want her to understand that you can only do what you can do -- do being the operative word. And she is doing that. I want her to worry not - and be empowered.

I am going to get my empowered self to bed now. I hope she is OK. Did I just worry???