tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43786872772874183842024-03-05T10:21:33.575-06:00The Deli - Serving the Sandwich GenerationThis blog is designed to be a sounding board for those who find themselves in the Sandwich Generation - balancing the care of young persons with that of an elderly person (or more!). Learn how others cope and discover you are NOT alone on this journey!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-44381917856951918282017-06-07T21:34:00.000-05:002017-06-10T14:11:55.877-05:00Who Needs a Tub When You Have a Pool?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYWffcmcbI0FNMjq_UXZt3VzDTfrK0GAg61ZYNdaJ9mti-aIgULeni8Q8FMF8A4Wh6OgGgD_buqvwJbivN1yzQGMpRW55lOniZtgizhAwvy_9pqELREaP95192cstpVrmZcpCK4P3NEPI/s1600/IMG_6830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Walk-in tubs may seem like a good idea, but read this post before you take the plunge!" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYWffcmcbI0FNMjq_UXZt3VzDTfrK0GAg61ZYNdaJ9mti-aIgULeni8Q8FMF8A4Wh6OgGgD_buqvwJbivN1yzQGMpRW55lOniZtgizhAwvy_9pqELREaP95192cstpVrmZcpCK4P3NEPI/s200/IMG_6830.JPG" title="Who doesn't love a good warm soak in the tub?" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Grandma E has always loved a good soak in the bath tub. However, as she has aged - and her knees have begun to give her trouble - she has found getting out of the tub to be nearly impossible. This was discussed a couple of years ago when my husband and his older brother supervised the remodel of Grandma's master bathroom and offered the option of a walk-in tub. She opted for a shower with a seat and detachable sprayer...and she said, "I just won't take baths any more."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But a few months ago, a neighbor alerted me that Grandma had told her how difficult it was to get out of the tub in her guest bath...explaining that she had to turn over onto her hands and knees and crawl out, one leg at a time! The neighbor had suggested she investigate walk-in tubs...and she wanted me to know this!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even though the tubs were discussed at one point - and dismissed - my husband did his due diligence and investigated them thoroughly once </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">again</span>. He presented the details to Grandma E and explained that, while they look like a great solution, there <b>are</b> drawbacks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You must get into the tub, close the door, sit down, and wait while it fills with water. This can take ten minutes or more. The process is the same for the tub to drain after the bath. You cannot open the door until all of the water is out of the tub. While many models do include a heater in the seat, it still can get fairly chilly as you sit there...especially if you are wet and waiting for the water to drain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The tubs must be thoroughly cleaned...or they can mildew. For an older person, this can be a daunting chore, and not all seniors have housekeepers to do this for them. Additionally, the price and quality varies greatly. The "better" models can sell for upwards of $25,000...yes, twenty-five THOUSAND dollars! One reviewer said that he went to the trouble and expense of installing them in his senior living condos...only to remove them later because they were not being used - or people were using them as storage hampers!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But the kicker for Grandma E was when she said, "I just want to sit and soak in warm water up over my shoulders." Even in the best walk-in tub, this is not going to happen! So I suggested that perhaps she should come with me to our city's Aquatic Center and sit in the therapy pool. Heated to a balmy 94 degrees Fahrenheit, this pool has a built-in bench along one wall where one can sit and enjoy the jets (or not). Depths range from just over 3 feet to 5 feet, so there are plenty of spots along the wall where a person can soak in warm water up around their ears!<br /><br />Grandma participated in senior water aerobics classes a few years ago at this pool, but she was reluctant to return now. I had tried to get her to go with me several times, and she would always say, "I look horrible in a bathing suit now." I told her I should hope to look so good in a bathing suit when I am 90! We talked some more about the pool, and I mentioned several selling points...I would pick her up and take her home...and she could soak while I did my aerobics workout. There is even a motorized "lift" if she felt she was unable to use the steps to walk into the pool and get back out. I would handle everything with regard to a membership. Finally, she agreed to give it a try.<br /><br />It took one trip for Grandma to be hooked! We now go at least three days a week. The "lift" has never been used...and Grandma never just sits and soaks. She walks around, bounces to the music that is piped in, and visits with others who happen to be soaking/swimming in the therapy pool. We stay about an hour. She has a new swimsuit and swim cap...and with insurance discounts, her "membership" fee was a whopping $25 for the year...with unlimited use!<br /><br />Aside from the benefit of getting to soak in the warm water, Grandma's knee is much better. She had been receiving a cortisone shot in her knee every three months. In February, she was hurting so badly that she counted nearly every minute of the last week before her shot date. She started going to the pool right after that injection, and when her scheduled appointment rolled around in mid-May, she canceled it! She says she is sleeping better and feeling better all over...and she will be 91 in three weeks!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsssYPawJKCOANW3joVzQvpXj0XsvOU50naX0DJO9UmK8uySEQXwUYK-CngvT_-MHGLdUnSDhUeg0mWaUw-P5QSzaDBQvaYgYS1d9Lm5L7w23MgOnWJc20yUhkqwUsTcjkPaz887GVH7Q4/s1600/HappySwimmer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">t<img alt="A community center "therapy pool" may offer seniors a great alternative to the risky business of soaking in the bath tub at home!" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsssYPawJKCOANW3joVzQvpXj0XsvOU50naX0DJO9UmK8uySEQXwUYK-CngvT_-MHGLdUnSDhUeg0mWaUw-P5QSzaDBQvaYgYS1d9Lm5L7w23MgOnWJc20yUhkqwUsTcjkPaz887GVH7Q4/s200/HappySwimmer.JPG" title="Community pools offer fun for all ages." width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I made a point to set up overnight stays for Timothy, Zola and Nathan on consecutive Fridays, so that they could swim on Saturday mornings with Grandma E and me. While the child and I play in the Olympic-sized swimming pool, Grandma watches us from her bench in the therapy pool. This makes for a great interchange on the ride to and from the pool, and it gives Grandma something to do while she sits and soaks for an hour. We plan to do more of these trips this summer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As always, there are some interesting parallels between the children and Grandma. I watch both carefully as we get in and out of the car...the child to make sure he/she does not dart into traffic and is securely fastened into the car seat while traveling...and Grandma to make sure she doesn't slip and fall - and that her seat belt is securely fastened before we depart! I watch all of them get in and out of the pool - and keep a close eye on them as they "swim". </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The children become more brave and confident in the water with every visit to the pool. Grandma becomes a little more bold with her moves, also! The children are always eager to go to the pool for a swim. Most days, Grandma eagerly agrees to go "get her swim on", also!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxbY2QoxGhdPFKtQVVGEordDY5XGLCedmVorZ4QKr2a5_45hehD1ik_fXeF9UZD7FLHm_hRXTlX2abPD-AFaUeIWVx7KghD3f9KhNQfWbxaNivDvjBXLcpd6-togN4jkimtK2Pl0TrYgh/s1600/NathanLovesHisGoggles.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxbY2QoxGhdPFKtQVVGEordDY5XGLCedmVorZ4QKr2a5_45hehD1ik_fXeF9UZD7FLHm_hRXTlX2abPD-AFaUeIWVx7KghD3f9KhNQfWbxaNivDvjBXLcpd6-togN4jkimtK2Pl0TrYgh/s200/NathanLovesHisGoggles.JPG" width="200" /></a>We are blessed to have a wonderful Community Center and Aquatic Center in our town. The fee for unlimited use of all facilities for our family of five is $25/month...and as I noted earlier, Grandma's fee is $25 annually. That is a tremendous bargain. We can swim year-round in this indoor pool...7 days a week, usually. The pool rarely closes, unless there is thunder in the area! For those who are more adventurous, there are water aerobics classes, water Zumba classes...and a wonderful class that meets several times a week in the therapy pool that is geared toward seniors with arthritis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The only drawback I have found for the little ones is that they are not allowed in the therapy pool unless they are taking a swim lesson with a certified instructor...and the "big pool" is four feet deep at the shallow end. None of my children are that tall yet, so they cannot touch bottom...and this has affected their confidence level. They are all three still wearing life preservers...but I am seeing progress and hoping that soon, they will be swimming like fish - all on their own.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtGLlqGCHI8DeAh77QcnaijO_k1IJX0stuH3leAdDOhj4sVvS9cq3ln56-v1OUbqQD3KXENgQcegiAJWnjzhdHTuJ-t320uj0wDuU6WZan_fMe6LteJMXYD3O3QTRUOFmEIQqhgpPqIhu/s1600/Zola_NathanHavingFun.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="I realize that not all communities have indoor pools. And I am sure that walk-in tubs have their place and are great for some folks. But this did not seem like a viable solution for our situation...and in doing our homework, we came to the conclusion that these tubs may not be all they're cracked up to be! Thankfully, we had a "Plan B"...at least for a while. " border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtGLlqGCHI8DeAh77QcnaijO_k1IJX0stuH3leAdDOhj4sVvS9cq3ln56-v1OUbqQD3KXENgQcegiAJWnjzhdHTuJ-t320uj0wDuU6WZan_fMe6LteJMXYD3O3QTRUOFmEIQqhgpPqIhu/s200/Zola_NathanHavingFun.JPG" title="Search for alternative ways to "get your soak on" for seniors!" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I realize that not all communities have indoor pools. And I am sure that walk-in tubs have their place and are great for some folks. But this did not seem like a viable solution for our situation...and in doing our homework, we came to the conclusion that these tubs may not be all they're cracked up to be! Thankfully, we had a "Plan B"...at least for a while. I know people who are well past age 95 and still using this therapy pool...so hopefully, Grandma E and the kids and I can all make the frequent trek to the Aquatic Center for many years to come yet!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There <b>is</b> something therapeutic about water...and water exercise. It's good for the body, mind and soul...and we are living proof. When was the last time you took a dip?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-16931789706676980472017-03-27T14:06:00.001-05:002017-03-27T16:20:48.449-05:00Who is Driving the Car...Keeping Your "Sandwich" Safe<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Some of the most challenging situations you and I will ever experience center around <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a </span>car. I still remember begging my parents to let me drive before my 16th birthday. Several other kids my age had been given the keys to their parents' cars well before they were of legal age to drive. One of my cousins and a great-niece already had brand new cars in the garage several months before their 16th birthday...ready for them to drive on their big day. But my parents would not relent...and I was not al<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">lowed to <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">make a solo drive until the morning of my 16th birthday.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYS5i-gNP6wqQj_cgRrVIHGMOFx05ShHePMYi7xN5vz-WDC5ZAmO0VJSp_d65GLgk994lB6q8izTNOAO1PFJBVZGcIqJJLDvoA4ZspMLgr1p-qegHwbOMwhTQu2F-Ui75GDXUPvid81igD/s1600/GreenDodge.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYS5i-gNP6wqQj_cgRrVIHGMOFx05ShHePMYi7xN5vz-WDC5ZAmO0VJSp_d65GLgk994lB6q8izTNOAO1PFJBVZGcIqJJLDvoA4ZspMLgr1p-qegHwbOMwhTQu2F-Ui75GDXUPvid81igD/s320/GreenDodge.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me atop my Grand-dad's car in a high school parade - 1972. <br />
I think the car was a Plymouth Sebring!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Conversely, I remember the ordeal that arose when my mother had to tell my Grand-dad (her dad) that he could no longer drive. He was not having it! My grandmother stopped driving fairly early, because she was given a diagnosis of Parkinson's Disease, and she somewhat reluctantly accepted the fact that it was deemed unsafe for her to drive. But my poor grandfather felt that my mother and dad were totally emasculating him by suggesting that he put down his car keys. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Never mind that <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Grand-dad</span> could not see well enough to discern a raw onion from potatoes on the dinner table...or that he could not hear most of what was said in normal conversation. Forget the fact that Grand-dad passed someone on the highway north of town one night and took off this person's side mirror - and never knew it! My Grand-dad still thought he needed to be able to drive...if for no other reason than to be able to transport my grandmother wherever she wished to go. The only way Mother convinced Grand-dad to give up his car is by telling him that a beloved grandson who lived in Texas needed the vehicle. If Brent needed his car, Grand-dad was glad to let him have it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am quite certain that on some level, my grandfather realized that he was being handed an "out"...but he <b>was</b> allowed to "save face" somewhat. He wasn't really giving up driving as much as he was helping out his grandson by providing him with a car. And that was that...except that more than ever, my mother and I - and other family members - were called upon for rides <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">to everything </span>from church to doctor appointments to shopping trips, and more. And we made this "taxi service" work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My great-Aunt Altha simply declared at some point that she was finished driving. She called her grandson and told him to sell her car...which he did. Nothing else was said...there was no remorse. My aunt fully realized that the time had come to put away her car keys and let someone else do the driving. I<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">f only it w<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ere always that easy!</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkvQNE31z6MjofMiTXROKIscA5GtVGeoEMZvrrFTRA_HM1UH45KcV5WLnNoBzep6h9wZX-phedl5VsPwgP_TLsmiJQ4vTydvqu3AB5TeWzC0iRbHXzDFKCU4B28fYRV9QBaprY-5M7U3l/s1600/steves67SS427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkvQNE31z6MjofMiTXROKIscA5GtVGeoEMZvrrFTRA_HM1UH45KcV5WLnNoBzep6h9wZX-phedl5VsPwgP_TLsmiJQ4vTydvqu3AB5TeWzC0iRbHXzDFKCU4B28fYRV9QBaprY-5M7U3l/s320/steves67SS427.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1967 Chevy Impala similar to the one my grandmother owned. <br />
Photo from http://www.impalass427.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When my dad's mother - my Mam-ma Polly - began to have some little "fender benders" at age 95, we began to hint that the car should probably go. However, the decision was pretty much hers. And one day, she asked my sister and brother-in-law if they would help her sell her 1967 Chevy Impala - a <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"mountain-green"</span> tank with a white hard top (similar to the one picture<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">d, but I think hers was four-do<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">or)</span></span>. I <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">believe</span> the buyer paid $500...but the bigger payoff was that the car was not available...and the temptation to drive it was removed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My Grand-dad and my Mam-ma Polly both lamented frequently that they had to depend on others for rides. They really missed their cars. I think my maternal grandmother and great-aunt enjoyed being chauffeured around - especially my grandmother. It was not always convenient to shuttle them here and there...and we couldn't always drop everything and go at the very minute that they called and wanted a ride. For <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">my grandmother, especially</span>, planning ahead was a real problem - and apparently not in <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">her</span> vocabulary. But in the end, we made it work as best we could for everyone...and hopefully, we kept the roads safer for others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">December 21, 2015, a 90-year-old man over-corrected on the highway just outside our community and crossed the center line, hitting my brother-in-law, Bruce, and his wife head-on. The man died at the hospital an hour or so later. Bruce endured four bowel-resection surgeries in 3 days due to internal injuries from his seat belt...and on New Year's Eve, he succumbed to a heart attack and died. This caused all of us to begin to take a hard look at the driving habits of my mother-in-law, who was then 89. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We
talked about the car - and no longer driving...and Grandma E would say,
"I want to drive until I am 90." Greg agreed to this...as long as
nothing changed. </span>She rarely drove anywhere...Walmart, the beauty shop, or maybe to church. Once in awhile, she would venture across town to visit us. Still, we worried about her reflexes...and how she might react to other drivers. As the months ticked by and we neared her June birthday, Greg and his older brother began to discuss what to do about her car.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Just as had happened with my cousin and my grandfather, our great-nephew was on the hunt for a good "commuter car" to drive to work each day in Nashville, Tennessee. The 2007 Ford Fusion that Grandma E was driving had right at 15,000 miles and looked like brand new. Her sons began to suggest that <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Grandma E</span> give the car to her grandson. And she agreed to do this. <br /><br />I will tell you, the day that our great-nephew and his family drove away from Grandma E's in the little white car was bittersweet. I knew it signaled a shift in the family dynamic...and a dependency upon us for her trips - to anywhere! But we have managed pretty well, so far. The biggest issue we have had is getting Grandma to remember to plan ahead...and on some levels, that's just not gonna happen! So when I picked her up one morning last week to go to our Aquatic Center for a swim, she said, "I've called in a prescription refill at the pharmacy, and it will be ready later today." Luckily, it was ready by the time we finished our swim, and we were able to stop and pick it up on the way home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Other times, she has forgotten to tell us ahead of time about an appointment - or she hasn't remembered that she is running low on milk and other staples. So Greg has had to adjust his schedule to accommodate an extra "run" to the store - or to her house to pick her up or deliver her somewhere. But the payoff is that we know that she is not driving herself.<br /><br />We recently got rid of the last two "5-way harness" car safety seats that we had for Nathan and Zola and promoted them to high-back booster seats like their brother, Timothy, uses. These seats utilize the car's seat belt to strap the child in securely, and we are still teaching "the littles" to fasten their own latches. But once that is accomplished, the wrestling of those straps from the other car seats will be a distant memory in the rear-view mirror! These seats should serve the children for the rest of the time they need a child safety seat...so switching them out was monumental in our world!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And yes, some days, we have to do some strategic planning...who needs to be delivered where - and when - and where we will all sit. Right now, our Chevy Tahoe has ample seating for us, Grandma E, and the three children - with a little room to spare. And thankfully, Grandma E is able to pull herself up into vehicle...something my Mam-ma Polly was always able to do, also. Otherwise, we would have had another adjustment to make!<br /><br />I share all of this to say that getting everyone safely from Point A to Point B can be a challenge. And getting your seniors to stop driving when it's time may be one of the biggest issues you will face in managing their care. There is a lot to consider as you make this change. I know people in their 90s who are still driving and doing a fairly good job of it...and I know people in their 70s (like my maternal grandparents) who were already past the time when they could safely maneuver a motor vehicle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Each person and situation is different. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnaGt9V05gaj86fPexibna7uxzflaC15L4o-5nVJzRbH7nF-N3zyY7ZSpw7IftpRRvldT2JDoyFDJ7Yx2E6nLL6qd1jHxCa8Fp08lkNl2ZcAY124bqZW_Gtpg5xpVX2siaT863DtdKMTl/s1600/CarKeys.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnaGt9V05gaj86fPexibna7uxzflaC15L4o-5nVJzRbH7nF-N3zyY7ZSpw7IftpRRvldT2JDoyFDJ7Yx2E6nLL6qd1jHxCa8Fp08lkNl2ZcAY124bqZW_Gtpg5xpVX2siaT863DtdKMTl/s1600/CarKeys.png" /></a>I know more than one caregiver or guardian who has hidden his/her parent's car keys. I know children who have called the local police and <b>BEGGED</b> them to "make Mom or Dad quit driving" - and they cannot do this. Unless your loved one is involved in an accident or fails a driving test, the police are powerless to say, "You have to stop driving" just because this person is advanced in age. In fact, the police chief in our town called a friend of mine and said, "You need to get your mother to stop driving." But HE (the police chief) was legally unable to do anything to dissuade her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You must be prepared for what happens after the car is gone. My mother-in-law and Mam-ma Polly were both in the habit of running to the store for just one or two items. So when they needed Jello...or ran out of salt...they hoped in their car and drove to Walmart or a nearby grocery store and got these things. If they got a hankering for a hamburger at 5:00 p.m., they got in their car and drove to Sonic®, Burger King® or McDonalds® and ordered whatever they pleased. Your senior will have a major period of adjustment as he/she realizes that the vehicle really is no longer available for these spontaneous trips.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You must also be prepared to do more shuttles, and some serious scheduling may have to take place. When I was driving my grandmother, it worked best for me to do all of her errands on one day (as much as possible). For us, this was Friday afternoon. I took her to the beauty shop, and while she was there, I went to the pharmacy and got her medicine and handled any other errands she had on the list. Most of the time, she gave me her grocery list, and I bought the items while she got her hair done. Then when we got home, I unloaded everything for her and helped her put it away. <br /><br />Schedules are <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">good, but </span>there will be unexpected doctor appointments, times that your loved one wants to visit a friend or attend a party or other function, and more. I could not persuade my grandmother to ride the church bus that would have gladly picked her up and delivered her back to her home. She said she didn't want to wait - or to be the last one returned home. Well, <b>somebody</b> has to be first and last! Thankfully, a fellow church member lived nearby and picked her up most days - and sometimes my mother and her husband were in town and were able to take Mam-ma to church. But my point is that there will be some necessary schedule adjustments for your loved one - AND for YOU!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The other thing you have to figure out is what to do with the car. Sometimes this works out fairly easily...and other times, it's a real bone of contention. People are attached to their vehicles...and worries that they won't bring a decent price can be a concern for an elderly person, in particular. Some will want to keep the car in the carport or garage with the promise that "I won't drive it." That is probably not a good idea...and that promise will end up being broken in an "emergency." I know people who are in an Assisted Living Facility and have a car sitting in the parking lot, just because it makes them feel good to know it's there! I also know one person whose children disconnected the spark plug, just in case he tried to take off in said vehicle! My best advice is to figure out a way to get rid of the car - even if you have to be pretty creative in doing so. Remove any and all temptation - and possibility - for the senior to drive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg75-0xkpzwuyholZKmhgPWHt7c0dFC8XNmwq5mZvYb8IqEI2GggkSFccwvi4tyUvH5GrM_Gf4VwTaKbb74G2pp6rKYQuzym25C5a9S24y2cOEEFd9leAZd-nmN8QQ3o8gDj90og726Pti/s1600/head_hearts_cover.gif" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg75-0xkpzwuyholZKmhgPWHt7c0dFC8XNmwq5mZvYb8IqEI2GggkSFccwvi4tyUvH5GrM_Gf4VwTaKbb74G2pp6rKYQuzym25C5a9S24y2cOEEFd9leAZd-nmN8QQ3o8gDj90og726Pti/s1600/head_hearts_cover.gif" /></a>In her book, <i><b>When Heads and Hearts Collide</b></i>, my mother talks about a conversation she had with my grandmother, in which Grandmother told Mother, "I don't want you to be my Mother!" Believe me, that was not a role Mother relished. But just as our parents told us when we could <b>begin</b> to drive - and were most likely heavily involved in helping us acquire our first car - or maybe YOU have done this for your own teenagers...many of us will come to a point where we have to "parent" our parents or grandparents - and help them make some life-changing decisions about driving. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />At the end of the day, the goal is to keep our loved ones - and all others on the roadways - safe from an injury...or worse. There may be some heated discussions and a few tense moments in the journey, but this is generally a necessary challenge that must be addressed. A fender-bender and dealing with insurance agents, injured parties and more can be a frustrating experience...but a more serious accident could be life-changing. The question of who is driving the car is an important one to answer...and worth any hassle and heartache on the front end.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-37586845441563111682017-02-19T20:50:00.002-06:002017-02-19T21:04:10.014-06:00How Do You Manage Your Senior's Finances...and a Few Other Questions and Insights<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Several months ago, I was contacted by a writer for NerdWallet.com. She gave me a lengthy list of questions and asked if I would be willing to provide insights to help her readers who were caring for seniors. I agreed and spent a couple of days compiling thoughtful answers to her questions. She didn't use any of them in her story. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Since I put so much time and energy into the information, I thought I would post it here, so that you, dear readers, can avail yourself of any insights you might glean. So here goes...</span></span><br />
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</b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>1) Please tell me a little bit about yourself. </b></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Is your grandmother your mother? Did she raise you?</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh447qX4APwepcfkkW02Mdc07K8fPU4eG1vx62on0mjmWld5-lRk4Z-N3gY7lQHc0iSOX5KTCQ4vF43BiX_jCtob_VX0jrZFhrGjtEO0E9mkAYaPIMddc92AhctCJjF76e8OScC6wfjPZd0/s1600/polly1.11.4.2007.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh447qX4APwepcfkkW02Mdc07K8fPU4eG1vx62on0mjmWld5-lRk4Z-N3gY7lQHc0iSOX5KTCQ4vF43BiX_jCtob_VX0jrZFhrGjtEO0E9mkAYaPIMddc92AhctCJjF76e8OScC6wfjPZd0/s200/polly1.11.4.2007.jpg" width="191" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">have been</span></span> married 42 years<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, and we have </span>no children of <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">our</span> own. My father died in October 1999. He was an only child, and his mother - my then 87-year-old grandmother - was still living alone in her own home, driving, and doing pretty well for someone nearly 90. <br /><br />My mother helped my grandmother with many things - as did my sister and I...but Mother remarried in February 2002. Mother traveled a lot in her motorhome...in fact, she and her husband left after their wedding for a 6-week trip along the East Coast. That summer, my grandmother fell and required 3 months of therapy in a skilled nursing facility. My mother was traveling with her new husband, and the care of my grandmother became my responsibility.<br /><br />Mother was planning to spend the FOLLOWING summer (2003) traveling, and just as she was leaving, my grandmother again became ill and required a stay for rehab at the nursing home. Mother handed me my grandmother's checkbook and said, "You're going to need Power of Attorney." So for the next 10 years, *I* was my grandmother's guardian.<br /><br />My sister, brother (who is deceased) and I were fortunate to grow up in the same community as ALL four of our grandparents, and we were very close...we saw them on almost a daily basis. My grandmother did not rear me...but we were very close, and she was very much a mother figure to me in the last 10 years...especially given how intertwined our lives were - and the fact that I was somewhat her sole caregiver.</span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZwUCb1b0oWRq-5C0F6XyiQV5JkwhWVRHqZKCT-WHS8S7CUuBxfVXDdlA9llGTKKpdxLDYMVSUm1SOu9tKB6oTqOprUBnH9qcrobefOgBCsnTdXlJlwFceOczTlkVvGkgf19opL0W8lkg/s1600/IMG_6289.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZwUCb1b0oWRq-5C0F6XyiQV5JkwhWVRHqZKCT-WHS8S7CUuBxfVXDdlA9llGTKKpdxLDYMVSUm1SOu9tKB6oTqOprUBnH9qcrobefOgBCsnTdXlJlwFceOczTlkVvGkgf19opL0W8lkg/s200/IMG_6289.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></span>In 2009, my sister's daughter had her first child. My niece was a single mother attending college, and my husband and I kept the baby while she went to classes. This morphed into us keeping our great-nephew for longer periods of time. By 2012, my niece had given birth to two more babies and gotten married, and my husband and I were heavily involved in assisting the whole family. So my "sandwich" was my great-nephews and great-niece - and my grandmother. <br /><br />My grandmother died in 2013...and the "sandwich" shifted from caring for her and the babies to caring for my mother-in-law (who is now 90) and these three children. This situation is not quite as "involved" as it was...the children are now 4, 5, and 7 - and all in school - and my husband is primarily responsible for his mother, so my responsibilities there are negligible. But there are times when we have all three children and "Grandma E" together at the same time...and the dynamics of a "Sandwich Generation" situation are definitely there.<br /><br />Our SUV has three car seats and a handicapped sticker. When my grandmother was still alive, I used to joke that our car often contained a walker and car seats...and diapers and Depends! For a "childless" couple, we are well versed in all things NickJr., baby - AND Medicare and geriatric!<br /><br />My mother was diagnosed late in September 2015 with stage 3C Ovarian cancer, and she began chemotherapy immediately. Two treatments in, the oncologist said the drugs were not working and the tumors were growing rapidly. She was hospitalized New Year's Day and placed in Hospice Care three days later. She died on January 12, 2016. Prior to her diagnosis, my mother was an active 76-year-old great-grandmother who drove her own 40+-foot motorhome (with tow car) from coast to coast. If she fit the "sandwich" mold, it was only the context of my caring for her needs those last few days - and attending to the children and fielding their questions when they would visit her.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><b>2) What made you want to start your blog? </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UqhtU1HjikoLtbUzl4ESxHSq2el7edZplhDqVm8P1usm3VGrdvPHLoiAsMXYUyOTzZj_r8j8yNnjt1z1_zNuz_TvUjTRag4dmalWZac1A6vN4xqXkRVNsz7d_j_g_m5yCh2F2gPFL0l3/s1600/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UqhtU1HjikoLtbUzl4ESxHSq2el7edZplhDqVm8P1usm3VGrdvPHLoiAsMXYUyOTzZj_r8j8yNnjt1z1_zNuz_TvUjTRag4dmalWZac1A6vN4xqXkRVNsz7d_j_g_m5yCh2F2gPFL0l3/s200/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" width="162" /></a>I first wrote about my grandmother on a personal blog after several frustrating encounters with insurance companies over the Medicare Part D Prescription Drug coverage, beginning in 2005. I have never experienced anything more exasperating in my life...and at the end of the day, I had a Medicare rep from Dallas, Texas, on speed dial. This woman would become one of my most trusted contacts over the next few years until she retired...and I always had to reach out to her for clarification each fall as I selected my grandmother's prescription coverage plan.<br /><br />In 2008, when my grandmother had to go to the nursing home for a third time in five years for "rehab," I decided that my experiences might be helpful to someone else - and I needed a place to vent. So I started "The Deli" blog. At that time, I was not in a "sandwich" per se...but I had friends who were, and I hoped that by sharing my experiences about MY grandmother, I could encourage others to open a dialog about THEIR situations.<br /><br /><br /><b>What type of support have you found in the blogging community?</b><br /><br />To be honest, I have not received as much support as I hoped. I participated in some forums for caregiving and the Sandwich Generation on the AARP website for a while. And I all but begged some people to share THEIR story with me in a format that I could put on my "Deli" blog. But at the end of the day, I think people are just too tired and busy with their "sandwiches." If you are not a writer already - and inclined to document your experiences - it's hard to make time for spilling your guts to someone else. <br /><br />Having said this, I have SEVERAL friends who are currently dealing with the care of aging relatives - if not a "sandwich" situation - and I hope to maybe resurrect the blog a bit and get some of them involved in the dialog. We will see what happens!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><b>3) Were you the only one in the family in charge of your grandmother’s finances?</b> <br /><br />From July 2003 until her death, I was in charge of my grandmother's finances. At first, I let her handle her own checking account, but I soon discovered that her idea of "balancing the checkbook" was calling the bank every couple of weeks and asking, "What's my balance?" She would write that in her register and move forward. </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The impetus for me taking over her checking account came when she had to go to the nursing home for one of her rehab stints. She had misunderstood the people at DHS and thought she was allowed to have more than a $2000 balance in her checking account and could still qualify for full Medicare/Medicaid assistance for a nursing home stay. She had just more than $2100 in her checking account, but that was enough to cause a fee of $150 per day for about 5 days until she "spent down" her assets. After this costly mix-up, she agreed that maybe I should handle her checking account.<br /><br />Like many seniors in this country, my grandmother worked very hard all of her life, but she never made a lot of money. She received a meager Social Security income each month that barely covered her food, utilities and medication co-pays. She lived in a home owned by my parents, so she had no mortgage or rent payment. She owned her very old car outright. I wrote checks for her groceries, her weekly hair appointments, and her church tithes. Somehow, she always </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIE7DYOQtkZGYsNNiz8XsEU9O_gUAUhBq783yCsmmdF4HnUgBsqFuizalM7k6FU3bKZInSXDj69X5p1oGqJQENydSkXivggVpUhSXDNMutHzBXuzLDVITgvLOkYx-Jw45kEF-6Y81HSWT/s1600/hand1.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIE7DYOQtkZGYsNNiz8XsEU9O_gUAUhBq783yCsmmdF4HnUgBsqFuizalM7k6FU3bKZInSXDj69X5p1oGqJQENydSkXivggVpUhSXDNMutHzBXuzLDVITgvLOkYx-Jw45kEF-6Y81HSWT/s200/hand1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span>had a few dollars left at the end of each month!</span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The REAL WORK came in making sure that my grandmother was sufficiently covered for Medicare/Medicaid and Medicare Part D, which took a lot of time and was incredibly confusing. How seniors who do not have an advocate manage this maze of papers and regulations and rigmarole is beyond me! And don't even get me started on admitting someone to a nursing facility, Assisted Living facility - or even the hospital or Hospice. The paperwork is astounding. I kept copies of a "cheat sheet" <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">with</span> vital info in my wallet, because it seemed like every other day, I was needing to supply this data to someone for <i><b>something</b></i>! I would just hand them a copy of this information.<br /><br />Honestly, I don't see a decent way around this. Perhaps siblings could split the responsibilities financially...but for the most part, one person needs to be handling all of this, so that nothing falls through the cracks. I think if my sister OR my mother and I had tried to share the management of my grandmother's finances, it would have been even more time consuming and frustrating.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><b><br />4) You mentioned on Twitter that you were a signer on your grandmother’s account. And you also advised against sharing a bank account with an elder. What made you choose to become a signer? Had you done your research? How did you get informed? </b><br /><br />I had to become a signee in order to write checks on my grandmother's account. As soon as she went into the nursing home and needed an advocate, we signed a card for me to be able to do this. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><b>5) As a signer what were your privileges on the account?</b> <br /><br />My name was never on her account...I was merely a "signee."<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>This meant that I could write checks and balance her bank account. One caveat...when my grandmother died, she had about $130 in her checking account. I took a death certificate and a copy of my DPOA (Durable Power of Attorney) to the bank and asked to close the account, and they would not allow it. I was not the "designee" on the account for closing it out. <br /><br />This is different, apparently, from being the "signee" on a checking account. I was not designated as the person to close the account - my dad was. Since he was already dead, the secondary designee was my mother. SHE had to return to the bank with these papers and close the account. Lesson learned...if you are handling the finances, make sure <u><b>you</b></u> are the "designee"...and that you have the proper signatures in place to access a safe deposit box, etc., as well.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><b><br />6) What approaches did you take with a banking account that worked for you and your family? For example, did you rely on money management tools or software to help you keep track of everything? Or did you choose specific accounts that perhaps offered lower fees? </b><br /><br />I did not use specific software...the account was very simple and did not need something like Quickbooks. I did acquire an online banking account, so that I could login and check on things like the auto-drafts and verify that all charges were legitimate and necessary. I would note that I set the account up with my grandmother's name, and one time I locked myself out of the account. When I called the bank and identified myself, they would not allow me to access the account, because I gave MY name, not hers. They had to talk to HER for authorization. She understood NOTHING about online banking...but bless her heart, she authorized me! After that, any time I called on her behalf, I pretended to be "her" on the phone!<br /><b><br /><br />7) Did you at any point consider a power of attorney or was that given to someone else in the family? </b><br /><br />I was my grandmother's Durable Power of Attorney (DPOA). This is different from a medical Power of Attorney, which only gives you authority to speak for the person in medical situations. The DPOA is more encompassing. I downloaded a DPOA form online and we signed it and had it notarized. We had to provide copies of this document many times over the years for several different things - applications for assistance, cashing her life insurance policy, and more. I would consider this a vital document to have on hand if you are managing any business activities for a friend or loved one.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><b>8) Emotionally, how difficult was it to handle your grandmother’s finances? How did you manage to juggle those with your family’s? </b><br /><br />I probably spent a couple of days a month managing my grandmother's finances. Since she had very little money, there wasn't much to manage. I can see where for someone with substantial assets, this could be quite a lot of work. The real time consumer was the vast number of papers and forms related to Medicare, Medicaid and Medicare Part D Prescription Drug coverage. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O1WuAmnhfjntXf8u4EBtWIdEU87QNecXDiyi54IIchFQnhrONjkWZahciOWug0PVkbegW18wHjvVJwVHO3V1vGdyftnZEntGqA8zy2OmC7q4Mr74rldz8gAW5MYg8uzyPR51R2QEyxnK/s1600/MothersDay2010.9f.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8O1WuAmnhfjntXf8u4EBtWIdEU87QNecXDiyi54IIchFQnhrONjkWZahciOWug0PVkbegW18wHjvVJwVHO3V1vGdyftnZEntGqA8zy2OmC7q4Mr74rldz8gAW5MYg8uzyPR51R2QEyxnK/s200/MothersDay2010.9f.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></span>I cannot begin to calculate the hours I spent on those things. </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It can be emotionally draining to manage another person's finances while juggling your own family responsibilities. But all of this is emotionally draining on many levels. You learn to cope...and hopefully, you have others who can encourage you. This is why I created the blog...to encourage others and say to them, "See...you're not crazy...look what happened to me!" Most of the people I hear from say, "These are exactly the things that are happening to ME!" Senior care is universal in many ways.<br /><br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>9) Did you make any financial mistakes along the way that perhaps our readers could learn from? (for example overdrafts or missed payments while you tried to learn how to balance it all) </b><br /><br />I do think there was an overdraft once when I paid a bill a day or two before my grandmother's Social Security deposit was made. It seems like the fee was about $30...which I paid out of my personal account. I know that never happened again! I don't think my grandmother ever knew about the overdraft.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><b>10) What advice would you have (emotionally and financially) for anyone who has recently become a member of the Sandwich Generation? </b><br /><br />You are not alone. That may not help, but perhaps knowing that there ARE people who are willing and able to offer support will be comforting. Depending on the age of your senior and the circumstances, I would strongly encourage the investigation of long term care insurance. <br /><br />I know families who have scraped together funds to pay for the care of a loved one who MUST move to an assisted living or skilled care facility. The cost can be anywhere from $3000 per month and up...and that is just for the facility. <br /><br />If you go through the posts on <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">this</span> blog you will see that I have outlined the "extra expenses" that might be incurred...and they add up in a hurry! No one wants to be in the position of telling Grandma she can't have her hair and nails done every week - or any other "extras" - because there is no money. And most people don't want to have to liquidate every asset their loved one has in order to pay for nursing home care.<br /><br /><b><br />11) Do you have a contact that you met in the blogging community or a friend who may have more to say on this subject? I would gladly appreciate an introduction.</b> </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7WsuwyM1KpR8y5bvCptlTywqHaiTPtnIG7Uk6dl7lmHiGERAQ8YCJWI6RwdGlRwl3p8C6quCgrKlYQEokNlkHmNGF4Xk4F3Rz6ANuoOIHhN_yJBkNk8opjZgdg8_9v-wNDrmXcq-uItW/s1600/head_hearts_cover_.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7WsuwyM1KpR8y5bvCptlTywqHaiTPtnIG7Uk6dl7lmHiGERAQ8YCJWI6RwdGlRwl3p8C6quCgrKlYQEokNlkHmNGF4Xk4F3Rz6ANuoOIHhN_yJBkNk8opjZgdg8_9v-wNDrmXcq-uItW/s200/head_hearts_cover_.jpg" width="125" /></a></span></span>I do not have anyone to recommend; however, my mother wrote a book about HER experience with HER parents and the nursing home…<i><b>When Heads and Hearts Collide</b>.</i> I HIGHLY recommend this book to anyone who has been charged with the care of a senior citizen. It’s only $10 postage paid, and you can order with PayPal directly <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">the sidebar on this blog.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />Because of the things I experienced through all of this, I also wrote a book...<i><b>What to Say and Do...When You Don't Know What to Say and Do</b></i>. This book can also be purchased via <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">the sid<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ebar on this blog.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>YOU </b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">have questions...or a particular issue...that you would like to see addressed on this <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">blog, please contact me. We are all in this together, and as time permits, I will gla<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">dly address any and all i<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">nquiries<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> and comments. Hang in there!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-71056240935394575902017-01-25T13:31:00.000-06:002017-01-25T13:51:38.128-06:00Constructive Conversations - How to Talk With Your Senior<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Over and again, I hear people say, "I just don't know how to talk to my mom/dad/grandparent/elderly loved one anymore." Popular conversations with seniors center on their health concerns and physical ailments - and/or the ills of others in their circle. Other common topics include the weather...death and dying...money and/or inheritance...feeling alone and neglected...and bowel movements. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I get it! </span> If you rehash these same topics every week with your loved one, you may be reaching the end of your rope!<br /><br />So what can we do? One solution is to re-set the conversation pattern...to divert attention and distract with other topics that are more pleasant/interesting. This <b>can</b> be done without insulting your loved one, and yes...you will have to listen to a fair amount of talk about a sore hip or how Aunt Susie can't hear a word that is said. But you can often make some subtle shifts in the conversation topics that make the difference between a pleasant phone call/visit and one that leaves you needing a stiff drink!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When my husband's family gathers at his mother's house, the conversation runs along some pretty predictable lines. We go through all of the grandchildren and what is happening with their schools and extracurricular activities. We talk about any "news" from relatives who live out of state. And then, the discussion generally turns to stories about people most of us don't know, as one relative or another relates things that are happening in their own lives with their circle of friends and acquaintances.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">While this conversation might be mildly interesting to my 90-year-old mother-in-law for a little bit, it doesn't hold her attention very long. And frankly, it's not all that fair to her. When we visit, SHE should be the center of attention. So my husband tries to get his mother to talk about her childhood...her parents, grandparents and siblings...life on the farm in Iowa...living in a boarding house in Iowa City while attending high school...his dad's stint in the Navy...and pets they owned as kids, to name a few topics.<br /><br />My mother-in-law's memory for things that happened a long time ago is fantastic. She can recall dates and details...and it's like she is transported back in time - and takes us with her! This is good for her...and good for us and the grandchildren and great-grands!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7KBbHZMxh4Io_xAql0g8kd2GAYHkVLLsnHGJCBWCZVGx1AM23xoouXyiBGZJuxeDewQVq14qnvA6UP2PjRBPyowGGmpSG-S_7dH5ruCdHCBNUtBo6LTQl-jVQil1zBg9xuLRVJOP5-tc/s1600/3POLLYSC.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7KBbHZMxh4Io_xAql0g8kd2GAYHkVLLsnHGJCBWCZVGx1AM23xoouXyiBGZJuxeDewQVq14qnvA6UP2PjRBPyowGGmpSG-S_7dH5ruCdHCBNUtBo6LTQl-jVQil1zBg9xuLRVJOP5-tc/s200/3POLLYSC.JPG" width="145" /></a>When my grandmother was still living and able to talk, I would call her a couple of times a week or more. I also spent most of the day on Fridays with her going to the beauty shop, grocery shopping, and running any other errands that arose. So there were chances for conversation by phone, in the car as we traveled, and sitting in waiting rooms at doctor's offices more. <br /><br />Generally, I would try to tell her all of the cute things that the children had said and done. As we would travel out of town to doctor visits, Greg would ask her questions about the area, and she would point out locations that triggered a recollection, such as "I picked many a strawberry in that field," or "That's where old Uncle Matt and his family lived," or "We lived there when I was about 12, and we would walk several miles to school and "singings" at church." She enjoyed the trip down "Memory Lane," and we learned a lot about my grandmother's childhood. </span><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Once my grandmother lost most of her ability to speak, "conversing" with her was truly a challenge. So I would try to think of "news" to share with her when we visited. Again, cute stories about the little ones were always a hit. I avoided talk of people she knew who might be doing fun/exciting things -like "I saw Ruby at the swimming pool last week"...and word of the ailments and infirmities of others. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On the phone, I always tried to steer clear of questions like "What's new?" or "How are you today?" She would tell me anyway, but if I could keep the conversation going in another direction, there was less chance of the tone taking an unpleasant turn. I tried to think of a few things to tell her - or ask - before I ever picked phone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX3TmKnBIvwggZ4xJlhEbi07ipU7AN_k5b0yGueHAldgO5Eib38uYv6tMpBw_p1BmI22npT7sUoMDIadWaWKEsJyxq7l4xfsKd6vyqeb81LavlyzEv1i5ljsw46IvgWAepN3pcGJsdXDmv/s1600/IMG_2327.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX3TmKnBIvwggZ4xJlhEbi07ipU7AN_k5b0yGueHAldgO5Eib38uYv6tMpBw_p1BmI22npT7sUoMDIadWaWKEsJyxq7l4xfsKd6vyqeb81LavlyzEv1i5ljsw46IvgWAepN3pcGJsdXDmv/s200/IMG_2327.JPG" width="200" /></a>The thing that always seemed to be a big hit with my grandmother was my sewing. My Mam-ma was an amazing seamstress and quilter. So I would take the little garments I made for my nephews, nieces and cousins and show them to Mam-ma. She would finger the stitches and ruffles and smile brightly. Her eyes would grow wide with joy and pride...and she would gesture that she remembered when SHE used to do this sort of thing. In fact, I would say, "I don't know how you managed to make those tiny Barbie dresses for my sister and me." And she would beam with pride.<br /><br />We also talked about birds that gathered at her feeder outside the window - and birds that I had seen at our house...dishes that I had made - especially with her recipes...and Greg's latest projects. My grandmother was always interested in what the men were doing...and this line of talk opened the door to remember my grandfather and dad and the work that they did.<br /><br />My grandparents are all gone now...as are my parents. I think about the conversations we shared, and talks I have now with my mother-in-law and other elderly loved ones. And I've come up with some thoughts and suggestions that might be helpful...</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You don't have to call EVERY DAY. My pastor told me once that "'No!' is a complete sentence!" He was absolutely right. For all of my grandmother's talk that "I haven't seen a soul in days," there was a virtual "revolving door" of visitors at her house/apartment on any given day. I saw her on Fridays - and often through the week. There was no need to call her EVERY DAY...until the time came when we had to call each day to make sure she took her medicine. And then, the conversation was brief and generally directed toward said question.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Think of a few things to discuss/ask BEFORE you call or visit. If possible, take a photo or memento to discuss when you visit. I recently spent some time with an elderly cousin and took some pictures of my great-grandmother and her contemporaries, in hopes that she could identify those in the photographs. This sparked a really fun conversation about "old times" and gave us something to discuss. I also took her cookies from the recipes of my grandmother and the woman's next-door neighbor. This was another starting point for a good conversation about recipes and cooking.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Be prepared to listen to your loved one's litany of ailments and complaints...but set a mental time limit. Use your pre-planned questions/activities as a way to steer the conversation in a different direction.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Don't be afraid to simply sit in silence. Some of my best "conversations" with my Mam-ma Polly were times we sat in silence on the front porch at her Assisted Living Facility and rocked in the sunshine. We watched people come and go...we looked at the clouds and felt the warm breeze...and we were <b>together</b>...and that was all she needed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Don't be afraid to call and say, "I just have a minute, but I was thinking of you and wanted you to know." Every conversation doesn't have to be lengthy...and probably shouldn't be!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shift your attitude. I remember how much I dreaded the phone calls. I knew that I would get an earful. But once I developed a "game plan," and mentally prepared myself NOT to get frustrated or upset, everything went much better. Yes, there were days when I hung up the phone, shook my head and laughed at some of the things that were said. But that was better than wringing my hands and gritting my teeth! (And yes, there were still days when this happened, regardless of what I said/did.)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovT9iEUvQNNcGF-E3i0wsEzUXGwm1cjLYzAQtv_B2nFBjsOkhRe9NarsopaY1579jt75zguQexs2C_Xmn0vJpuIpFowbowo5H2jZnCpboXchWRTYvDx3MW4l_zyflKKx6h584aaHU3Lre/s1600/DSCN2316.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovT9iEUvQNNcGF-E3i0wsEzUXGwm1cjLYzAQtv_B2nFBjsOkhRe9NarsopaY1579jt75zguQexs2C_Xmn0vJpuIpFowbowo5H2jZnCpboXchWRTYvDx3MW4l_zyflKKx6h584aaHU3Lre/s200/DSCN2316.JPG" width="200" /></a>The bottom line is that this, too, shall pass. And you will long for your loved one's voice - even if it is to chastise you that "you don't do enough for me," or "I haven't been to the bathroom in three days." We never want to disrespect our elders or make them feel like their thoughts and feelings are not important. Sometimes, we have to <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">simply</span> listen to them talk. But that doesn't mean we can't at least have a <b>plan</b> to steer things in another direction. The end result might just be that the phone calls and visits become more pleasant.<br /><i><br />If you have questions or comments, I would LOVE to hear from you. Please weigh in, and let's start a conversation!</i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-58248228324596441182017-01-23T14:33:00.000-06:002017-01-23T14:34:49.927-06:00Who Is In Your "Sandwich?"<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A childhood friend and I have been corresponding via<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> text and </span>e-mail for more than year now, and our conversations have involved severa<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">l </span>twists and turns. But they keep circling back to what he refers to as "the <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e</span>lders" <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">- namely, a handful of senior citizen<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> family members that he </span></span>attends to as time and needs arise. Indeed, we are at "that age" where there is no shortage of "elderly folks" who need our attention. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xriqqfGubkCAgfQffn3OIK4wpDhIektpb_TdnTK6lJQiOi15ch0pEm7h6FKWogPL9QKVbhVttTVgfkjmrNZJ54fMm6lKdjJIFXEjL5xYu8g62UnDc6HfZdY_cY5MM-RxosMRSiQu4CU2/s1600/Mother%2527sDay2016.4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xriqqfGubkCAgfQffn3OIK4wpDhIektpb_TdnTK6lJQiOi15ch0pEm7h6FKWogPL9QKVbhVttTVgfkjmrNZJ54fMm6lKdjJIFXEjL5xYu8g62UnDc6HfZdY_cY5MM-RxosMRSiQu4CU2/s200/Mother%2527sDay2016.4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma E and her son (my husband, Greg)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My parents and grandparents are longer living...but my mother-in-law is still with us. We are blessed that she is able to live alone in her own home, even 8 months past her 90th birthday. She no longer drives, but unlike many children of seniors who have stopped driving, there are few requests for a ride anywhere. My husband (her youngest son) takes her wherever she wants to go...which generally consists of a semi-weekly trip to the hairdresser and the grocery store - and maybe to church on Sunday.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTFjfWxww6n-82s5JY8tY0coWH24qDPlvhAL6DaiFH6dcWHLRew_vPgIJHQuNRMN_pIScEzod4PfKyyS3VxO_MVfrLyyn94BfFzBUdc-Su-7bcOHiabi3UHW2VCFfaaqDRCeRlKhmaFw9/s1600/MothersDay2010.9b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTFjfWxww6n-82s5JY8tY0coWH24qDPlvhAL6DaiFH6dcWHLRew_vPgIJHQuNRMN_pIScEzod4PfKyyS3VxO_MVfrLyyn94BfFzBUdc-Su-7bcOHiabi3UHW2VCFfaaqDRCeRlKhmaFw9/s200/MothersDay2010.9b.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My great-nephew, Timothy, with my Mam-ma Polly and <br />my mother-in-law, who the children call <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Grandma E."</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even though I am not directly involved in the daily care of an "elder" at this point, many of my friends and loved ones are. I listen as they voice their concerns and frustrations. I hear their tales of parents who are stubborn and refuse to admit that they need in-home care - or to allow the caregivers to assist them with personal care, such as bathing. I understand completely when worries about falls, mixed medications, and failing memories are voiced. I totally GET IT!<br /><br />Just like countless others, I've "been there, done that." And my mantra is, "You are not alone." I know that eldercare can be incredibly lonely...and if you are caught in the middle of a "sandwich" that includes children AND seniors - well, your world is likely something of a circus on any given day<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">!</span> This doesn't even allow for the fact that you may be juggling a job, a marriage, civic and church responsibilities, and more. You may be dealing with your own health concerns. It's enough to make anyone run screaming into the night!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is partly why I started "The Deli" blog when my paternal grandmother was still living and in my <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">guardianship</span>. I wanted <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">this</span> to be a place where I could "vent" and share my frustrations. More importantly, I wanted this blog to be a <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">venue</span> where others could read about our experiences - and Mam-ma's antics - and see that "Hey! I'm not the only one in this boat! My parents/grandparents do a lot of the same things and have many of the same issues!" I wanted those who are juggling several "balls" at once to see that we CAN survive these years...and even remember them with a bit of fondnes<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">s - </span>not in what was happening, but rather, that we did a decent job of surviving!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have toyed with the idea of turning this blog into a book...and I may still do<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> so</span> at some point. It would be great to be able to hand my friends and others a book that chronicles my journey and say, "Here...this might help you."<br /><br />Meanwhile...a similar book does exist. My late mother wrote a book about HER experience with my maternal grandparents, who both spent their last days in a nursing home. Neither one of them wanted to be there, of course. NONE of us wanted this. But sadly, this is sometimes the only alternative. And Mother's book has helped countless people cope with this decision and the resulting experiences.<br /><br />If you would like to order a copy of <i>When Heads and Hearts Collide</i>, I have plenty and would be glad to send you one. I am asking the minimal price of $10 postage paid...and you can order via PayPal by clicking <a ebbierobus="" href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href" http:="" paypal.me="" target="_blank">this link</a> or the one on the sidebar.<br /> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-7287293209536928472016-03-02T10:56:00.000-06:002016-03-02T10:59:01.192-06:00A Lot To Process...a final lesson from my mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few months ago, I wrote a post about my mother’s diagnosis of late-stage ovarian cancer and how she was battling the beast. She and I shared this “sixth sense” that her time was short…but I had no clue how little time we truly had left. I have to admit, when my always stoic and positive mother began to tell me “I really feel bad today”…or “It’s not going well”…I thought, “Her attitude is not helping!” After all, everyone tells you that “attitude is half the battle” with cancer…right?<br /><br />But when the oncologist stopped chemotherapy after the 2nd treatment, noting that the blood work indicated that the cancer was spreading, I found myself feeling discouraged…and I knew that Mother felt that, too. When she visited a surgeon, and he outlined how risky – and ineffective – “debulging” would be in her case, I felt her disappointment and despair, as hopes for beating this were somewhat dashed.<br /><br />We tried to look on the bright side…cessation of the chemo treatments meant that Mother would hopefully feel well enough to join the rest of our family for a Thanksgiving meal at our house…and for our Christmas Eve celebration. And indeed, Mother was able to come to both events. She mostly sat quietly in one of our club chairs in the living room – or at the dining table…but she engaged in conversation, and she delighted in her great-grandchildren, who kept everything lively.<br /> </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9KCaEnFwzx-PUmSXVFVz2ivVJhMiJePkI5oxQneFI_rGB75X0KCjak85gFHiEbvbbyh0SEZ7S_f-SpKxxqJ7cNXAPfR_H1j6wegjM7UpWesh02OIneNveXQS5eiS4EiHocT2lrZH-RXl/s1600/MomWig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9KCaEnFwzx-PUmSXVFVz2ivVJhMiJePkI5oxQneFI_rGB75X0KCjak85gFHiEbvbbyh0SEZ7S_f-SpKxxqJ7cNXAPfR_H1j6wegjM7UpWesh02OIneNveXQS5eiS4EiHocT2lrZH-RXl/s1600/MomWig.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mother was able to attend the children’s Christmas program at church – and a play that Timothy’s first grade class performed shortly before Christmas break. The classmates presented “The True Story of Rudolph” – and our Timothy was Rudolph. Mother and Lee attended, along with other family members – Mother sporting a red and white “Santa” cap…and Lee wearing a felt “elf” cap. Timothy never questioned their attire. In fact, none of our children ever asked about Mother’s wig or her caps throughout the entirety of her illness, as far as I know. Timothy even visited her in the hospital once when she was wearing no cap or wig…and he didn’t say a word.<br /><br />My mother decided that her only hope might lie at M.D. Anderson in Houston. So she secured an appointment there for a “work-up” on January 6th. She and her husband, Lee, planned to get in their motorhome on Monday, January 4th and set out for Houston…taking 2 days to arrive. This was the earliest available appointment that would not be interrupted by the holidays…meaning Mother waited almost 3 weeks without any treatments whatsoever. During that time, she developed pneumonia, which was treated with strong antibiotics…and she grew visibly weaker.<br /><br />Even though I talked to my mother virtually every day – and exchanged e-mail messages several times – she kept us all somewhat “on the fringe” about her illness. She would drop hints that she did not think that she was getting well – or that she would beat her disease. But for the most part, she talked of the future. She wrote a blog post about how she was unable to do anything for Thanksgiving…but next year she hoped to pick back up her apron and host again. And she waffle between talking of getting weaker – and planning her next RV adventure or writing assignment.<br /><br />So I would think, “Girl, you are being melodramatic. Your imagination is working overtime. Mother will beat this! You’ll see…this time next year, she will be traveling and hosting family dinners and playing in the back yard with the kiddos.” But when I hugged her as she left our house on Christmas Eve, and she began to quietly cry, I knew something was terribly wrong.<br /><br />In addition to the concern over my mother, my husband’s brother and sister-in-law were involved in a terrible head-on car crash on December 21st. My brother-in-law suffered massive internal injuries from the seat belt that resulted in four bowel resection surgeries in three days. He was transported to a trauma ICU in Little Rock a few hours after the wreck, where a surgical team met the ambulance and whisked him off to begin repairing the damage. Thankfully, his wife suffered only bruising and a broken pinky finger; however, she was in pain – and shock – and needed medication for quite some time afterward to allow her to take deep breaths and ward off pneumonia.<br /><br />Just as we entered the week of Christmas, I contracted an upper respiratory virus that knocked me to my knees. So one day while Greg took his mother to Little Rock to see his brother at the hospital, the cat and I stayed on the couch under a blanket and tried to recuperate. I finally decided that the lovely sit-down ham dinner with all the trimmings I had planned to prepare for our family on Christmas Eve would be a health hazard in more ways than one. My mother graciously offered to treat us to pizza…and it was such a hit (served on festive paper plates) that I think this will become a new holiday tradition.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg's mother and his brother, Bruce<br />July 2015<br /> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Greg and his mother and I traveled to Little Rock on Christmas Day to visit his brother in the hospital. He was sedated and never knew we were there. He had suffered a stroke the day before, and doctors were monitoring him closely for long-term effects. The day after we visited, my niece telephoned and let Greg speak to his brother via speakerphone. It was music to Greg’s ears. Maybe his brother had turned a corner!<br /><br />We visited again the following week, after my brother-in-law was transferred out of ICU to a regular room. He passed a swallow test and cognitive exams, and though he was weak and very sore from all of the surgeries, plans were made to transport him the following day (Day 10) to a rehab in a city closer to home. There he would work on regaining his strength and energy to care for himself and his personal needs at home.<br /><br />However, things took an ugly turn after we left that day. My brother-in-law became nauseous, then he suffered three bouts of cardiac arrest…and before 7:00 the next morning, he had passed away. We knew blood clots, stroke and cardiac arrest were all possible side effects following surgery – this is the very thing that claimed my dad’s life following a surgery 16 years ago. But we were still shaken. My brother-in-law was less than one month shy of his 67th birthday.<br /><br />So as we dealt with the sudden death of Greg’s brother, GREG succumbed to the respiratory virus…and my mother’s general health decline continued. I had insisted on accompanying Mother and her husband earlier in the week to her clinic, where her doctor (who happens to be a close friend of mine) did a follow-up exam for Mother’s pneumonia. He determined that she seemed to be clear of infection; however, he surmised that tumor growth was pressing on Mother’s lungs, preventing her from getting adequate breaths. I could see that Mother felt very weak and tired…and she was struggling to breathe. She also seemed unsteady on her feet.<br /><br />I point-blank asked my friend if he thought that Mother was okay to travel to Houston the following Monday (this was Tuesday). He told me, “I am not comfortable with her making that trip…BUT…her only hope is if they can do something for her at M.D. Anderson.” He went on to say that he suspected that the doctors there would recommend “debulging” – surgery to remove the tumors that had grown and were pressing on Mother’s lungs and other organs. My friend left the room, and I looked from Mother to her husband and asked, “If the doctors in Houston recommend surgery, are you going to do it?” They both shook their heads in the negative and firmly said, “We’re not doing that.” I silently wondered why they were still planning this trip. And I told God, “I cannot fix this. If Mother is not able to make this trip, YOU will have to step in and do something.”<br /><br />New Year’s Day…the day after my brother-in-law died…I stopped at my mother’s house to check on her. It was 10:30 a.m., and her husband said she was still asleep. However, as I made my way to her bedroom, she stumbled toward me. I watched as she staggered into the kitchen…fell into the refrigerator…then staggered to a cabinet, where she began to prepare a large bowl of cereal – sugary frosted mini-wheats. This was not really a good breakfast for a diabetic, but Mother HAD said that at this point, the doctors said to eat whatever tastes good. I asked if she could carry this bowl of cereal and milk to the table, and her husband stepped in and carried it for her. Mother staggered once again…fell into the wall, and made her way to the dining table. She trembled as she ate her cereal, and she was visibly disoriented and distracted.<br /><br />I was concerned about what I observed, and I phoned my sister to let her know how I had found our mother. My sister stopped in to see Mother on her way to work that evening, and she found her even more disoriented, in pain, wheezing, and running a high fever. Mother’s husband was in their motorhome out in the yard, and Mother had been so confused that she could not dial his cell phone. She was walking through the house carrying the mouse to her computer…she thought it was her cordless phone.<br /><br />My sister and I got in touch with the doctor, and he told us to take Mother to the Emergency Room at the hospital. It took me a while to get her there…she wanted to take time to shower!…but I finally got her in my car and drove her across town to our local hospital. We put her in a wheelchair and rolled her into the Emergency Department, where a nurse triaged her and took all of her vital information. Mother was able to answer questions about her medications, treatments, and more.<br /><br />Then Mother was admitted to an exam room, where our favorite ER doctor (a high school classmate) was on duty. He ordered blood work and a chest x-ray. After the blood work had been processed, a nurse came flying into the room with orange juice, crackers and peanut butter, and she began to feed Mother. “Your blood sugar is 30!” she declared. The doctor explained that with a blood sugar level of 30, most people cannot walk or talk…much less make any sense! A subsequent blood test indicated that Mother’s glucose level was dipping even lower – the reading was 17.<br /><br />The doctor said he could not let Mother leave the hospital with such a seriously low blood sugar level. By all rights, she should have been comatose at this point. He looked at Mother and said, “You are exceptional.” Well, we all knew that! He also said that the fever indicated infection somewhere in her body. So six hours after we entered the Emergency Room, my mother was admitted to a hospital room, where IV glucose and antibiotics were begun. It was determined that Mother had virtually stopped eating when she got pneumonia…but she was still taking medication for diabetes…and that bottomed out her blood sugar. The medication was immediately ceased.<br /><br />Knowing that I was exhausted from the virus I was just getting over AND the death of Greg’s brother, my sister left work and declared that she would sit with Mother overnight. And she did…and for several more nights to follow. I returned the following morning and met with the hospitalist, who ordered a complete round of tests for my mother…head-to-toe CT-scan…more blood work and x-rays. He told me, “She will not be going anywhere until at least Monday morning, and only IF she is 100% stable will I allow her to travel to Houston.” Mother continued to run fever and was not responding to the constant administration of glucose. Her blood sugar level continued to be far too low.<br /><br />By evening, the report on the CT-scan was in, and it was not good. The tumors had almost doubled in size since late September. One that was 10 cm in September was now 17 cm…and pressing on her lungs. Another was pressing on the adrenal gland to her kidneys and causing her serious back pain. And the fever was keeping Mother in a stupor. She was hallucinating and “talking out of her head.” A nurse suggested to my sister that perhaps it was time for Hospice care.<br /><br />Sunday morning – January 3rd…the day of my brother-in-law’s funeral, I awoke EARLY. I was back at the hospital by 5:30 a.m., sitting with my mother. When the hospitalist examined her mid-morning, we stepped outside to talk, and I asked her about Hospice care. She said, “I think that is a wise choice at this point.” Mother was clear enough for us to discuss this with her, and she said, “Yes, that is what I want. I want this to be over.” She said these words to me twice…“I want this to be over.” She also said, “I want to go home.”<br /><br />I asked the doctor if she felt I had time to attend my brother-in-law’s funeral. She told me that she felt sure that I had time for that…but that Mother probably didn’t have many days left. She encourage me to go and be with Greg and his family. So a dear friend of Mother’s sat with her – and Mother’s husband – and I spent most of that day saying “Good-bye” to Greg’s brother. It was an extremely hard day for all of us. The Hospice team agreed to wait until I returned to the hospital late that afternoon to come out and start their paper work.<br /><br />Monday morning, we made the final preparations to move Mother home. It was January 4th. Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone, and it was all a blur for Greg and me. He would still plug in all of the Christmas lights on our trees and decorations, so I came home at night to a warm and cozy house. But the joy and excitement of the holidays had certainly come and gone for us now.<br /><br />We got Mother settled in a hospital bed in her living room at home. Her doctor told me, “I don’t think she will be on Hospice long.” The nurses at the hospital whispered that it would probably be “only a few days,” and Mother’s doctor concurred. Tuesday, two of Mother’s step-daughters arrived from Tennessee, along with other family members. Both women are nurses…one a Registered Nurse, and the other a Nurse Practitioner. They were life-savers. They helped my sister and me with Mother’s care…and they helped their dad to come to grips with the fact that Mother was dying and would not recover.<br /><br />It was a long week. We were busy every day with helping Mother turn in bed, sit up, get to the bathroom and to the table for a few bites at mealtime. She was so swollen and distended that she breathed better sitting upright. So often, we would help her to a couch and sit with her. Mother knew from the outset that she had very little time, and she was quite practical about it all. One evening as I sat with her on the couch, she asked about Greg’s mother. Having lost a son herself, my mother knew that indescribable heartache that she said was like no other. I told her that Greg’s mother was doing okay. Mother said, “She’s a strong woman.” “So are you!” I reminded her. “Well! There’s no other way to be!” she retorted. She then asked about Greg. I told her we were doing okay, and she said, “You and Greg both have a lot to process.” I couldn’t hide my tears, and I didn’t even try.<br /><br />Several times in the hospital – and in the days at home – I kissed my mother, held her close, and cried. I couldn’t stop the tears…and we shared several tender, precious moments. I told her at least once, “It is so hard to leave you.” And by late in the week, I was staying virtually around the clock. My sister still came in and out through the day, and she stayed at night, but I slept in my old bedroom…or I would doze on a couch near Mother.<br /><br />My mother last spoke to me in the night of January 10th. One of the last things she told me was, “I love you so much.” Over the course of that ten days, we had more than said everything we needed. We understood one another, what was happening, and what Mother’s wishes were. At times, she would say funny things…other times she made little to no sense. Once, when I excused myself to go to the bathroom, she sarcastically said, “GREAT! Good for you!” She hated her catheter! And then a couple of days later when she was too weak to walk to the bathroom, she said, “I’ve decided this catheter is my friend!”</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVHfgfoW0GxfeProbEfablRPSsWGtsunANcMYuE_5UvoAmT2o_YjxU5x-RFwvCCL1KhEXphXtBUqiDOZOHiJc9jReM_oxfl2L7SeAhhbcosch9lZnTqprGSdYPpIUGMb4_cUf6dLv5swC/s1600/Mom_Timmy_Blanchard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVHfgfoW0GxfeProbEfablRPSsWGtsunANcMYuE_5UvoAmT2o_YjxU5x-RFwvCCL1KhEXphXtBUqiDOZOHiJc9jReM_oxfl2L7SeAhhbcosch9lZnTqprGSdYPpIUGMb4_cUf6dLv5swC/s200/Mom_Timmy_Blanchard.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy and my mother, August 2015</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When my sister and I tried to walk Mother across the room to a couch, my sister became tangled in the dozens of feet of tubing, and Mother quipped, “I’m okay! You just choked me with the oxygen…but I’m okay!” My niece brought her three children to visit, and Mother loved hearing them play on the sun porch…the “ring-ring” of their tricycle bell, and the “quack quack” of some duck-billed noisemakers she had for them. One by one, they would inch up to her bed and talk to her. Four-year-old Zola even insisted on giving her kisses.<br /><br />The Friday before Mother passed, my niece brought 3-year-old Nathan and stayed much of the afternoon. Nathan played and “did his thing,” just like it was an ordinary “Friday at Granny’s” from back in August/September. I commented to Mother that it was just like a regular “Friday with Granny” for him…and she added…”except this time I don’t have to watch him by myself!” She also whispered to me one day as I lifted her from the bed, “I have probably done permanent damage to your body with this lifting.” I assured her that I would be just fine…and I am.<br /><br />Monday morning, I woke early and slipped out of the house and drove across town to my own home. I took a shower and gathered clean clothes, repacked my bags, and returned. Mother smiled at me when she saw me…but by noon, she was virtually comatose and did not respond to anything or anyone except to grumble in pain when we turned her. After everyone went to bed that night, I sat with her as she tossed and turned and “talked”. Her fever soared to 103.3 degrees, and she was terribly swollen and clammy.<br /><br />I woke my step-sister, Suzanne (the R.N.), and she helped us ice Mother down with zip-loc bags filled with crushed ice and wrapped in towels. We placed them under her arms and along her legs, and her temperature dropped by a good two degrees. But we had to keep cooling her down for hours. The next morning, a Hospice aide came to bathe Mother and dress her in a clean gown. About 11:00, a dear cousin who was very close to Mother came for a visit. She leaned in and talked to her, and then we stood beside Mother’s bed and caught up on the family and recalled memories of fun times we had shared. I looked down at Mother, and her breathing had changed markedly. Step-sister Suzanne noticed it, too, and ran to get her dad.<br /><br />In a few brief minutes, my mother had stopped breathing and drifted away from us. We kissed her and released her to go with the angels…to greet my dad and brother and others…and to meet Jesus face-to-face. And she did exactly that.<br /><br />The days have been a whirlwind and a blur since then. People think that everything is over when you leave the cemetery. In many ways, it’s just beginning. There are business matters to attend to…thank-you notes to write…bills to pay…people to greet and entertain…and lots and lots of things to “process.” I finally took down our Christmas decorations on January 18th. My mother was a very wise woman in many ways…but probably the most profound statement she has made to me in years was that, “You and Greg have a lot to process.” And we are still trying to do that.<br /><br />In Mother’s last days, I continued to write my devotionals – when I could. I missed a few days, but not all of them. It was cathartic for me to spend time in reflection and Bible study…to pray about what to say…and to share my heart. I posted an update each day on Facebook – the easiest way to answer everyone’s questions. My mother had a LOT of friends and people who loved her, and they all wanted to know what was happening. So I would write a “report.” People would comment…and until Mother could no longer respond to us, we read her each and every word. It was like hearing your funeral before you die. Mother would tell me who certain people were when I didn’t recognize a name. She would laugh and smile at the comments of her former kindergarten students. One of her piano students said, “Tell her I wish I had practiced more.” Mother said, “Write back and tell her there is still time!”<br /><br />I am grateful for the gift of writing to be able to sort out my thoughts – to “process” what has happened. I thought I understood grief. The nineties were a great time of loss for my family, beginning with my father-in-law in 1992…my favorite great-aunt in 1993, then my maternal grandmother in 1994…a beloved cousin in 1997, another cousin and my baby brother in 1998…and my dad’s passing 13 months later in 1999. Surely I had a handle on this! Well, that’s baloney! Each loss is different and leaves its own mark…and these two recent deaths have been a swift kick in the gut!<br /><br />A friend told me that there are losses in life…but there is nothing that compares to losing your mother. She was right! In the last eleven days, I’ve thought of dozens of things that “I must remember to tell Mother.” I’ve opened my e-mail account and anticipated her message…the report on her Sunday morning at church…what she and Lee watched on “Netflick” the night before. I saw a friend’s Facebook post of pictures he took this past week in Yellowstone National Park – a place my mother adored, and where she and Lee spent last summer as Workampers…and I thought, “Mother would love that!” Then I realized…she can visit there anytime she likes now.<br /><br />In <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a </span>devotional <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I wrote shortly after <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mother died</span></span>, I spoke of grief. Greg and I took his mother to the cemeteries today to visit the graves of our brother…and my mother. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">January 23rd</span> would have been my brother-in-law’s 67th birthday. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">His birthday</span> was our first time back at the cemeteries since the funerals. I am not hiding from grief this time…or running away from it. As I said in my devotional, to do so seems to say to God, “I don’t need you – I’ve got this!” And nothing could be further from the truth. God wants to console us. He wants us to lean on Him and let Him do the hard work. He wants us to cry out to Him when it all seems to be too much. God wants us to let Him help us process all of this.<br /><br />I don’t know how long it will take…or if I will ever be the same. And that’s okay. I know that I had an extraordinary mother who loved me as best she could. Like any human being, she made mistakes…and she told me often that she had many regrets about her efforts to rear three children. I assured her that it was all over and done…that everything was “good” between us. And I know that today, everything is better than good for her. She is with Jesus…and my dad and brother and her best dogs, Spot, Otis and Carmen…and she is healthy and whole and tumor free…and “life” is very, very good. <br /><br />And life will be good for us again at some point…until it is our turn to join the heavenly party, when it will rise to a whole other level! Meanwhile, we will keep on processing all that has happened…all that will happen in the days/weeks/years to come. And we will remember the lessons of our mothers…and fathers…brothers and others. And with God’s help and grace, we will work through it all.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-30397338565712157172015-10-28T16:06:00.004-05:002015-10-28T16:12:27.584-05:00What's in a Haircut? A Reality Check...<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">When Timothy was about a year old, I took him for his first haircut. As the barber trimmed his curls and gave him a "big boy" shape, I watched our baby disappear before my eyes - and a toddler appeared in his place. I used to take my grandmother for her weekly visits to the hairdresser, and I laughed at the contrast - the "straight-across-the-forehead" bangs of a one-year old vs. the softly teased white curls of someone in their late 90s.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />But an experience last week was a total "first" for me...one that I did not expect. I drove my mother to the beauty shop for a haircut to trim her hair to a one-inch length all over. This was in anticipation that any day, she would lose her hair completely as a result of chemo. The trepidation felt by both our then-one-year-old Timothy and my 76-year-old mother was palpable...obviously, for very different reasons. One did not understand what the man was doing to his hair...the other was probably asking herself, "How did this happen to me?"<br /><br />I thought Mother's new haircut looked cute. We took "before and after" photos, and the hairdresser and I teased that she should use some gel and spike it up and "go wild!" Mom barely laughed and said she would NOT be doing that! A day or so later, she returned to the hairdresser with a wig that she had purchased but was not totally convinced she liked...and the hairdresser cut and styled it for her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Mom posted a picture of her new "do" on Facebook, and many commented how beautiful she looked - and how nice her hair was. I think that was the only day she actually wore the wig. She said since she mostly just lies around the house, there was no sense in putting it on for that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Yesterday morning, I received an e-mail from my mom saying that her hair was coming out in clumps...and that her hairdresser would buzz her head for her - but not until the next day. The hairdresser was busy and could not work this yesterday. I "buzz" Greg's head every week. We have clippers, and I know how to use them. So I offered to come and buzz my mother's head. She responded almost immediately and said yes...this would be a great help to her.<br /><br />So I gathered the clippers and a bed sheet and drove to my mother's house. We "set up shop" on her sun porch, and I clipped her already-short hair down to a fine "fuzz" all over her head. She's not slick-bald yet...but she probably will be soon. Once we were finished, Mother got up and tied on her little cotton turban. "Aren't you going to look in the mirror?" I asked. "No!" she emphatically responded. And several hours later, she told my sister that she still had not looked at herself in the mirror.<br /><br />I didn't think Mom looked that bad without her hair. I don't know what I expected...and maybe it's because I do buzz my husband's head every week with the clippers. I am used to that "look". But I did have the sense as it was happening, "What am I doing?" And then I remembered...Mom's hair is falling out in clumps anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We are only one treatment into this journey, and so far, my mother has pretty much had <b>one</b> "normal" day in the last three weeks where she felt "good" all day long. And she made the most of it, with a trip out for lunch and to the Dollar Tree. She stuffed Halloween treat bags for the children. She worked on her blog posts and answered e-mail. Many days, she has been able to do small tasks for a few hours...but ultimately, she has ended up back in bed - or on her couch...drained...spent...totally exhausted. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We are told that the treatments have a cumulative effect. We're also told that some people start to feel "normal" just in time for the next treatment. It's so early that we still don't really know what to expect. This Thursday, Mom will get her "port"...and then she will have a 3-hour chemo treatment, as well as blood work and a visit with her oncologist. Maybe we will know more about what lies ahead after all of that.<br /><br />Mom's surgeon explained to her that her chemotherapy drugs attack cells that are dividing...and cancer cells divide. So do the cells that make up hair follicles...hence, the hair loss. It's daunting to think that the poison that can kill cancer cells - and cause you to lose your hair - could also be healing you at the same time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I told Timothy that his hair would grow back...and it has, over and over again. We've made numerous trips to the barber shop...and in recent months, Timothy's Granny (my mother) had taken on that task. Hopefully, in time, HER hair will grow back...and maybe they can once again make these trips together. For now, we'll all step in to do what must be done and pray that the drugs are working...and that we are headed in the right direction. After all, it IS just hair...right?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-48784690817270040692015-10-12T20:41:00.000-05:002015-10-12T21:19:41.194-05:00This Sandwich Has a New Slice of "Bread"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPSTxty0hMir_4Wc7IA52QAeluchthKFAuUxPOq7dBKdxHaRON_glLCTXNQtEwITbGObmEz4Q9cjrp8-UGevRvUEvXHlMfLzIQGc4rcLuDqPvmPUIkHY64A4ajArB1OJ3mxw9LvewW_3Z/s1600/Mom_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPSTxty0hMir_4Wc7IA52QAeluchthKFAuUxPOq7dBKdxHaRON_glLCTXNQtEwITbGObmEz4Q9cjrp8-UGevRvUEvXHlMfLzIQGc4rcLuDqPvmPUIkHY64A4ajArB1OJ3mxw9LvewW_3Z/s320/Mom_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother...Arline Chandler Smith</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Life has a strange way of taking turns you never expected. When my 76-year-old mother began to complain of pain and soreness in her abdomen last February, I thought little of it...particularly given that her long-time internist in Little Rock did not even examine her when she mentioned it to him. In fact, he brushed it off and said, "You're not telling me anything that raises concern." But the pain and discomfort continued through the summer. And a few months after Mother's internist told her that this was nothing to worry about, he was arrested and charged with running a prescription painkiller ring from his office. He now faces federal charges, as well.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So Mother found herself without a doctor, and after praying about what to do, she opted to start seeing a nurse practitioner at a local clinic. Her thinking was that this person could at least refer her to specialists who drove the 65 miles from Little Rock to practice in the outpatient clinic at our local hospital. Mother mentioned the pain to her NP, who suggested maybe she needed to see a surgeon for an endoscopy. This was in August...the first available appointment for a consult was November 12th.<br /></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLa5-rJBaASzd186wPPH9RWRsT6DMEAEMU9SwowfLpC0Eeeo5NKOtptpF5G1f2RA3M7WJBz4RqHbkeD_2WDmMFpGvYe-9Ozhtg83NFPg4pkHLMBYm3XPV6SZr3NaJzKxkHR0HwAXI1_XM/s1600/IMG_1002.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLa5-rJBaASzd186wPPH9RWRsT6DMEAEMU9SwowfLpC0Eeeo5NKOtptpF5G1f2RA3M7WJBz4RqHbkeD_2WDmMFpGvYe-9Ozhtg83NFPg4pkHLMBYm3XPV6SZr3NaJzKxkHR0HwAXI1_XM/s320/IMG_1002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg pushes Zola in a swing installed in the <br />
backyard at Mother and Lee's house. Behind <br />
them is the platform for the new playhouse.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Meanwhile, Mother was going about her busy schedule pretty much as usual. She and her husband, Lee, traveled to Tennessee in July for a family reunion. She tended to Lee as he saw doctors about health scare that some thought might require surgery. Thankfully, Lee is healthier and stronger at 77 than many men in their 30s, so he is in "watch-and-wait" mode with his health issue. He put a new roof on their house last spring, and after getting his "good" diagnosis this summer, he set in to build a play house in their back yard for my great-niece and nephews...Zola, Timothy and Nathan. Lee and Mother had installed a new wood fence around the yard a couple of summers ago, and he saved the fence boards. They are now being repurposed into a playhouse - complete with front porch, pitched roof, and windows!<br /><br />Mom offered to keep our 3-year-old great-nephew on Fridays while my niece and her husband work. The other two children are in school, but a place was needed for Nathan. Greg and I kept him this summer on Mondays and some Fridays and other weekdays...but Mother wanted to take the "Friday shift." She enjoyed several visits from Nathan...and my niece, Jasmine would come after work and bring Timothy and Zola and spend an hour or so visiting and letting the children play in the back yard.<br /><br />All of this changed on September 21st, when Mom awoke with what she thought was a UTI. We laughed, because she immediately "doctored" herself with Cipro, an antibiotic that she had purchased at the "pharmacia" in Mexico while she and Lee wintered in Arizona. In fact, she messaged me before noon and said, "I'm much better already, and I feel silly to go to the clinic. But I guess I will go ahead and keep my appointment.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At the clinic, my mother saw another Nurse Practitioner. She mentioned again the pain in her abdomen...and <b>this</b> woman examined her. "Your stomach is 'hard'," she told Mother. She ordered a CT scan at the hospital for the next morning and told my mother that she would call in the afternoon with the results. Before noon, she had phoned to say, "You have a mass in your stomach, and you need to return to the hospital for blood work. We will probably order a biopsy."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My mother is an avid traveler. She is a free-lance writer, author of eleven books, and weekly contributor to a website for RVers - RVLife.com - where she maintains a blog about her travels with Lee in their 42-foot motorhome. When Mother received this news, she had a PR trip planned to Branson, Missouri - which is something of her "second home." Businesses and attractions in Branson were hosting writers and media people from across the country for the weekend. It would be almost 3 days of good food, great shows and entertainment, and topnotch hospitality. Mom got the blood work done and opted to go to Branson. She and Lee returned home late Sunday evening.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Monday morning, I got an e-mail from Mother..<i>."I have a serious problem,
Debbie. The tests show cancer markers and it’s my ovaries. But there is
more than one mass. [The Nurse Practitioner] has blocked off an hour to talk to me—to us—in
the morning at 10:00, unless they can do the biopsy tomorrow. She offered to
come to my house and talk to us tonight—in fact, she said she felt so
heavy about this that she almost called and asked to come last night. I want
you and Suzanne </i>[my sister]<i> to go with me to talk to her, as well as Lee. This is going to be OK—no matter
what. Just going to be a battle ahead."</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So the following morning, Greg and I met my mother and Lee, and my sister Suzanne, at the clinic. We all squeezed into a tiny exam room where the Nurse Practitioner came in and introduced herself to each of us, then sat in the floor with her laptop and a folder of test results...and she began to give us the "report." Mother has multiple masses, ranging in size from 2.5cm to 10cm...and they were all over - near her liver, in the lower quadrants of her pelvis, and floating in her abdomen. None were thought to be attached to organs. While the CA125 blood test for ovarian cancer is not reliable - often giving a false negative - Mother's did indicate a positive. "Normal" range is less than 30...my mother's count was 300. The nurse kept telling her how sorry she was.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I guess I was in disbelief. Mother had not seen a doctor. Perhaps this was all a mistake. But a biopsy was scheduled for that Thursday morning in Little Rock. Mother would not let us go with her...Lee drove her down for the procedure. After the biopsy, she did ask if I would keep Nathan on Friday...she realized that she was too groggy and sore to manage him. She was scheduled for a consult with the oncologist on the next Thursday. After Mother and Lee met with the oncologist, they came to our house and met with Greg and me - and Suzanne - and delivered the official report.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The oncologist felt like all indications were that this was ovarian cancer; however, he wanted to examine blood work and get a PET scan to be sure. Those have now been studied, and his best guess is that an ovary ruptured and "spewed cancer cells" throughout my mother's abdomen. The <i><b>good news</b></i> is that there is no spread beyond the abdomen - nothing in the chest and beyond. The oncologist is treating this as Stage 3C Ovarian Cancer...and aggressive chemotherapy was begun on Thursday, October 8th. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Mother got IV drugs for nausea - and steroids - and then she spent the next three hours receiving Paclitaxel (conventional) and Carboplatin. On Friday, she got a shot of Neulasta to boost her immune system - to the tune of $5000. Thankfully, she is told that her insurance company will cover this. But she must have Neulasta after each of her chemo treatments, which are scheduled for every 3 weeks. Her oncologist told her that within 2 weeks of this first treatment, she <i><b>will</b></i> begin to lose her hair.<br /><br />Mother felt GREAT after the treatment...like she could climb a mountain (the steroids). She didn't sleep much Thursday night, but on Friday, she still was energized...until sometime late afternoon. She thought maybe it was the Neulasta, but she had a "small sinking spell" while shopping and hurried home. Saturday she laid around and did not feel well...by Sunday, she had all of the side effects - nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, body aches and pains. The only thing missing was hair loss...and she is bracing for that. She feels lousy...is in bed a lot...and her world has been turned upside down.<br /><br />In the course of less than a month, my mother has gone from planning her next trip to planning a trip to buy a wig when her hair falls out. In the course of ten days, she has gone from spending a happy Friday with her 3-year-old great-grandson and an hour or so of play with her other two great-grandchildren and their mother to being unable to sit up and answer e-mail at her desk for more than an hour or so before returning to bed.<br /><br />I will tell you...I feel pretty helpless. I want to <i><u><b>do</b></u></i> for her...and there is nothing to do. She said, "Keeping the children is helping me. If you will keep Nathan on Fridays, that will be your part." Somehow, it doesn't feel like enough - and yet, I know that more "opportunities" to "do" will come in the next few weeks and months. So Friday, I kept Nathan. Sundays after church, the children come home with us for a few hours, and we did that yesterday. Today there was no school for Timothy, so both he and Nathan came to my house for the day while their parents worked. I take the two oldest children to Taekwondo lessons on Mondays and Tuesdays...so tomorrow, we will go to our class. Mother keeps e-mailing me and thanking me for doing these things for the children.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy rides his tricycle on Mother's carport. They recently <br />
bought the kids this tricycle - complete with bell and tassles!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I am still trying to process all of this in my own head. The children do not know about my mother, other than that Granny did not feel well Friday, so Nathan came here. At six years old, Timothy is incredibly sensitive about old age and death. He thinks that anyone who gets sick - or old - "will die like Mam-ma Polly." He remembers her death...and paired with the deaths of two beloved family pets who were old and sick, he has formulated the idea that when you are sick or get old, you die! And this worries him. When Mother starts to lose her hair, the children will have to be told something...but we have a few days until then. And her doctor has told her that she is to avoid sick people and small children...so her contact with them will have to be limited anyway.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nathan sits at our kitchen counter <br />
during one of his Friday visits.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So my days are once again filled with children and their activities...and caring for a loved one at the other end of the age continuum - as much as she will allow! I really anticipated caring for my mother when she was 90...not 76. And I'm really not sure what to do with all of this information just yet. I am trusting God to take me by the hand and lead me, because I feel like we're all somewhat fumbling in the dark at this point. I know that He is more than able...and that He has my mother - and all of us - in the palm of His hand.<br /><br />For now, I commiserate when Mother sends an e-mail to tell me she is going back to bed...and I color another picture with Timothy and play "superheroes" with Nathan or read a story to Zola. It's doesn't seem like enough...but somehow, for now...it is.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-54890234377950339452015-02-07T14:24:00.000-06:002015-02-07T14:24:38.598-06:00Please Take Time to Watch...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dementia is one of the
hardest things for caregivers of the elderly to understand. "Why does
Mom act this way?" "What is wrong with Dad?" How can they be so
confused and lose focus so easily? This video does an amazing job of
examining these questions and more...and demonstrating what life may be
like for a loved one with some form of dementia. It is well worth the
8+ minutes it will take to view...8 minutes that could change your
entire perspective. I would not wish this on my worst enemy...but
sadly, many people we love dearly are dealing with some level of this
madness - either personally, or as a caregiver. Please take time to
watch and learn...it might make a huge difference in your life and that
of someone you love.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-43004973739492777142015-01-09T10:58:00.000-06:002015-01-09T10:59:36.348-06:00Serving a Purpose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcstPNODp-UbIA2LGPnD8QB9nq7C2_GX8OeYCp0DFtgJO56lFpawajLUk7SDuSe5ty0Or_Bc6xdeaRVz0r8TwVPeI5KV1865kdVGyd91B5KxBcreVzvGHwUxAy0I9jjMV8A1E3lPEIqlzM/s1600/IMG_9310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcstPNODp-UbIA2LGPnD8QB9nq7C2_GX8OeYCp0DFtgJO56lFpawajLUk7SDuSe5ty0Or_Bc6xdeaRVz0r8TwVPeI5KV1865kdVGyd91B5KxBcreVzvGHwUxAy0I9jjMV8A1E3lPEIqlzM/s1600/IMG_9310.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I know...it's been a while since my last post. Frankly, I have wondered just what I am supposed to say here, now that my Mam-ma Polly has passed. And yet, it seems that we are still very much in the middle of the "Sandwich Generation" as my mother-in-law nears her 9th decade of life. Each week brings a new ailment of sorts...nothing all that significant at this point, thank goodness...but little aggravations (for her) all the same.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The children have come to understand that on any given Sunday, "Grandma E" may not be able to attend church with us. At first, this upset Timothy...and he was very concerned about "Grandma E" (who is very much a beloved "great-grandmother" to these children)and why she didn't come with us. But as time has passed, he has seemed to accept that there are good Sundays - and those that are not so good - and he and Zola appear to be more readily accepting of the latter.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At the same time, one of our sisters-in-law, Laney, is dealing with the challenges of her 95-year-old mother's placement in a skilled care nursing facility (3+ hours away in another city) after she suffered a stroke and a fall. One evening shortly before Christmas, Laney e-mailed me to describe what she felt was a very disturbing incident. Laney's mother cannot see, but she persuaded someone at the facility to call her daughter. When Laney answered, her mother went on a rampage...she could not stay at this facility any longer...she could most certainly not be there for Christmas...she just would not have any of this...Laney absolutely HAD to do something. Laney mostly listened...and when she hung up, she was totally rattled and upset by the call.<br /><br />As I read the message and heard what Laney's mother had said, a sense of familiarity washed over me. I quickly replied to my sister-in-law and told her, "I am no doctor, but I am fairly certain that you have just described a TIA (mini-stroke). I am betting that things will be totally different tomorrow...and your mom might not even remember that she called you. At the very least, I'm betting she will be subdued...and possibly even very tired. Mam-ma Polly did this same thing SEVERAL times." I offered some advice about how to respond to these rants...and I shared with her some wonderful advice that a dear elderly friend of mine once gave my mother..."One day, all of the 'bad stuff' will fade away, and you will be left with only good memories." I also told Laney that I miss my grandmother terribly...that I would even settle for one of her rants - just to hear her voice again. Quite literally...this, too, shall pass.<br /><br />Laney responded quickly and thanked me. She expressed how much it helped to hear from someone who had "been there, done that". She had not considered a TIA, but once I mentioned it, she felt I was probably right...and knowledge is power. Understanding that this might be the culprit helped to answer her question of "Why would Mother do this?" - and that seemed to set everything in the proper perspective...and prepare her for any future "surprise" phone calls. And just as predicted, her mother has not mentioned the phone call at all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It felt good to help...to share what I had learned in a positive way...and to reassure someone else that "you are not alone in this." And while Greg was with me every step of the way in my journey with Mam-ma Polly, there have been times recently when I have reminded him of incidents in connection to situations with his own mother. We have found it helpful - and somewhat comforting - to remember these things and say, "Oh, yeah...that's not so unique after all. It may be screwy and frustrating - but not so unusual!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC47CpcG1HJgen531TaUIYx_9isv_B7QorKMc-8zzcahBjCgkgt0UW4RwT9xtyF-M8_lX9mJ3OSTUWdAJyBigygghtEjIzfGwq8cLqjkdsTvchyphenhyphenT1Qp-kReQ1Qpftn6LmGMGyi9fc-28Ud/s1600/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC47CpcG1HJgen531TaUIYx_9isv_B7QorKMc-8zzcahBjCgkgt0UW4RwT9xtyF-M8_lX9mJ3OSTUWdAJyBigygghtEjIzfGwq8cLqjkdsTvchyphenhyphenT1Qp-kReQ1Qpftn6LmGMGyi9fc-28Ud/s1600/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" height="200" width="162" /></a>Today, I spent some time talking with one of our dearest friends, whose mother is rapidly declining and in need of skilled care of some sort. We have known and loved this person since childhood. So he feels comfortable sharing his concerns and frustrations with us about his mom's situation. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My heart breaks for anyone going through these tough experiences. But at the same time, I am glad that I am able to offer some encouragement - and maybe a helpful piece or two of advice. If sharing anything that we experienced with Mam-ma Polly or my maternal grandparents during their nursing home stay and decline can be helpful to someone else, it somehow makes me feel like all of that serves some sort of purpose.<br /><br />Choosing a facility for your parents/grandparents IS a daunting task. Navigating their phone calls and confusion and frustration is highly stressful and frustrating to the caregiver. Dealing with administrators, government agencies, banks, lawyers, doctors, and realtors is daunting and can make one's head spin! Having someone who can say, "This is what I did" or "Here's how we handled that...and why" or "My mom did the same thing" can be so helpful. <br /><br />I cannot "fix" any of these situations. Try as I might, I could not fix my grandmother's issues...and I knew all along that I was not supposed to. I did the best I could, which is all anyone can expect. But sometimes, we don't even know what THAT is, on our own. The helpful support and encouragement of a friend who has walked this road can be incredibly comforting. Or at least I hope it is. <br /><br />So I feel like I am serving a purpose...and reaping SOMETHING good from all that we have experienced already. I told our friend who called that our situation felt crazy at times, but in the scheme of things, it was not that troublesome. Mam-ma Polly was healthy and relatively well until about 36 hours before she died. She never became combative or violent, as some do. She had her "moments"...but it could have been so much worse. And I thank God for this grace and mercy!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_dNT5MbvddFOoE3RsePAHImGQE1PVU_nTiW5ImM7Ir9yL5HiiEqP1F8I1tuXpChdnybTkn30aAes91y5UdpXiZUmogKzilnxFv2auY4xaTEIdhTXjne0DS8iBkAhqP68chVCv-DNg5_f/s1600/IMG_0446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_dNT5MbvddFOoE3RsePAHImGQE1PVU_nTiW5ImM7Ir9yL5HiiEqP1F8I1tuXpChdnybTkn30aAes91y5UdpXiZUmogKzilnxFv2auY4xaTEIdhTXjne0DS8iBkAhqP68chVCv-DNg5_f/s1600/IMG_0446.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a>I would like to think that as my mother-in-law and my own mother age, and possibly decline, I would handle these situations with calm and confidence. But I know better. There is nothing fun or easy about watching your parents age and decline...much less dealing with the issues that often accompany this. But as I told our friend, we are not alone. We're all in this together. And hopefully that counts for something!<br /><br />If you wish to share your own situation and circumstances...or to "vent"...feel free to contact me via this blog. We ARE all in this together...and you DO have people in your corner.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-90911327867157785472014-08-02T22:11:00.003-05:002014-08-02T22:27:08.950-05:00Telephone Scams Are No Joke!<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/D4qyLHaYHtI" width="400"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">You've probably seen this commercial on television...and if you are like me, you thought, "That's terrible...I'm so glad it doesn't happen in MY community." Friends, I'm here to tell you...it does.<br /><br />This almost happened to one of our family members this week, when someone phoned pretending to be a grandson who had supposedly "been in an accident" while traveling out of state. He needed $2000 wired immediately. There were a couple of "red flags"...the man did not sound like this person's grandson (although this was "excused" in part due to distress over the "accident" and the unnerving situation), and it was suggested that money be wired from a well-known "chain" grocery store, which does not do business in our community.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />Thankfully, the person did not give out any vital information, such as a credit card number. Instead, a phone number was requested to call for confirmation when the money was wired, and the caller hung up. Then the relative called other relatives to confirm that this was indeed a scam... and that the grandson was safe and sound - and not traveling in another state!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So this is my warning to everyone...watch this commercial. Screen all calls and do not act in haste. Remind your senior loved ones...or better yet, watch this commercial with them and discuss it. I am sickened to think that people would prey on others in this manner...especially innocent, caring souls like our seniors. But they do...and we need to be awake and alert...and do all we can to thwart their efforts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My husband read online that the #1 way that scammers get info is via social media...so I have redoubled efforts to tighten our accounts. I've "unfriended" people who aren't close friends or relatives. I've made the security about as tight as possible, and eliminated any info that is not 100% pertinent or necessary. It's the age we live in...and we had better cross our "t's" and dot our "i's" if we want to protect our assets...and our family members!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-87828055272697518402014-06-08T15:28:00.000-05:002014-06-08T15:28:23.751-05:00Just Because the "Bread" Changes Doesn't Mean It's Not Still a Sandwich!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"Hey, Grandma E! Grandma E!" Timothy persisted, as we drove to Burger King after church last Sunday. "Grandma E" is the name Timothy gave to Greg's mother when he was first learning to talk...and it stuck. My mother-in-law finally acknowledged Timothy's attempts to get her attention..."Okay, what, Timmy?" "Grandma E," he continued..."I like your pretty jacket...and I love you." You could have heard a pin drop in the car. Grandma E replied, "I love you, too."<br /><br />I realize that it has been awhile since my last post, but that doesn't mean we have not been busy! All three children are now in school...Timothy just "graduated" from pre-K and will begin kindergarten this fall. Zola and Nathan are in a program for toddlers and pre-schoolers who need an extra boost in certain areas, such as speech, gross and fine motor skills. So we are not seeing much of the children except for weekends when we take the older two with us to church most Sundays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Greg spends several hours a week with "Grandma E"...they have lunch together most Mondays after he delivers "Meals on Wheels"...he keeps her yard mowed, shrubbery trimmed and gutters cleaned...and he goes over whenever she needs help with things like her TV remote, a computer glitch - or a phone bill she doesn't understand. He has offered to handle errands for her, but so far, she prefers to make a few trips herself - although she is getting out less frequently as the weeks progress. The end of June, "Grandma E" will be 88 years young. She still lives alone in her own home and manages pretty well - for now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />In recent months, the optometrist has detected a change in "Grandma E's" eye pressure...a signal that her glaucoma (which has been treated with daily eye drops for several years) is progressing. After several "field tests" over a few months showed a significant change, the doctor thought a laser procedure was in order. It doesn't cure the glaucoma, but hopefully it will relieve some pressure and preserve her vision for a while longer.<br /><br />So last week, we traveled to Little Rock for the laser "surgery"...which took all of 30 seconds to complete. Ninety "zaps" in all, and we were headed home...with a brief stop along the way for lunch and a little shopping.<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Last weekend, Greg and I had dinner with a couple who have been friends of ours since childhood. They were asking us about "Grandma E", and I told them that she is really involved in dog sitting these days. She has about a dozen "clients", and she absolutely LOVES them. She also loves the income. And
we are good with that - it gives her purpose and company...and she seems
very happy.<br /> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-mZ1GCS_R2PPYP6UEuVOLvCUCawStvE4_fmlYGjHWhSpkVi0Jesjw1Lnyhftp2xJykMZG9ArkPY5DwwxlsoeKW-XT8mJVqYaLCcQ9hUX0wu5esdQ348YQ685NBMQ9VfpbgbOa3KexfZU/s1600/100_0582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-mZ1GCS_R2PPYP6UEuVOLvCUCawStvE4_fmlYGjHWhSpkVi0Jesjw1Lnyhftp2xJykMZG9ArkPY5DwwxlsoeKW-XT8mJVqYaLCcQ9hUX0wu5esdQ348YQ685NBMQ9VfpbgbOa3KexfZU/s1600/100_0582.JPG" height="149" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Grandma E" with her boys. <br />Greg is seated 2nd from the left.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"Grandma E" is a product of the Depression, and she is incredibly
frugal, for the most part. She won't say what she "charges" for
dog-sitting, unless a client asks, and then she says "$10 a day." The owners almost never pay that little. So "Grandma E" always has plenty of cash and
gift certificates, candy, etc., that people bring her from their trips
while she dog sits. <br />
<br />A few weeks ago, "Grandma E" hurt her back again...not as badly as when she
had to go to the hospital a couple of years ago, but we were watching
her closely. She could hardly get off the couch without severe pain. Greg went over a
couple of times to help her with a dog she had scheduled for a visit and would not
cancel. Meanwhile, the county election commission chairman sent "Grandma E" a letter saying that this year, ALL workers at
the polls had to come for a mandatory training meeting at a certain
time - or they could not work this year's elections. "Grandma E" LOVES to
work those elections... plus she gets paid for doing it. She
will tell you she loves getting paid to visit with old friends and work
that election... it's like "found money!" <br />
<br />Greg's mother was not able to sit up long enough to go for several hours of training. He tried to get her to let the Commissioner know that she could not work this year...but she wouldn't hear of it. We were over at her house on a
Sunday, and she said, "The training is not until Monday... I will be
alright." Now, I'm thinking, "Okay...that must be the NEXT Monday." I
asked, "You mean, Monday as in NEXT week?" "No, Monday - TOMORROW!"
Well, Greg realized that this would not work! But, they decided that there
were 3 days of training, and maybe she could go on Wednesday? Neither
one of us thought she would be able even by Wednesday...plus, she had dogs coming
for the day! "Oh, YES!" she insisted. She would be able to go to that
training! So Greg went over and sat with the dogs...and his mother DID
go to the training...AND she worked the election and had a ball!<br />
<br />Monday, my friend e-mailed me and asked how "Grandma E's" laser procedure had
gone on her eye, and I told her it went great - that we were in and out
in less than 45 minutes, and that included a 30-second laser treatment!
She replied, "Good...because we want her well enough to work the
elections!" <br />
<br />I responded and told her that we stopped for lunch on the way home, and my mother-in-law was talking about how she was
getting a dog that night for one night, then another dog Tuesday (I think)
for several days. Her "regular" neighbor dog (Theo) was to come on Wednesday for the
day, and a friend called and needed her to keep a border collie while
they traveled out of town for a funeral. So on Wednesday, she would have an overlap that meant
THREE dogs at once...tiny, medium-sized, and big! She said she had already been
worrying a little about how she would handle all of that. Greg said,
"Why don't you call the neighbors and suggest that their dog not come this
week?" She shot back, "Oh, NO! I am just going to leave it alone...I
will manage somehow!" <br /><br />We just laughed...at the clinic she
handed me her purse and said, "Watch that...it has my 'dog money' in
it." I told Greg her "dog money" is probably as much as the war
debt!<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So these days, the "layers" in our "sandwich" have changed...but we still feel that we are the "chicken salad" (or is it the "bologna"?!) in the center! Our focus with the children has shifted from one of a frequent "caregiver" to more of a sideline support. Timothy will start swimming lessons this month, so I will be taking him to our Community Center three days a week for his these appointments. He is now five...Zola is now three, so they are growing up! Nathan will be two in August. We will turn around and they will be graduating from high school! The little ones will have a school break in July, and we hope to spend some extra time with them then.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81-KBnADbsYIjezIINzqKqJq-AONAoEN6WXnfuSXiVoNb2o1UfDDyIG4cfdEf_uP2ggWV6_pGnNtmqY4wa9gSDxxfKq_KPf6ErF56pZJtXbR6YCvYUJZWSJ78WRNWOx5pkf-saVTvYhjx/s1600/IMG_9302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg81-KBnADbsYIjezIINzqKqJq-AONAoEN6WXnfuSXiVoNb2o1UfDDyIG4cfdEf_uP2ggWV6_pGnNtmqY4wa9gSDxxfKq_KPf6ErF56pZJtXbR6YCvYUJZWSJ78WRNWOx5pkf-saVTvYhjx/s1600/IMG_9302.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom and me on Mother's Day 2014</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b>My </b>mother continues to have the travel bug. At 75, she is spending her summer in West Yellowstone, Montana, where she and her husband, Lee, are working in a high-end gift store at the entrance to Yellowstone National Park. For this they are paid a wage and provided with a full hookup campsite for their motorhome. On their days off, they venture into the Park to sight-see and take copious photographs. Mother's philosophy is that she plans to travel as much as possible...for as long as possible. Since September 2013, she and Lee have Workamped in Kentucky, wintered in Arizona, and now are spending their summer in Montana!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Honestly, our mothers DO worry us sometimes with their choices and "interests". We can't help but be concerned about all of the cross-country travel my mom and her husband engage in...particularly given the handful of "incidents" with their motorhome and traffic that Mom voluntarily "shares". We know that there is an inherent risk that one of the many little dogs for whom "Grandma E" sits can get under her feet and cause her to fall and break something or otherwise injure herself. Neither of these "activities" is our "thing"...but they probably don't understand our penchant for being "professional homebodies" either!<br /><br />When "Grandma E" described trying to remove a tick from the back of her leg with tweezers and a needle, we did remind her that Mam-ma Polly fell while trying to remove a tick from the back of HER leg. She landed on her shower threshold and received a nasty, deep hip bruise that resulted in a nearly-3-month stay in the nursing home for rehab! There are times when we can see that an activity or choice is ripe with possibilities for harm, and we feel obligated to point out the potential pitfalls.<br /><br />But at the end of the day, we also learned a LOT in caring for Mam-ma Polly...and one of the biggest lessons is to let them "be" - as much as possible. Allow them to be independent and active...and to do what makes them happy for as long as they can. Soon enough, their bodies, or their minds - or both - will betray them. If we are all lucky, they will enjoy good health and a fairly sound mental capacity for years to come yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Yesterday, family and friends gathered to memorialize the 42-year-old husband of a young friend of mine. He valiantly battled brain cancer for 2 years, but in the end, he "beat the beast" in heaven rather than on this earth. His wife and 4 boys - ages 8, 6, and 7-month-old twins - are left to carry on without him. At the same time, my mother's best friend went to a meeting yesterday morning and returned home to find her husband had fallen back onto their bed and died. He was in his early 80s. We are none of us promised another day.<br /><br />So we make the best of our "Sandwich". We relish the growth and accomplishments of our little ones and nurture them as they learn new things...and we celebrate the activities and relative good health that our mothers continue to enjoy. Some days are better than others...but in total, it's all good for now. I hope you can say the same.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-91551338471776581552014-03-08T17:59:00.000-06:002014-03-08T17:59:26.219-06:00Happy Birthday in Heaven...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One year ago today, Greg and I greeted the dawn in my Mam-ma Polly's apartment, where we had spent the night trying to soothe her as she struggled to breathe. Her Assisted Living Facility staff had been unable to rouse her the previous morning, and the Hospice nurse determined that she had most likely had a serious stroke. She slept all of that day, as we watched and waited. I administered morphine and Ativan drops to her every two hours, as instructed by the Hospice nurse. As we settled in for the night, Mam-ma began what I refer to as the "death rattle"...that raspy, gurgling that sounds like someone is strangling with every breath. It got so loud that the facility staff could hear her as they sat at a dining table down the hall, where they were rolling silverware for the morning breakfast.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkTjRSE-zUcUXnGdL_0ixck5J73M4s27sq3vQTpc2k7iJrjAH8BRoBTwJ8-ZDzwY9pSaIk98NzOlZhAJPS1Cp8HtcI4QZWxLT3LRp1RFz5jX3y60qSZSwGeHAesduhzDwynk0eVC10J-g/s1600/SCAN0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkTjRSE-zUcUXnGdL_0ixck5J73M4s27sq3vQTpc2k7iJrjAH8BRoBTwJ8-ZDzwY9pSaIk98NzOlZhAJPS1Cp8HtcI4QZWxLT3LRp1RFz5jX3y60qSZSwGeHAesduhzDwynk0eVC10J-g/s1600/SCAN0042.JPG" height="135" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Greg had gone home for the evening, but he called to check on me about 11:00 p.m., and I tearfully told him how Mam-ma seemed to be struggling, and he said, "I'll be right there." And he was. Mam-ma's dear friend and fellow resident, Bessie, came and sat with us for much of the night...insisting that "I don't sleep much at night anyway."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The aides did all they could to suction Mam-ma's lungs, but the senior aide finally said, "I'm stumped. I don't know what to do next." So we called Hospice, and my dear nurse friend, Ginger, came to our aid. She worked and worked to do the things that she could, medically, and then she said, "I think she knows I'm here...and that I'm messing with her. I'm going to step out, and I want you to soothe her and talk softly to her and see if she will settle down." So I did. I crawled into her bed and talked to my grandmother...stroked her hair and whispered to her...just as she did for me as a child. And soon, she settled down. The whole ordeal lasted a few hours...but after that, my Mam-ma Polly never really stirred again.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJlb2WKmABYnQxTOLZQX2TYf5jzZaudbpACSHSKaL_f9vo0tWuvuQS2qa5k0fq0kB8CtuPOfG0iSI4jzwTmIOxQGM6et78Xn_QDjKFDTQIMyIHOP314OUUz_oZWDtcYPo61lOV22Gr2Pk/s1600/IMG_3865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJlb2WKmABYnQxTOLZQX2TYf5jzZaudbpACSHSKaL_f9vo0tWuvuQS2qa5k0fq0kB8CtuPOfG0iSI4jzwTmIOxQGM6et78Xn_QDjKFDTQIMyIHOP314OUUz_oZWDtcYPo61lOV22Gr2Pk/s1600/IMG_3865.JPG" height="149" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For the whole day on March 8th, we sat...Greg and I and my mother. I spent a good deal of the day lying in bed with Mam-ma, cradling her and singing or talking to her. I read to her the scriptures she had marked in her Bible. Family members and friends dropped by to see us and say "Good-bye" to Mam-ma. Residents and staff members came in to offer one last greeting. Some who came to visit stood over the bed and prayed for Mam-ma and us...others merely kissed her cheeks and tearfully told her they would see her in heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was a long, tiring, but bittersweet day. I knew from previous experiences that for every agonizing minute of that time, I would wish for a hundred more later on. So I tried to just "be" in the moment... to trust that God was allowing us these last few minutes with my grandmother before she was truly gone...to see that He was giving us time to adjust to the idea. And then, when she took her last soft breath, I held her hand and let her go. Relief...and overwhelming sadness flooded me. Little did I realize just how much my life would change.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If anyone thinks that death is the end, they are totally mistaken. And I am not just talking in a spiritual sense. There has been endless paperwork...even for someone whose "affairs" were tremendously simple and - for the most part - cut and dried already. I am still waiting on at least one bill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">More importantly, there have been countless days - and ways - that I have missed Mam-ma. A dear friend whose grandmother passed about 5 years ago told me several times how much she missed her. I thought "Yeah... but Mam-ma is so ready for heaven...so I am ready." I was so wrong. I head to the phone to call her...even though I had not spoken to her by phone in probably close to a year prior to her death, because she could no longer speak. I finish a sewing project and think, "I'll take that next time I go to see Mam-ma." Some topic of conversation triggers me to think, "I'll have to ask Mam-ma about that... she will know!" Or, "I have to be sure and show this picture to Mam-ma and tell her what Zola, Timothy or Nathan did!" And during our most recent ice storm, for just a second, I thought about how at least Mam-ma was safe and secure at the Assisted Living Facility and I didn't have to worry. Then I remembered... she's not there any more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I've been back to the facility a few times to visit...but I'll admit that it is hard to go there. Everyone wants to talk about Polly, which is bittersweet. And I do find that I am doing many of the things that my grandmother once did. I don't mean the crazy, quirky ones (although some might disagree on this point!). I'm talking about things like how Greg and I keep our birds fed, especially during icy weather. That was so important to Mam-ma. I made Valentines cookies for Timothy, Zola and Nathan. I still remember a February 14th a few years after we graduated from college, when our mailbox contained a giant heart-shaped cookie from Mam-ma...at least it ONCE was heart-shaped. Now it was in a dozen or more crackled pieces!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I think of how Mam-ma encouraged others...especially family members...and became something of a "go-to" person. I see that happening... especially with a few younger cousins who often reach out to me for advice or encouragement. I think of how Mam-ma sewed many of the garments my sister and I wore...how she could look through the catalogs and make us "one of each"...in similar colors and fabrics - and often better than the originals! I am now doing this for my nieces and cousins.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I look in the mirror and see the white hair that is quickly overtaking my head, and I think of Mam-ma's beautiful white crown of glory. Everyone talked about how pretty her hair was...and it looks like mine is on track to be very much the same.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If I can grow old as my grandmother did...with friends, grace, beauty - and even a little spunk...I'll take it. I am determined not to be sad today. I want to remember her with love and joy...to be so grateful for the lessons she taught me...to celebrate her generous spirit...to laugh at her antics and to love her in spite of the way she often made me the object of her frustration, anger and tirades in later years. Through it all, she was my mentor, my friend, my confidant, and grandmother extraordinaire! I love her...I miss her...and I carry her spirit with me every day. Sometimes, a little even sneaks through, and I have to say, "My 'Mam-ma Polly' is showing." And that's not necessarily a bad thing...not a bad thing at all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Happy First Birthday in Heaven to my Mam-ma Polly... Willie Dove "Polly" Thrasher Chandler. We love you, we miss you...and we will all see you again one of these days.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-43815472267026383562014-01-16T16:08:00.000-06:002014-01-16T16:26:56.759-06:00New Day - New "Sandwich"...What's in Yours?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As I write this post, I am sitting in the parking lot of an "eye clinic" in a nearby city. Greg is inside with his mother, aka "Grandma E", who is having another "field test" for her glaucoma. This is the third such test since October, when the doctor saw something she did not like. She hoped it was a fluke, so Greg returned his mother in November for a second test, but the results were still not where the doctor hoped they would be. Testing in December was delayed twice by icy weather... so here we are today. Hopefully the results will be satisfactory and no additional treatment or testing will be necessary for awhile. (Added note...all seems well for now.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I realize it has been a couple of months since my last post. The "holiday months" were quite busy for all of us. Greg and I celebrated Thanksgiving quietly with Grandma E...she joined us for a lunch that I prepared. My mother and her husband were away in Kentucky on a Workamping assignment, and the "kids" opted to have their own Thanksgiving dinner. So I cooked a turkey dinner for three...and then we watched the original version of <em>The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</em>!</span><br />
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With just a few weeks before Christmas, I got busy the following day turning our house from a warm den of autumn coziness into a festive celebration of Christmas. Thanks to Greg's help and "brute strength" in carrying all of the boxes down from the attic and assembling the big Christmas tree, I had everything decorated in a record two days! Then it was on to baking and sewing...cookies, holiday breads, and pajamas, doll clothes and more.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4VVN3QW3-SU4dzB8UrtbpVgkSB_cjhqtwc4wrvOIZohRMUfdAXFUYBEX8B2pKOD04Yl2WQDL0i0O9HcERW9znftqW_qCP-gsdl4PJLP_I0SwQtSOS0Uj5nBxmFlhfnRPbBwjaBxhnt_W/s1600/IMG_7792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4VVN3QW3-SU4dzB8UrtbpVgkSB_cjhqtwc4wrvOIZohRMUfdAXFUYBEX8B2pKOD04Yl2WQDL0i0O9HcERW9znftqW_qCP-gsdl4PJLP_I0SwQtSOS0Uj5nBxmFlhfnRPbBwjaBxhnt_W/s1600/IMG_7792.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNDqiE3veDxo_NJ2xl5V27BP8WwDv2kFkBU8hxy38bAsAulxhxnnXx4MMtZkMyc5MZqZKEUFiPKyim4wAjgE73ZfmomMZyoZP0MH7Z4QyxxgLTRt4Lv9fGDJmFRtNPKcAC-cd54zths5i/s1600/IMG_7782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNDqiE3veDxo_NJ2xl5V27BP8WwDv2kFkBU8hxy38bAsAulxhxnnXx4MMtZkMyc5MZqZKEUFiPKyim4wAjgE73ZfmomMZyoZP0MH7Z4QyxxgLTRt4Lv9fGDJmFRtNPKcAC-cd54zths5i/s1600/IMG_7782.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In between, we endured a major ice storm that virtually shut down the town for about three days or more. This put a halt to scheduled activities like the children's Christmas program at church, the Christmas parade, and many other events that had to be rescheduled.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ72eBJKiPbau-9SmC0uJtKJ-m-BenUxk9EsfjiZoOMy0Q-KTXo9e7YACEa4orDKvu0lOfKPxF1jMxfQIxy5ay4WmswKKhLaJ3B8EwkN3OyM6FjS6Xy7eBVihCdEgHEs1kz1ngiF-Eylmw/s1600/IMG_20131205_165540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ72eBJKiPbau-9SmC0uJtKJ-m-BenUxk9EsfjiZoOMy0Q-KTXo9e7YACEa4orDKvu0lOfKPxF1jMxfQIxy5ay4WmswKKhLaJ3B8EwkN3OyM6FjS6Xy7eBVihCdEgHEs1kz1ngiF-Eylmw/s1600/IMG_20131205_165540.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I took the children to church two different afternoons to practice for their program. As preschoolers, their role was to dress as angels and "ring bells". Assembling more than a dozen 2-to-5-year-olds...each holding two bells...is something akin to herding cats. But the veteran conductor patiently persevered, and by the end of the second rehearsal, the children had pretty well figured out what to do and when to ring - and when not to ring! And the adults had learned that it really didn't matter what happened... it was all going to be cute. When we would talk about the children's program, Timothy would say, "Everyone will be so PROUD of me!" And we were!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">At one of the rehearsals for the children's program, we gathered in the sanctuary. Since our children attend their Sunday school class while we attend worship in the sanctuary, they had never seen this room before. Now it was fully decorated...massively tall tree filled with Chrismon decorations...poinsettias lining the choir loft railing...almost life-sized creche and angels in the foyer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Timmy was in total awe. He kept pointing to the stained glass window over our choir loft that depicts a dove and the cross and saying, "Hey! Look at that pigeon diving into the water!" Even after I explained that it was a dove, he still called it a pigeon! I explained to Timmy that this was where Uncle Greg and Grandma E and I come while he and Zola are in Sunday school. He was impressed... but he still thinks there is a picture of a pigeon diving into the water over the choir loft! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The program was rescheduled, and the children stepped up to the plate and performed well. Everyone enjoyed the production.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A few days later, the Christmas parade was held...having been rescheduled because of the ice storm. I don't know who had more fun...the little ones or Grandma E. The parade lasted about 45 minutes... and there was never a lull. Our local courtsquare was fully lit and sparkled and glistened with brightly colored lighted trees, a nativity scene, a gingerbread house, and more. The two-storied courthouse glistened with lights outlining every window, wall and roof...and the children AND Grandma reacted as if they were walking through a fairyland.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Timothy had told us, "We won't see the real Santa. I don't think we will see the real Santa. And we sure won't see Mrs. Santa." A float came along with Santa - two of them - one on either side. Clearly that was not the "real" Santa. But THEN... a car came along with Santa... and MRS. Santa! Timothy was so excited.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After the parade, we opted not to wait on the courthouse lawn to see Santa Claus and sit on his lap. We headed up the sidewalk through an archway of lighted trees that Timothy had declared to be "magic" and we came face-to-face with Santa. He walked up to Greg and Timothy and stuck out his hand and said, "Hello! Merry Christmas!" Timothy didn't miss a beat. He said, "Merry Christmas, Santa!"</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQe3M-Wr0eVlPw2uEr5OZrH6xjHdm9668LFIToz2c95K9Jd4tlm8v0GBqkxGHVCRbO-v2ieSFCfvQ_oWI-zfmPUgY8Ul-5MFwvn2aMzQFVpkA1AQMBYqYgOEe0_zNBlGaV8tAHjtJC-6Xf/s1600/IMG_7932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQe3M-Wr0eVlPw2uEr5OZrH6xjHdm9668LFIToz2c95K9Jd4tlm8v0GBqkxGHVCRbO-v2ieSFCfvQ_oWI-zfmPUgY8Ul-5MFwvn2aMzQFVpkA1AQMBYqYgOEe0_zNBlGaV8tAHjtJC-6Xf/s1600/IMG_7932.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Then Santa came to Zola, Grandma E and me. We had been told that Zola was scared to death of Santa, but he knelt and stuck out his hand and said, "Merry Christmas!" and she just grinned and giggled and said something we could not understand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Timothy talked all the way home about seeing the REAL Santa and seeing MRS. Santa. He loved the parade except for one thing... there was no Grinch. He is hoping for a Grinch in the parade next year!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Christmas Day, everyone gathered at our house for a big dinner and presents and stockings under the tree. The children were so excited... Santa Claus had come to their house overnight, and now, they were getting to see not only their grandparents (my sister and her husband), but us, Grandma E, and my mother and her husband - just back from a nearly-four-month stay in Kentucky. To say it was loud and crazy would be an understatement. But it was also tremendous fun!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My point in sharing all of this with you is to make several observations:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">During the holidays, I found myself doing MANY of the things that my Mam-ma Polly did when I was younger...baking, sewing, filling the Christmas stockings for Santa, preparing the holiday meals, and more...and I thought of her...a LOT!</span> </li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I also found myself juggling trips to take the children to rehearsals, attending Timothy's pre-K Christmas program, visiting Mam-ma's friends (and mine) at the Assisted Living Facility, and reaching out to people from multiple generations during the holidays.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Most notably, I realized that Greg and I still are very much a part of the "Sandwich Generation" as his 87-year-old mother has assumed the senior role...and the three little ones still keep us hopping on the other end of the spectrum! These children could not love Grandma E more if she were their own flesh and blood. The two oldest ones almost cry on Sunday if she doesn't go with us to church and out to lunch afterward. And I'm noticing that she is always thinking about something to do for them...some little toy or trinket to give them. It's a great relationship for everyone.</span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqNZbvkN0Eim9c_vWCWiVWyrSYVzbocme2Fi6b9KvzG5RbVXklo-7DZe4hEVSZ4fWAck3BBQKKy5sPfPKtXx_WQd567mwj2qwvlrqeNp7nG5K0sOCwapDxTIXOsifHrv4I_LR5C-bKWm8/s1600/IMG_8217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqNZbvkN0Eim9c_vWCWiVWyrSYVzbocme2Fi6b9KvzG5RbVXklo-7DZe4hEVSZ4fWAck3BBQKKy5sPfPKtXx_WQd567mwj2qwvlrqeNp7nG5K0sOCwapDxTIXOsifHrv4I_LR5C-bKWm8/s1600/IMG_8217.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Grandma E's antics are not as entertaining - much less, challenging - as Mam-ma's grew. Mainly, she is forgetful... and stubborn (like going to retrieve her paper in the ice after Greg expressly told her NOT to go outside)...and she would rather stay home and babysit a dog than do just about anything else in the world. She is truly remarkable for a woman well on her way to age 88, and we hope she still has many good years of living alone in her own home and doing as she pleases ahead of her.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigenjpQEJ89UUePP7NofMgdhbUx5qXLgRnQ-pQJty7CyrHzM4wVZ2iaHMME9uadfQ8dYf6R4wFg3IkBai-gyGmOSlEV4dL0-Gj7qIQw1zGiBmydLmxB7X3m1zDk2LUdrcQmiIQu4O1YjY3/s1600/IMG_7770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigenjpQEJ89UUePP7NofMgdhbUx5qXLgRnQ-pQJty7CyrHzM4wVZ2iaHMME9uadfQ8dYf6R4wFg3IkBai-gyGmOSlEV4dL0-Gj7qIQw1zGiBmydLmxB7X3m1zDk2LUdrcQmiIQu4O1YjY3/s1600/IMG_7770.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The best three words in the world from the kiddos are "I love you." Timmy freely tells Greg, Grandma E and me that he loves us. In fact, on the way home from lunch one Sunday, Timothy blurted out... "Grandma E... I love you!" Melts the heart! He also tells Grandma E nearly EVERY Sunday after lunch, "Thank you for paying for lunch, Grandma E!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Our little ones are learning valuable lessons about life and relationships from the time they spend with my mother-in-law...and she gets just the right dose of being a great-grandmother in return!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In recent months, I've been asked more than once..."Now that Polly is gone, what do you do with all of your spare time?" Clearly, that "gap" has filled in rather nicely. Each "Sandwich" is different...but from the looks of things, we'll still be part of The Deli for several years yet! I look around at others who are smack dab in the middle of their own "Sandwich", and I marvel at how some of them manage to "keep all the balls in the air". For others, I offer three words of advice..."Hang in there." We are not alone...this subset of the population grows by leaps and bounds every single day. If you are not presently a member of the "Sandwich Generation", you very well could be next week or next year!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Knowledge is power, and for that reason, I am continuing this blog. Please share your stories...your insights...what works for you - and what doesn't. Ask questions, seek support...and know that there are people who can help. Someone asked me last week, "What's next for you? What are you looking forward to this year?" I honestly do not have an answer... but I certainly know that life will be anything but dull. What about you?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC47CpcG1HJgen531TaUIYx_9isv_B7QorKMc-8zzcahBjCgkgt0UW4RwT9xtyF-M8_lX9mJ3OSTUWdAJyBigygghtEjIzfGwq8cLqjkdsTvchyphenhyphenT1Qp-kReQ1Qpftn6LmGMGyi9fc-28Ud/s1600/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC47CpcG1HJgen531TaUIYx_9isv_B7QorKMc-8zzcahBjCgkgt0UW4RwT9xtyF-M8_lX9mJ3OSTUWdAJyBigygghtEjIzfGwq8cLqjkdsTvchyphenhyphenT1Qp-kReQ1Qpftn6LmGMGyi9fc-28Ud/s200/Woman_with_Headache.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Recently, Lauren e-mailed me to describe her experience with the Sandwich Generation. She wrote...</span><br />
<ul><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"I have had several servings of "club" sandwiches over the past 25 years. I had my 2 and 3-year-old and a 92 and 90-year-old in my home at the same time (my grandmother and her brother). We had them for 6 years. Plus, my mother down the street at 70. <br />
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Then I had my mother at 80 in my house and my husband's grandmother at 91. Plus, my son boomeranged back with his 2-year-old son. We are empty nesters now... for a short time...anticipating the next set of elderly coming, probably next spring (his dad and step-mom). Even though I work full-time, I find myself depressed now that my youngest is gone."</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></ul>
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Lauren, I would like to suggest that you are not so much depressed because your youngest left home... you are EXHAUSTED! Like many in this situation, you have become so accustomed to functioning in chaos and stress that you feel lost without it. I encourage you to get some rest during this respite... to take some time for <strong>Lauren</strong>... and to give yourself a break. I, for one, am in awe of your generosity and your fortitude!<br /><br />I do somewhat understand where you are coming from... when our little ones have stayed with us for even a 24-hour time frame, there is that period after they leave that we sort of wander around and feel like, "Now what?" All of a sudden, the house is quiet... there is no one to watch over intently and no feeling of trepidation if you even rush to the bathroom for five minutes. It takes a while to adjust to the "emptiness" of the house again. And I'll admit... it sometimes leaves me feeling momentarily sad.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_EMmibqCt9uN7zKZ__Vhr0yNfobtWzNBir0CwZmt7XrfAYW1B4ZGhHv9aAbFR9I8dcxYw6Z8ihaIIhhglJQ4pkbTD70VBB6LrWe6EYL6_K3_sfg989PNNBQ3dkZDBCOSp9zuc4-KPJkh/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_EMmibqCt9uN7zKZ__Vhr0yNfobtWzNBir0CwZmt7XrfAYW1B4ZGhHv9aAbFR9I8dcxYw6Z8ihaIIhhglJQ4pkbTD70VBB6LrWe6EYL6_K3_sfg989PNNBQ3dkZDBCOSp9zuc4-KPJkh/s200/001.JPG" width="150" /></a>I have also found myself experiencing some mild depression lately that I believe is due in part to the passing of my grandmother last March. I truly miss her. It's not that I have a whole lot of extra time on my hands that I don't know how to fill... that was never an issue - and other people and projects filled in that void quite quickly and completely. It's the little things... like thinking, "Oh, I must tell Mam-ma about that"... or "I'll have to ask Mam-ma what she thinks"... or "Mam-ma will love that!" <br />
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For me, sewing has probably been the hardest adjustment. I love to sew... and Mam-ma taught me how when I was little. In the last two years, I took everything I made to the Assisted Living Facility to show my Mam-ma. She would run her fingers across every garment or project. She would examine the stitches and grin... and gesture for others to have a look at my handiwork. Even though she couldn't talk, I knew she was pleased... and proud. And sometimes she would shake her head, and I knew she was wishing that SHE could still sew... but she took great delight in my projects as her progeny.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Fbc_7fdsWPNLD7v8QD1DEAG7fOWnaR1nl9rddQSQjEpKaugXuRKtgD9qsBDZ0ULUbXe_Jm6zyzS_OBvbCrXB2NzkukgyRUjm9ty_M9UNyiWYO2gXD8AJ7Ze4-bZlWmiJdw8K3IBnH9sW/s1600/IMG_2697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Fbc_7fdsWPNLD7v8QD1DEAG7fOWnaR1nl9rddQSQjEpKaugXuRKtgD9qsBDZ0ULUbXe_Jm6zyzS_OBvbCrXB2NzkukgyRUjm9ty_M9UNyiWYO2gXD8AJ7Ze4-bZlWmiJdw8K3IBnH9sW/s200/IMG_2697.JPG" width="141" /></a>Now, I don't have anyone to share my completed garments with... not in the way that I shared them with my grandmother. And this has been hard. Before my Mam-ma died, a friend who had lost her grandmother (who happened to be Mam-ma's back-door neighbor) told me how sad she was... how much she missed her grandmother... how hard it had been for her. I thought, "That won't be me. Mam-ma is SO ready to go to heaven... and I have made my peace with this. I will miss her, but it won't be so terribly hard." Well ya know what? It IS terribly hard some days! And that's just a fact!<br /><br />So give yourself a little slack, Lauren. Take some time for yourself and your husband in these next few months between "sandwiches"...and God bless you - for your dedication and your perseverance! Every "sandwich" is different... but my goodness, it sounds like you've had a whole deli all by yourself!<br />
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If you would like to share YOUR story, please contact me using the contact button on the top left-hand side of this blog. We're all in this together... and you are <strong>not </strong>alone! Sharing your story might be just the help that someone else needs, so please let me hear from you!</span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-17975718580121347082013-10-30T19:19:00.000-05:002013-10-30T19:30:44.699-05:00Moving Someone into an ALF or Nursing Home...It's Just Not That Simple<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A childhood friend of mine is moving her mother into the Assisted Living Facility (ALF) where my Mam-ma Polly lived. She messaged me to ask how I labeled Mam-ma's clothes. I responded:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"Use a Sharpie<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">®</span> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">mar</span>ker for most things... even socks (I labeled the toes). They make one that is for laundry, but I've found that all Sharpies<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">®</span></span> are pretty laundry-proof. For darks, I got a white paint pen in the craft section at Wal-Mart that worked on fabrics. I tried to put her name on labels wherever possible... but on undies, etc., I usually did the waistband. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Remember to label all of her toiletries, too... shampoos, cosmetics, etc. It will save you trouble down the line when she says, "Someone stole so-and-so!" I even labeled Mam-ma's towels & linens... don't think I did her bed sheets, but I should have... we ended up with a whole bunch in the closet that were not ours. Label her laundry hamper... EVERYTHING! </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I know this is mind-boggling."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7eyRCJz3qweJrR0Tjds5SjiQ-WHVJ4Gy-xTd82a_-KJUamUyn-G0pxoYRsypz17n3t57e7suVxbQ_Hv3pABWSRE7UoCNaeRAFVEqUkLTHy2XWzCq8GuC7fIZjjDCGguz0-oQsHz9Zxu3/s1600/Senior_Center.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7eyRCJz3qweJrR0Tjds5SjiQ-WHVJ4Gy-xTd82a_-KJUamUyn-G0pxoYRsypz17n3t57e7suVxbQ_Hv3pABWSRE7UoCNaeRAFVEqUkLTHy2XWzCq8GuC7fIZjjDCGguz0-oQsHz9Zxu3/s1600/Senior_Center.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7eyRCJz3qweJrR0Tjds5SjiQ-WHVJ4Gy-xTd82a_-KJUamUyn-G0pxoYRsypz17n3t57e7suVxbQ_Hv3pABWSRE7UoCNaeRAFVEqUkLTHy2XWzCq8GuC7fIZjjDCGguz0-oQsHz9Zxu3/s200/Senior_Center.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Another family friend recently moved his brother's widow into a nursing home. He lives in North Carolina... several states away from Arkansas. Still, he must make all sorts of decisions, including what to do with his brother's home and all of the personal belongings. Last summer, I assisted friends who were trying to decide how to dispose of their parents' belongings. The family members had all gotten what they wanted, and the house needed to be sold... but what would they do with all of the furnishings and bric-a-brac? In the end, I advised them to have an auction. Making money was not the concern, and I pointed out that it would all be over with in a day... and everything would be hauled away. No carrying leftovers from an estate sale to a thrift store...no working hard for days/weeks to price every item and set up the sale. Pay the auctioneer a percentage of the sales and let him/her do the work! From all I saw and heard, this couple was pleasantly surprised with the end results.<br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7eyRCJz3qweJrR0Tjds5SjiQ-WHVJ4Gy-xTd82a_-KJUamUyn-G0pxoYRsypz17n3t57e7suVxbQ_Hv3pABWSRE7UoCNaeRAFVEqUkLTHy2XWzCq8GuC7fIZjjDCGguz0-oQsHz9Zxu3/s1600/Senior_Center.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>A childhood friend of my brother's passed away last week, and we attended her funeral. While visiting with a sister-in-law, she shared that she had lost her mother two months ago, and now she is trying to determine what to do with her 89-year-old father. He has macular degeneration and cannot live alone. As we talked, I realized that this woman is a member of the Sandwich Generation, also. She has two nearly-grown children, but one just graduated from college, and the other is a university sophomore. So while she figures out what to do with her dad, balances the daily challenges of a job and a marriage, she also must be a mom to her two children. Sandwiches do indeed come in all sizes and shapes!<br /><br />At the end of the day, none of this is easy. One of my HOSPICE nurse friends asked me if I had noticed a big gap of extra time now that Mam-ma is gone. My reply? "Not really." She nodded... "That's how it goes... things just seem to fill in." And she's right! Between my little ones, now ages 4, 2 and 1, and my 87-year-old mother-in-law, my own marriage, responsibilities and more, the time seems to fly! All of this underscores the point that we do what we have to do when faced with the challenges of caring for our loved ones... regardless of their age.<br /><br />So my friend will get everything labeled, and the other will figure out how to manage his sister-in-law and her estate long distance. The classmate's wife will figure out what is best for her dad - and something will come along to make my life even busier again! None of it is "simple" - but it's what we do! And I guess that's what makes life interesting... and every "sandwich" unique!</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-60609692024036383142013-08-24T00:03:00.001-05:002013-08-24T15:59:48.087-05:00Saying Good-bye to My Friend Mich<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlczRoxcaGrBwqINURTv0pfW0XW3mFRWFA5cf42PYYDGW42h4zJiG_r-ymCwFONPYXNo4bsTlY1MGHjlPWCjHY41NP8qRiZiChcGxmqPzzoAqlkp9ZGj0Vd9zf8RVCB1k16jxl1Wy4Mjx/s1600/Mich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXlczRoxcaGrBwqINURTv0pfW0XW3mFRWFA5cf42PYYDGW42h4zJiG_r-ymCwFONPYXNo4bsTlY1MGHjlPWCjHY41NP8qRiZiChcGxmqPzzoAqlkp9ZGj0Vd9zf8RVCB1k16jxl1Wy4Mjx/s320/Mich.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I met Mich Magness three years ago when I took Mam-ma Polly to a 101st birthday party for his aunt, Lois Taylor. We clicked instantly, as Mich learned that I was there as Mam-ma's caregiver...and he was a gerontologist for the state of Oklahoma. Mich "had my number" pretty quickly, and he gave me great advice about caregiving, the elderly, and the sandwich generation. We talked all through lunch, and I will always remember that on the way home, Mam-ma said, "Well, I said to Lois...'He's met his match! If he can out-talk HER, he's really done something!'" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I will also remember that Mich asked me why I thought I had to be responsible for distant relatives (like our little great-nephew Timothy) and "every stray that comes along"! He said this was typical of certain groups of people... nurses and teachers, to name a couple... that we were by nature a "nurturing personality," and we felt it was our duty to care for others. As a former teacher, I fit the pattern.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The following summer, we met again at the birthday party, and Mich began to follow this blog. He usually shared my posts from the blog on his Facebook page...and he almost always had something insightful, encouraging and/or comforting to say about them.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mam-ma Polly and Grimm Magness <br />
July 2010</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I find it interesting that in such a short time I could come to feel such a strong friendship with someone I only met twice yet "corresponded" with almost daily via Facebook. I never met Mich's wife or sons... although I did meet his brother, and his father, Grimm Magness, who had grown up in Arkansas with my grandparents.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mich and I shared a lot of the same views... socially, politically, and spiritually. I know he loved God, his family, his community, the arts, and dogs. He had the biggest heart. And now, he is gone... another victim of Glioblastoma... the second friend I've lost to this disease in the span of three months - and the third person I know who has been diagnosed with GBS in the last year. Until last July, I had never even heard of Glioblastoma...it is supposed to be fairly rare.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mich's last message to me was on June 24th, when he assured me that he was as okay as you can be when you know you are dying of a brain tumor, and he added, "Thanks for caring." I did care... and I will miss his social commentaries...his sweet insights into aging and the elderly, and his ever-present wit and ability to tell us how he really felt - and get by with it! I am sure I will re-read his advice (as documented in a post in July 2010 on this blog) quite often... and the comments he shared with me on Facebook, as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I will so miss Mich and his larger-than-life personality. Oklahoma - and the country at large - lost a good man tonight. The "gerontology world" lost a tremendous teacher and advocate. And Heaven's table gained a delightful dinner guest. I'm sure he, Mam-ma Polly and Mrs. Lois are already having a great conversation there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">God bless you, Mich... we will never forget you. May you rest in the peaceful, loving arms of Jesus.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-26551629393861706192013-07-06T20:41:00.002-05:002013-07-06T20:44:05.242-05:00Older... and Wiser?<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We've been celebrating quite a few birthdays lately. My husband and two of our little ones had birthdays in May... they are now four and two - I won't share my handsome man's age! My sister and my mother-in-law had birthdays in June, and we celebrated my birthday on July 4th with a family dinner at my mom's. I know for certain she cooked ALL DAY in preparation... and we feasted like kings and queens at a festive table bedecked with red/white/blue table linens, candles, centerpieces and even candy favors at each place setting. I told her I would have been totally satisfied with a sandwich supper... but she said that would never do! Have I mentioned that cooking big family-style dinners is a Southern tradition in my family?!<br /><br />We gathered for a group photo... our first since Christmas Eve. I'm posting both so you can see how we have changed!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Eve, 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 4th, 2013</td></tr>
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My husband and I have started taking Timothy and Zola to church with us. We pick them up, and then most Sundays we pick up Grandma "E". While the children have Sunday school, we attend worship service... and then we all go to Burger King or McDonald's for lunch! It seems to be a good fit for all of us, and Timothy and Zola entertain all of us royally. They love their Grandma "E" and always are glad to see her. We haven't tackled taking baby Nathan (almost one) along yet... wish us luck when that happens!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ice cream at Burger King with Grandma "E"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little Nathan, almost one.</td></tr>
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For the moment, things are going fairly smoothly in our neck of the woods. My mom and her husband are taking Timothy on his first trip to Branson, Missouri in their motorhome. They will attend KidsFest at Silver Dollar City, play in the pool at the resort where they park their rig, and attend a couple of shows. Timothy is beyond excited... I hope Granny and Pap-pa Lee took their vitamins! While they are away, Pap-pa Lee will turn 75... Granny is 74... and Timothy is 4 going on 14! It should be interesting!</div>
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We are in the process of finding someone to remodel Grandma "E's" bathroom to make it more accessible for her. Now age 87, she is having some issues with the bathtub, and the time has come to transition to a shower with a seat and a hand-held sprayer. She seems to have accepted this. Should she insist on taking a bath once in awhile, she will still have a tub in the guest bathroom that we hope can be outfitted with more grab bars to make it safer. There are things that she still wants to do and is unwilling to relinquish (like puttering in her yard and garage and dog sitting), and for the most part, we are okay with this. But they come with consequences... like stiff and sore joints, the risk of falls, and more. We <strong>think</strong> we are prepared to deal with these possibilities, as well.<br /><br />If I learned anything with Mam-ma Polly, it's that you have to pick and choose your battles. I am trying to apply this theory to all age groups. Some days are better than others. I'm also trying to "let go and let God" - to practice what I preach. I was not happy when my mom announced in May that she and Lee might be Workamping this summer in North Dakota... and then spending the fall in Kentucky... and we might not see them again until Christmas Eve. But the North Dakota trip did not happen... and for the first time in YEARS, Mom was actually home for my birthday - and my sister's birthday - and we enjoyed wonderful family get-togethers for both. (See what happens when you let God handle things?!) I assume the fall trip is still a "go," and I am rolling with that!<br /><br />My sweet husband is the best son - and uncle - in the world. He is so patient with his mother. Each Monday after he delivers Meals on Wheels for the local Senior Citizens Center, he picks up take-out somewhere and goes to his mother's and shares lunch with her. He handles all of her yard work - mowing, trimming, fertilizing, weed control... and many other things around her house. His older CPA-brother handles the finances, but my husband has offered to help his mother with her bill paying and small matters in between monthly visits from big brother.<br /><br />On the "uncle" front, this man is truly hands-on. He helps with everything from getting the children to church and back, playing in the park on a sunny day, watching one child while I bathe or change another, general playtime, meals, reading stories, bed-time kisses, and so much more. He serves as a part-time "dad" to the children's parents... a mentor, financial advisor, and moral support. It truly does take a village to see after all of these generations... and he's the greatest!<br />
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So here we are... many of us a year older... and hopefully a little bit wiser! There are still new challenges - and I'm sure there will be setbacks - but we will weather them, with God's help. I pray that things are well in your neck of the woods. As always, I would love to hear your "Sandwich" stories. Please send them to me if you are willing to share. We can all learn a lot from each other. What's <strong>your</strong> story?</span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-77272562143209081632013-06-16T15:58:00.002-05:002013-06-16T16:13:55.150-05:00A Few New Ingredients... A Few New Sandwiches... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I answered the phone to hear a desperate plea from Beth, my friend since childhood… “Mom had a bad car accident at church yesterday and did a lot of damage. She says the men of the church told her not to worry about it… that it was no big deal. Why on earth would they tell her that?” First of all, my friend’s name is not really Beth, but since I don’t want her to have to go in to the Witness Protection Program, I’m somewhat protecting her identity with a fake name. So I won’t use her mom’s real name either. Secondly, I told “Beth”… “In the first place… what happened? And secondly, you don’t know that the men really said that to your mother.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Beth began to relay that her mom pulled into her regular parking space at church on Sunday morning (I know the space- a “handicapped” parking area out front), and she apparently hit the gas pedal instead of the brake. I’ve driven by the church and seen the damage, and for the life of me, I cannot begin to explain how the accident “went down” as it did… but “Lucy” managed to jump the curb, cross a sidewalk, hook a hard right, and plow into a metal railing that is (or was) secured in concrete. This railing lines a retaining wall that adjoins a playground for the church daycare… one story below! Probably four to six bars of the railing were mangled and literally pulled up out of the concrete. But had they not stopped Lucy’s car, she would have plowed head first to the concrete floor below that once housed the church basement… and she could have been killed. Had it been a weekday (and she does visit the church campus during the week), she could have hit and/or killed toddlers playing there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have not seen the car, but I understand that there is significant damage to her front grill. As I told Beth, I suspect that men rushed to soothe the ruffled feathers of an 88-year-old woman in distress and lovingly told her, “Don’t worry about it… everything will be okay.” But Lucy told Beth, “All I need to do is pay an extra $50 to the church, and those men will make the repairs.” Beth made a trip to the church campus to survey the damage, and the office staff told her, “You need to call your insurance agent.” The scary part is that less than an hour after the accident, my mother saw “Lucy” in the church restroom before morning service began, and Mom said she was “cool as a cucumber.” Mom had no clue there had been any sort of accident – until I told her days later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So Beth did call her mom’s insurance company, and she discovered that Lucy had cancelled everything except the minimal coverage our state requires for motorized vehicles. In a panic, Beth called attorneys, the sheriff, and anyone else she could think of for advice. She provided credit card information over the phone to increase her mother’s insurance coverage, and she talked to the collision repair guy and asked, once again, to be informed of any visits by her mother. Lucy has had several “fender benders,” and she has asked the local collision repair shops NOT to tell her daughter and son-in-law that her car was repaired by them. Of course, they have not complied, realizing the seriousness of this situation – and valuing their friendship with Beth and her husband. In fact, Beth saw my husband last week at a local sub shop, and she said Lucy had taken the collision repair guy a box of donuts and asked him NOT to tell her kids about any more accidents. Clearly, he did not honor her request!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Beth paid her mother a visit and suggested it was time to stop driving. Lucy went ballistic. In fact, she became quite angry and combative and all but ordered Beth from her home. Beth forbade her mother to drive out of town (knowing it was only a verbal threat). Her mother continued to have a fit! Probably a decade ago, Beth’s mother was diagnosed with “vascular dementia” - which mimics Alzheimer’s in many ways. Beth was given a mountain of information about vascular dementia, including a checklist of common behaviors associated with this condition. She said, “Mother checks everyone on the list now.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Upon the advice of our local sheriff, Beth contacted the DMV, who referred her to a “Driver Control” office in a nearby city. The person there recommended that Beth ask her mother’s physician to write a letter stating that Lucy was no longer physically capable of driving safely. The doctor readily agreed. He told Beth, “I do this all the time… and I’m glad to do it.” Now, lest you think this doctor is a little too eager to get elderly drivers off the road, consider that his late grandfather practiced medicine until nearly his 96th birthday. This doctor is very “senior friendly.” But as he pointed out to Beth, “I have to think about what sort of drivers are on the road with my wife and four children.” So he wrote the letter and sent it to driver control.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Fast forward a week or so, and Beth’s mother was supposed to play cards one evening with some other seniors. However, she was unable to attend, because she was so upset over a letter she had received in the mail about her driving… and she was quite sure her kids had instigated it! I talked to Beth the day after the card party and asked her about the letter… her mother had not mentioned it to her. So Beth called and “played dumb,” and her mother said she had gotten “something about the insurance,” and never admitted that she had heard from Driver Control. However, she had been summoned for a hearing… and that has subsequently taken place. Apparently more information will be required from her doctor in order to determine whether or not she can continue driving. Failure to attend any hearings or to comply in any way results in immediate suspension of one’s driver’s license. Lucy is livid!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My friend Beth has her own “sandwich” going on… her second oldest son just returned home for the summer after his freshman year of college, and she has a nearly 16-year-old son who will be a high school sophomore this year. She works close to fulltime in her husband’s business, in addition to shuffling the duties of caring for her family and her mother - and working in her church. The day she called me, she had been to some sort of meeting three out of five nights that particular week. She has begged her mother to move into an Assisted Living Facility – or even to move into a condo on the grounds of the Assisted Living Facility - so that she could avail herself of some of their services. Her mother flatly refuses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am not sure how this is all going to be resolved. Lucy adamantly maintains that she will not stop driving. And I know it is a real problem. Some of my grandparents and elderly relatives politely laid down their car keys… others gave up kicking and screaming. A dear friend of mine who is probably in her late 70s is currently dealing with this dilemma with regard to her husband, who suffers from dementia and cancer. This once-brilliant man can no longer remember where he went when he leaves home in the car… or who he saw while he was out. He went for a haircut recently, and when he returned home, he could not tell her which barber had cut his hair. Lately, the doctor has told this man he can no longer drive. He commented to his wife, “If I can’t drive any more, then I will just shoot myself.” I don’t know how she copes with the worry that she might indeed find him dead someday.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Someone said to me, “Just take the car keys or disable the car.” My response in Lucy’s case was, “Do you know how many church deacons she would immediately phone to come fix her car?” As for the woman whose husband refuses to stop driving...and to some degree, Lucy, as well… we are talking about people who are strong-willed, frequently belligerent and combative… and physically powerful when “fully engaged.” It’s just not that simple.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So what is the answer? In my opinion, there comes a time when we must realize that our loved ones are no longer the person we knew and loved… they are not responsible for their actions – nor capable of making wise decisions. We must decide for them what is in their best interest – and the best interest of others, as well. Beth’s mother told a group of friends that none of her accidents until this last one were her fault. That isn’t true… the collision repair man pointed out to her where she had damaged the underside of her bumpers by running OVER something – which Beth pointed out to her could have been a child that she hit and killed. But Lucy’s comment to her friends prompted one of them to say, “We just all need to get together and tell that judge that you are a good driver.” This person hasn’t a clue! We, as caregivers and children – and responsible adults – must sometimes recognize that whatever decision we make is not going to set well with our loved one… and we must go ahead and do what makes sense. For some, that means insisting they move to a facility – or get rid of the car. It’s a tough call… but not much about the Sandwich Generation is easy!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4wuHyLbyOEcO_BK6n9J57WHqgvVaUJzK5I3aCwFLVdUjeGEz5i9oC50tLQmJNc8C7HRlZIhh7EAzI7kFi8pj0dAzrK7pUMqqB4Q-0ibZ2bX3D6q4HAQ88d6d8HVqaXXL8gUYL4sj9Axd/s1600/Grocery_Shopping_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4wuHyLbyOEcO_BK6n9J57WHqgvVaUJzK5I3aCwFLVdUjeGEz5i9oC50tLQmJNc8C7HRlZIhh7EAzI7kFi8pj0dAzrK7pUMqqB4Q-0ibZ2bX3D6q4HAQ88d6d8HVqaXXL8gUYL4sj9Axd/s1600/Grocery_Shopping_09.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, my husband and I traveled to Little Rock to see a movie and do some shopping. We stopped at Sam’s on the way home. My husband purchased some storage cabinets for the garage, so we required assistance in loading them into the car. While Greg went to get our car, I stood with the cart outside the exit doors at Sam’s. I observed a young woman - with a FULL basket that included a small toddler-as she loaded her purchases into a mini-van. She opened the passenger door and handed a box with some fresh fruit and a cake or some sort of baked good to an elderly woman. “Hold these so they don’t get smashed,” she said. The next thing I knew, the woman was getting out of the van. The girl gingerly said to her, “Please get back into the car. I need you to hold your cake so it doesn’t get smashed.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">By now, she had loaded the toddler into the back seat, where I could hear screaming and crying. She muttered, “He’ll be asleep soon,” as she continued loading this mountain of merchandise into the van – tucking things into every nook and cranny. And did I mention it was incredibly hot and humid for late May in Arkansas? The poor girl was sweating and out of breath. I so wanted to help her, but I knew better than to offer and upset her “system.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Finally, I asked… “Is that your grandmother?” She nodded and said, “Yes. My mother died two years ago, so now I try to do all I can for her.” I told her that I understood completely. “I’ve been right where you are with a grandmother in one seat and a baby in another,” I told her. She replied, “Well, it wasn’t bad until I had these last two only 2 years apart.” So she has at least three children… and I realized that TWO of them were in the back seats of that van! Talk about a SANDWICH! I wished her well as she slammed the last door shut, and I thanked God for my own little “sandwich,” such as it is!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Grandma "E" with Nathan</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Lest you think my sandwich has lost one of its slices of “bread” now that my grandmother has passed… it seems that my mother-in-law, whom Timothy and Zola call Grandma “E”, is beginning to do a nice job of filling in the gap. I’m not complaining. I love my mother-in-law. She is a jewel. She will also be 87 in a few days… and in the last six months, she has begun to feel every single year of that age. Things hurt that didn’t used to… she has no energy or “ambition” (one of her favorite words)… and her short-term memory is pretty well shot. We have just completed a two-day yard sale, which was her version of “downsizing.” My husband begged her not to overdo it. As I said, we are already smack in the middle of Arkansas heat and humidity. She decided to concentrate on “only cleaning the garage.” I cannot begin to tell you what this means.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Grandma “E” spent two weeks working virtually every day in her garage, sorting, setting things out on tables, and rearranging. She insisted she didn’t work that much, but neighbors reported differently… and we could see how tired she was when we would check in on her. She found items she has not seen since she moved into this house in 1997… and some probably packed long before that and simply moved to the new abode. She spent a good part of Friday searching – physically and mentally – for four small dolls “in blue boxes” – only to decide yesterday that she probably sold them many years ago and just doesn’t remember. When the sale was over, I boxed up what I had left and we loaded it to take to the thrift store. My mother-in-law plans to repack all of her “treasures” and “tuck it into the corners of the garage.” My husband told me, “We are never, never, EVER having another garage sale… and neither is Mom!” He has suggested to her that she have an auction… but she cannot bear to part with her treasures… so that will have to wait.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Meanwhile, Grandma “E” mentioned to me the other day that her knee was really hurting…her “bad knee.” She had arthroscopic knee surgery several years ago, but the other knee now bothers her, and the orthopedist says it’s too far gone for anything but a replacement, which she doesn’t want to have done – and I don’t blame her!” She said, “I accidentally knelt down on that bad knee to get something out of a cabinet, and I almost didn’t get back up. It hurt SO badly.” She went on to tell me that she has a hard time getting in and out of the bath tub, and that “I have to get on my hands and knees to get out of the tub now.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I repeated this to my husband, and the next day she demonstrated to him how she gets out of the tub. I didn’t see this, but she actually puts some sort of piece of foam rubber into the tub to help with this somehow.
We talked at length about her tub situation. My mother-in-law loves to bathe. She said, “I like to fill the tub so full that the water comes up around my ears. We talked about walk-in tubs. But you have to get in, close the door, let the tub fill with water, then sit in the tub while the water drains out afterward. That all sounds cold and uncomfortable to me, and she was not on board with doing this.
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My husband conferred with his brothers, and they agreed that a walk-in shower is in order… the days of bathing are drawing to an end. I told my husband, “There is a reason there are no bath tubs at the Assisted Living Facility and the senior condos!” We had lunch last week with Greg’s mother and one of his brothers and sisters-in-law, and we talked about contacting a local carpenter and plumber to redo her bathroom. The brothers may also look into the possibility of placing additional hand rails in the spare bath tub, in case there comes a time that she INSISTS on having a bath. While we were discussing all of this, my sister-in-law said something about the danger of using bath oils. I had not realized that my mother-in-law uses those little “pearl” thingies that dissolve and put oil in your bath water. She loves them! OR… she uses Avon’s Skin-so-Soft! Now I don’t know about you, but there is little to no hope of me getting out of the tub safely after using one of these items… it’s like trying to stand up in Crisco!
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So we insisted she stop using these products IMMEDIATELY and start moisturizing AFTER she gets out of the tub. Hopefully the new shower project will happen soon and alleviate this potential danger. I’d bet you a dollar to a donut she is still using her bath beads, but I can’t prove it. We were talking about people who lie yesterday, and Greg asked her, “Are you always truthful with me?” She nodded and replied, “Yes, I never keep things from you… unless it’s something I don’t want you to know!” And then she giggled. Greg told me the other day that he thought she had not been honest with him about something – maybe how much she had worked in the garage in the heat – and I said, “You don’t think your mother would lie to you, do you?” He replied, “Oh, I’m pretty sure she would never admit it… but yes, I’m quite sure she does if she doesn’t think the truth is what I want to hear!” I just shook my head.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy - now FOUR years old!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Last Sunday, we picked up my Grandma "E" for church… and then we picked up Timothy and Zola. After church, we went to McDonald’s for lunch. We ordered “Happy Meals” for the kids (and I got one, too), and Greg got chicken nuggets and fries to share with his mom. She requested one of those coffee drinks with all the whipped cream on top. We sat down to eat, and the kids had their meals and Cokes (a special Sunday treat), and Timothy said to Grandma “E”, “Mmmmm… I want one of THOSE!” I explained that it was coffee, and he said, “I like coffee!” He did not get any… and he was quite good about it.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zola - now TWO years old!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But I had to laugh as we drove home. The children were sitting in their car seats, sleepy and ready for naps… and Grandma “E” was sitting in the front passenger seat, sleepy and ready for HER nap!
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Yes, our “sandwich” continues… it just has a few new ingredients.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-60837357808765326672013-05-03T22:05:00.000-05:002013-05-03T22:05:57.030-05:00The "Wrinkle" of the Day...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After my grandmother died, I noticed that her online bank account (on which I am a signee) showed a balance of $120+, but an "available balance" of $0. So I called the bank, and her account had been "frozen" because she is deceased. I assume that the Social Security office notified the bank of her demise. The bank employee I spoke with told me that I would have to come in and show proof that I was the Power of Attorney, present a death certificate - "Or..." she said, "you can even bring a newspaper clipping of the obituary... just something to prove that she is deceased and you are designated to manage her account." (How an obit from a newspaper clipping would prove that is beyond me!) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So today, I took in a copy of the death certificate, and a copy of my Power of Attorney papers to the bank and presented it to one of the tellers. The teller was very nice, but profusely apologetic as she explained that... "When your grandmother died, your rights as a signee disappeared. Your Power of Attorney is no longer valid on this account. Only the person she designated as the recipient of her funds upon her death can close the account." Now, I'm thinking... that's probably my dad, and he is dead, too! I asked... "Who is that?" She told me the name... it was my mother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><br />The teller kept saying, "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! They don't tell you these things ahead of time. There was no way you could have known. I'm so sorry." I thanked her for her empathy... I felt she was sincere and truly, I did appreciate her attitude. Clearly her hands were tied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><br />So I went back to the car and drove to my mother's house and handed her the copy of the death certificate and told her that <strong>she</strong> would need to go to the bank and close the account. She could not believe it, but she said she would do this, of course.<br /><br />The teller wanted to know who I spoke to on the telephone when I got information about how to do this. She especially wanted to know who I talked to when I told her the bit about bringing in a newspaper obituary. For the life of me, I could not remember the girl's name...and I'm pretty sure she was located in another city, because of the way the phone seemed to "ring through" to an extension... probably in this bank's main branch.<br /><br />The point in sharing this is to say that I am beyond being surprised at this point by bureaucracy and paperwork - in all aspects of our society. We were talking less than $125, for goodness' sake! But you might want to check the fine print on your senior's banking business - if you are managing the finances and make sure that you are not only a signee on the account... but that you are the designated recipient of any funds upon this person's death. It would have made things simpler and saved at least one of us an extra trip!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-64409625074992486602013-04-30T21:03:00.000-05:002013-04-30T21:08:28.247-05:00Same Sandwich... Different "Bread!"<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My grandmother is buried in a rural family cemetery. A week or so ago, my husband took a motorcycle ride and stopped by the cemetery to check on things. He observed that the once-beautiful floral sprays that were heaped atop Mam-ma's grave were now dried, brown and ugly. So tonight, we drove out and gathered everything in garbage bags and cleaned up the graves of my grandparents, my dad and my brother. I would say this is one of the last remaining tasks... but there seem to be "loose ends" to tie pretty much every week yet. My grandmother's funeral was seven weeks ago today... maybe that's to be expected.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother (known as "Granny")<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I never really thought that I would discontinue this blog when Mam-ma was gone... and now I am sure of it. As we pay the last bill and write the last thank-you to summarize her earthly life, our own mothers are both telling us that they "feel old." My mother just celebrated her 74th birthday, which I consider "young." However, she has several health issues, including COPD and diabetes... and she is beginning to develop some neuropathy in her hands and feet. My husband's mother will be 87 in June, and in recent months she suffered a mini-stroke... and that just about correlates with her comment that "...in the last six months, I've suddenly felt old."
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My husband's mother (known to the children as <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So I don't know what turns the next stage of our journey will take. But I have learned that we are a lot stronger than we think... and we'll be fine. I also hope that some of you will share your own stories with me, so that I can demonstrate by example that we truly are not alone. Two of our dearest friends have just placed his parents in an Assisted Living Facility, and now they are anticipating the arrival of their first grandchild in October. Now <strong><em>there's</em></strong> a "sandwich" in the making! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My niece and I had a yard sale this weekend, and a lady purchased a sleeper sofa from me, explaining that "we're downsizing." As her husband and teenaged son placed the sofa on their trailer, she asked if I happened to have a twin bed for sale. She said, "We've just moved my grandparents into our home. My grandfather is in a hospital bed, and we want to keep them together. There isn't room for more than a twin bed for my grandmother, so we are hoping to find one." If only I could have manufactured one on the spot, I would have given it to her! I felt an instant bond with this woman...I can't imagine what her "sandwich" must be like on any given day, but I know she faces big challenges!<br /><br />So we will move and grow and change with the circumstances. I figure we will be the "filling" in a sandwich of sorts for several years (hopefully). We'll just have some variations in the "bread." I know that we can handle this, with God's help, and the support of each other. After all, we're all in this together at The Deli!</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-460410795939574412013-04-06T18:57:00.000-05:002013-04-06T21:59:54.486-05:00Homegoing Service for Mam-ma Polly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I told several cousins and out-of-town/state-friends that I would share a copy of the video made during Mam-ma Polly's funeral. We had to break it up into several videos to get it to upload... and the whole thing is a total of about an hour, so grab a BIG cup of coffee or a glass of sweet tea and get ready to celebrate the life of Mam-ma Polly.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-45290852115197089652013-04-05T22:19:00.000-05:002013-04-05T23:29:35.640-05:00A Video Tribute to Mam-ma Polly<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This was the video tribute we created for Mam-ma Polly's home-going service. There are some great pictures...</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-46521698174364294082013-03-22T22:42:00.001-05:002013-04-04T12:05:15.953-05:00Making Adjustments...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I looked at the clock tonight shortly before 9:00 and realized that two weeks ago, I was sitting beside my grandmother, watching her take the last breaths of her life and drift away from us forever. Tonight, I was sitting beside my great-niece, Zola, watching her drift sweetly off to Dreamland... and hopefully a long night of restful slumber. The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity... planning and preparing for the funeral, acknowledging those who helped with everything from the pre-service meal to the pastors and funeral directors, those who sent flowers and those who have generously given to charities in memory of my grandmother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My grandmother's apartment had to be cleared and the few items we didn't donate to charity had to be sorted and stored. There were dishes to return, forms to sign, and things to catch up on at home... like laundry and housekeeping that had been put off far too long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNqA2Q9ZggcR5PBG0uK0-18rCvjnjLxBu3u7wwKgTlQViTJUMLIG0j322WNv_P3gr_P_866LlxEXpjQ8gkdjN1BNtFQm8IvpSR1e5VORA4x2Xm2cmmZGOPDhPHg-lrsyDe8QGm5aGPQh4/s1600/Timmy5_DamSitePark_3.19.2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNqA2Q9ZggcR5PBG0uK0-18rCvjnjLxBu3u7wwKgTlQViTJUMLIG0j322WNv_P3gr_P_866LlxEXpjQ8gkdjN1BNtFQm8IvpSR1e5VORA4x2Xm2cmmZGOPDhPHg-lrsyDe8QGm5aGPQh4/s200/Timmy5_DamSitePark_3.19.2013.JPG" width="200" /></a></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">During all of this, I assured Timothy and Zola that when I rested, they could come for a visit. A few days ago, we had the one and only "warm" day of this week, and my husband and I set aside everything else to go grab the kids and spend an hour at a local park playground. Timothy ran to me, arms open wide. As I scooped him up and hugged him, he gently patted me and asked, "Aunt Debbie... have you rested?" I told him yes, I have rested, and he can come soon for a visit.<br /><br />So Zola is here tonight for HER visit... Timothy comes tomorrow for a night, and we will all go to church together on Sunday. As I sat down to one of the first "real" suppers I've cooked in a while last night, I said to my husband, "I keep thinking I need to go to Southridge and check on Mam-ma." Then I remember... she is no longer there. I have no idea how long this will go on... when I will truly realize that things have changed. I just know that tonight, I reminded myself that it's only been two weeks. After almost 56 years of having my grandmother as a constant in my life - and the last eleven as her primary caregiver and guardian - it's bound to be an adjustment.<br /><br />I find myself still experiencing moments of feeling "bleh" - not necessarily sad, but just dull and a little numb. Toddlers are great for that! They have a way of jerking you right out of your vacant reverie and back to reality! And that is a good thing. Timothy's mother allowed him to attend Mam-ma's funeral, and having him there was a great comfort to me. Even though he is not quite four, he had a perspective on death that we could all take to heart.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij72W-nmNxeYigaqX9FsM5O_wU7vaJvKjisgSTFjra_FL_b_IZNjKi85UyjEWxalWuQKsP8DtVl4tVSzVCckDOxgipzMHh9I116tErDsqir5iLaYQ3349x5c70xYW01vfk83hb-vMuHZUw/s1600/DSCN2316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij72W-nmNxeYigaqX9FsM5O_wU7vaJvKjisgSTFjra_FL_b_IZNjKi85UyjEWxalWuQKsP8DtVl4tVSzVCckDOxgipzMHh9I116tErDsqir5iLaYQ3349x5c70xYW01vfk83hb-vMuHZUw/s200/DSCN2316.JPG" width="200" /></a>During the visitation, Timothy played throughout the church sanctuary. Mam-ma's casket sat atop a "gurney" type table on rollers. As visitors paraded by to speak to me, Timothy came with arms up for me to hold him. I scooped him up, and he looked down into the casket. "Mam-ma's <strong>dead</strong>!" he exclaimed. "We're gonna roll her up to heaven to be with Jesus... He's a really nice guy!" Then he was off to run and play again. At the cemetery, he sat in my lap and said, "We can't leave Mam-ma in that box very long." Both pastors who officiated are dear family friends, and one of them gently explained to Timothy that Mam-ma is in heaven...she's not really in that box. Honestly, I don't know what all she said to him, but he accepted it readily. On the ride to the cemetery, Timothy had declared again that "Mam-ma is <strong>dead</strong>!" My mom said, "Yes, she is in heaven... and we are glad." Timmy replied, "<strong>I'm</strong> not glad! Well, I'm a little glad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We could learn a lot from a four-year-old. I'm sure my grandmother would be greatly pleased by his comments and "take" on her passing. She was so ready for heaven, so I am glad she is finally there. And I know how worried she was about her great-great-grandchildren. So as I tucked Zola in tonight, I thought of how pleased Mam-ma would be to know that I was rocking her to sleep... and continuing her legacy of love and devotion to others - especially our family and this new generation of little ones.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4378687277287418384.post-53199646543893158522013-03-13T16:13:00.000-05:002013-03-22T21:53:10.829-05:00How Do You Sum Up 100 Years...a Eulogy for My Grandmother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When I was about six or seven, my grandmother sat me down on the rock ledge of the well house in the chicken yard one day and handed me a beautiful white hen. The chicken sat on my lap, warbling softly as I stroked her feathers. Then without any warning, Mam-ma grabbed that hen by the neck and began swinging her around violently. Soon the neck snapped, and the body of the hen ran round and round the chicken yard, wings flapping. I really had no idea what was happening, but that hen became dinner!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Not long ago, I told this story in front of Mam-ma, and we asked her WHY she did this – why she sprung such a thing on an innocent small child. Her explanation was that she thought she needed to teach me a lesson. In her mind, I needed to know how to wring a chicken’s neck… and she never was one to sugar-coat things. Some might even say she had a mean streak… and I would have to agree. She saw this as an opportunity to toughen up a little “city girl.” And while she didn’t necessarily toughen me, she gave me an experience I never forgot!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In his book, <em>All I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten</em>, author Robert Fulghum presents a list of lessons learned in his first year of school. And as a former kindergarten teacher, I greatly appreciate these pearls of wisdom… things like take daily naps and eat cookies. But for all I learned in kindergarten, I learned even more from my grandmother</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to cook and sew.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to catch fish – and how to fry them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to grow a garden and can fruits and vegetables.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to paint a picture.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to feed others.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to cook teeth!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to be a “people person.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I learned how to serve God.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Of course, there were a few lessons I didn’t learn so well. I kill more plants and flowers than I grow. I can NOT make peanut brittle… and I never did learn to wring a chicken’s neck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mam-ma Polly was known far and wide for her peanut brittle. Nearly a half inch thick, yet light and crispy, she had the touch for making candy that tasted like no other. And she NEVER pulled her candy. She let it spread on its own, unlike most other peanut brittle makers. She tried to teach me, my sister, Jasmine, and my cousin Natalie how to make peanut brittle one winter. She “instructed” while we did the work… we stirred the sugar syrup until it made the right “hair” on the end of our spoon, and then we added the peanuts and watched the candy cook them. We stirred the foamy scalding substance and added the baking soda. And just as the candy started to pour out of the pan onto a greased cookie sheet, I attempted to help it along. “NO! NO! NO! I’m gonna whip you! Don’t you dare do that!” Mam-ma screamed. Apparently it is complete sacrilege to touch the candy as it pours. What’s left in the pan is just left in the pan. And you do NOT help the candy spread on the cookie sheet. That part I did learn! I don’t know if any of the three of us can make peanut brittle, but we will all remember that day and the screams… and we’ll never help the candy out of the pan… ever again!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mam-ma Polly and her County Extention <br />
Service Home Economist - somewhere<br />
around 1953 - in Mam-ma's root cellar</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Anyone who knew Mam-ma Polly knew that she was “a mess.” My mother wrote a book about her Aunt Zula, and my mother-in-law said, “I think you should write a book about Polly.” Greg said, “You could call it Golly Polly!” I laughed and said, “No, I think it would need to be called Polly, Patchwork, and Peanut Brittle.” But in retrospect, I think maybe it should be titled I Tell You What! If you have spent any time at all around Polly, you know that she prefaced nearly everything she said with “I tell you what…” or maybe you have heard “Why, my land a livin’” as she imparted some words of wisdom. Or maybe you know some other of her many tried and true sayings that she loved to pepper into her conversation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">There is a lawyer who has a little infomercial on television, and in his ad, he says, “I’m gonna tell you a few things you don’t know, and some things you need to know!” Well, I’m going to tell you some things about my grandmother that you may know – and a few that I’m betting you might not know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My first recollections of my grandmother are of her nimbly sewing the tiniest of wedding dresses, wool suits, evening gowns, and even underwear for our Barbie dolls – almost all done by hand or on a treadle sewing machine. I also remember catching her fill our red net Christmas stockings with fruit and nuts and hang them on either side of her fireplace. When I asked about it, she said, “Well, Santa is so busy – I’m just helping him out a little.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I remember early mornings of John Chancellor on the Today Show… Huntley and Brinkley in the evenings, and gospel music on the big radio console that stood adjacent to a wall near the dining area. I remember stopping at Foust’s Department Store on the way home for staples like coffee, flour, sugar and Crisco. Everything else came out of the “deep freeze” or the cellar. My grandparents grew everything they could for our meals, and we feasted on canned and frozen garden vegetables and fruits – and black angus cattle raised in the pastures behind the house.</span> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "crew" at Young's Department Store</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My grandmother worked in factories from Texas to Indiana. She worked at Young’s Department Store and the Glove Factory. She drove a school bus route for eleven years. She was a chairside dental assistant for eighteen years, and in her starched white “nurse’s uniform, white hose and shoes,” I thought she was as much a nurse as any RN at the hospital. She worked for Dr. Joe Robbins, and in those days, the dentist made his own dentures. I still can see the cabinet with the trays of molars and canines and the little table with a strong light and impressions set alongside the work-in-progress that would become someone’s dentures. Dr. Joe would “set” the teeth, and then Mam-ma would take them home in the afternoons to “cook” in a big pressure pot on her cookstove… sometimes alongside a pot of beans.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mam-ma worked briefly for Dr. Leon Wilson – another dentist – as his receptionist, and she served as a “foster grandparent,” first at Heber Springs Elementary School, and then for several years at the Community School of Cleburne County.</span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I still recall the look on my grandmother’s face when she walked in the room to view my dad’s body after he died. Her knees buckled, and her companion, Deb Caviness, my cousin Eddie, and Greg scrambled to catch her so she wouldn’t sink to the floor. I still remember how blank and devastated she looked when I first saw her after the house she had inhabited since 1953 – and virtually all of her earthly possessions within it - burned to the ground on December 20, 1981.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I still hear the trepidation and sadness in her voice as she told me of losing her firstborn baby… being so sick and out of it from the drugs given during her delivery that she was not even able to attend his burial. She was a 20-year-old bride. She worried so when Jasmine was pregnant with Timmy, reminding me more than once that “you know, I lost my first baby.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I still hear the bitterness in her voice as she spoke of her daddy, who abandoned his family when Mam-ma was about 12 to move to another state with another woman and start a new family. Mam-ma only saw him once ever again – when my daddy was about 10. She said Grandpa drove up in the yard and wanted to pretend nothing had ever happened. A few pictures were made of him and Daddy, but only one included my grandmother. As she would tell us in recent years, “We had a good life until Poppa left. Babe and I played with dolls and did all the things kids do. But when Poppa left, we had to go to the fields and go to work.” And work became her mantra for the rest of her life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mam-ma Polly loved nothing more than for people to sit and visit with her… and to make her the center of attention…and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that she never overcame her feelings of abandonment, even after almost 90 years. She had a way of cutting to the chase – telling you if you needed to lose a few pounds or “dry it up” – or offering marital advice. Once, she told a widow who had remarried, “Well, you already killed one husband, and now you’re workin’ on another!” And she told me often, in one way or another – and once outright – you don’t do enough for me… you could do more! She also told me that what was wrong with our churches is that we have gotten away from shaped notes, gospel singing and the King James version of the Bible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mam-ma Polly would be the first to tell you, “I’ve worked hard all my life” – and she did. But she would also be the first person on the scene if you needed her. I’ve seen her bake wedding cakes for brides who couldn’t afford to buy one – and then hand the bride a new nightgown from her own dresser on the way out the door with a quick, “Here, you’ll need this.” I’ve seen her bake countless cakes, pies, pans of hot rolls and more for those who were sick or grieving… or to celebrate even the most mundane of occasions. I’ve seen my grandmother ask month after month, year after year, “Did you send my tithe to the church?” In the years 2007-2009, she must have made close to 20 baby blankets and quilts for cousins, nieces, nephews, and her great-great-grandson, Timothy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On her 95th birthday in 2007, I asked about 100 people who knew and loved Mam-ma Polly to write down their memories and send them to be added to a special “memory box.” To Mam-ma’s credit, dozens responded, and she treasured her memories for years afterward. I would like to read a few of them that capture the essence of who Mam-ma Polly was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Evelyn Robbins Irwin… “You have always been a part of our family. I’m glad you were always at Daddy’s office to hold my hand.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Nevin Robbins…”I want to share two memories with you. The first is about peanut brittle, of course. You probably taught every person in Cleburne County to judge the quality of peanut brittle against what you make. It is so good! I remember the first time I ever saw you make it. My father took me out to your farm. I was delighted to see your place. You explained to me that the trick to making good peanut brittle was having the right combination of ingredients, cooking time, and temperature… and WEATHER! If it all fit together just right, the candy would be great. Somehow you were able to fix it just right, and we have enjoyed the benefits for years.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The second memory is really a collection of memories back at the old dental office. I learned very quickly who was really in charge. You were always able to keep the office and people in it on the right track. Sometimes it was your smile or laugh that eased the situation. Sometimes it was your saying, “Now, Dr. Joe…” It was always your joy in life that touched us all. For all these things, I love you and thank you. I am so glad you are a part of my life.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Polly and Deb, her companion for <br />
7 years after my grandfather died. <br />
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He was like a second grandfather to us.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Donald Payton… The first time Charlene and I visited the Chandlers in Heber Springs, we were planning a Saturday night activity and told Polly she was welcome to go with us, “but it probably won’t be over before 10:00.” She replied, “Nope, me and Deb are goin’ dancin’… and we’ll hardly be started by then.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Many years ago, long before we knew Polly, I wrote a song, recorded by Porter Wagoner, which was entitled “Plantin’ Beans and Turnip Greens and Thinkin’ Dear of You.” Now, whenever I recall that song, I think of Polly. Invariably, when I speak with her over the phone, I ask if she’s had any beans and turnip greens lately, and she’ll say, “I had a mess of ‘em yesterday. Picked ‘em myself right out of the garden, and fixed ‘em with cornbread. They sure were good. I just wish you and Charlene were here to eat ‘em with me.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Charlene Payton…Nobody in this world makes peanut brittle that tastes half as good as Polly’s. One day we asked her how she breaks it into “eatable” pieces. Polly replied, “I put it in a sack, carry the sack to the back porch, and keep throwing it on the floor till it breaks into pieces!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One day, several of us women, including Polly, were in a Branson theater awaiting the start of a show. Just as the houselights dimmed and the crowd hushed, Polly said, “Charlene, if something happens to Donald, you should start dating as soon as possible.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Rufo Martin… Polly was working at Young’s Department Store and helping a young lady that was trying on blue jeans. It seems the young lady left, and Polly went into the dressing room to pick up the 2 new pair of jeans she had tried on. There were no jeans in sight, so I confronted the young lady outside the store, and Polly went with her to the dressing room to have her remove the 2 new pair of blue jeans she had on under her old jeans.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Natalie Fall Norton… My favorite baby gift was the quilt you made for Olivia. It is beautiful. I love knowing that it was made by someone who loved Olivia before she even made her grand entrance. At first, it hung on the wall, because I didn’t want her to get anything on it. Now, I cover her up with it when she takes a nap. Not one time have I covered her up that I didn’t thank God for you and what you have given our family. I’m not talking about gifts. I’m talking about love and a sense of what true family is all about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Carla Lou Huson… My grandmother, Nonnie, was not as good of a cook as Aunt Polly (and that is being kind). Nonnie was, however, competitive with Aunt Polly. Aunt Polly would come into town and bring us cookies, and Aunt Polly’s cookies were out-of-this-world delicious. The minute Nonnie saw the cookies from Aunt Polly, she would start baking. Nonnies cookies were barely edible. Regardless, Mother would make all of us choke them down so Nonnie wouldn’t get her feelings hurt. I got to where I actually dreaded seeing Aunt Polly coming with those heavenly cookies because I knew that Nonnie’s contribution was close at hand!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When I was in elementary school, I would ride the school bus with Timmy to Aunt Polly’s house. We would run amok on the farm, and Aunt Polly would cook all of our favorite foods. We would do whatever we wanted to do, and then our parents would come and get us before bedtime. Going out to the farm seemed so exotic… and riding the bus was a huge thrill, too. Of course, the best part was hanging out with Aunt Polly!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My number one memory of Aunt Polly is DUMPLINGS! She makes the best ones EVER! No one even comes close. Her cooking is the best part of me coming home to visit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Elwanda Bailey… I recall when you worked in the dental office and how neat you were in those white uniforms… makes me think also of my mom and how she starched and ironed her uniforms and wore the white shoes with white hose… neither of you would have ever thought of wearing the scrubs professional people wear today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Rick Whisnant… Remember when me and Jim Huson got caught smoking grapevines behind your house?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Jasmine Linn Gary… Mom picked a flower on your lamp post. You thought it was me. You told me you would beat my “@$$” if I didn’t stop picking your flowers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I showed you a bonnet on “Little House on the Prairie.” You made me one just like it, but mine was prettier because it was pink, orange and yellow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Mike Linn…You sewed the motorcycle on my stocking so I would feel like part of the family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Suzanne Chandler Linn… One year we had Thanksgiving dinner at the farm. That afternoon, you and us kids went for a walk in the woods. We picked rabbit tobacco, and when we got back to the house, we rolled it up in strips of a brown paper sack and smoked it!</span><br />
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I remember watching you make mince meat. You clamped the meat grinder to the kitchen counter, and I couldn’t believe all the stuff you ground up to put in it. It was a while after that before I would eat mince meat pie again! Now I love it!</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Right after Pap-pa died, you and I were walking through the field to pick the peas, and you told me, “Honey, I learned a long time ago that you’ve got to walk through lots of piles of manure before you ever get to smell the roses.” (except she didn’t say manure!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">From Greg… I don’t think we’ve ever really acknowledged it out loud, but we both know that I adopted you as my substitute grandmother many years ago. The first time I had supper at your house (now over 40 years ago), I immediately became envious of Debbie, Suzanne, and Timmy. As you know, my family had moved hundreds of miles away from my grandparents when I was very young. The distance made it impossible for my grandparents to maintain the sort of relationship that you had with your grandchildren.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I realized just how much I missed being close to my grandparents the minute I stepped into your warm, cozy farm house one cold night for supper. And when I say warm, I mean WARM! Besides the wood stove, Trup had a fire in the fireplace and you were cooking up a storm in the kitchen, which generated even more heat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was just getting to know your family, so I was a little nervous. Trup was hard to read, but you made it clear that you’d be nice to any scoundrel that Debbie might drag to your table. Over time, I came to know that Trup had a sweet heart, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I could see immediately how important you were to Debbie, and so I wanted to make a good impression. When we all crammed in around the supper table, you made me feel right at home, and you introduced me to the best dessert ever invented… sweet potato pie!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Up to that time, I’d never cared much for sweet potatoes, so you might as well have been offering me a turnip pie! I probably appeared a little reluctant, but I was not about to insult Debbie’s grandmother, so I agreed to try it. I was even more apprehensive when you presented my pie in a bowl and with some sort of white gravy on top. When I took my first bite, I felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, so I was fully prepared to grin and bear it. Well, I was hooked… not just on sweet potato pie, but also on my new grandmother-to-be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Besides being a great cook, you are a great teacher. I learned a lot of things at your table over the years… here are a few of my favorites…</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Green beans and black-eyed peas are good when they’re cooked right.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Even turnip greens are good… when they’re cooked right!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Eating and laughing go together.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Some people put sugar on sweet corn.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Some people put tea in their sugar.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Some people say “I love you” with sugar cookies.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Life’s short and sugar’s cheap.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hard work is its own reward… so long as your family appreciates it!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Love and faith will get you by.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">God is good.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, but I’ll try...</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for throwing me off the bus when I was 12. I deserved it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for being nice to me, even when I didn’t deserve it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for accepting me into your family.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for your example of hard work and perseverance.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for praying for me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you for loving me.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I love you too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">To mark Mam-ma’s 100th birthday, my mother posted a tribute to her on one of her blogs. It said in part…</span><br />
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Despite long working hours, Polly made time for church activities, membership in the County Home Demonstration Club, and the Business and Professional Women’s Club. She regularly hosted suppers for her family and many friends. Every Wednesday, her three grandchildren rode the school bus home with her and stayed for supper. Polly’s green thumb and her love for digging her hands into the soil turned out deep colored flowers and bountiful vegetables in her large garden. She spent summer nights canning and freezing her harvested food. Yet, she still made time to sew tailor-made garments for herself and her granddaughters. Her favorite pastime? Picking up a fishing pole and heading for a pond with her husband and two favorite friends.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">To me, she is Polly—the mother who raised my first husband and cherished our three children. To my children, grandchild, and great-grandchildren, she is Mam-ma Polly—the matriarch of our family. She has lived and loved for a century; she's endured hardships and observed changes that boggle the imagination compared to her childhood. We celebrate her 100 years of living, her numerous accomplishments, and the impact she continues to have on so many lives.</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Over the weekend, my good friend John Birdsong posted this tribute to Mam-ma Polly on Facebook… I want to share this on my own page because the life of this dear saint of God was so intertwined with mine. When I was very small we lived next door to her in my grandmother's house and later in Polly's rent house. She was sweet and kind and also very proper -- one of the most dignified and elegant ladies I knew as a child, though she might not have seen herself that way! I enjoyed knowing her son and her son's future wife Arline Chandler when they were dating and newly married, and Arline later became my piano teacher. Polly's grandchildren became some of the closest friends that I and my sisters had growing up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In 1958 when I started first grade, Polly was bus driver for the small group of kids who lived east of the river. There were so few of us that at first she took us to school in her own car (a brand-new gold-colored 1959 Chevy with enormous fins) then later in a van until our route eventually qualified for a "real" school bus. It always amazed me to watch her grapple with the stick-shift and the big steering wheel on that bus, and it looked to me like it would have been a hard job for a strong man. She could back up that bus and turn it around as well as any bus driver in the district!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Though we moved across the field into our own house later on, we still considered Polly our neighbor. When telephone service came to our community it was on an eight-party line, and Polly sometimes gently reminded us kids that we needed to be respectful of the other folks on the line. I'm sure we sometimes drove her crazy making and receiving call after call in the afternoons and evenings, (our "ring" was an annoying "long and a short") but she was always kind when she reminded us that other people needed to use the line too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She and my grandmother were good friends, though Grandma was about 18 years her senior, and I will always remember Polly coming to my side at the cemetery when we laid Grandma to rest. I was standing next to the grave as they lowered the casket into the ground, in some degree of distress, and Polly calmy and quietly, in that genteel Southern voice reminded me that Grandma was in a better place now and that everything would be all right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So now Polly has gone to that better place. Her granddaughter, my good friend Debbie, has kept us apprised of Polly's condition over the past few years as she continued to enjoy life as best she could while her body became more frail. She will be missed by those who cared for her and stayed close to her. I had not seen her in a couple of years, but always enjoyed hearing about her on birthdays and special occasions as her family posted on Facebook. What a wonderful life she lived, and what a better world it is because of this sweet lady's life.</span><br />
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Yes, Mam-ma Polly was a mess… but she was our mess, and in large part, we are who we are today because of her influence. I may not be able to make peanut brittle, and my quilting stitches may not be as small and neat as hers, but I make a mean pan of hot rolls… and I like to imagine that I think of others more than myself most of the time. I know I love serving God – and serving others, in no small part because of her example. And I’ve even started saying “I tell you what” as I get older!</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">There will never be another Mam-ma Polly. I’m not sure the world – or heaven – is big enough to hold but one. But I know when I get to heaven, she will be there waiting for me. I just hope she isn’t holding a chicken!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0