A Lot To Process...a final lesson from my mother

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?

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.

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.
 
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Greg's mother and his brother, Bruce
July 2015

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!”

Timothy and my mother, August 2015

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!”

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!

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.

In a devotional I wrote shortly after Mother died, I spoke of grief.  Greg and I took his mother to the cemeteries today to visit the graves of our brother…and my mother. January 23rd would have been my brother-in-law’s 67th birthday.  His birthday 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.

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.

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.

Happy Birthday in Heaven...

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

 

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.

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.

 

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.

Another Empty Chair at the Table

Last week when I took my grandmother to the doctor, she told me, "Ruth is sick."  Ruth was my third-grade teacher.  She and my grandmother became friends in the late 1950s/early 1960s.  They were in B&PW Club together - both "business women" in an era when there weren't very many women who worked outside the home.  Ruth had moved to the ALF several years ago, and when Mam-ma moved in, she was seated at a table in the dining area with Ruth and another friend, Ms. Evelyn.  I spoke to Ruth and Evelyn on January 2nd when I walked Mam-ma to lunch.  Both seemed well.


Ms. Evelyn, Mam-ma Polly, and my first grade
teacher, Ms. Ruth

By Thursday, January 5th, Mam-ma was telling me that Ruth was sick.  She sat at the table that evening for dinner... but she did not eat.  The next day, she was admitted to the hospital, where she died Monday morning from pneumonia.  Ruth would have been 97 on June 16th.  Mam-ma and Ms. Evelyn are heartsick.  Evelyn and Ruth were "kitty-cornered" neighbors for decades before both moving to the ALF.  Evelyn has told me over and over this week how long she and Ruth were friends - and how much she will miss her.

Monday, I went to the ALF to check on Mam-ma, and we talked at length about dying.  She is so ready - and quite frankly, she is jealous that Ruth got the jump on her!  She said, "I prayed this morning about this.  I told the LORD I'm ready to go." Then she managed to get out... "Death... frightens... me."  I asked, "Are you afraid to die?"  No, she told me... and finally I managed to discern that she is afraid of lingering... becoming comatose or "like a vegetable."  She also managed to express that she worries about those who are left.  I assured her that we will be fine... we will manage... and without her to lean on, some might even have to step up to the plate and do better!

While we talked, I realized that the last few times I have visited, Mam-ma's attire has been a little strange.  January 2nd, she had on summer white pants and a light-colored shirt. Many other visits, she has been wearing the same drab olive green pants and a multi-colored blouse.  So I went through her closet and organized some "outfits".  I asked her why she wore the same thing all the time, and she replied, blankly, "I don't know."  My grandmother has beautiful clothes.  Now that she has lost weight, she fits into all of them well.  There is no reason for her to wear the same thing every day.  Either the aides are not paying attention - or she chooses to wear the same outfit.  I tend to think it is the latter. 

So, just as I selected Timothy's daily attire, I grouped ensembles for Mam-ma - pants, shirts and a jacket.  When I returned yesterday, I partitioned her closet, leaving notes on the summer things that said, "Summer Clothes - Do Not Wear Until After March 2012".  The outfits for this winter, I labeled... "Please Help Polly Dress in These Outfits for Winter.  Thank You!"  So far, Polly has worn a new outfit each day this week. As one staff member put it, "There are people here who get paid to do laundry - there is no reason she can't wear a clean outfit every single day."  It may not seem like much, but I think it makes a difference - not only in my grandmother's appearance, but also in her attitude.  Change is good...even if it's merely your clothing!

I've been visiting more often and spending more time with my grandmother this last week or two.  One day she is up and the next she is down.  She is staying in her room more... and sleeping a lot. She is bored and depressed.  My mother is traveling, and she said she hesitates to phone, because Mam-ma has so much trouble talking on the telephone - and even getting to it to answer.  She said she would write a letter.  However, I've been having to read Mam-ma's mail to her this week, so Mom is going to e-mail the letter to me, and I will read it to her.  Once again, I see a similarity - we read to Timothy, and now we read to Mam-ma.

I told my grandmother that I have no idea when the LORD will call her home.  I know it won't be until she has accomplished all she is responsible for here... and that may be something as seemingly small as smiling at an aide or working through the grief over Ruth's death with her friend, Evelyn.  But I assured her that when the day comes, we will all be happy for her... confident she did all she was supposed to do in her lifetime - and that she is reunited with so many who loved her and have gone to heaven already.

This is a challenging time... a hurtful time, in a way I didn't really expect.  Watching two ladies who are nearly 100 years old sit and stare through their tears is both a heartache... and a blessing. I've sat in Ruth's chair a couple of times this week when I visited.  The empty chair is a constant reminder to these ladies of her absence. To realize that they are so ready to go to heaven makes the thought of losing them a little easier.  It will be a sadness... but also a relief.  They, like Ms. Ruth, will leave a rich legacy of lives well-lived. 

In the meantime, the skills and tactics I use in nurturing a 2-year-old are coming in handy as I nurture my grandmother.  Much of the frustration and stress associated with caring for Mam-ma in the last decade or more is being replaced with a new-found level of patience, compassion, and empathy. I look at some of the things she can no longer do, and I realize that, like a toddler learning to do things for the first time and often stumbling in the process, she cannot help herself much of the time.  She has outbursts and expresses frustration and confusion, just like a toddler... and I have to respond the same for both ages.  

And maybe that's why God has kept her around.  I prayed for a number of years that my grandmother would not die with us at odds with each other... leaving me with bitterness.  She can still push my buttons... but no longer in the same way as when she was "up and at 'em."  Maybe God has kept her here and allowed this decline to soften the blow. 

I apologize if my last few posts have been depressing.  This is a bittersweet season in my life.  And I suspect from comments I've been receiving that many of you are in the same boat... or you just got out!  Right on cue, God blessed me last night with a phone conversation with Timothy that totally brighten my day and reminded me of the circle of life.  Timmy told me of playing with his dinosaurs and reading books.  Then he said, "Okay, honey, I'm gonna let you go and get some sleep!"  With a "later, gator" and an "after while, crocodile" - and even an "I love you!" - he returned to play with his toys, and I hung up confident that he was happy and content... and always loved. 

I don't know when I will get to see him again - and IF I will see my grandmother tomorrow.  But I do know that God is working everything out perfectly.  And for the moment, all is well.

Saying "Good-Bye" Was Harder Than I Expected...

This past week brought some of the most difficult experiences I've had in a long time.  Our little Timothy has been spending time with us and his grandparents for the last 3½ months.  I would say he has probably spent at least 1/3 of those days and nights with us... maybe closer to half.  We have grown very attached, and Timmy truly bonded with us.  My sister said he got up every morning he was at her house asking to come to ours... and every evening when she picked him up at daycare, he asked, "Go to Aunt Debbie's?"  So I knew it would be hard to say "Good-bye" to him when he returned to Texas to live with his mother and baby sister... I just didn't know how hard.

The plan was for my sister and her husband to leave on Sunday, December 4, and drive Timothy to Texas.  However, a scheduling conflict at work caused my sister's days off to be changed.  My brother-in-law called me in a panic around noon on Thursday and said, "We have to leave tomorrow... do you want to go get Timmy and keep him tonight so you and Greg can have some time with him?"  I told him that we did, and I stopped in the middle of decorating for Christmas, grabbed a quick shower, and headed to the daycare to pick up Timothy.  Both the daycare owner and her aide cried when we left.  They walked away so Timmy would not see them.  He happily told them "Bye!" and "See you later!"

We thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the afternoon and evening with Timothy.  We took a walk down the nature trail - taking turns pushing his stroller, and calling it a "big adventure."  We played with toys and rode the tricycle.  We read books, colored, and watched Timmy's favorite TV shows and videos on YouTube.  And we tried not to count the minutes.  My mother came for a visit, and she had a hard time saying "Good-bye."  She had visited Mam-ma before coming over, and she told me that Mam-ma was not doing well... could not put sentences together... and that she had asked about Timmy and cried when Mom told her that he really was leaving.

Friday, we continued spending time with Timmy - doing everything he wanted to do and making the most of each hour.  I knew my sister was planning to pick him up in the afternoon... we had made plans to attend a Christmas dinner with friends that evening. My sister phoned around 3:00 to see if Timmy was awake, but he was about halfway through what I thought would be a two-hour nap.  I assured her I would call her when he awoke.  Greg sat nearby and "listened" for him while I took a shower.  I had just turned off my hair dryer when I heard him whimper.

Greg went to Timmy's crib and tried to console him.  He was crying for his Aunt Debbie.  Before I could soothe him, the phone rang... it was Mam-ma.  I don't know how on earth she does it, but she always seems to sense when I am really busy with Timothy - or even when he is here.  At any rate, she was upset... her glass bluebirds were "missing," and she just knew someone had stolen them.  I assured her they would show up, and I tried to be patient as she complained and disagreed with me. She said, "I've cried more over them than anything... Timmy loved playing with them so."  I told her Timmy was two - tomorrow he would love something else!  Finally, I told Mam-ma that I would come on Saturday and look for the bluebirds, and we hung up.

I returned to Greg and Timmy, and we sat and held him together for several minutes.  He was not good and awake, and he whimpered and sat snuggled against us.  Greg decided to grab a quick shower, and I called my sister to let her know Timmy was awake.  She said they were packing the car, but they would come soon and get him.  By the time Greg finished with his shower and dressed, my sister and brother-in-law were here. 

While Greg showered, I sat with Timmy and talked softly to him.  I told him how much we loved him... that he was going to have a good time in Texas... and that he had to go home with his GaGa and get a good night's sleep so they could leave early the next morning to go and see his mommy and his sister Zola.  I also reminded him that he could call me... every day... more than once.  I reminded him that every time he saw the moon, he would know that Uncle Greg and I love him... and I told him, "Make your mommy read your 'God books' to you and Zola every night!"  He would nod his head in agreement each time.

Timmy was still grumpy, and when he saw his grandparents, he started to cry again. He did not want to go.  Greg and I sat with him and tried to assure him it would be a good thing.  We all just sat for a while... until there was really nothing left to do but gather his belongings and say "Good-bye."  My sister and I were already in tears, and Timmy began to cry loudly.  He clung to me and didn't want to go.  I carried him to the car, screaming and clinging to me.  I put him in and strapped him into his car seat.  Then Greg and I both kissed him one last time, and I shut the door.  My sister said, "You know he will stop crying in a little bit."  I did know that, but it still broke our hearts to stand on our driveway and wave good-bye and blow kisses, knowing it will be months or more before we see our little guy again.  A part of me also cried because I knew he had missed his family... and he would be so thrilled to see them again.

I think God knew we needed a diversion, so he scheduled things in such a manner that we had this dinner party to attend.  He definitely shielded me from the prolonged agony of Timmy's departure.  I didn't have time to burst into tears and wail for hours, like I would have liked.  I had to finish dressing and get my food together for the potluck dinner, then get in the car and drive to our friends' house.  Greg and I both went into the "get-ready" mode and didn't say much to each other.  I told my mother today that I know God shielded me all night, because I slept fairly well, and it wasn't until the next day when reality truly began to sink in and I had time to be sad and grieve a bit.

Even then, I didn't have much time for sadness, because I had promised to go to Mam-ma's and look for the bluebirds.  I entered her room, and she was in a tizzy... they were still missing.  I started looking... under the bed, I found one.  She always keeps the birds atop the heat and air unit underneath her window, so I started systematically looking in that area.  The first object I came to was a decorative hat box on the floor.  I removed the lid... there were the other 3 bluebirds.  Mam-ma became irate... "Now those were not there 30 minutes ago!" she exclaimed.  She said that the maintenance man, James, had come into her room and assured her that he would find them.  I told her, "Maybe he put them in here for safe keeping."  She didn't believe me... but she insisted I bring the bluebirds home with me for safekeeping. 

It was almost time for lunch, so I put the birds in my car and went back inside to walk Mam-ma to lunch.  We sat for a while and visited with the other ladies at her table.  I noticed a tall young man walk through the dining area with bags of lab equipment slung over his shoulders.  I thought, "He's here to draw blood from someone."  In the next minute, a nurse was coming toward us, "Ms. Polly... the man is here to draw your blood."  She explained to me that the doctor had made monthly rounds on Friday, and he had ordered a Urinary Analysis and blood work... "because Ms. Polly is so confused.  She is accusing people of stealing from her, and she can't put sentences together coherently." 

I explained to the nurse that Mam-ma was upset because Timothy was leaving.  The nurse did not realize that this was happening, and she understood and agreed that this probably was contributing to the confusion.  She had seen Timmy and me there visiting Mam-ma the previous Sunday.  I told her that I knew all about the bluebirds, and she said, "James went into Ms. Polly's room and found them this morning."  I told her that I now have the bluebirds.  I asked if she would notify me before the doctor changed any medications or did anything differently, and she said, "Oh, absolutely!" 

I explained that we have seen a rapid decline in Mam-ma in recent weeks, and that she is praying to die.  I told her, "We really don't expect to have her much longer."  She seemed surprised, but she agreed that Mam-ma is definitely declining rapidly.

I added that Mam-ma could live another ten years, but I feel like she is beginning to lose her ability to function mentally, and the nurse agreed, adding that Mam-ma comes to the nurses' station several times a day and cannot remember why she is there.  I stayed a little longer with Mam-ma and left her in the dining room eating her lunch.

When I got home, my sister called to say that they had made it to Texas, and I could hear Timmy squealing and laughing in the background.  She said his reunion with my niece was amazing... that when he saw her, he began squealing "Mommy!  Mommy!"  Then my niece sent me pictures of our happy little boy, and I knew we would all be just fine.

I called my Grandmother on Sunday to assure her that Timmy is safe and well... and to remind her that I have the bluebirds.  She said, "Well, we'll see... there are still about three birds missing."  I told her that we only moved into Southridge with five birds, and I think one got broken several months ago.  Last Sunday, there were four birds for Timmy to play with... and I brought home four birds.  I told her, "Nobody is stealing from you... I have all of your bluebirds, and no one is taking anything else."  She said, "Well, I'm not so sure."

So the changes have begun. It's been so quiet around our house, and it seemed strange to finish the Christmas decorating this weekend, knowing Timmy and Zola will not see it.  But it gave me something to do to keep busy... and I was already more than 2/3 decorated, so it seemed silly not to finish.  Mam-ma has not called again... and I did not call her today. 

Mam-ma did call early last week to ask Greg why we didn't come to her birthday party.  It took her forever to get out her questions... and Greg wasn't even sure she knew who she had called.  We finally determined that Southridge had a collective party for all who celebrate birthdays in November.  Greg assured her that we were not invited... that the party was for her and her friends there at Southridge.  He reminded her that we did have a party for her... we took her to lunch at a local restaurant.  But he was really bothered by how confused she was... and how difficult it was for her to speak on the phone.

Today, Mam-ma's long-time housekeeper, Mary, phoned me and asked if Mam-ma is sick.  I told her no, and she said, "Well, I just talked to her, and she didn't sound well."  So I explained what has happened and Mary said, "I've made sugar cookies using Ms. Polly's recipe, and I wanted to take her some tomorrow if you think it's okay.  She is like family to me."  I assured her it was fine... that I can't promise Mam-ma will eat them, but please go and take them.  Mary said she would not stay long, but she would take cookies and some chocolate drop candy that Mam-ma enjoys.

People are so kind and loving to Mam-ma... including the staff at Southridge.  I told Mary today that I think Mam-ma is losing her mind... and if that is the case, I hope she doesn't linger.  It's not my call, and I know that... but I remember how hard it was to talk to my maternal grandmother and visit her after dementia set in.  She always seemed to recognize me and my mother... but she had a baby doll she thought was a real baby, phantom "thieves" and ne'er-do-wells who visited her room, and she insisted my grandfather (who had been dead for several years) was living in the nursing home with another woman - she saw them dining together in the dining hall.  I do not want my Mam-ma to suffer those indignities.

My husband asked me tonight what I plan to do with my spare time, now that we are not keeping Timmy several days/nights each week.  I told him I have a stack of projects I've set aside.  I am sure I will have no trouble finding something to do.  I am also sure that there will be more to attend to for Mam-ma in the coming days/weeks, as well... and this time I will not have to juggle the care of a little one in order to get it all done. 

The changes continue...and there will be more hard "good-byes" to come.  But for now, I am resting... in more ways than one... and resting in God's promises that He will never give me more than I can handle - and that He will truly supply every need of mine and my family.