I Promise I Will See You Again!

The heat and drought of summer finally seem to be ending... and with the first couple of "cool snaps," I realized that Mam-ma's little house dresses were not going to be sufficiently warm for these autumn/winter days. So I decided to sort through all of her clothing that I brought home and see what I could find that would look nice, be warm, and stand up to an afternoon nap in bed. I found enough knits and velour and "sweats" to create outfits for eight days, and I hung the matching pants/tops/jackets together and toted them to the ALF, where I placed them in the closet alongside the house dresses and sweaters. I instructed the aides to use their best judgment, but on cooler days, please dress Mam-ma in pants. I also took warm pajamas for night-time.

Mam-ma has seemed okay, physically, but she has gotten steadily worse with her ability to get any words out. I sat with her on the porch one beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon, and she was clearly restless. She normally loves the porch and being outside, but not this day. I finally gave up after about 30 minutes or more and took her back inside, and an aide put her to bed for a nap.

The next time I visited was probably the following Wednesday. My dad's first cousin had died in Texas, and the family was returning his body to Arkansas for burial. I told Mam-ma that he had passed away... and that he had been in a nursing home for a long time following a stroke, so this was not unexpected. She took it well, I thought.

Friday, I took the warm clothes. As I arrived, Mam-ma was being wheeled to speech therapy. I told the therapist I had work to do in the apartment, and that I would come down and get Mam-ma later. The therapist said, "Give us about an hour." Not long after she and Mam-ma left, some cousins arrived to visit. They had driven in from Texas for the visitation and funeral for the cousin who passed away. I kept them in the apartment for about 30 minutes, and then we went to the therapy room. The therapist told me Mam-ma was very tired ... that she had been falling asleep in the therapy session.

We went back to the apartment, and I positioned Mam-ma to talk with the cousins. I had told them to talk TO her... and she would respond with nods and such... and to talk to each other. After I got Mam-ma settled, I resumed my cleaning and sorting. You could have heard crickets. Nobody said anything. It was awful... and Mam-ma closed her eyes and either went to sleep - or she pretended to be sleeping. The cousins left, and I had an aide put Mam-ma to bed for a nap.

Later, I learned that yet another set of cousins had visited Friday morning (Mam-ma said they had not come). This cousin told me that she and her husband knelt in the floor in front of my grandmother and talked to her about old times... when they went with her and my grandfather and my dad to Indiana to work in the factories... funny things my grandfather used to say. She said Mam-ma smiled a lot - and even laughed a few times. THIS is how you talk to someone who cannot speak! And these cousins visited again on Tuesday before they left to return to their home in Texas. I was so grateful for their visits.

My mom visited Mam-ma a few times in the last 2 weeks, and so did my sister and I, and each time, we felt that her speech was certainly no better - and maybe worse... and that she was frustrated. The Hospice nurse told me that when she visited, Mam-ma cried and cried. Then on Tuesday, my mother-in-law had an "episode" that the doctors feel may have been a TIA. At age 86, with a strong family history of strokes, the ER doc admitted her to the hospital for observation and more tests. I am not sure the floor nurses were glad to see me again, but we were back, and they dealt with it!

So with all that had gone on this week, I had not visited Mam-ma all week... until today. I arrived at her apartment around 1:00 p.m. She was just leaving the dining room with her good friend, Bessie. I asked if she wanted to stay in her wheelchair, get in her recliner, or go to bed. She couldn't tell me. Finally I discerned she wanted in her recliner, and I told her to press her call button for an aide. She did, and she added, "I've got to go to the bathroom." The aide helped her with the bathroom and transferring into her recliner.

I sat on the bed, across from my grandmother's recliner. I tried to think of things to tell her... about a funeral visitation I had just attended for my high school Sunday school teacher... about the delicious muffins I made from a Pinterest recipe. I asked her if the cousins from Texas visited again (I knew they did)... and we talked about how nice it was to see them. Then she pointed her finger at me and tried to speak. She would open her mouth, point her finger, then close her mouth tightly as if she were disgusted, and put her hand down again. This scenario repeated over and again for about 30 minutes. I sat... and sat... and tried to guess. Once she got out "I tell you what..."

Finally, she got out something about "pressuring me..." and "pressuring you..." and I asked, "Someone is pressuring you?" Yes. "Pressuring you for what?" She couldn't tell me. I asked WHO is pressuring you... she couldn't tell me, but there was lots of pointing and trying. I guessed... the cousins? the aides? family members? Hospice? None of those. She was finally able to get out... "don't want to move." I surmised that she had it in her mind that she was going to have to move from the ALF. So I asked questions along this line, and she nodded "yes" - this was the problem.

I reassured her as best I could that I am in charge... and I'm not signing anything for her to move... that if she lives a day or 10 years, she can stay in her apartment. She seemed to be satisfied with my response. We talked about how much the aides love her, and she said something really funny... "Well, don't take this the wrong way... but these girls like me." In other words, "I'm special, and I know it!" That was a huge sentence for her... and very funny.

One day this week I talked with our nephew Timothy, and he begged to come to our house. "Aunt Debbie... I need to come to your house," he would say. "I don't want to stay in Texas." I assured him over and again that very soon, we will see each other again. But I don't know how "soon" this will be... and to a three-year-old, a week is an eternity. It must be the same for 100-year-olds, too, because as I hugged Mam-ma and kissed her "good-bye" today, she started to cry. "I... can't... hardly... stand... it..." she sobbed. I sat back down and looked at her... "You can't hardly stand what?" "I... can't... hardly... stand... it when you leave," she replied.

Now I realize that my grandmother still likes to press my buttons... and she doesn't do this to anyone else who visits... but in that moment, I was right back reassuring Timothy that we will see each other again soon. "I'll be back soon," I explained to her. "I've been gone a lot this week, and I'm so behind at home. I have a lot I need to do there." Again, I was explaining things to her much like I explained to Timmy that he has "work" to do to help his mom with his little sister and brother. Oh, the parallels continue to amaze me!

Granted, the sentences my grandmother uttered today were HUGE in the scheme of things of late... and I'm not sure if speech therapy gets the credit, or if it was a fluke.  I know that there is still incredible frustration there... and few words.  I am studying the Book of James, and one of the passages in recent days dealt with patience... and God's timing.  Today, my lesson was on the power - and importance - of humble, faithful prayer.  I am constantly reminded that I am not truly in control... and that's a good thing.  Meanwhile, I am trusting God's promises... including the one that I will see loved ones again... both on this earth, and in heaven.  And so I pray... and wait... and hope.

But I Asked for Chicken Livers

This morning I met several high school classmates at a local coffee shop to reconnect and visit.  Then I went to see Mam-ma Polly at the assisted living facility (ALF).  Mam-ma was already seated in the dining room for lunch, but she offered to return to her room with me for a few minutes so that I could unpack the things I had taken to her.  Once there, she asked me, "How was your party?"  I told her it was fine... not really a party... and I asked, "Who told you I was going to a party?"  She snidely replied, "Well, you told me that you were too busy to come down here this week because you were cookin' for a bunch of people."  I had  told her that I might cook dinner for some friends who were busy moving to a new office space this week.  But that did not materialize, and I answered... "I think what I actually said was that I was too busy this week to take you to Searcy yesterday to [your niece] Martha's retirement party... and I was.  But I had coffee this morning with some of my classmates from high school."  Mam-ma never asked if the coffee was nice, who was there...nothing... that was the end of it... and she sat in her chair and sulked.

 I tried to think of other things to talk with her about, but not much came to mind, and we soon agreed to return to the dining room, where the other three ladies at Mam-ma's table were assembled and waiting for lunch to be served.  One lady... my little friend "MawMac" said, "I'm having chicken livers.  The choices were chicken livers or baked fish, and I chose chicken livers!"  I nodded and told her that sounded nice.  Then I noticed the "a la carte" menu on the table, and two of the choices were indeed chicken livers and baked fish, along with hamburger steak and a few other things. Soon the plates were arriving, and Ms. Ruth got hers first... a delicious big plate of boneless chicken breast, scalloped potatoes, mixed vegetables, and two rolls.  She patted the aide's arm and said, "Sugar, if you have a plate with dark meat, I'd rather have dark meat than this chicken breast."  The aide sweetly told her that all of the plates contained a chicken breast... there was no dark meat.  Ms. Ruth shrugged and reluctantly said this was okay.

MawMac said, "Well, I'm having chicken livers."  As the other three plates were presented, they were all the same - chicken breast.  Ms. Evelyn began to protest loudly, "I ordered chicken livers!"  MawMac chimed in... "I'm supposed to have chicken livers!"  Mam-ma Polly added... "I ordered chicken livers, too!"  The aide looked bewildered.  She was new, and she seemed genuinely upset.  Soon Mam-ma's regular aide appeared at the table.  "This is what you ordered," she explained.  The three ladies protested.  Mam-ma said, "I told you I wanted chicken livers!"  The aide said, "No... I specifically asked you this morning if you wanted our lunch special, which was Ranch Chicken, and you said 'That will be fine.'"  Ms. Evelyn piped up and said, "Well, I ordered chicken livers last night!" 

My grandmother nodded toward another table of ladies and muttered, "Well, I bet they got chicken livers."  I told her I didn't think so, and she would not believe me... so I went over and checked... sure enough, every person in the dining room appeared to have the same meal... and it looked delicious.  I tried my best to encourage the ladies to eat what was served... and told them how moist and tender the chicken appeared to be.  While one lady loudly complained about not getting chicken livers, she was cutting up - and eating - her chicken breast!  Another was saying, "I wonder when they are going to tell someone in the kitchen that you cook chicken in flour, not batter!"  There was definitely "high drama" in the dining hall at the ALF today!

Clearly, none of the ladies understands that there is a "Daily Special" at lunch and dinner, and unless they specifically order from the "a la carte" menu - also called the "Sugarloaf Café," this is what they get!  I tried to explain, but I got nowhere in short order, so I stopped.  I suggested that tonight, they all ask for chicken livers tomorrow, and they could have them for lunch, and Mam-ma harrumphed and said, "Well... maybe!"  And Mam-ma has told me more than once about the ladies complaining at the table... "that's not what I ordered," and that she "just eats whatever they bring me."  Well, I'm here to report firsthand that all four of the ladies at this table were unhappy - and they were all quite vocal about it!  I'm sure that Mam-ma would have been even more vocal, had I not been sitting there.  I finally rose to leave, and Ms. Ruth said, "Do come back again soon... I'm sure we'll be mouthing about something!"

Honestly, if this is the biggest thing these ladies have to get upset over, we're talking pretty small potatoes.  The food at this facility is delicious.  I have eaten there more than once, and I could have gladly cleaned one of these plates today.  This was not one of my better visits with my grandmother, but I reminded myself as I left that 1) she was in great health and moving around well physically, 2) she was reasonably clear mentally, and from all appearances, everything else was going well there, and 3) I must remember to "live in her world" when I am there and then leave it at the ALF. 

The "three-ring chicken liver circus" I witnessed today could be viewed as sad and petty... but to me it was funny.  It gave these four ladies something to rev their motors over, and in the end, nobody went hungry.  The dessert cart contained big slices of white cake with chocolate icing... so if they didn't eat anything else, they had a tasty dessert.  And from what I witnessed, all four of them were eating the chicken they said they did not order.  Maybe it's time for us to give them the old "there are starving children in Africa" spiel they used to give us!  Somehow, I don't believe it would work any better in reverse!

Since I don't have many graphics to accompany this post, I thought I'd include a fun photo of Timothy.  The end of June, he moved to Texas with his mom and baby sister, and we are missing him madly!  Hopefully he will return for an extended visit soon... meanwhile, we're talking on the phone and I'm looking at lots and lots of pictures!

Where's the Beans?

Einstein said the definition of insanity was repeating the same thing again and again... and expecting different results.  Maybe that explains why we have told my grandmother more than once that everything is gone from her house - sold/shared/donated -  and the house itself is under contract to be sold... yet she continues to ask where certain things are.  This is the same person who said as we packed the things to take to the Assisted Living Facility... "Just stick a match to the rest of it!"

So one afternoon last week, Mam-ma left a message on our answering machine... "It's Mam-ma... I was a wonderin' what y'all did with the stuff in the drawer of that cabinet out on the back porch."  Click.  That was it.  I called her back, but she was out of her apartment, so I left my own message.  "I am not sure what you are wanting from the drawer, but everything is gone.  There is nothing left in your house, and it should be sold in the next couple of weeks."

That evening, Mam-ma called again.  "Well," she said, "I was a lookin' for them bean seeds that were out in that drawer.  What did y'all do with 'em?"  I told her I had no clue... they did not come home with me. Now, I vaguely remembered my mom's husband, Lee, coming into the kitchen with an envelope or jar of beans and asking me about them... and I'm pretty sure I told him that there was no telling how old they were - and to toss them!  Mam-ma continued.  "Well, who got the things in the freezer?"  "We divvied them up amongst us," I told her. 

"Well, there was another jar of bean seed in the freezer.  I've called my friends Leon and Wanda - they give me that seed, but they don't have any more.  Their daughter Lesa drove to Clinton last week and got some for them... but I'm not a goin' to Clinton."  Her voice trailed off pitifully.  I told her I was not going to Clinton, either.  Clinton is a 45 minute drive across the lake from our community.  I told Mam-ma I was sorry, but the bean seed was gone... like everything else.  "Remember," I told her, "you picked out everything you wanted to take and keep, and we dispersed the rest.  I didn't know you would want bean seed." 

It turns out that the maintenance man at the ALF is helping Mam-ma and some of the residents make a garden... and Mam-ma apparently at least thinks she is "large and in charge."  She told "that girl" (I think she means the administrator), that they needed to plant pole beans, and this person said if she had some seed, James (the maintenance man) would plant them.  So Mam-ma was on a mission to find some bean seeds.  And apparently the ones she got from Leon were akin to gold.

When I related this story to my mom, she said, "I know what she is talking about.  Leon brought her an envelope of bean seed one Sunday, and he handed them to her at Sunday-school, and she quickly locked them inside her purse like they were gold coins!"  Of course, we found several jars and envelopes of seeds - some marked, some not - and we had no clue what some of them were - or how old they were - or even if they would grow anything.  So I am sure many packets were tossed in the garbage - not out of malice, but because we had no idea what else to do with them.

So the following day, my mother e-mailed me and said she had related this story to her husband, Lee, over lunch.  Lee stopped eating and said, "I have some seeds... if I can remember where I put them.  I'm not sure whether they came from Polly's or my brother's."  Lee's brother died a month ago in California, and he and my mom spent the previous month parked in his driveway in their RV... helping with the care of Lee's brother and the subsequent cleaning of his house when he passed.

Mom said she went to walk her dog, and when she returned, Lee had found the seed and was on his way to Southridge to give them to Mam-ma Polly.  Mom said, "I saw the envelopes on the kitchen table - and they were labeled in what was clearly Mam-ma's handwriting.  And I recognized one envelope as the one that Leon had given her at church that Sunday - it said "rattlesnake beans."  I remembered then... Lee had come into the kitchen and asked me about "rattlesnake beans!"  I told him I'd never heard of them... no telling how old they were or where Mam-ma got them... and to just toss them.  He told Mom... "I don't always listen well!"

So now Lee is the "Golden Boy" who saved the bean seed.  However, he will also be the one Mam-ma asks, "Whatever happened to such-and-such?"  Surely if he saved the bean seed, he must have saved other things!

As a footnote to this saga... yesterday, I went to an estate auction. As I was leaving, I saw Leon and Wanda approaching... and as I neared my car, I saw their daughter, Lesa.  I said, "Oh, I have a funny story to tell you!"  I began relating about the bean seed, and she said, "Yes, I know... I've got to dig through the freezer this afternoon and see if I can find another packet of seed for Polly."  I stopped her... "Oh...no, no, no!  You don't need to do that... Lee had saved the seed, and he's already delivered it!"  Lesa was thrilled.  And I was so happy at the Divine Intervention that caused us to meet, because I rarely see my childhood friend.  It had to be a "God thing!"

So we laughed about our parents/grandparents and caring for them, wiped our brows with relief that all is well with the prized bean seeds, and went our separate ways.  I told Lesa, I pity the people at Southridge who are planting that garden, because they will never "garden" to suit my grandmother.  If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know how she is about plants, flowers, and gardening.  James handles Mam-ma pretty well... he's already somewhat "gotten her number".  But when it comes to gardening, things are on a whole other level.  I hope he doesn't "rurn" it... but more than that, I hope Mam-ma doesn't cuss at him!  It may be a long, hot summer!

Could Move-in Day Be In Sight?

The Assisted Living Facility told me on Wednesday that she would contact the DHS caseworker again today if she had not been contacted with a move-in date.  Could today be "the day" that we find out when we can move?  I certainly hope so!

Last night when I phoned Mam-ma about her evening meds, she told me she had worked all day on an old table cloth made by a cousin.  Mam-ma found some crochet thread in her sewing room that matched this cloth, and she thought she would crochet a lace border on it.  In order to do this, she has to punch holes in the hem of the table cloth to insert her crochet hook.  The fabric is very tightly woven, and she was having trouble punching holes.  I asked, "How big is your needle?"  Her reply... "I'm using an ice pick!"

I told her to put the pick and table cloth aside, and I will look at it when I am there next (today).  She said, "Well, I've made myself sick over this."  Then she began to cry.  "Have you heard anything from Southridge?"  I didn't want to get her hopes up, but I couldn't lie... "Yes, the nurse has filed her papers for you, and now it's back in the hands of DHS.  We are supposed to hear something from them about what is happening by Friday."  She said, "Well... I told Ruby that if something doesn't happen in the next few days, I don't think I can make it!"

I gave her a pep talk... told her we're too close to moving... don't quit on me now!  She said it was very hard... she just worries and stews and thinks about it all the time.  My mom asked me last night, "What does she have to do except eat her meals, take her medicine, go about her day and go to bed at night?"  I reminded Mom that anyone in her situation would be anxious.  You have no idea what day is your last in your own home, and you are ready, but nervous, and the anticipation and thoughts and questions from friends and family all just piles up and creates stress.  Mom said she had not thought about it that way.  There is really nothing I can do to keep my grandmother from stressing over this... and little I can do to keep her safe from things like ice picks and faulty wireless doorbell ringers!

Meanwhile, we have not seen our little nephew, Timothy, in a few weeks.  He's been sick with a bad cold, and we've been busy with my grandmother's move.  I saw him briefly at a graveside funeral service for a great-aunt last week.  I snuggled him close inside my coat on a very windy, cold morning, and he fell asleep against my chest as I bounced him while the pastor read scripture and delivered a eulogy.  We are missing him like crazy, and very brief telephone chats that include "Hi!", some jibberish, and "Bye!" are simply not enough!  Once we get this move completed, I plan to have several days with this little guy where we can play and read and dance to "Jack's Big Music Show" and have some FUN!

So I am praying that TODAY we receive a move-in date... that by Monday we are moving some furniture, hanging curtains, and such... and that sometime next week we are driving my Mam-ma Polly to her new abode and settling her in the apartment.  My husband still cautiously reminds me it could be another week or two... but I'm only looking ahead a few days... and praying hard!

45 Days...

"Nothing happens before 45 days."  This was the comment I was given more than once on Monday by the DHS caseworker who will sign off on my grandmother's admission to the Assisted Living Facility (ALF).  She added quickly... "It won't be 45 days until 2-16."  Today is 2-16. 

I phoned the caseworker on Monday to make sure that there was nothing else we needed to do on our end to expedite this approval.  She would not give me a chance to ask my question directly, but when I told her that my grandmother has decided that she has done something to create a holdup, the woman said, "NO! That's not it... we're just behind and working as fast as we can."  There were other excuses, but the bottom line is, we are still waiting, and I am sure that there is something "magical" about 45 days.  I guess if you work faster than that timeline, people might come to expect quick service.

Meanwhile, Valentine's Day has come and gone.  I mailed my grandmother a Valentine.  On Valentine's Day, I took her homemade stew, and I refilled her medicine compartments.  She was busy doing laundry and setting out lunch for herself and her friend Ruby.  A neighbor had brought beef stew, and Mam-ma was adding some food from her Meals on Wheels lunch to it and, basically, feeding both of them with "loaves and fishes."  I told Mam-ma that I was on my way to straighten my booth at a local antique store, and I left.

That evening, my sister called, and Mam-ma told her, "You are the only one who has called me today to wish me a Happy Valentine's Day."  I told my sister I had been there, and she said, "Yes... she told me you brought stew and fixed her medicine, but she said that you were too busy trying to get to the antique store to see about your stuff to sit down and visit with her."  Oh, and my mom called on Valentine's Day - and she mailed Mam-ma a Valentine - from California!  I have to admit... most days, I'm a little irritated by such comments, but I forget about them fairly quickly.  But in light of the amount of time and energy I have expended with my grandmother in the last six weeks, this remark really stung.  As many in my boat know, it truly never will be enough with her.

Mam-ma continues to be "down" with me when we talk on the phone... she is growing increasingly impatient about this move.  And when she knows it is time for me to call, I get a very whiny voice as she musters enough breath to say, "Hello?"  However, if I call unexpectedly at another time of day... I get a very strong, energetic voice... or even a "Good Morning," if she thinks the caller is my mom! 

Last night Mam-ma phoned about 9:00 and said, very strongly, "I cannot get my front door to lock."  I tried to talk her through it, but she said the door would not lock.  I suggested she lock her storm door and the extra safety latch on her main door... she had done both, but "I like for my door to be locked."  I agreed, but I told her I felt she would be fine for one night.  She said, "Well, I want Greg to come look at it tomorrow."  I told her I was not sure what my husband had planned, but someone would try to come and see about it.  I am going... she will not be happy - in her mind, I know nothing about "man stuff" and will not be able to rectify this situation. 

Monday, I also took Mam-ma another 6-pack of Cokes, and she said, "Well, what I really need is cookies!"  I told her I would bring some next time I came.  As I left, she said, "And I need bread."  I told her I was not going to the store (probably what prompted her irritation about my supposedly brief visit), and I asked if she was completely out of bread.  She was not.  I added it to her grocery list for beauty shop day.

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I did go to see about the door. When I arrived, Mam-ma grinned and said, "Well... what are YOU doing out today?"  I told her, "You said your door won't lock, so I came to see about it."  "Well, that's right," she said, "It won't lock - but do you think YOU can fix it?"  "I'm certainly going to try," I told her.  The door locks fine... you just have to push on it to make it latch properly.  This did NOT go over well.  For one thing, Mam-ma did not believe I could actually fix it, and she was less than pleased to learn it was not broken! 

We also had quite a conversation about a doorbell that kept ringing.  I would get up and look to see who was at the door - no one.  Finally Mam-ma showed me a wireless contraption plugged into an electrical receptacle that made a doorbell noise every time you walked across the floor just so.  Mam-ma had tucked a folded envelope between this device and the wall to steady it in the receptacle.  I told her that this arrangement had to go... that it was a fire hazard.  She screamed at me, "No it's not!"  "Yes, it IS," I replied.  She insisted it was fine, and finally I said, "Okay, Mam-ma...whatever... just leave it then.  It's totally up to you."  A few minutes later, when the bell rang again, she said, "I guess I'll take that paper out."

After several frustrating minutes and conversations that went nowhere, I left, feeling like I had caused more trouble by even stopping by to try and see about the door.  I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, and before going inside, I said a little prayer.  I asked myself, "What advice would you give someone in a similar situation?"  My answer was that this is not me... it's her.  I am doing the best I can, and I just have to hang on and get through this.  I felt better, and once inside, I met an old friend and had a good conversation, and my mood was immediately elevated.  Thank you, God, for continually blessing me!

Late this afternoon, the administrator at Southridge called.  She has the care plan from the Medicaid nurse.  She had already e-mailed the DHS case worker and was submitting a form requesting a move-in date.  She asked, "When would you like for Ms. Polly to move in?"  I replied, "Honey, as soon as possible!"  Then I told her that we could be ready as early as tomorrow.  She said, "Okay, I'll give the case worker a move-in date of somewhere within the next few days.  If she doesn't respond by Friday, I will call her." She said she would phone me when she knew the move-in date for certain.  I hung up, elated, but not ready to tell Mam-ma until we know a date.

A few minutes later, Mam-ma phoned - "We're having company!" she announced.  It seems that cousins from Oklahoma are passing through on Friday and plan to take my grandmother out to dinner.  She said, "So I've made their bed!"  (This is the bed we are taking to Southridge for her. I had entertained the thought of moving it and getting things in place ahead of her physical move.)  "Are you sure they are spending the night?" I asked.  "Well, I've made their bed!"  she answered.  "Yes, but are you sure they are spending the night, or did you do that in anticipation?"  "Well... anticipation, I guess... but they are staying all weekend."  "Really?  All weekend?"  "Well... maybe they are going home Saturday... I really don't know."  Neither do I... and if we get THE CALL to move, they may have her house to themselves! 

We may just have a little light at the end of this tunnel.  Time will tell... and I'm still praying!