~Dear God~

Dear God,

Thank you for another year of life. You've given me so many blessings, starting with two sweet parents. Dad is already there in heaven with you....but you have given me another birthday with my mom here on earth. Thank you for that.

I know I often start my days with asking you to take her home to heaven to be with you, because of her condition...but hospice has made me see that that that is not my choice....but yours....and it will be in your own good time. And certainly, and selfishly, on days like today, I'm glad she's still here on earth. So, today, I'm taking her a cake and baby roses to celebrate my birthday with her...and to let her know how much I appreciate that she and my dad decided to bring me into this world. Thank you, sweet Lord.

Your humble daughter,

Carol

~Farewell, Fawnie...Til We Meet Again~

Dear Dad, Take good care of my puppies. You now have both of them with you in heaven. Fawnie was so sick. I know that now, he is running through the green fields, ears flying in the wind, with Coconut.

Remember when Tommy saved his birthday money to buy him?? He loved that puppy. sigh.

We are taking time to mourn his loss. He was such good company to me this last year without Coconut. He was always right by my side while I worked. He hated the 'pounding' when I hammered the silver jewelry, though! Maybe Jim will come home from work one nite and meet a new puppy. We'll see!

Katie came yesterday and spent the afternoon with me. It helped a lot. She's a smart cookie for a little Amish girl!!!

For now, I will spend more time with Mom, and take some time to do some traveling. It's the first time in 36 years that I'm not responsible for anyone else: first the boys, then the dogs, then you and mom, then just mom, then one dog....now? I don't like this feeling.

Mom's alzheimer's is still the same: she knows who we are, feeds herself with a little help, can't walk or stand, and still only speaks an occasional word or two. But I know you already know that.
Aunt Grace is there with her, too. She's not doing well, either. They eat all their meals together. It's heartwarming to watch. Who knew they'd both end up there together!

I bet you're golfing everyday. And still rooting for the Browns, and as you used to say, "How 'bout them Indians?"!!!

I miss you horribly, Dad.

xoxoxoxoxox To Heaven and Back~

Your Loving Daughter~xoxoxoxox

~Monday Blessings~

Mom started eating again after refusing food for 3 days last week.

Aunt Fran came through her 1st week of chemo (lymphoma of the brain) with flying colors.

Jim's LOVING his new job. It's the blessing of his career!!!

Tom and Amy's wedding plans are coming together beautifully. They're happily redecorating their new home.

All the kids will be in town this coming weekend to celebrate my birthday.

Fawnie has adjusted to being the only puppy, and is LOVING all the attention.

36 inches of Snow!!

A brand new month~

I'm well and back in the studio again.

Life is good.

What are YOUR Monday Blessings?

Dear Mom......

Thanksgiving has come and gone. You couldn't join us this year. You said it was "too hard". We missed you. I know this is all so hard for you. It breaks my heart. You can't walk anymore. Your legs are too weak to hold you up. But your brain doesn't remember that, so you keep trying. And keep falling.

The kids were here all weekend. I'm so glad they all came to see you. Ella's eyes light up when she sees you. You got to see Jackie's pregnant belly....and looked at Amy's sparkly engagement ring again. I know it was all overwhelming for you, but I'm happy we were all there with you. I will remember it for a long time.

You have no short-term memory now. Only very long-term. And only sometimes. I am so thankful you still know who I am. And I believe you know Ella and Jackson, too. At least I think you do.

My shows are finally done for the year. I'll have lots more time to visit now. Remember how you used to help me with them, Mom? Remember that cold Ohio Mart that we wore long-underwear and mittens it was so bitter out? Long-ago memories.

Hospice has come in to help now, Mom. I know you don't understand exactly what is happening. I'm not sure I do, either. I just know that they are angels. All of them. They give you lots of extra attention; bought you a new, padded wheelchair, and a new, lower-to-the-ground hospital bed. They brought special padding to put next to it so that when you fall, it's not as hard.

I know you can't understand any of this. It's just not fair.

Just know that you have a family who loves you dearly, Mom. And we are here for you. Always.

With Love,

Carol

Related posts: Black Abyss
My Mother's Smile

~Balancing Act, Part I~

Anyone who has their own business knows how difficult it is to balance work and home life. Add that to having your office/studio at home....and the balancing act becomes even more challenging. The 'drive' and discipline needed for the business to become successful is daunting. THEN add in an 89-year-old mother with alzheimer's and you have a balancing act that just simply doesn't 'balance' at all. In fact....it falls with loud thuds on a daily basis, although I continously struggle to keep everything in its place. It has me in tears and/or laughter most everyday. It's the only way I can keep any sort of sanity.

Mom's declining in the WORST possible way: she's rapidly losing her mind. There. I've said it. It's horrific to watch. I cannot imagine the terror of what it must be to like living in her body right now, and no matter how I try to understand what it is like there in her brain....looking out on a world that no longer makes any sense to her....I cannot imagine it.

She started a whole new phase in June: leaving. Yes...complete with her 'necessities' of life all tied up in a pillow case....neatly tied at the top with a sock. I can imagine that to her, this was her only way 'out' of the hell she is in. And so....the staff found her several yards from the assisted living facility, almost to the woods at the edge of the property having fallen on her knees. This poor, frail, pain-ridden woman who can hardly walk. Escaped. Frightening. When asked where she was going, her only reply was, "I don't know".

And so, the assisted living facility required that we provide paid, evening 'sitters'....to keep her safe. Yup....my job to make sure the hours were covered. And when there was no one to 'hire'.....it is me and/or my husband. Another 'job' to add to the already way-too-long list. Another emotionally draining task. Another step with mom as her disease worsens.

This week we will move her to a room in the alzheimer's area of the facility. A 'locked' area for people, like mom, that are 'flight risks'. Relieving....but sad and scary for mom, who I am sure will become panicked and angry at yet another part of her life she will be unable to understand. Another 'terror' for her to endure. Although we will set up her room (an exact replica, space-wise) as her present one, can you imagine the nightmare of wheeling yourself out of your room, as you've always known it, into a totally 'different' hallway? It brings me to tears whenever I think about it.

I thank God every day that we found Mom such a wonderful facility as this one. We tried caring for her here for a long time. It was a nightmare-beyond-belief. And so, for now, this is the only way to try to balance this part of my life.

Part II, Wednesday.

~Dancing On Ice~

Mom had been doing so well....until last week. Wednesday nite I received a phone call from her. She was all out of breath. She was looking for her mother. Frantically. To say good-nite to her. My grandmother died 32 years ago. I had to tell her that. Her reply: "Stop it, Carol! WHERE is she? Is she with you?".

And the dance begins again. That dreaded two-step. The one where you're no longer on the familiar dance floor. You're on ice. Cracked ice. In bare feet. Cold. Uncomfortable. Uncharted territory that is becoming way too familiar.

I was able to settle her down that nite. For about 5 minutes, after which time she said to me in her best, 'motherly' voice, "Carol....I have to get off the phone now and go find Mom. I need to say good-nite to her". sigh. I had failed.

Friday nite I got a call from the head nurse. Mom was frantic. Even after been given a Xanax. "Carol....I'm still at work. Everyone's gone. I missed the bus. I have no money. What am I going to do?".

Nothing calmed her. She wanted to go "home". I packed a very ill husband into the pre-heated car, and headed to her assisted living facility. She was finally calm....but insisted on my taking her "home". After a long while of trying to get her to remember we had sold her house 3 years ago ("I KNOW that Carol"), I couldn't get her to tell me where she meant when she said, "home". She didn't want to come to my house....she wanted to go 'home'.

Can you imagine the terror you would feel, when no one around you understood what you wanted? The heartbreak of feeling that even your own daughter didn't understand....didn't meet your needs?

This continued through the weekend. There were many moments when I questioned whether she meant 'home' to heaven. I don't think so. But then again, maybe that's what she wants. To go 'home' and away from this hell.

For right now, we are all there with her. Trying to help her navigate the ice. Depressing? Yes. Heartbreaking? Yeah. But it's her life right now. And mine. I thank God each day when I walk into my studio, turn on the lights, and create. Escape. Live. It drives me into a world that is safe. And free of pain. At least for a little while. Until the phone rings again.

~Never Lose Your Little Girl Heart~

My mother bought me a framed calligraphy saying several years ago, from one of my artist friends, that says, "Never Lose Your Little Girl Heart". It sits on a shelf in the family room with some other treasures. Whenever I read it, I smile.

I am no longer that little girl. But she thinks I am. What she sees when she looks at me is “that little girl”. And how can she not? She’s my Mom.

She remembers long curly hair. Black patent leather shoes for Sundays. Easter hats and purses. Little white gloves. She remembers boo-boos, band-aids and skinned knees. She remembers first days of school. And Brownie meetings. She remembers first boyfriends. First dates. A beautiful wedding gown purchased with her sewing money. She remembers seeing me pregnant. And two precious baby boys. She remembers. Those long-ago things.

What she no longer remembers is that now, I really am grown up. She can’t tell you what she ate for breakfast. Or that her own mother is no longer alive. She no longer remembers the everyday little things. Like what season this is. Much of the time, she lives in the past.

But like any mother….she still worries. I can walk into her room, on any given day, and she can read me as clearly as if my brain were totally transparent. Even when I try to hide things from her. But there are no more band-aids and kisses to make everything better.

She can still give the best hugs. And she does. More often now than ever before.

So whenever I enter her room at the assisted living facility that is now her home, I can pretend that I AM that little girl with the long curls and the patent leather shoes that she remembers. I can fall into her arms and feel the security and the unconditional love that only my mother can give. And I smile.

This won a Post of the Day Award at David's Authorblog. Thank you, David. I am very honored.

~Dancing With Mom~

Life was always a dance with her. A quick-step in the beginning of my life. She was always there. Standing firmly. Teaching me to take my first steps. She was there on my first day of kindergarten. Standing firmly. Waiting for me to come home. Always there.

Life became a fox-trot with the arrival of my two siblings. She was busier. The dance moved more quickly. There were carrots to peel, clothes to iron, pies to bake. She did it all. Always. She created a secure, happy childhood for her three children. Dancing quickly. Standing firmly.

She taught the three of us to dance quickly, too. Jitter-bugging our way through life. All three of us. Excelling. Striving for the best. Dancing faster and faster. Twirling and swirling our way with her watching us. Always. Ready to pick us up if we stumbled and fell. We faithfully followed her lead.

The dance took on a new rhythm when my brother, Dan, died. I didn’t think she’d ever dance again. And three months later, Dad passed away. Would any of us ever dance again? We did. The dance took on a meloncholy rhythm. A slow, sad two-step. Through broken bones. Surgeries. Chronic pain. Sometimes the dancing came to a halt. But it always began again. To much slower music.

Now with alzheimer’s riddling Mom’s body, the only way she can dance, is holding on to someone else. She barely hears the music anymore. You have to be very still to hear it. But it’s there.

So, I dance with her. Slowly. To a gentle, soft waltz. Swaying to the music. Lovingly. Still faithfully following her lead. Because, for now, it is as fast as she can dance. I am there for her. Standing firmly. Just like she was for me. Always.

This post won the Post Of the Day award at David's Authorblog.