Friday, January 25, 2013
Emotional Cane
It's been a while. Almost 2 years. Nothing much has changed except independence and the road that seems far away from home is actually becoming closer then we all realize.
I recently had knee surgery which put me down for about a month. No work. No driving. No distractions. I called my grandfather about everyday. Essentially to talk about what he ate, answer his questions about when I'm done with school, and how I'm recovering. Tried to keep monitor or his well being and his senility.
We shared similarities and connections for a brief period in time that will create a lasting lifelong memory. Well... As long as I'm able to hold onto it. Life. And. My memory.
As I sat there telling him about my new pink cane and my mobility issues, he would interject randomly with: "I think about you all the time, I worry about you and often pray for you".
When he says that my chest tightens. My throat gets a little lumpy, and my voice cracks. I realized... It's a feeling, an actual physical response to feeling an emotion. A mixed emotion that includes pain, sorrow, gratitude, fear and...love. All at once.
Regardless of what age does to us...what it can steal from us... What it can give us...Your physical response is there. I grip my pink cane sometimes in a response to turning corners with fear, and lack of balance. Re-learning how to walk and finding your muscles are a struggle after surgery. I realized as I'm finding my will, my strength, and keeping my dignity...My grandfather is slowly loosing his, and it's not coming back.
My grandfather facing dementia, slowly loosing memories, independence, and sadly some of his pride...Hasn't lost his heart.
Age creates change and can act like a thief in the night. Sometimes criminal. But you can manage to keep your heart the same all the way through it. My grandfather taught me that.
Life.
It's precious.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Grandpa's Fourth of July 2011
A Fourth of July would not be complete without a story about WWII or Stalin’s reign of terror. It also is never complete without a stain on the table cloth or me spilling something greasy on myself. I hadn’t seen my grandfather or my parents since Father’s Day. Ironically enough it was a pleasant family dinner today and complete with stains. I ate too many rolls, and chased the family cat around but other than that it really felt like family, a feeling I’ve been wanting for several holidays come and gone.
Often times I’m frustrated with my Grandfather, but not with him, just with the memory loss. There are times that I want to recall memories with him and talk about them, engage myself in something meaningful with him to hold on to… He simply doesn’t remember anymore.
His own frustration is starting to show, and of course there is an excuse for it. “I bought batteries the other day and spent $15.00 on them.” I then ask, “Well what did you buy batteries for?” Struggling to recall the reason he bought them, with the purchase being last week, he could not, and then indicates that there are a lot of things you put batteries in. I draw a blank stare and pretend the moment never happened.
My family was thrown off for years by the hidden health condition of my Grandmother; her state was often masked by the showmanship of her ability to “MC” a good party. Only to find out later sometime in 2004 in an emergency room that she had about a week to live. There is no hiding the fact that my Grandfather (in what the medical world refers to this) is failing.
However in the rarest of circumstances he reappears again. His dialog clear and direct and…meaningful with emotion attached.
He opened up conversation this time with a loose and faded memory of recurring dreams of my Grandmother. I too have them often, but my father doesn’t apparently. So she’s quite connected to us both and in our dreams. This was finally a story I was interested in, my Grandmother. Not WWII, not a knock-knock joke from the recent Reader’s Digest; but family.
I jumped at the opportunity, and asked him what they were about, and he said, “Oh…..She’s just always giving me directions, telling me where to go, or we would be on a vacation together and she’s giving me instructions”. I grinned, and wanted to contribute further, however my Father quickly diverted the attention to the passing of mashed potatoes and gravy other than focus on my Grandmother. Then the conversation stopped.
I guess I’m the only one that wants the memory. Just like my Grandfather struggling to hold on to memories, some are gone, simple tasks are difficult, but my Grandmother has never left.
The dreams of direction hopefully will give him a path. God willing I know I need some direction myself.
Have a Happy Independence Day, eat mashed potatoes, stain your clothes, and make a memory to hold onto. They’re important.
Often times I’m frustrated with my Grandfather, but not with him, just with the memory loss. There are times that I want to recall memories with him and talk about them, engage myself in something meaningful with him to hold on to… He simply doesn’t remember anymore.
His own frustration is starting to show, and of course there is an excuse for it. “I bought batteries the other day and spent $15.00 on them.” I then ask, “Well what did you buy batteries for?” Struggling to recall the reason he bought them, with the purchase being last week, he could not, and then indicates that there are a lot of things you put batteries in. I draw a blank stare and pretend the moment never happened.
My family was thrown off for years by the hidden health condition of my Grandmother; her state was often masked by the showmanship of her ability to “MC” a good party. Only to find out later sometime in 2004 in an emergency room that she had about a week to live. There is no hiding the fact that my Grandfather (in what the medical world refers to this) is failing.
However in the rarest of circumstances he reappears again. His dialog clear and direct and…meaningful with emotion attached.
He opened up conversation this time with a loose and faded memory of recurring dreams of my Grandmother. I too have them often, but my father doesn’t apparently. So she’s quite connected to us both and in our dreams. This was finally a story I was interested in, my Grandmother. Not WWII, not a knock-knock joke from the recent Reader’s Digest; but family.
I jumped at the opportunity, and asked him what they were about, and he said, “Oh…..She’s just always giving me directions, telling me where to go, or we would be on a vacation together and she’s giving me instructions”. I grinned, and wanted to contribute further, however my Father quickly diverted the attention to the passing of mashed potatoes and gravy other than focus on my Grandmother. Then the conversation stopped.
I guess I’m the only one that wants the memory. Just like my Grandfather struggling to hold on to memories, some are gone, simple tasks are difficult, but my Grandmother has never left.
The dreams of direction hopefully will give him a path. God willing I know I need some direction myself.
Have a Happy Independence Day, eat mashed potatoes, stain your clothes, and make a memory to hold onto. They’re important.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Tiny Branches
I hate thunderstorms, they scare me. The loud noise, the uncertainty, the uncontrollable elements…It’s horrible for my OCD. (Yeah we all have it………).
This time however…despite my angst, I was glued to my porch door watching a young thin tree wave back and forth, and within those tiny branches remained a bird’s nest. Four birds, barely two weeks old, nestled together to survive this unpredictable storm going through Scotch Pine. As I stood watching the clouds move in turbulent motion, the winds picked up and big ole’ fat rain down poured which then became Hoosier hail - my hillbilly porch furniture flew against my rickety fence, and well…then my flower pot broke – but I had already killed the plant anyways…
Once the Indiana weather subsided and the earth stood still long enough for me to open my porch door without getting a flying piece of thistle in my eye; sure enough those birds the next morning were sound asleep waiting for their daily worm intake. Far beyond my expectations as Kathryn Hicks checked into: “prepare for the worst state” to see four carcasses on new laid mulch. But….Astonishingly enough…despite my cynicism and faithlessness that I had despite my tiny silent prayer (as I felt embarrassed for praying for birds) for the fate of these four little birds that seemed to have added a bit of joy to my life recently… They survived and are still thriving.
As I hear of loved ones struggling, divorce, loss of their own loved ones, kids suffering torture in other countries…and even that of my own “problems”… My faith was dwindling recently.
God’s presence is here. He may come as a bird, and sometimes he may come as bird poop. But my faith was restored that morning.
I could leave you with “Don’t wait for the storm to pass, dance in the rain” …. But I’m not that cheesy and I’m sure you have enough Target word-sayings hanging over your toilet anyways; and besides you bet your Hanes Her Way that I’m definitely waiting on that storm to pass! I’m not about to go get myself struck by lightening, you never know what message I may need next!
Love and Be loved, but better, love yourself.
This time however…despite my angst, I was glued to my porch door watching a young thin tree wave back and forth, and within those tiny branches remained a bird’s nest. Four birds, barely two weeks old, nestled together to survive this unpredictable storm going through Scotch Pine. As I stood watching the clouds move in turbulent motion, the winds picked up and big ole’ fat rain down poured which then became Hoosier hail - my hillbilly porch furniture flew against my rickety fence, and well…then my flower pot broke – but I had already killed the plant anyways…
Once the Indiana weather subsided and the earth stood still long enough for me to open my porch door without getting a flying piece of thistle in my eye; sure enough those birds the next morning were sound asleep waiting for their daily worm intake. Far beyond my expectations as Kathryn Hicks checked into: “prepare for the worst state” to see four carcasses on new laid mulch. But….Astonishingly enough…despite my cynicism and faithlessness that I had despite my tiny silent prayer (as I felt embarrassed for praying for birds) for the fate of these four little birds that seemed to have added a bit of joy to my life recently… They survived and are still thriving.
As I hear of loved ones struggling, divorce, loss of their own loved ones, kids suffering torture in other countries…and even that of my own “problems”… My faith was dwindling recently.
God’s presence is here. He may come as a bird, and sometimes he may come as bird poop. But my faith was restored that morning.
I could leave you with “Don’t wait for the storm to pass, dance in the rain” …. But I’m not that cheesy and I’m sure you have enough Target word-sayings hanging over your toilet anyways; and besides you bet your Hanes Her Way that I’m definitely waiting on that storm to pass! I’m not about to go get myself struck by lightening, you never know what message I may need next!
Love and Be loved, but better, love yourself.
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Face of Fathers Day
This blog wouldn’t complete without one dedicated to Fathers Day, so I had to contribute.
What is the face of Fathers Day? For me it’s not a camping trip, or fishing, or working on a barn together with hardware tools catching up on work talk. It’s not changing the oil of a car together while mom is inside baking cookies. Or an annual baseball game with beers afterwards.
The face of Fathers Day for me comes with two men, two generations, and two hearts larger than a football field. The face of Fathers Day carries with it two examples as to who the ideal man is and should be in my life.
This Fathers Day, Sunday won’t be with the sacred Jim Dandy brotherhood, but another tradition…Kentucky Fried Chicken, extra crispy, professional bowling on television, and the routine questions on how long I have in school.
But one thing I can not deny, is this is at least the face of Fathers Day for me is one that has also made my heart larger than that of any football field.
Enjoy your Fathers Day.
What is the face of Fathers Day? For me it’s not a camping trip, or fishing, or working on a barn together with hardware tools catching up on work talk. It’s not changing the oil of a car together while mom is inside baking cookies. Or an annual baseball game with beers afterwards.
The face of Fathers Day for me comes with two men, two generations, and two hearts larger than a football field. The face of Fathers Day carries with it two examples as to who the ideal man is and should be in my life.
This Fathers Day, Sunday won’t be with the sacred Jim Dandy brotherhood, but another tradition…Kentucky Fried Chicken, extra crispy, professional bowling on television, and the routine questions on how long I have in school.
But one thing I can not deny, is this is at least the face of Fathers Day for me is one that has also made my heart larger than that of any football field.
Enjoy your Fathers Day.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Jim Dandy Brotherhood United
Another birthday passes. My grandfather turned 93 years old a few weeks ago. Also for his birthday he moved out back into his independent residence, without assistance or meals being received. Too stubborn for help, he ignores the new clothes, the towels, or any assistance passed down from my father, mother, or myself. The Jim Dandy brotherhood of soggy eggs and toast continues to be the answer for this family.
The attraction of the attention from the twenty something waitress updating him on her new born baby and husband that farms the corn fields for a pay check intrigues my grandfather. So much that he remembers the last conversation he had with the waitress, but he can’t remember where I work or what I do for a living. Just the question, of “When will you be done with school,” meaning he still thinks I’m doing an Undergraduate degree at times. Warm fuzzies.
Being away from that familiarity and ‘comfort’ that he receives from the friendly place of the Jim Dandy brotherhood, but absent from comfort is my presence, as apparently I don’t bring much warmth with my attendance. Going to a small tawdry dwelling full of memories and familiar people who would remind you of the meals we all had while waiting for my Grandmother to recover from pneumonia; would carry a painful association. (As this ended in her eventful death at the age of 85, that meal definitely was the last time I ordered the Jim Dandy salad bar).
These memories and associations are apparently absent for my grandfather. I often wondered if it had to do with more of the memories he shared with my grandmother who passed in 2005 (after 60 years of marriage) or if it was purely the atmosphere that he desired. I suspect he does not get the same sense of presence that I get when I walk in that dusty slop bucket.
The feeling of loneliness is according to my Grandfather was more apparent in a room full of people who shared the same farming kinship rather than the independence and empty nest in his own home and local restaurant that he eats three times a day for the specials.
The familiar and comfort outfit that is chosen is typically the Double Denim with his free Farmer’s Bureau baseball cap tethered with soil, complete with matching tethered Velcro shoes. This is the Saturday outfit mind you, Sundays are of a different collaboration, and I have yet to see his weekly business choices. Perhaps next year on Christmas break when I’m off through the week and will come for visits (and fridge purging).
Next year. That has become a vulnerable point with me recently. I am nearly to the degree of skipping out on holidays and birthdays at this point with the Gramps for fear that I won’t have any excuses left for future gatherings. If I miss it, perhaps I can instill a guarantee that I’ll have ‘next time’.
Next time. The time that does come around eventually and is seldom tardy. Next time leads into next Saturday, which eventually leads to next month, and unfortunately with life happening it can turn into next year. Will I have next year? Will I have next time, or…next Saturday? I never know anymore.
These questions flow through my mind every.single.time I am with him.
I learned recently from a close friend in my life, that he also endures similar family guilt, while trying to balance his own life, and assert himself chasing after a career at the age of 27. He handles it quite calmly with little to know emotional breakdowns, unlike me who cried on the living floor after my internet technician failed to show up after a week of customer service calls. It wasn’t the internet failing. It wasn’t the frustration with the Direct TV service failing after having two other service providers in the same month in a new house unfamiliar, away from my parents. It was the basically the last straw.
In transition back to my Grandfather, who handles his grief, life, and fate all day by day striving to maintain to control over his future…Aren’t we all? Are we all the same trying to gain control over our future, trying to balance life like the 27 year old?
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I’m living life on a tight rope, and about to fall.
The attraction of the attention from the twenty something waitress updating him on her new born baby and husband that farms the corn fields for a pay check intrigues my grandfather. So much that he remembers the last conversation he had with the waitress, but he can’t remember where I work or what I do for a living. Just the question, of “When will you be done with school,” meaning he still thinks I’m doing an Undergraduate degree at times. Warm fuzzies.
Being away from that familiarity and ‘comfort’ that he receives from the friendly place of the Jim Dandy brotherhood, but absent from comfort is my presence, as apparently I don’t bring much warmth with my attendance. Going to a small tawdry dwelling full of memories and familiar people who would remind you of the meals we all had while waiting for my Grandmother to recover from pneumonia; would carry a painful association. (As this ended in her eventful death at the age of 85, that meal definitely was the last time I ordered the Jim Dandy salad bar).
These memories and associations are apparently absent for my grandfather. I often wondered if it had to do with more of the memories he shared with my grandmother who passed in 2005 (after 60 years of marriage) or if it was purely the atmosphere that he desired. I suspect he does not get the same sense of presence that I get when I walk in that dusty slop bucket.
The feeling of loneliness is according to my Grandfather was more apparent in a room full of people who shared the same farming kinship rather than the independence and empty nest in his own home and local restaurant that he eats three times a day for the specials.
The familiar and comfort outfit that is chosen is typically the Double Denim with his free Farmer’s Bureau baseball cap tethered with soil, complete with matching tethered Velcro shoes. This is the Saturday outfit mind you, Sundays are of a different collaboration, and I have yet to see his weekly business choices. Perhaps next year on Christmas break when I’m off through the week and will come for visits (and fridge purging).
Next year. That has become a vulnerable point with me recently. I am nearly to the degree of skipping out on holidays and birthdays at this point with the Gramps for fear that I won’t have any excuses left for future gatherings. If I miss it, perhaps I can instill a guarantee that I’ll have ‘next time’.
Next time. The time that does come around eventually and is seldom tardy. Next time leads into next Saturday, which eventually leads to next month, and unfortunately with life happening it can turn into next year. Will I have next year? Will I have next time, or…next Saturday? I never know anymore.
These questions flow through my mind every.single.time I am with him.
I learned recently from a close friend in my life, that he also endures similar family guilt, while trying to balance his own life, and assert himself chasing after a career at the age of 27. He handles it quite calmly with little to know emotional breakdowns, unlike me who cried on the living floor after my internet technician failed to show up after a week of customer service calls. It wasn’t the internet failing. It wasn’t the frustration with the Direct TV service failing after having two other service providers in the same month in a new house unfamiliar, away from my parents. It was the basically the last straw.
In transition back to my Grandfather, who handles his grief, life, and fate all day by day striving to maintain to control over his future…Aren’t we all? Are we all the same trying to gain control over our future, trying to balance life like the 27 year old?
I’m not sure what the answer is, but I’m living life on a tight rope, and about to fall.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Ham and Beans, Beans...Ham...Ham...Beans....
After a few missed Saturday visits due to some other events that were taking my attention, such as moving, weather, appliances breaking down, immediate family members falling down gathering injuries…Grandpa took a second seat to my attention unfortunately.
In an effort to redeem my lack of attention these past few weeks, and to re-de-compartmentalize my stress; I’ve committed to making more phone calls in an effort to facilitate what I needed to do a long time ago, be there and acknowledge.
It is too easy to get caught up in your own life, become so self-absorbed with your own problems that you neglect those around you that are really in need of acknowledgement and deserve your attention.
You forget during those times that life is not always about YOU. You forget that your life may not be so stressful had you not had the successes that led to those “problems”. You forget who simply wants to say hi.
In the midst of it all, you forget those that are sitting in their recliner, away from their own routines and familiarity of everyday life, and that you are part of that reason why they’re unfamiliar right now. You are part of why they’re waiting on a phone call from you. You forget to…acknowledge and be…there.
Family. I’ve been an only child all my life obviously, so I have a tendency to bond with close friends and absorb into their own family life. Sometimes however I forget that I have one lone family member out there that sees me as his pride and joy of a grand-daughter. He may not always show it or communicate it, but I’ve learned to accept his forms of acknowledgement.
A simple phone call made today that didn’t last more than 20 minutes appeared to be all it took, funny how that is all we ever need sometimes. Acknowledgement. Is it so hard? Twenty minutes typically is the length as that is all that the attention span allows for, however it did bring responsibility, an apology, and recognition to someone for whom I’ve put second for a while. Which was selfish.
I absorbed a few complaints of course, where have you been, I haven’t seen you, etc…Then it transcended into the menu options served at the assisted living center he just moved into, which I advocated strongly after the first few falls and hospital visits. “They keep serving food with fancy names like…Fettuccini, when I just want bean soup, or beans and ham, or chili, beans...” he says. (Ham…Beans…Soup…ahhhhh) The Jim Dandy brotherhood did NOT come in handy this time, as of course nothing compares to the ‘attentive’ waitresses that make over my 93 year old grandfather raving over how independent he is for his age.
A few minutes later however, sitting on the other end of the phone line, happy to have power in this winter storm, I say, well Grandpa, “Have you considered making a suggestion?” He says, “Well yeah, and the one day I leave for another monthly meeting, they serve ham and beans!” Disgruntled he appears, however laughing at the thought of the simple miscalculation on the day that the menu called for ham and beans. Well this conversation quickly ended as you couldn’t really expand much on the art of beans and ham, however, it was left with a tear that I can say.
As he concludes his rant on the delicacy of the product made from a pig combined with a cheap legume, he says, “Katy…I think about you all the time, I just can’t help but know that you have such a long road ahead.” Choked up I respond, Grandpa…”I think of you all the time myself and I need to stop thinking so much and just pick up the phone and dial.”
Today, with a lump in my throat, and tear down my cheek, I’m forever grateful that I have more time, to dial, to hear, and have someone alive and answering on the other end. Take time, make the call, and acknowledge.
In an effort to redeem my lack of attention these past few weeks, and to re-de-compartmentalize my stress; I’ve committed to making more phone calls in an effort to facilitate what I needed to do a long time ago, be there and acknowledge.
It is too easy to get caught up in your own life, become so self-absorbed with your own problems that you neglect those around you that are really in need of acknowledgement and deserve your attention.
You forget during those times that life is not always about YOU. You forget that your life may not be so stressful had you not had the successes that led to those “problems”. You forget who simply wants to say hi.
In the midst of it all, you forget those that are sitting in their recliner, away from their own routines and familiarity of everyday life, and that you are part of that reason why they’re unfamiliar right now. You are part of why they’re waiting on a phone call from you. You forget to…acknowledge and be…there.
Family. I’ve been an only child all my life obviously, so I have a tendency to bond with close friends and absorb into their own family life. Sometimes however I forget that I have one lone family member out there that sees me as his pride and joy of a grand-daughter. He may not always show it or communicate it, but I’ve learned to accept his forms of acknowledgement.
A simple phone call made today that didn’t last more than 20 minutes appeared to be all it took, funny how that is all we ever need sometimes. Acknowledgement. Is it so hard? Twenty minutes typically is the length as that is all that the attention span allows for, however it did bring responsibility, an apology, and recognition to someone for whom I’ve put second for a while. Which was selfish.
I absorbed a few complaints of course, where have you been, I haven’t seen you, etc…Then it transcended into the menu options served at the assisted living center he just moved into, which I advocated strongly after the first few falls and hospital visits. “They keep serving food with fancy names like…Fettuccini, when I just want bean soup, or beans and ham, or chili, beans...” he says. (Ham…Beans…Soup…ahhhhh) The Jim Dandy brotherhood did NOT come in handy this time, as of course nothing compares to the ‘attentive’ waitresses that make over my 93 year old grandfather raving over how independent he is for his age.
A few minutes later however, sitting on the other end of the phone line, happy to have power in this winter storm, I say, well Grandpa, “Have you considered making a suggestion?” He says, “Well yeah, and the one day I leave for another monthly meeting, they serve ham and beans!” Disgruntled he appears, however laughing at the thought of the simple miscalculation on the day that the menu called for ham and beans. Well this conversation quickly ended as you couldn’t really expand much on the art of beans and ham, however, it was left with a tear that I can say.
As he concludes his rant on the delicacy of the product made from a pig combined with a cheap legume, he says, “Katy…I think about you all the time, I just can’t help but know that you have such a long road ahead.” Choked up I respond, Grandpa…”I think of you all the time myself and I need to stop thinking so much and just pick up the phone and dial.”
Today, with a lump in my throat, and tear down my cheek, I’m forever grateful that I have more time, to dial, to hear, and have someone alive and answering on the other end. Take time, make the call, and acknowledge.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tornados and Light
This started out with the journey of how my Grandfather is adjusting to living a life with assistance, the adaptation of changes, losing control, and accepting the inevitable mortality that will come.
It is uncanny the parallels that you find within family. Accepting eventual fate seems to be an uncomfortable stage for us all. The stages of the aging process and even the toll that it takes on everyone involved also come with aggravation and angst. Negotiation and lobbying skills become effectively used more and more while trying to shape the hearts and minds of those you feel the responsibility to protect.
The line of protection that was once so obvious becomes slim and undefined as time passes leaving you with only a trail of bread crumbs that keep diverting you off the correct path. Eventually your own role within your family can eventually serve multiple purposes to several family members stretching you so thin that you just can’t quite seem to know where the light is at the end of this familial ‘tunnel’.
When my life becomes a bit torrent with stress, I tend to have recurrent dreams of tornados. Several tornados in various colors all mixing together to create one fast moving turbulent and destructive black cloud destroying anything that I run towards. It typically moves over a large body water that stirring up roaring waves that crash against windows.
In every eye of every storm there is an eventual calm that arises. Let’s just hope this calm comes before anything else is destroyed.
It is uncanny the parallels that you find within family. Accepting eventual fate seems to be an uncomfortable stage for us all. The stages of the aging process and even the toll that it takes on everyone involved also come with aggravation and angst. Negotiation and lobbying skills become effectively used more and more while trying to shape the hearts and minds of those you feel the responsibility to protect.
The line of protection that was once so obvious becomes slim and undefined as time passes leaving you with only a trail of bread crumbs that keep diverting you off the correct path. Eventually your own role within your family can eventually serve multiple purposes to several family members stretching you so thin that you just can’t quite seem to know where the light is at the end of this familial ‘tunnel’.
When my life becomes a bit torrent with stress, I tend to have recurrent dreams of tornados. Several tornados in various colors all mixing together to create one fast moving turbulent and destructive black cloud destroying anything that I run towards. It typically moves over a large body water that stirring up roaring waves that crash against windows.
In every eye of every storm there is an eventual calm that arises. Let’s just hope this calm comes before anything else is destroyed.
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