1. Feeling a little out of it today. As was the case with my mom, the intense part of my grief process was delayed. It's been about a little over a month and now the wave has really hit me. Crying into my pillow at night, the whole bit. I know I need to pick up the phone and call Hospice grief support but at the same time I know I need to just let myself feel it. I think the last five years are finally catching up with me. It seems that once I caught my breath over what happened to my mom, my dad's downward spiral started before I had a chance to look up. The unfairness of it all---the unfairness to my dad, my mom, my kids and myself makes me feel so unbelievably furious. And just sad. And utterly helpless.
2. Work is a killer right now; my boss is in the middle of a much-needed vacation and as usual, I have even more respect for what she does everyday now that she's gone.
3. Hopefully this weekend I'll get over myself and enjoy our neighborhood yard sale. The kids are jacked up about selling off some of their stuff to make some cash. I told them not to get too excited about the amount, because this is stuff that we were going to donate so anything we make will be a bonus. Olivia was rambling about buying a Barbie Dream House with her proceeds so I had to give her a little dose of reality. Sheesh.
4. We just had the floors in our downstairs den/play area redone and whoo boy, what a difference. We bit the bullet and went with hardwoods and I'm so glad we did. It warms the room and brightens it at the same time; makes coming home that much nicer.
5. Last night I made my Aunt Sybil's chicken casserole and we had my mother-in-law over. She loved it and of course I ate until I was miserable. That casserole just tastes like home to me---it made me miss my sweet aunts, uncles and cousins even more.
6. I'm torn between enjoying this "Indian Summer" and being so ready for fall I can't stand it.
7. More updates, long overdue photos from the summer and hopefully MUCH less whining will be coming soon.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Letting Go, and Goodwill
Two weeks ago today I was blissfully savoring the last precious hours of our family beach vacation. My dad had finally been stable for several weeks, eating well (all puree, but still) and taking in adequate fluids.
Then, the next day, we got a nervous call from Jimmy, and then the Hospice nurse, who told us that she felt my dad was "transitioning."
We came home, and he was gone within two days.
I'm thankful to Hospice, who ensured his passing was peaceful, and of course to Jimmy and Jonas, who ensured his last months were lived with dignity.
We headed home to Beaufort County and a lovely service performed by my cousin. I got to meet so many of Daddy's high school classmates, co-workers and friends who came to pay their respects. The kids held up pretty well, but breaking the news to them that first morning was beyond difficult.
Silly me, I thought we had somewhat prepared them, considering how sick Dad was, but kids don't really know to brace themselves for something like this. So they sobbed, and we held them and told them how much he loved them, and that now he could be with Granny and not be sick anymore.
That night when they were saying their prayers, Nate said he hoped Grandpa could find a friend in Heaven who would show him around, since he was new there. Olivia said, "Grandpa, I hope you and Granny can continue your romance in Heaven."
I couldn't help myself.
"Uh, romance?" I asked her. "What made you say that, Honey?"
"Well, they're MARRIED, Mama!" she said.
Oh. Ok.
I didn't tell her how funny that was, because to most people the word "romance" is not what they think of when they think of my sometimes-stern, dry-witted Dad.
I returned to work last Tuesday but the past several days have still felt kind of surreal. Our neighbors and friends have been so good to us, bringing dinners and other treats. My sainted mother-in-law not only drove to Beaufort County with us but she and Beth pitched in Friday and took the kids off our hands--Nate and Ethan with Grandma and Olivia at Emma's. Mark and I seized the opportunity to go catch a movie (Winter's Bone) and have a cocktail or two.
Meanwhile, I've also been hopelessly indulging the kids, along with everyone else. I guess I'm just so glad they're here.
Anyway, they were along for the ride this morning when I dropped some things of Dad's at Goodwill, and they begged to go inside the store. Usually I say no, but that word seems to be escaping me these days so in we went. Fifteen minutes later we were the proud owners of a $1.00 plastic animal hospital toy, which they scurried upstairs to play with as soon as we got home.
I checked with Jimmy a moment ago to see how he was doing; he said he was OK, helping his aunt fix some things around the house today. It feels weird not to text him umpteen times a day to check my dad's status. At least we know he's agreed to be part of our lives, whether he likes it or not. :)
Tomorrow's Monday. Sigh. Baby steps.
Then, the next day, we got a nervous call from Jimmy, and then the Hospice nurse, who told us that she felt my dad was "transitioning."
We came home, and he was gone within two days.
I'm thankful to Hospice, who ensured his passing was peaceful, and of course to Jimmy and Jonas, who ensured his last months were lived with dignity.
We headed home to Beaufort County and a lovely service performed by my cousin. I got to meet so many of Daddy's high school classmates, co-workers and friends who came to pay their respects. The kids held up pretty well, but breaking the news to them that first morning was beyond difficult.
Silly me, I thought we had somewhat prepared them, considering how sick Dad was, but kids don't really know to brace themselves for something like this. So they sobbed, and we held them and told them how much he loved them, and that now he could be with Granny and not be sick anymore.
That night when they were saying their prayers, Nate said he hoped Grandpa could find a friend in Heaven who would show him around, since he was new there. Olivia said, "Grandpa, I hope you and Granny can continue your romance in Heaven."
I couldn't help myself.
"Uh, romance?" I asked her. "What made you say that, Honey?"
"Well, they're MARRIED, Mama!" she said.
Oh. Ok.
I didn't tell her how funny that was, because to most people the word "romance" is not what they think of when they think of my sometimes-stern, dry-witted Dad.
I returned to work last Tuesday but the past several days have still felt kind of surreal. Our neighbors and friends have been so good to us, bringing dinners and other treats. My sainted mother-in-law not only drove to Beaufort County with us but she and Beth pitched in Friday and took the kids off our hands--Nate and Ethan with Grandma and Olivia at Emma's. Mark and I seized the opportunity to go catch a movie (Winter's Bone) and have a cocktail or two.
Meanwhile, I've also been hopelessly indulging the kids, along with everyone else. I guess I'm just so glad they're here.
Anyway, they were along for the ride this morning when I dropped some things of Dad's at Goodwill, and they begged to go inside the store. Usually I say no, but that word seems to be escaping me these days so in we went. Fifteen minutes later we were the proud owners of a $1.00 plastic animal hospital toy, which they scurried upstairs to play with as soon as we got home.
I checked with Jimmy a moment ago to see how he was doing; he said he was OK, helping his aunt fix some things around the house today. It feels weird not to text him umpteen times a day to check my dad's status. At least we know he's agreed to be part of our lives, whether he likes it or not. :)
Tomorrow's Monday. Sigh. Baby steps.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Embarrassment of Olivia, Part One of Many
Today marked the second time this summer I've practically burst into tears at a kid's movie.
Toy Story 3? The little montage that shows Andy growing up dragging his beloved Cowboy Woody everywhere through the years? Couldn't handle it. I sobbed so loudly at one point that when the kids looked at me I tried to act like a piece of popcorn went the wrong way and started coughing and sputtering.
It didn't end there, folks. Today I took Olivia and her friend Elizabeth to see Beezus and Ramona.
A little background: Like most kids of the '70's and '80's, I grew up with Beverly Clearly (and also a little Judy Blume, but THOSE were hidden under the bed).
The Ramona series was laugh-at-loud funny but also interwoven with some hard life lessons that were written earnestly but magically just short of totally bumming out the kid reader.
One of my favorites was "Ramona and Her Father" in which Ramona's dad is forced to spend more time at home after losing his job. Ramona and her sister Beezus forge a deeper bond with their dad, but they're also keenly aware that he'd rather be working. They also try to get him to stop smoking by hanging "No Smoking" signs all over the house, which is something I tried with my own dad. It worked in the book. At my house, not so much.
The movie threw in a few scenes from nearly all the books, and I absolutely adored it. The film opened with showing the school bus letting off Ramona and Howie, at their stop on Klickitat Street, and I nearly lost it. I couldn't help welling up. For me, Ramona came at a time when I was coming into my own as a reader, finding a character I could identify with, laugh at and love. It was also a time when my mother's arms were tanned, smooth and capable, my dad was the strongest guy in the world and nothing could ever, ever happen to them.
This time when I choked out a little sob, I heard this very subtle, "Mom" emitting from my daughter. I looked over and her eyes were wide with horror. "Sorry, Honey," I muttered, and sucked it up. Because, experiencing Beverly Cleary's written words as a kid and then getting to watch it unfold in film with your OWN little girl- --well, that's a very, very good thing indeed.
Toy Story 3? The little montage that shows Andy growing up dragging his beloved Cowboy Woody everywhere through the years? Couldn't handle it. I sobbed so loudly at one point that when the kids looked at me I tried to act like a piece of popcorn went the wrong way and started coughing and sputtering.
It didn't end there, folks. Today I took Olivia and her friend Elizabeth to see Beezus and Ramona.
A little background: Like most kids of the '70's and '80's, I grew up with Beverly Clearly (and also a little Judy Blume, but THOSE were hidden under the bed).
The Ramona series was laugh-at-loud funny but also interwoven with some hard life lessons that were written earnestly but magically just short of totally bumming out the kid reader.
One of my favorites was "Ramona and Her Father" in which Ramona's dad is forced to spend more time at home after losing his job. Ramona and her sister Beezus forge a deeper bond with their dad, but they're also keenly aware that he'd rather be working. They also try to get him to stop smoking by hanging "No Smoking" signs all over the house, which is something I tried with my own dad. It worked in the book. At my house, not so much.
The movie threw in a few scenes from nearly all the books, and I absolutely adored it. The film opened with showing the school bus letting off Ramona and Howie, at their stop on Klickitat Street, and I nearly lost it. I couldn't help welling up. For me, Ramona came at a time when I was coming into my own as a reader, finding a character I could identify with, laugh at and love. It was also a time when my mother's arms were tanned, smooth and capable, my dad was the strongest guy in the world and nothing could ever, ever happen to them.
This time when I choked out a little sob, I heard this very subtle, "Mom" emitting from my daughter. I looked over and her eyes were wide with horror. "Sorry, Honey," I muttered, and sucked it up. Because, experiencing Beverly Cleary's written words as a kid and then getting to watch it unfold in film with your OWN little girl- --well, that's a very, very good thing indeed.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Seven Things for Nate
1. On July 1,2010 you turned seven!
2. And have I mentioned. . .on July 1, 2003 you finally emerged after being taken by force. You were eight days late. I forgive you.
3. Your party is this weekend, nine days after your actual birthday, because no one is ever in town the weekend of your actual birthday. You just HAD to be born the week of the fourth, huh?
4. Breakfast is your favorite, so your sister came up with the idea of surprising you with chocolate chip waffles and fruit kabobs on July 1. The same chick who calls you annoying 99 times a day also planned that dadgum breakfast for DAYS. Go figure.
5. You enjoy your corn cut off the cob these days, as you're a little front-tooth challenged.
6. You love Pinetown every bit as much as Charlotte.
7. We love you all the way to Pinetown a bazillion times and back.
2. And have I mentioned. . .on July 1, 2003 you finally emerged after being taken by force. You were eight days late. I forgive you.
3. Your party is this weekend, nine days after your actual birthday, because no one is ever in town the weekend of your actual birthday. You just HAD to be born the week of the fourth, huh?
4. Breakfast is your favorite, so your sister came up with the idea of surprising you with chocolate chip waffles and fruit kabobs on July 1. The same chick who calls you annoying 99 times a day also planned that dadgum breakfast for DAYS. Go figure.
5. You enjoy your corn cut off the cob these days, as you're a little front-tooth challenged.
6. You love Pinetown every bit as much as Charlotte.
7. We love you all the way to Pinetown a bazillion times and back.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
So, a great morning that started with M opening gifts from us and having a big waffle breakfast. Church was pretty wonderful too; Olivia got to show off her mad acolyte skillz last week and this week she gave Emma a little tutorial and she had her turn. Very sweet.
The afternoon, however, was a little. . .mixed. The kids and I went over to see my dad to give him a card and some homemade cupcakes. I also have a photo collage in the works to put by his bed but it wasn't ready yet. So we went over and he was dressed nicely as usual, thanks to Danny, the newest of our three caregivers.
But, here's the thing. Due to the Parkinson's, or the Alzheimer's, or whatever evil I can blame this thing on, my dad is losing his ability to speak. He can gurgle the occasional word or two, but mostly he just stares. He tries to smile when he sees the kids, and he reaches out for them---they still snuggle up to him, God bless their hearts. I love them so much it hurts sometimes, I swear.
I often think how this must be so scary for them, seeing someone they remember as being so strong and capable turn into someone they barely recognize.
Or maybe, it's just scary for me.
Because these two children that I live with, the same ones who can drive me straight up a wall, the same ones who I nearly offered up for sale yesterday at the Farmer's Market when they whined for a drink two seconds after we were out of the car---they're not afraid. To them, he's just Grandpa, and he's sick but he's still kissable and huggable and worthy of all their Sunday School artwork.
The fact that I may never hear my dads voice again---and God, right now I'd even settle for him on his grumpiest days, days when he was telling us all to go to hell---this makes me want to scream. But seeing these two munchkins climb on their grandpa like the old days, makes me think I can hold it in another day.
The afternoon, however, was a little. . .mixed. The kids and I went over to see my dad to give him a card and some homemade cupcakes. I also have a photo collage in the works to put by his bed but it wasn't ready yet. So we went over and he was dressed nicely as usual, thanks to Danny, the newest of our three caregivers.
But, here's the thing. Due to the Parkinson's, or the Alzheimer's, or whatever evil I can blame this thing on, my dad is losing his ability to speak. He can gurgle the occasional word or two, but mostly he just stares. He tries to smile when he sees the kids, and he reaches out for them---they still snuggle up to him, God bless their hearts. I love them so much it hurts sometimes, I swear.
I often think how this must be so scary for them, seeing someone they remember as being so strong and capable turn into someone they barely recognize.
Or maybe, it's just scary for me.
Because these two children that I live with, the same ones who can drive me straight up a wall, the same ones who I nearly offered up for sale yesterday at the Farmer's Market when they whined for a drink two seconds after we were out of the car---they're not afraid. To them, he's just Grandpa, and he's sick but he's still kissable and huggable and worthy of all their Sunday School artwork.
The fact that I may never hear my dads voice again---and God, right now I'd even settle for him on his grumpiest days, days when he was telling us all to go to hell---this makes me want to scream. But seeing these two munchkins climb on their grandpa like the old days, makes me think I can hold it in another day.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Leaving This Place
Last October I visited my dad's house, the house I grew up in, to say goodbye. I've come across these photos in my camera dozens of times since then, but I haven't really felt like sitting down to pore over them just yet. It's still a tender spot.
I could be all dramatic and say that our family farm was one more sacrifice to the gaping jaws of Alzheimer's, you know, if I was into that sort of thing. If I was into saying that sort of thing, it would be true.
I hated doing this. Selling the house and surrounding farmland was necessary in order to ensure my dad has quality care for the rest of his life. More specifically, to ensure that we have Jimmy, and at least two others like him, for the rest of Daddy's life.
I know, I know. At least we had something to sell. At least we had a family member, also a farmer, willing to make a fair offer right away. At least I'll still get to go back and visit family, and drive by and show the kids the woods that I played in, and the backyard that they themselves also ran wild in until dark, gathering fireflies in jars. I wonder if they'll remember.
Here's what I used to envision: The kids would one day learn to drive a tractor, tutored by my dad. They'd also learn how to steer a fishing boat, and set flounder nets in the Pamlico Sound. I never really learned how to do those things; doing stuff in the kitchen with my mom was more fun. But they would have loved it. I know it.
But here's the kicker: they'll still get a chance. Even though I was an only child, my parents, mercifully, were not. I'm the grateful kin of many aunts, uncles and cousins who would be happy to show Liv and Nate all the wonders of country and river life as they grow older. They have so much to look forward to, and I can't wait to witness it all.
Here's a few pictures I snapped during that weekend in October.
My dad's workshop, the site of many family gatherings and holiday oyster roasts
The view from behind the shop
I love being home at harvest time.
During the Alzheimer's charity walk with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Sybil
Pop-up Baby Rhynn.
Feasting on Parker's Barbecue on our way home to Charlotte.
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