I suppose one could survive on cheese and crackers and fruit. They are all food products with some nourishment. They are capable of filling up your stomach and quelling hunger pains. But the thought of my elderly parents having to eat cheese and crackers and fruit every day horrifies and frightens me.
In my past career, I traveled frequently but since becoming a teacher, my travel is limited to one trip per year and, maybe, a weekend or a night away occasionally. Before departing for an adventure with my nephew this summer, I cleaned out the refrigerator and restocked it with various beverages, snacks, and pre-made meals (which were mostly leftovers from larger meals I made the previous week). Recently I returned from that five-day trip, only to discover that the pre-made meals were still in the freezer and that my parents had consumed mostly fruit and cheese while I was away.
While this may seem a trivial worry to many, it is merely one of many concerns that rotate through my brain on a daily basis. What if I am not there? What won't happen? Will they eat? Will they clean up after themselves? Will anyone visit?
It has been said that to worry is to focus on the negative and that too much time worrying detracts from productivity and enjoyment. So, I try to enjoy the moment. However, in the back of my head, I am still wondering what happens when they are out of cheese?
Friday, July 21, 2017
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Gratefulness: Our Silver Lining
Last week, she took two baths, just hours apart. This morning, she brushed her teeth, applied her face cream, combed her hair and put everything away before she brushed her teeth, applied her face cream and combed her hair a second time. She did it all back to back and had no recollection that she had done it the first time through.
My mom and her Alzheimer's walked hand in hand into a new stage of life. While I am certain it isn't, in the least bit, the scariest stuff we will see. It is still frightening. Some days, I sit back and watch as she stumbles through repetitions because it is upsetting to her if I draw attention to it. Other days, when time is not on our side, I have to tell her, "you already did that mom" and redirect her to her next task.
There are days when my redirection makes her angry. She snaps at me. I know her frustration is really with her brain and not with me but it stings. It is usually those same days when she is least like "my" mom. And I miss my mom.
I miss conversations about life and sharing my day or an experience with her. I even miss her telling me what to do as if I am still a teenager. "You know, Michele, you really need to wipe down that tile in the shower when you get out of there." "Did you lock that front door? What about the back door? Is it locked." "Get your dog out of that living room and off the couch. She is going to tear it up." She was a total nag.
Gratefulness offers a silver lining on our dark days. Mom thanks me all the time and says I love you every day. Often, she stops what she is doing, no matter what it is, and says, "You are such a good person, Michele." I will cherish that forever.
My mom and her Alzheimer's walked hand in hand into a new stage of life. While I am certain it isn't, in the least bit, the scariest stuff we will see. It is still frightening. Some days, I sit back and watch as she stumbles through repetitions because it is upsetting to her if I draw attention to it. Other days, when time is not on our side, I have to tell her, "you already did that mom" and redirect her to her next task.
There are days when my redirection makes her angry. She snaps at me. I know her frustration is really with her brain and not with me but it stings. It is usually those same days when she is least like "my" mom. And I miss my mom.
I miss conversations about life and sharing my day or an experience with her. I even miss her telling me what to do as if I am still a teenager. "You know, Michele, you really need to wipe down that tile in the shower when you get out of there." "Did you lock that front door? What about the back door? Is it locked." "Get your dog out of that living room and off the couch. She is going to tear it up." She was a total nag.
Gratefulness offers a silver lining on our dark days. Mom thanks me all the time and says I love you every day. Often, she stops what she is doing, no matter what it is, and says, "You are such a good person, Michele." I will cherish that forever.
Monday, July 3, 2017
Compassion Training
When I was a little girl, my best friend and I would walk the neighborhood some days and visit all of the old people. The tiny, black-haired lady across the street, whom I fondly referred to as Aunt Thelma, made us toast with blackberry jam while we sat eagerly at her black and white and gray chrome dinette set, our feet dangling from the tall, cushiony chairs. We would chat with her while she drank her tea and after the toast was consumed and the tea was drank, we moved on to the next house.
Down the street a a little way lived the sweet widow, Mrs. Caudera, and her little poodle who yapped incessantly. My friend and I knocked on the heavy wooden front door and Mrs. Caudera and her pup greeted us excitedly and welcomed us inside where she would give us candy. Most of the time the candy dish was filled with pastel-colored, melt-in-your-mouth mints and we gladly gobbled them up before bidding farewell.
On to the Vlahopolous's house where there was applesauce awaiting us! The petite elderly Greek couple lived right next door to my parents. They were soft spoken but appreciative when we carried their mail in from the porch and plopped down on their couch in the living room. They always had some applesauce on hand to share.
Times were different back then. Parents didn't worry about sending their children outside to play because the village was helping to raise them. Neighbors really knew each other and took care of one another.
I wish we would return to times when, above all else, we cared about one another. My parents taught me to value time spent with others. Granted, when I was six and seven years old, I enjoyed the candy and the jam and the applesauce as much as the companionship of my elderly neighbors; however, that experience proved to be a training ground of compassion for my future.
Down the street a a little way lived the sweet widow, Mrs. Caudera, and her little poodle who yapped incessantly. My friend and I knocked on the heavy wooden front door and Mrs. Caudera and her pup greeted us excitedly and welcomed us inside where she would give us candy. Most of the time the candy dish was filled with pastel-colored, melt-in-your-mouth mints and we gladly gobbled them up before bidding farewell.
On to the Vlahopolous's house where there was applesauce awaiting us! The petite elderly Greek couple lived right next door to my parents. They were soft spoken but appreciative when we carried their mail in from the porch and plopped down on their couch in the living room. They always had some applesauce on hand to share.
Times were different back then. Parents didn't worry about sending their children outside to play because the village was helping to raise them. Neighbors really knew each other and took care of one another.
I wish we would return to times when, above all else, we cared about one another. My parents taught me to value time spent with others. Granted, when I was six and seven years old, I enjoyed the candy and the jam and the applesauce as much as the companionship of my elderly neighbors; however, that experience proved to be a training ground of compassion for my future.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)