family

On Alzheimer’s and feeling lost

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We had plans to go to dinner with our neighbors from Canada who were leaving the next morning. She called me on the way to her Moms Carehome after work and asked if I would please go over and give them her apologies, that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

She was driving her route when she got the first two calls and couldn’t return them. After work, she returned the third call. One of the aides picked up. “Your Mom is not doing well, she is crying and asking why no one has been to see her and asking where her husband is?” He has been gone for almost a year and she hasn’t asked about him in just about that many months.

Her Mom has been in the facility over a year and she has settled reasonably well. But now, this.

The panic, the caregiver’s stress, in a moment it all came flooding back. Of course it never really left. Her days continue to be divided by work, home and going to see her Mom to do those tasks that seem to fall through the cracks continually.

I needed to go there, I heard the desperation in her voice and I thought maybe seeing another familiar person would help jog her Mom back into the present. I had to try.

When I got there they were seated at the dining table. E. was relieved to see me and her Mom perked up and said, “There’s Lori, Curtis must have come with her.” I groaned inwardly, and E. scurried around helping her Mom and assisting others at the table. I sat by Bethany and Joyce as they were passing out Dixie cups of ice-cream and had one myself.

Finally we got her to go back to her room, where we found she had been squirreling away socks and two bottles of water in her purse, ready to hit the road. Then the round of questions started all over again.

Where is Curtis?……When are we going home?……How long have I been here?……..What happened to the car?….. How much does all this cost?…..What do I have to do at the house?

It was like she was reliving the events of the past year all over again, back to square one.

E. looked over at me helplessly when Joyce asked where Curtis was for the 10th time. I shrugged helplessly back and mouthed the words…..”I don’t know.”

It was a day later that I had a kind of small personal epiphany. Sometimes, honestly, I feel just as lost as she does. I think we all do. We like to think we have an element of control, but as I sat in that room I wanted to ask the same questions Joyce was asking.

What happened to the last year? Where am I? Why do I feel so ill-equipped at handling day-to-day living sometimes? What happened to the person I was 5, 10, 15 years ago?

Sometimes life just beats the tar out of you.

By the time we left, Elaine was wiped out. She felt like she had propelled her Mom safely back to shore, but it took everything she had.

If dealing with Alzheimer’s has taught me anything, it’s taught me empathy. In watching Joyce, I see a bit of my own desperation and the desperation of the human condition in general. In the mirror of her lostness, I see my own.

It has also taught me the necessity of living one day at a time and doing the best I can with what God has given me. There are days that are hard, when you feel a little bit crazy, but then the next day is better.

And as long as God is the One rowing me safely back to shore, I will be okay.

How to hope after the unthinkable happens

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I saw her as I strolled on the back-forty of my brothers yard a couple of weeks ago in the early morning light. A flash of orange, she (or he) landed first on the fence, then fluttered down to hop among the grass, probably looking for breakfast among the dew. A robin sighting is always hope for me. I snapped her several different times before Tyler managed to scare her away. I couldn’t blame him, his enthusiasm was infectious as he ran to and fro, nose to the ground, seeming to thank me with a glance and wag of his tail every now and then.

Sometimes we need to cling to signs of hope however small when news comes to rock our world. I believe God created birds with a special role, that of singing out hope even when ours has run dry.

I draw back a memory of a time when my world was painted black. The morning after the call came that pulled the curtain down on life as we all knew it, my Mom looked out to see a robin on the grass. He was her little thread of hope and she clung to it. She also remembers thinking that she couldn’t believe the birds were still singing. The audacity of it all. How could they?

The other day as I was praying in the car, a dove came to sit on the lip of my sunroof. He perched there looking at me for a moment, I think we both surprised one another…..then he flew off. I could tell you many more stories than this. Of other times God has sent birds.

Yesterday I got a call that something unthinkable had happened to a family member. From then on my day kind of went on pause mode. I hadn’t seen them in years but we all grew up together as kids. It’s a bond forged by memories and stories and for many years our lives intertwined and we were close. My heart breaks for them, but they’ve always been a strong family. Even now, their house is filled and they are surrounded on all sides with love. For that I am grateful.

There is nothing I could tell them right now that could take away the awful sorrow, and I wouldn’t even pretend to try. If I could I would hold them close and share their tears. I called and left a message on their phone and for the longest time the beep didn’t come to leave a message, so I started talking anyway.

I don’t even remember what I said, I just wanted them to know that they were in my heart. Later, I got a text message from him thanking me for thinking of them. Something he said in his message makes me wonder how it’s possible for someone to not know they are loved despite all the evidence surrounding them? How can we be assured that they know it, and that they love themselves enough to accept it?

And today, when I got up, the doves were cooing, and the birds were singing again, just as if they didn’t know what was going on. They can’t help it, they know the way out of sorrow is to keep singing no matter what, it’s what God created them to do. They know that there is something still worth singing about even if we don’t.

In my heart is a prayer that they will get through this even stronger and that once again hope will be theirs; that they will find a way out of the sorrow with the love they have for one another.

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How to remain soft (when the world gets too hard)

 

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In any given day we are exposed to hundreds of bits and pieces of information at rapid fire pace. Some of them are totally useless. This is why I listen to the news only enough to know what is going on in the world and no more.

We live in a world of sensationalism; of endless noise, where the biggest, saddest story gets the headlines. It’s the stories that hold the most tragedy, the most grief that are waived endlessly in front of our eyes all day long. I wonder what all this does to our psyches?

For the most part, there is little we can do about any of the events we hear about every day. Added on top of that, we have family, friends, jobs and responsibilities. Things and people who can’t wait.

We tend to filter it all out in order of importance, but some of the other stuff leaks in anyway. We have to let some things slide. In fact, it gets easier and easier to let more things slide. How do we deal with all these things we can do nothing about? It’s a question I have been asking myself.

While I was back home, there were two obituaries in the paper. A young girl and a young man who should have had everything to live for committed suicide. One of them jumped in front of a train and the other shot herself. And then hungry displaced Ukrainian children and the missing Malaysian flight with 239 people…..gone.

I wonder if we are all much more desensitized than we realize. I wonder if it’s all making me more desensitized to events in my own world than I realize? It scares me to think that.

In the world of long ago, many of us lived in small communities. We knew each other and each others families. When Sally fell into a well, or when Billy fell off the tractor, we all gathered together to help. When someone died, we all cried together, prayed together.

We dressed in black and went to the funeral, brought food to the family.

And slowly everyone healed. Grew closer together. We had a sense of resolution. It felt like some kind of closure.

But now I wonder. And it makes me think that what I do is even more important than ever. This getting alone with God in the mornings. As of late, I have been thinking that maybe it’s just something I do out of habit like reciting a memorized prayer by rote.

But even memorized prayers have words with meaning, words that God can fan into flame with His power just like He can ignite our hearts to love all over again.

I think of Jesus when He was on this earth. I think of how hard it must have been to see the heartache and know that He could have just waved His hand and taken it all away. But He didn’t. He healed hearts and people one at a time, just like He wants us to do now.

Jesus had the ability to display perfect empathy in every situation. One person at a time. And He had to get away for a while too, even though He was God. 

He got alone by the water, alone on the mountain. Who are we to think we don’t need to?

Yesterday the parking lot beckoned like an oasis. On break I went out to my quiet car because my brain just wouldn’t quit. I closed my eyes and remembered the sound of the waves.

I was worried about my Mom who was sick and my Dad whose body is failing him in many ways. And I felt my brother’s wounds and sorrow too. I heard my niece processing her fears of missing me “when Nori goes back to work,” and I heard my Mom’s voice as she wistfully said, “Mom’s and daughters shouldn’t be separated.” I agree Mom. I hear you, you’re right. I felt it all, along with the joy.

As I sat there with the sun warming my shoulders, I threw a line of prayer out every now and then, not feeling it much. With my eyes still closed, I startled when I heard the rustle of wings close, and the unmistakable squeak of a dove as she landed. Right on the lip of my sunroof.

She stood staring down at me, so close we were almost eye to eye. I thought she might just fly into the car, but she just looked at me for a moment and flew off. It was a visitation. One moment of a hundred others in the day that stood out. A God moment.

And heading home, welcome words from a text on my phone.

“I am not going to the gym, I made dinner.” Oh, how I needed those words. A peaceful and restful evening after steak and asparagus. Oh yes, I will go to the gym tomorrow.

But for right now, this is how I heal. This is how we all heal each other.

Because sometimes, even after vacations, you still need a little rest.

Something about a garden

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Now the LORD God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed……Genesis 2:8

There is something about a garden whether big or small, intricate or humble that infuses us with hope. Even the birds seem to know it. Yesterday after E. had restructured the watering system and dug up all the old dirt she sowed the seed that will produce fresh tomatoes and watermelon and fresh spinach and okra. Yes okra. This Yankee girl has fallen in love with the slimy vegetable that seems to be the red-headed stepchild of the vegetable world to hear others talk. I believe it’s all how you cook it. Douse it with a bit of flour and cornmeal and fry it up hot and summer comes to life.

After the bubblers were turned on and everything was in good working order, the dove promptly hopped down between the furrows and started drinking from the fresh drips. It was almost like a confirmation that yes, this is a very good thing.

Gardening in the desert is a particular challenge which makes the victory all that much sweeter when you start to see those shoots pushing up through the ground that you’ve so carefully cultivated. The artichoke plants on the side of the house are flourishing. As of yet, no artichokes…….but if last year is any indication there will be more than we can eat.

This morning I went out and opened up the umbrella and had my coffee at the table. I arranged the gnome in his corner of the garden where he will keep watch….with his surfboard. He has a long wait for waves here in the desert. But he still hopes. A bit of my Aunt Esther also rests there in the form of a garden angel, a duplicate which E. made of the one she always had in her garden, which she loved. When I look at that angel, I think of her coming in after picking tomatoes, sweat rolling down her face which was easily as red as the tomatoes themselves.

When you think about it, gardens are our heritage, handed down to us by God himself, the Master Gardener. Sitting by the garden I feel my roots, it’s a bit like coming home again.  I think about my Grandma and Grandpa who could grow anything……I wonder if they ever imagined me as they sowed those seeds. My Grandpa’s favorite hymn was “In the Garden.” I think of him strolling along in the early morning hours, He and Jesus. I like to think he prayed for me.  I can see him now, sitting in God’s own garden, surrounded by eternal light.

As I sit here in this place, I feel his prayers. The earth waits in anticipation, now all we need is time. Someday I’ll join him, but until then I will visualize him here in this little place. He, and everyone who has ever planted a seed in hope of a harvest.

A garden is the hope of salvation, a resting place and a promise of better things to come.

The Lord will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the Lord. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing. Isaiah 51:3

 

Been thinking about…..

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Lately I’ve been thinking about those who went to Africa and met so many orphans. Orphans to whom books, shoes, school, soccer balls are treasures. In many cases kids who had to become heads of households. And I use the term “households” loosely, since many have no homes.

I have been wondering how it would feel to have no one to belong to. Having to go from place to place begging for food, searching, hoping for kindness from strangers.

What did I do to deserve living here in this place, with all my relatives trailing behind me on both sides. I know who I am because of all the stories passed down from one to another. Someone decided it was important to remember, so records were kept. Somehow on the dusty prairie of North Dakota, pictures were taken…..and from that, a colorful quilt of heritage was woven warmly around me.

I can scarcely imagine what it took for my Great-great Grandpa Jakob to pack up his family and flee from Russia. I wonder what wonderful things he heard about America. He must have held that dream for a better life until he could hold it no longer and then they all set sail across the water. My Grandmother at six months old almost didn’t make it.

On my Dad’s side they hailed from England close to where Robinhood and his band of merry men hung out. I have seen pictures of Lincolnshire, its stunning. They must have had some motivation to leave and start a Blacksmith shop in America. It couldn’t have been easy.

All this to say that they had a choice. They had somewhere to flee to. Somewhere to go. And as a result, I have a place of belonging. I know who I am and where I come from, it’s humbling. Because others have been robbed of something they never knew they had.

If I had one thing to say to those precious little ones I would say this. Once upon a time you had a Mom and a Dad. And they had stories, talents, things that made them unique in all the world. You had Aunties and Uncles too and they all had gifts which they passed down to you, even though you may not have known them. I am so sorry you never knew them, that you never got to see that tapestry they might have woven into your life.

That you will never have the luxury of complaining about your family and how they drive you crazy.

But here’s the thing. You do have a family. A heritage, and its one with Royal blood lines. And you are part of it. You have a Father in Heaven who loves you even more than your real Mama and Daddy ever could have.

And in the meantime, I hope all the people here and now who are wrapping their arms around you will let a little hope leak through to let you know you are you are very much not alone. And that you can dreams and that maybe they can even come true.

“Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds……rejoice before him—his name is the Lord. A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing…….Psalm 68:4-6

Click here to see what some are doing to help give hope (and a place) to some very special kids today. See how you can also help!

Hot Chocolate and “Morrie”

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 But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 2 Corinthians 4:7-9

I awoke early this morning, my usual time……3:00 AM. Lately, that’s my hour. Most of the time I can go back to sleep, many times I just pray until I can. There was no sound, I was once again settled back in my own bed after spending some much-needed time with my family. My mind felt like a clenched fist, tight and unyielding. Refusing to let go and release the thoughts that were zooming around, bouncing off the sides and back of my head resulting in a dull ache.

I breathed the first lines of the 23rd Psalm. Life really begins and ends with this one line:

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want……..

A cup of hot chocolate sounded unbelievably good which surprised me. I am not a hot chocolate drinker, but I got up and made myself some. And it was just what I needed. I also opened “Tuesdays with Morrie,” which I had started before I left. It seems everyone in the world had read it except for me. It was the book that catapulted Mitch Albom to the top of the bestseller lists years ago and I heartily recommend it if you are one of the few like me who read all his other books except that one.

The chapter I read, Morrie was talking about family and what it means to have someone always watching out for you. He talked about people who stay, that family is not only about love, but about “letting others know there’s someone who is watching out for them.” Morrie knows the importance of this because he doesn’t have long to live. At the time of the interviews by his former student, Mitch Albom, he was dying of Lou Gehrig’s disease.

I was thinking about all this in light of my trip home.

How blessed we are if we have someone in our life who will not leave. Knowing for better or worse they have our back and our best interests at heart. To be willing to say even the hard words that need to be said. To be willing to be disliked, even, in the name of love. That’s what real love is. Speaking the truth in love even when it hurts you more to say it.

As we got in the car to leave for the airport yesterday, I gripped the hands of Mom and Dad to say a prayer and found that tears had taken all my words. The moments that twist you inside out are when your Mom says that she has loved you more in the last year than at any other time, and you didn’t even know that. Finally, I squeaked out….”Sometimes the best prayers are the ones without words.” We all nodded as we wiped tears.

And even though they want me more than anything to be there always, Dad says he’s glad that “I can go back to my life, away from this chaos.” He knows how I love order, structure. And he knows the value of having a good job. He respects me for that, even though it means I leave and can’t be there more to help.

Even though it’s their loss, they are happy for me.

It pierced my heart when he came out limping when I drove him to Flame Market on the corner to get gas. I thought, “Someone else should be doing this for him.” It’s hard when Superheroes show signs of mortality, when they can’t do the things they used to. When you know how hard it is but you know they are going to do it anyway.

As I laid the book down and drowsed off again, I prayed the same prayer I pray every New Year. That the Lord will hold them all in the Palm of His hand until I can go back again.

How blessed I am to come home to a freshly washed car and a clean house, the decorations just like they were when I left. It took my breath away all over again. It’s good to be there, but it’s good to be here.

Thank you Elaine for doing all you do.

Thank you God, for what you will do in the coming year. Every New Year holds promise because of You.

No Soup for You!

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Seinfeld reigns supreme as king of comedies in my house. E and I recite lines from the show often, and anyone who has watched it for any length of time knows about the classic “Soup Nazi” episodes. We use the familiar line to describe just about anything, from parking spaces to disappearing leftovers, and various other missed opportunities.

It was especially apropos yesterday when we both realized the leftover turkey carcass had spent the night in the oven. It was one of those, “I thought you put it away,” moments. Suffice it to say, there will be no homemade turkey soup for me. Not from that turkey, anyway.

When you have animals in the house, cats that can jump anywhere, or very tall dogs that can reach to the back of the counter, you just learn you have to put things up. Ovens and microwaves are handy temporary places of storage, however, there is a reason someone coined the term, “out of sight, out of mind.”

There have been many food casualties down through the years, many of them made famous by Tyler, our family dog. I can’t count the leftover roasts, steaks, and turkey carcasses he has stealthily made off with, both at my folk’s and my brother’s house. He is an equal opportunist, that dog.

And If the leftovers didn’t find their way to his stomach, they perished by being left in the microwave or oven, trying to keep them away from him.

My brother brought Tyler home as a pup, an adorable mix of border collie and something else very, very tall.

His only flaw is his begging and extreme love of people food. He will go to any lengths to get it. He used to follow my niece around for hours, waiting for a single cheerio to drop. He has been such a very good dog in every other way though we tend to overlook it. Most of the time.

One of his claims to fame was the Christmas he waited for us all to leave the room so he could get at the cheese ball. We were only gone for less than five minutes and in that time, he had snatched it off the plate and consumed it whole without ever disrupting the perfectly arranged circle of crackers in the middle.

He only missed out on the crackers because we came back in the room.

Opportunity knocked for him a second holiday when he consumed the entire Thanksgiving turkey carcass that was left cooling on the counter. The entire carcass. Bones and all. They were scheduled to leave on vacation the next day and they were terrified the bones would tear his insides to pieces. The vet said to leave him there overnight and see what happened. He was fine. I am convinced his digestive system could handle anything.

That was pretty much verified when he consumed the entire box of baby laxative. And it didn’t faze him. Went right through without a hitch, not even a loose BM.

Food issues aside, he is a very good and loyal dog. You could ask him to do anything and he would do it if he possibly could. He chases the neighbor’s cats, but is a perfect gentlemen with all others in the family. He knows the difference. And like the rest of us, he is getting older. He’s pretty stiff and he hesitates awhile before he gets in the car, sometimes we have to help him in.

When I stay the night at my brothers, he is my morning partner. He goes with me out to the back forty where I drink in the first sounds of the morning with my first cup of coffee.

And when I go for a walk in the orchard across the street, he waits faithfully at the edge of the driveway until I am safely back.

This Christmas we will all spoil him with treats.

Because like us, he isn’t getting any younger and he won’t be around forever.

 

Signs of the Times

Well, Costco apologized for the “mistake” that had their Bibles labeled “fiction.” I usually don’t jump too much on the bandwagon on boycotts because sometimes I think they do more harm than good. However, in this case I was ready to go to my local store and see for myself.

I can now buy my Pumpkin Pie with a clear conscience. And no, I don’t bake my own, Costco’s are better, and bigger. A liberal dosing of Whipped Cream and I am good to go. I lay the little Martha Stewart beast within me to rest by making up for it with homemade Christmas cookies.

I tuned in last night and started watching 19 Kids and Counting. I ended up watching the whole show. They really do amaze me. Say what you want, those kids are all beautiful, and talented, and smart. And as uneasy as it made me when she had the last one? I couldn’t look at her last night without thinking that God wanted her here too. She is doing beautifully now.

I have a friend who seethes and almost foams at the mouth when you mention the Duggars. She leans far to the left and I know if she could do it without risking our friendship, she would tell me how hopelessly ignorant, archaic and uneducated and out of touch I am for being a Christian.

But give me a world of Duggars over a world of Kardashians any day.

We certainly are living in troubled times. I talked with a friend the other day who fears for her 13-year-old daughter. Her daughter is involved with a boy who has already been sexually active…..at 13. Her daughter is intimidated by this boy, and my friend is afraid to talk to the boy’s parents for fear of what her daughter will do. She is already cutting herself.

These times, while troubling, should not surprise us. Jesus said there will be perilous times ahead. I am thinking they will get worse before they get better. But there is still plenty of good in the world. People are doing marvelous things all over the world. Helping, loving, supporting.

So what do you think? This?

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Or this?

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And it’s not just Miley. She is just an easy mark right now. I feel for her, I really do. In fact, I pray for her. I believe there will come a time when she will have many regrets. I lament our American culture that really has failed our girls in many ways.

I am praying for my friend and her 13-year-old daughter. She doesn’t know what to do, and I can’t imagine being in her position. It’s easy for me to say what I would do if she were mine. But she’s not. And I can’t.

But I can listen and be there for her Mom. I pray it all works out.

Images from google

A Dad’s Memory

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My Dad called. He said, “I wrote it all down, about our adventure of moving to Tahoe and how I remember it.” It came yesterday in the mail, and the pages tumbled out when I tore the envelope. “Do you think you could type it all down since I am not such a good typist?” I want to be able to read it, he said.

And in the writing it, and the reading of it, I knew he was reliving something powerful.

“I will do my best, Dad,” I said. And it’s an honor. When someone has put their heart on a page, you have to be careful with it. It’s something almost sacred that they are trusting you with, not just words on a page. I will keep the handwritten version for myself and I will save the other version on my computer, the one I will type neatly with no lines crossed out. No bold underlines. I will try to put the feeling in it, just the way he felt it.

I will do my best to bring it to life as he lived it.

Because our stories, our memories, is what we have. In sharing those, we open ourselves, our hearts to each other.

And it’s always a risk.

Because there is always the chance they won’t see it or feel it the way we intended. And that’s okay. We still have to share it.

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As I picked up the pages again, I saw the way he wrote and I thought of how someday he won’t be here. Even now, I squeeze my eyes shut to keep tears from leaking out because I know it’s true. Someday the letters will stop. And I will imagine him sitting in a corner spot of light in Heaven with a big feather quilled pen. Writing his thoughts of all the beauty he sees, and meeting Jesus for the first time.

I have words in my treasure box, so many words gathered over the years. Sacred ones. The lid no longer shuts, but I slide them in anyway.

Because words from someone you love are always sacred.

I will do my best, Dad with your memory. Here is my only memory of it. I remember standing in something I now know was snow and crying because I didn’t like the cold.

And someone, probably you, sticking a ski pole in a snow bank so I could see the holes it made.

That’s it.

I think maybe you can fill the blanks in my mind, since I was only 2.

We will relive it together and then it will be ours to share.

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Pray for Kate

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For far too many people the bulk of their daily lives consists of the inner walls of the waiting rooms of hospitals and doctors offices.  While the rest of us have the luxury of going about our lives celebrating joys and accomplishments, breathing freedom, complaining about everyday things, juggling bills, jobs we might hate, their reality is much different. They live in a sea of uncertainty from one procedure to the next, never knowing what the outcome will be.

I thought of all these people when I went to take Sydney to the vet last week. It was traumatic for him and me. He peed all over the cage and nestled his head in my arm for protection, overwhelmed by all the smells and the ride in the car. By the end of it, I was a nervous wreck. I thought of the little girl, Kate, whose story I have been following ever since 2009, when she was diagnosed with a massive, aggressive brain tumor. They were able to remove only half of it, because of the location in her brain.

Kate’s family has been a source of great inspiration to me and people all over the world as we have watched this brave family deal with this in light of their faith. Their strength and commitment to the Lord throws a light on all the darkness in a way that is simply miraculous. For four years now they have walked through the shadows of death with Kate, and yet remarkably, today, she is cancer free. And yet, the devastating effects of the chemo and massive doses of radiation are a grim reality and reminder of a still uncertain outcome.

Please follow this link, to read Kate’s Mom’s latest journal entry on Caring Bridge here……and join me in prayer for these wonderful people and Kate who is one of the most courageous little girls I know about.