I am a wife, mother of 4 sons, hairstylist, and animal lover. I always try to find the humor in every situation. Thank God for that, because life is full of situations....
I have a coffee stain on my ceiling. “How? ” I thought. But quickly the “how” became an “of course”.
My 29 yr old autistic son has a bedroom directly above the dining room, where the ceiling is stained. I asked him ” Brett, did you happen to spill coffee up here. or in the hallway?” We had recently ripped out the old flooring in the hallway, leaving only a sub floor temporarily. “Not that I can remember? his usual answer, especially when he thinks I might be mad. Truth was, I wasn’t mad. I was resigned to it, because I already Knew he had spilled his coffee. He always does.
Yesterday, an announcement was made that there might be a correlation between Tylenol and autism, and the mother’s use during pregnancy. If I am being honest (and I am) I don’t know how I feel about it, or what to do with it. What I do know is this…Unless and until You have been diagnosed with it or have lived with an autistic person Please keep your opinions to yourself about it. Some “experts”, like to say how beautiful autism is, and there is beauty. But, and it is a big but, there is also sadness, loneliness, isolation, rejection, anger, resentment. I could go on and on. We have lost, what we thought were friends. We have been made to feel like liars by people who are supposed to be family members. All because we put our son before Any of them. Again, unless you live it, please, be quiet. Still, I am not mad or upset about the announcement. It doesn’t change my son, or our situation.
I have so many caseworker meetings. All to benefit him. We are Forever parents, (if you are not aware of the term, look it up, it is a real thing). During each meeting, they ask my son multiple questions, which he answers with his unique sense of humor. It always leaves us all laughing. Then they turn to me, and ask Me, if I need help, am I doing okay. With Every fiber in my being, I want to say, “No. no I am not okay. I am tired, exhausted. I am sad, and stressed.” But, I never do, I simply say “I’m good”, with a forced smile on my face, and eyes trying to communicate to the caseworker, without saying a word, because I don’t want my son to feel bad or embarrassed. Inside, I am screaming.
We have holes in the hardwood floor where my son rocked( part of his “stimming”) so hard the springs came through the chair and spiraled a crater in the floor. We have replaced his bed more times then I can count, for the same reason. Daily I have to tell him to wash himself, brush his teeth, to wear weather appropriate clothing. To not eat all the food in the house. He still can’t tie his shoes. These are just a few of the daily things my husband and I ( and his siblings) deal with. There are very very hard days. There are also wonderfully happy days. Days that we don’t feel stressed or tired. But those days are fleeting. Please don’t misunderstand my point. I love my son, Exactly how he is. Exactly how God intended him to be. So I feel Guilty for even entertaining the other thoughts. So to see people on all sides of the issue, arguing over yesterday’s statement, is just another gut punch.
I don’t know what it’s like to have cancer or diabetes or other issues like it. So I would never interject myself or my opinions to someone who does. I would just say ” do you need to talk?” A Dr. can diagnose autism, a therapist can help them, but They Don’t Live it. They aren’t in your house for the meltdowns, for the outbursts, for the frustration. They aren’t with you as you hear your child up all night long, t.v. volume maxed, chair rocking so hard the walls shake.They aren’t with you in the weeds of it. I may not be educated in the autism field by Professors and the like. But, I can guarantee I could out debate most of those who are. I may not have a litany of letters behind my name, stating a fancy title, but what I do have is a heart for anyone walking in my shoes. new to the autism village. Where we fiercely protect our own. I don’t have a Masters or Doctorate, but I have absolute unconditional love for my son, and coffee stains on my ceiling.
You always said, “a lot can change in a little bit of time.” As usual, you were right. So much has happened since you left your earthly body. Three years. How is it possible, it has been three years? In the moment I last saw you, and I felt the very air sucked out of my body, I didn’t think I would survive without you. But, I should’ve known better, you didn’t raise a quitter, mama.
Looking back on the last decade, the majority of it was difficult and heartbreaking. For most of it, to quote you, “I didn’t know if I was coming or going.” Trauma, sickness, injuries, heartbreak and death surrounded me on all sides.I truly was comfortably numb. Or so I thought. I lost myself, for a while. But, in the searching, the healing and the hurting, I not only found myself again, but I found you.
In the three years you have been gone, my Entire world has changed. All of it. Yet, I see you everywhere. I have gained two daughter in laws. I find myself channeling you, and how you were a mother in law to 5 son in laws and one daughter in law, but you treated them as your own.They grieved your loss as deeply as we did. You loved them fully. I watched you mom, and I hope I learned to love like you did. To respect the marriage’s of your children, and that their spouse was the most important to them. That you supported them as a unit.I thank you for that, mom.
I became a grandmother (Nanny, Granny, Nai Nai) three times over. Three granddaughters in three years. (Can you believe it, mom? Granddaughters!) All I can think of is, How did You do it mom? You had 15 living grandchildren, and you helped watch them all, on a daily basis. Sometimes, many of them at once. Early in the morning to late in the evening. You had to be exhausted, bone tired. Yet, I don’t remember you saying so. You never said no when any of us needed extra help with the kids. For a night out, or a weekend getaway. Our babies were Your babies too. And you loved them like it. That love lives in them to this day. The memories, the cherished memories of being at your house, with dad. Summers swimming with you, walking to the library, having picnic lunches on the deck. Watching sports with you,( or watching you watch sports )was a special time. You took the role of Grandma( Grancy in later years) very seriously. You wore that badge of honor proudly. As if it was your life’s calling. I think it was, mom. I think certain people are born to be Grandparent’s. It is early in the game for me mom, but I feel that is my life’s mission. I have never felt as comfortable in my skin, as I do now. Being a Nanny, has healed the little girl in me who yearned for a grandmother’s love. I am so happy my granddaughter’s will never doubt that they are loved by anyone on either side of their family. Thank you mom, and dad, for being that to mine.
Three years ago, I couldn’t see to today. And maybe that is the point. We don’t know what lies ahead for any of us. When we are overcome with grief and sadness, we forget that Joy comes in the morning. So much Joy, you can’t explain or contain it. And if you are set on a firm foundation of Faith, Love and Hope, there will not only be joy, but a peace that passes all understanding.Because I have been so fully loved, I can love fully.
These three years have been life changing. I have lived through the lowest low’s and the highest high’s. I have never laughed and cried more in my life. I had to hit the absolute bottom, to see clearly from the top. So much can happen in three years, just like in three days. I am so glad I praise the God who gives and can take away. Because that is where, I found myself, in the healing and the hurting, in the valley and the mountain top.I felt you in all of those places. I felt you still cheering me on, still lifting me up, telling me you were proud. I love when people tell me I look like you, or sound like you. My biggest wish is that my granddaughters ( and my sons and their wives)will know you, through me. That someday when they ask their daddies about who their daddy’s grandma was, they can say “she was just like Nanny”. I want the girls to want to hear stories about you, their Great Grandma, to know who you were, what you stood for, and Who you believed in.I know with my whole heart, my sons, your “tall drink of water” grandsons will be able to fill hours with stories of you and their grandpa. Stories of laughter and of comfort and caring. They will be able to say how blessed they were to have a grandma like you.And they will tell them that Nanny learned from the best.
I love you mom, thank you for loving me, and all of us. Love, carries on and on.
I am going to be a Grandmother! Or as I like to be called, a Granny! My son and his wife are expecting their first child, and our first grandchild. In a year that started with me losing my own mother (and my husband losing his beloved Mother in Law), and my children losing their Grandmother, (aka Grancy,) a few months later ,I became a Mother in law myself. Life can change at lightning speed, as we found about a month after the wedding, that we would become grandparents (Granny and Pop Pop).If ever there was a time I wanted to call my mom, it was then.
When I think of all a grandma should be I think of her, Grancy. She is the level of grandparenting I aspire to achieve. Even though I wasn’t fortunate enough to have the love of any grandparents, I know a legend when I see one. She was it. As a young girl, I longed for a grandmother’s love and attention. I was denied the love of a paternal grandmother due to her death at a very young age.My maternal grandmother Chose to not love us.It sounds harsh, but it doesn’t make it less true. When a grandparent shuns her grandchildren for reasons unknown, it is a choice. I have nothing against my cousins she chose to love either. I am honestly happy they received the love I craved. It only made me more determined to someday be the world’s best granny. My parents both had love from their grandparents, so they both got to experience it. I briefly had a great grandmother (my dad’s grandmother) and her love meant everything to me. Speaking to me in Yiddish, handing me money or toys, I felt the love of a grandmother, until I was 5. My maternal grandmother came in and out of my life like the tides. My last in person memory of her was the day before my wedding, coming to the door, telling me she wasn’t coming to my wedding. Handing me a beautiful blanket she had crocheted as her apology. I still have the blanket, but would have traded it in a million times over for her to be there for me the next day.
Watching my mom with my children helped heal some of that brokeness I felt. To see Grancy think my boys hung the moon and stars. To see her hold them and rock them. Make them their favorite foods whenever she saw them. Always available to help with them. My husband and I trusted very few people with our sons, but we always could trust her. We rarely went away, alone, anywhere, but when we did she would keep them overnight, making memories for us all. Swimming, going to the library, making their breakfast, lunch and dinner and a snack at bedtime. Visit’s were always filled with laughter and of stories she would tell them. They felt special in her presence, they felt loved. She was genuinely interested in them and their lives. And she prayed for them and about them. She loved them fiercely and they loved her back the same. Even as the dementia stole most of her memories, when they came to visit, you could see her eyes twinkle and her face light up. A grandmother’s love
I want to be her. To be That grandma. I want my grandkids to Feel the love and pride I have for them.To know I will always be there for them, a safe place. Where they have hung the moon and stars. I hope they laugh at my silly stories and love the cookies I bake for them. I want them to spend days on end and overnights here with me and their Pop Pop. I want to sing songs to them and tell them about Jesus. I never ever want them to question where they stand in our eyes.They will never doubt the love of a grandparent.
Many years ago, I told my at the time, future daughter in law that whenever they decided to have a baby, when they told me, I wanted to be told a certain way. I wanted a sweatshirt with a mock turtleneck, embroidered with the words “World’s Best Grandma”. Partly because it’s funny, but mostly because Grancy wore one just like it. She wore it proudly. She wore the heck out of it. The day they told us we were going to be grandparents my daughter in law tossed a beautiful mock turtleneck sweatshirt at me. It was about 85 outside, but I put that gorgeous garment on faster than I could imagine. Life was coming full circle.
I miss my mom so much. It has been 6 months since she passed on, 6 months since I heard her voice or her amazing laugh. Someday’s, it feels like 6 years. Everyday it hurts. I suspect, in some ways, it always will. The baby is due shortly before the year anniversary of her passing. I think she may have had a hand in that.
When my husband and I first started dating (and frankly for our whole relationship) my mom would comment on how big my husbands feet are (size 13). She would take her size 6.5-7 feet and put them in his shoes, and try to walk in them, laughing her amazing laugh the whole time. Saying how she could almost fit both feet into one of his shoes. Funny, now it is me tryng to fill her very big Grancy shoes.
I have been planning to write this for a while now. Trying to find the words . My mom has been placed on hospice, at her memory care facility. While we all knew that eventually this would be the outcome, you are never prepared. Mom may have lost the ability to remember us, or walk, or feed herself , but she is so much more. She will die from complications of dementia, but she LIVED a life worth remembering. A life filled with love and sacrifice, and generosity. The life God had planned so perfectly for her.
I have often wrote of how stubborn my father was, but in many ways, my mother had him beat in that department.She was stubborn in all the right ways. She was the middle child, a tomboy with braided pigtails. She was often sick in her youth and it steeled her to be tough. She was mischievous and impish. She loved to tell me the story of how when she was little she would help out at her father and uncles barbershop. One hot day, they needed her to fill up their water spray bottles for haircuts. She had to walk outside repeatedly to the water pump to fill them up. She grew frustrated and decided to just spit into them instead. If she put her mind to something, it got done. One way or another.
Nancy Joyce Day was movie star beautiful. I know that is how my dad noticed her. Porcelain skin, with bluish green eyes that would change color depending on her outfit. Beautiful brunette hair with just enough wave to make it behave. She was trim and stylish. All of these stayed the same. After 6 kids, she still could turn heads. She was so pretty, but she never knew it, or acted like she did. She was naturally beautiful, but loved to enhance it with her Mary Kay make up. I remember watching her apply her lipstick, the left upper, then right upper lip, then smacking them together with the bottom. She didn’t spend more than 5 minutes getting ready, but it would look perfect. The same with her hair. She is the reason I chose the career I did. The way she would allow me to play with her hair, brush it, curl it, and put make up on her, when I was little. Mom kept up her beauty routine into her 80’s. Only stopping when she was placed into memory care.
Mom, became a mother at a young age. Things were not easy for my parents and their new family, but this began the life God had planned for her. To be a Mother, caregiver, a Grandmother. There is not a doubt in my mind, this was what God created her to be. When you think of what a Mother is and should be, she was All of them. And it came completely natural to her. Holding a baby, rocking them to sleep. Caring for a sick child all night long, sacrificing her own health and sleep. The absolute unselfishness mom showed everyday is unmatched. She always put her husband , children and grandchildren first. Always.
There is that scene in the movie A Christmas Story, where the mom had made dinner and she has dished everyone up and is about to sit down and eat, when they start asking for more food. Without skipping a beat she gets up and adds more food to all their plates as the narrator says ” My mother hasn’t had a hot meal in 15 yrs.” That. Was. My. Mother. I can remember, watching her clean off the table after we had all finished our meals, and she would take bites off of our plates, or from the serving spoons. That was how she ate, standing up, after we had our fill. She was the type of mother who would give you the last piece of anything, even if she hadn’t eaten a bite herself. I can remember, as a child, late at night, hearing my mom in the kitchen. Back then, peanut butter jars had a metal lid. Every night my mom would sneak into the kitchen after everyone was asleep,starving I am sure, and get into the jar. Somehow, she Always dropped the lid, and I could hear it hitting the floor and spinning. My sister’s and I would giggle. Funny how I find myself in the kitchen in the middle of the night now. When my dads health required dietary changes, she learned all she could to cook his food the way the Doctor’s wanted. Never complaining.She did what she had to do to keep him healthy as long as she could. She did it too.
We may not have had the biggest house, or the best clothes, but we never went without. Mom always kept a clean house, and clean kids. She couldn’t let us go running around looking like ” ragamuffins” as she would say. She stayed home to raise us, (and her grandchildren and most of the neighborhood too.) Coming home from school you knew there would be cookies or a cake freshly baked and dinner cooking in the oven. My mom spent most of her time in the kitchen. I am sure she wasn’t always thrilled about it, but she never made us feel that. She showed her love for her family through her acts of service to us. And there were so many of them.
When my dad became disabled, and could no longer work, mom started watching neighborhood kids to help make ends meet. A lot of the kids would get dropped off early in the morning and stay until supper time. It didn’t take long until the local grade school called and asked mom if she could take some before and after school kids. So the house was always filled with kids. Babies, school age, boys or girls it didn’t matter. My mom helped raise so many children. Including her grandchildren and great grandchildren. I am pretty sure if you are reading this, you, your child or someone you know was loved on by my mother.
I don’t remember a time when we needed her that she wasn’t there. So many times, last minute things for school were needed, and somehow, she made it happen. She was the mom on the street who knew how to make the garters for homecoming. So she would make them for whoever asked. She sewed costumes for plays, and programs, and weddings and pageants. Sometimes, with only 24 hrs notice. She was Allerton Avenue’s beautician. When word got out she could give permanent waves, most of the girls, and some men, quickly were getting a very unique perm from mom. We like to joke that as she was rolling the hair up in the perm rods, if a clump of hair wouldn’t go the way she wanted, she just cut it off. She wouldn’t let that stop her.
She had an amazing way with words and phrases that most of us use today. She pronounced wash with an r , as in, warsh. “Go warsh your face”, or “you better get warshed up for school.” Crayon, was pronounced Crin , as in “Do not leave your Crin’s all over the floor!” She had phrases and terms that were unique and sometimes salty. When we would get wild, she would refer to us as a “Whirling dervish .” If we were naughty she would tell us she would ” bring one up from the floor” to get us to settle down. If we were arguing, we were told we “couldn’t pair off” . When we refused to clean our rooms, she threatened to “pitch” all our things. To express her astonishment she would say “Jumpin Jehoshaphat!”, which took me until adulthood to realize it was a real phrase from the bible. Some things she would say were heavily seasoned with salt and sass. A favorite was “tighter than dicks hatband” . This phrase could be used in many situations. The same could be said for “Balls on a blue goose”. Some are so salty and sassy that I can not print them. Just know they were as colorful and as funny as she was!
Mom was always there to help, at a moments notice. Most of her adult children at one time or another, moved back home. For a multitude of reasons and different lengths of time. For myself, it was because I was on bed rest with a twin pregnancy, and had two toddler sons. We had moved an hour north and my husband had to work. So, I moved back in, with my two older sons, very pregnant. Mom knew she would be doing Everything for me and my kids. She was 60 years old at the time. She bathed my kids, made all their meals, helped potty train the younger one And took care of other grandchildren. She also took care of me , as I sat on the couch, she brought me my food, washed my clothes, wrangled my sons, read to them, tucked them in at night. Then when my dad would go to bed, mom and I would put on a game and she would make me a hot fudge sundae. With walnuts. Every night. Mom helped me eat for 3.This went on for 4 months. My mother, ensuring her baby would have two more healthy babies.
My mother loved sports. Any kind, and every Wisconsin team. They were her team, her guys. My mom would watch sports in what we called “the back room” after dad had gone to bed, at 7 p.m. Usually the volume on mute, so as not to wake him. Sometimes, she would get a little carried away, and a bit of a sailor mouth would emerge. Win or lose. The excitement would get the better of her and she would be up jumping up and down, fists in the air! There was always a game on. Whatever sports season it was, that was her favorite. One time my husband and I had taken her to the hospital to visit my dad. In the elevator was a very tall young man. Without skipping a beat she looked up at him and asked ” Do you play basketball?” She was as feisty as they come. Granny was spry! She would’ve absolutely loved the Bucks Championship season.
My mom spent over 40 plus years of her 66 year marriage being my dads caregiver. Suffering from multiple conditions, my mom had to be all things to him a lot of the time. When he got his kidney transplant after years of dialysis, mom lovingly nurtured him back to reasonable health. In charge of a multitude of anti rejections meds, she carefully filled his pillbox, she kept records of appointments and lab work. All the while, continuing to watch her grandchildren and others. She kept up with the house and the yard. Never missing a beat.
Her puppies meant everything to her. Everything. Spoiled isn’t a strong enough word. She would prepare chicken breast meat to add to their bowls. She would sleep on the couch at night with them because that is what they wanted. They had bows and ribbons in their hair and scarves around their necks. She was heartbroken when they died, but always had room to love one more. Shelter dogs, pure- breds, little or big. It didn’t matter. She had Dachsund’s and Westies, and German Shepherd’s and mutts. And she loved all her grandpuppies too, often watching them for all of us.
My mom wasn’t boastful or “braggadocious”as she would say. She was tough as nails when things got hard. She was courageous when most would run. But she never shouted it from the rooftops, all the sacrificing she had done. She was quiet about all she did.She relied on her faith. I know was blessed by her and her prayer chain from church. She would make cakes to be delivered to homeless shelters through church. She volunteered for many things throughout the years. Room mother, Girl Scout Leader, seamstress for the plays. Her whole life was built around doing for others. How blessed am I to have watched it modeled so perfectly.
Mom was young at heart with an old soul. She had an unmistakable laugh that filled a room.A sharp sense of humor and a love for life. She had a little shimmy dance she would do when she ate some ice cream. She loved to show you her tap dancing moves. She loved her pool and going down the giant slide into it. She could do yoga better than people 40 yrs her junior. She bowled until she turned 81. She loved going to lunch with her friends or to the Fireside with her daughters. She was always grateful. Even during the absolute most difficult days of her life. She found joy in the absolute ordinary. There is such beauty in that.
Looking back at my childhood now, I am sure she was tired, and hungry and absolutely overwhelmed. But she Never let on to that. My favorite memories with my mom, are when I became a mom myself. If I needed her, when I didn’t know how to stop my baby from crying, she would drive over and sit with me, even late at night. We would take daily 3 mile walks, pushing strollers full of babies, solving all the worlds problems while we did it. I loved watching her with the grandchildren, my kids and my siblings. The absolute pride she had for All of them was unmatched.They made her laugh like I have never heard before. They gave her joy like a kid on Christmas morning. Watching my mom, be a mom and grandmother shaped who I became as a mother. My mother, lead by example. Show compassion, to everyone, even those who don’t show you the same. Sit with the lonely, feed the hungry,help the sick. Put other’s needs and wants before your own. This was her everyday. All day.
My mom gave everything she had to everyone. All the time. Even though she did everything right to stay healthy, dementia found her. And while it stole her memories, it didn’t steal who she was and IS at her core. A caregiver. A nurturer. A gentle sensitive soul with a spark inside. Many of you have seen pictures of her with Romeo, the stuffed animal, a German Shepherd, I got her almost 2 years ago now. For some reason, of all the dogs my mom had over the years, Tina, a German Shepherd from 50 years ago was the one she remembered. Mom would often tell stories of how protective Tina was over all of us, like a mother herself. Clearly, mom related to Tina. My mom may not know her children or grandchildren anymore,but she Knew she was to comfort Romeo. To rock him gently, and pat his back. To sing to him, and cover him with a blanket when he was cold. The person God made my mother never left. She is still there.
.
My mother was and will always be my best friend. I could talk to her about anything.I confided in her about everything. I called her everyday. We could talk for an hour or five minutes. It didn’t matter. What I would give to call her now, to hear her say “Hi Mare.”. I have it in my heart though. For the past 2 years I video chatted with her once a week with the help of the activity director at her memory care facility. While our conversations were much different, with me doing most of the talking,it still filled my heart and soul. I recorded most of them, for the days to come, when I know I will need to hear her voice and see her face. Because I simply can not imagine a world without her in it. So I won’t let there be.
I don’t want my mom to only be remembered for the fact that she no longer could. She was and is so much more than that. She was and is a bright, beautiful, funny and compassionate person who had a laugh like no other. Spunky and feisty and one of a kind. We are blessed to have her as our mother.
Lately, I have been picturing my dad calling her home, saying “Ma, I’m hungry, what’s for dinner?” And my mom responding ” I’ll be there soon Richard.” What an amazing feast that will be. Maybe she will even get to eat a hot meal.
Hands that held countless children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, neighbors and friends. Gently rocking them to sleep. Comforting them in sickness. Guiding them in their lives. Wiping tears away in sadness.
Hands that cared for my father through decades of illness. Preparing special foods for him. Cleaning and wrapping his wounds. Organizing his medicine and appointments.
Hands that took care of a home for over 66 years. Cleaning after 6 children, then their children, and their children. Cooking 3 square meals a day 7 days a week. Washing ,ironing and folding clothes for her family. Baking cookies and cakes.
Hands that sewed, and mended and darned. Making garters for homecoming, and costumes for plays, and flower girl dresses. Creating curtains and bedspreads and baby blankets for her family.
Hands that combed and brushed her 5 daughters hair. Learned how to give perms to them and their friends. Kept them from looking like “ragamuffins”.
Hands that cheered for her children in their activities. That rooted for her teams, The Packers, The Brewers, The Bucks and The Badgers.
Hands that disciplined. That grabbed our hands from crossing the road into traffic. Protected us from danger.
Hands that prayed. That took communion. Called others on her prayer chain from church to tell them who to pray for, or to ask for prayer for those she loved.
My mother doesn’t remember any of these things anymore. My last visit with her, she didn’t recognize me or my husband. I showed her a picture of myself with her and my dad, sitting next to her,she couldn’t recognize me in the picture either. But I am convinced while her head doesn’t remember, her hands do. Now, as she holds her beloved “Romeo” and rocks him like one of her babies, she takes her hands and pats him gently, speaking to him lovingly, and somehow I know he understands. He too feels all the love in my mother’s hands.
It happened today. I know it won’t be the last time,and eventually there will be no going back from it. My mom didn’t recognize me on our weekly video call. She stared blankly at me when I said “Hi Mom.” I waited for the awareness to come to her eyes. It didn’t. The activity director, Jen, lovingly told her “It’s Mary.” Slowly I could see her coming back to me. But those few moments were and are heartbreaking.
Mom has been in a memory care facility for dementia for 2 years. With 1 year being during this pandemic. So the majority of my time with her is via video phone calls. While her recognition and memory of other relatives has faded, for the most part she has been able to remember her children. Until recently, I have noticed her mixing us up or thinking my brother is my father. So today was hard. But I knew it was coming eventually. When we talk, mom will fixate on one thing or time frame. With me it is 3 different events in my life between 25 and 35 years ago. When I was Jr Miss in 1987, when I took state boards to become a hairdresser, and when I had my twins. These 3 themes are on replay and repeat. But I do not care. I am happy to go back there with her. I sent her a photo of me with my Jr Miss sash on from 1987, and she has misplaced it( because I moved it from where she had it and now she can’t find it.) so every phone call, she asks about it. “Weren’t you “….. and her voice trails off, as I fill in the blanks, “Jr Miss” I say. And she is transported back there. The light comes back in her eyes. Or when she asks “didn’t you cut my hair?” I know she is referring to being my model for State boards. When we are chatting and one of her friends enters the area she will say “this is my daughter, she had twins.” These must be moments, memories embedded in her brain about me. I know she has these moments with my siblings too. We will meet her wherever she is. For as long as we can. But it doesn’t make it any easier.
There is this horrible meme that floats around Facebook, that people share thinking it is funny. You know the one…” Keep it up mom or I will put in Shady Pines Nursing home”…. or something along those lines. Listen, I am Not easily offended. I have all sons. But, when I see people so carelessly throwing that around it feels like a knife in the heart. Because when you are actually faced with that decision, there is absolutely Nothing funny about it. It tears you and your siblings apart. When the Dr. says ” Your mom can not come home anymore.” trust me, no one is laughing. I have already had this talk with my sons. That when that time comes, if it does, that I understand. That the mom I am now is telling them, it is ok, that I know how hard that decision is, but that I know it is made in love. The mom I will be then may yell at them, and cry and not understand, but the mom I am now does. And people will make comments not meaning to hurt, like, “I won’t ever do that,” or ” My mom will just stay with me.” Trust me, easier said than done. My siblings and I tried for years to keep my parents in their home. We did everything we could. And it killed us to have to sell their home, and place them in a facility. You don’t ever get over it or forgive yourself. I want my sons to know they have no reason to ever feel it. Furthermore, we have been absolutely Blessed with mom’s memory facility and team of caregivers. They have had to be her family this past year. They have stepped up gone above and beyond what their job description is. We are forever grateful to each one of them.
When we were about to hang up I said to mom ” I miss you mom.” She turned her head and looked off into the distance and quietly said, ” I think I miss you as long as you are.” I know it is a jumbled up sentence, that may not make sense, but to me, it has two meanings. I knew she was trying to tell me that she misses me a lot. That it has been a long time since we have all been together. I knew what she meant. But for me, that one sentence, “I miss you as long as you are.” summed up all I have felt since she has been living with dementia. I miss my mom, who she was, what she was, what we did together. I miss my daily phone calls to her, my visits with her at home. I remember after having my oldest son, I would walk over to her house, with him in a stroller. My mom and I would walk 3 miles everyday, and talk and solve all the worlds problems.I miss that. I miss going to lunch with her and my sisters, or going to plays, or baking cookies. You see, I have been slowly, grieving my mom for 2 years. It is a long goodbye. One day, maybe soon, she won’t remember me at all, or what I meant to her. But I will remember her. I will miss you as long as you are, Mom, and even after that.
It has been one year since you died. Yet, it seems as though time has stopped. The sun sets and it rises each day. The moon glows at night. For me, I seem to be stuck somewhere, a year ago, that weekend, that morning. Life goes on about and around me. You are missing. The gigantic presence you had ( for such a small German man) is no more. At least not earthly. I search for you, still. I am sure I always will. I am in mourning. This is what it feels like.
I had made you a Christmas shirt and filled a stocking with your favorite German candy. I had planned to come visit you and mom in the nursing home for Christmas. Instead, I saw you for the last time, in a hospital bed fighting off the infection that finally claimed your life. You were hooked up to tubes and wires, and you couldn’t speak. I whispered in your ear how much I loved you. I know you heard me. The family made the difficult decision to switch you to hospice care. A little over 24 hrs later you were gone. Freed from your earthly chains.While I am grateful for the first time in over 40 yrs you were pain free, I am forever hurting. An ever present aching in my heart and bones. I have hours and days of pure joy and happiness, but you are always there. This is constant mourning.
In some ways, a lot of ways, I lost mom that day too. The pandemic came right after your passing, (seems fitting) and changed Everything. Especially how and when I can see mom. I only can “see” her now via video chat with the help of her memory care activity director. I can’t just go visit her, I can’t make Christmas cookies with her this year, like I have for decades. Leaving slightly burned, unfrosted ones for you dad. I can’t bring her Christmas gifts or go to plays or dinner with her. So yes, in many ways I lost her too. However, I know she is safe and well cared for, and I know that makes you happy. She mentions you dad, when we do speak. She cries, gently. Her memory may be fading, requiring full time care, but she Knows she is missing you, and that she loved you. She may not understand, but she is mourning too dad. Last week when I spoke with her, she said ” I know your dad isn’t here anymore, but he came and told me his soul is.” And that was probably the most beautiful thing I have heard this year.
You have missed so much this year, dad. Most of it, I thank God everyday that you have. Still there have been things I so wish you could’ve been here for. Engagements, graduations, new jobs etc., but I believe somehow you do see it. The holidays were your favorite time of year. Last year, I was numb at your passing right at Christmas time, most of it is a blur. This year we are restricted to what we can and can’t do. I know you wouldn’t have liked it. You used to love people coming over for Christmas, or going by your kids. You loved surprising mom with gifts she didn’t know you bought her. Like the jacket you brought over to my house many years ago to wrap for her, to open Christmas morning. You loved decorating the outside of the house with lights and a cute penguin statue donning a hat and scarf. You loved watching gospel singers sing their Christmas songs. You dressed up as Santa for local parties. I am struggling this year, dad, trying to feel Christmas. Because of everything. Yet, Christmas always finds me, as I am sure it will this year, with help from you.
For a while now, I have been seeking out cardinals. Everyone says it means a visitor from heaven. Barb is getting cardinals , a couple even, by her. I put out the seed to attract them, and nothing. Nothing except for this blue jay, who makes a ruckus with his loud call. Like a horn. I can spot it a mile away it seems. Last week at work I could hear his unique call. I went outside to look and saw high in a tree, a hawk, perched on a branch, and a blue jay giving him a piece of his mind. Then more came to join in. I could see they must’ve been protecting a nest. I stood in awe and watched this blue jay make the hawk leave. It brought me back to the feeling I always had of protection from you. I felt safe when you were in the room.This morning at work, I could hear the blue jay, loudly speaking across the street. And then I remembered, Billy Blue Jay. How you always called for him, and left food out for him. I stood at the salon door, looking out the window, as Billy just sat there, on a wire. I whispered “I see you dad.” and he flew away. Maybe, for me, I won’t see Cardinals, maybe you will visit me in different less obvious ways. I have some of yours and moms things here, in storage for safe keeping. And I remembered, you had a stuffed blue jay. I searched through a few boxes, and I found him. I found your Billy the Blue Jay. Just like I know if I keep searching, I will “see” you in places or things I wouldn’t expect to. And maybe, that is what constant mourning is. Seeing or hearing or feeling you, when I least expect it. Where the grief swells up like a tidal wave, and eventually bursts, into a sea of tears. Only to repeat. Forever. If so, that is ok. Because you will still be here. In Trauer Um, Meinen Vater. Until we meet again.
I have been spending a lot of quarantine time organizing old family photo’s. One thing seems to stand out to me. I was either in my mother’s arms, or in her hands. Never far from her touch or her sight. What comfort these pictures bring me now, of my dear sweet mother, and the love she showered upon me and my siblings. How BLESSED I am to have had that in my life. The gentle guidance and reassurance of a mother’s touch.
As a small child, I was painfully shy. I remember needing to be near both my parents, but especially my mom. I recall hiding behind her, grabbing on to her leg, hoping no one would speak to me. And then she would say, “This is my baby.” She never forced me to talk to them, or come out from hiding. Her gentle nudging helped me to outgrow my shyness, and become comfortable meeting and talking with people.
I can still hear my moms heartbeat, as I sat upon her lap with my head pressed into her chest. She would be on the phone, or watching her shows, but I was happy to hear her heart and breath. I was safe. I was calm. How grateful I am to have a mom who knew the importance of stillness, of quietness. I would listen to her voice echoing through her body as I drifted off to sleep. I still can hear it, and it beckons me home like a lighthouse on the shore.
I know how very fortunate I was to have a mom who was home with us. Who read to us, and played with us. She let me put make up on her, and do her hair. She would spend hours cooking and cleaning, and like any child would, I took it all for granted. But as a mother myself, I so appreciate everything she sacrificed for us. She wanted to be a dancer, or a nurse. In a lot of ways, she still was. We would dance around the house for hours, she had her certain moves, she still does to this day. And she spent many a sleepless night up with a sick child. When I was very young, I would get a little too excited about Christmas. So excited I would break out in hives from head to toe and be sick to my stomach. For several years, my mother sat up with me on Christmas Eve, and then on Christmas morning, would help me open my presents. Never making me feel bad for being nervous or worried. Rather, comforting and caring for me, until it no longer happened.
Mother’s Day is so odd this year, for everyone. Most of us will not be with our Mother’s or our children. My mother now is in a nursing home memory care unit for dementia. I haven’t seen her in person in month’s. It breaks my heart, and I would give anything to snuggle up next to her, listening to her unmistakable laugh, hearing her heartbeat. To just share more of my life with her. But I can honestly say, I am who I am because of her. Because of the sacrifices she made to raise her children. To carry them with love.
“Bursting with empathy, I’m feeling everything
The weight of the world on my shoulders
Hope my tears don’t freak you out
They’re just kinda coming out
It’s the music in me and all of the colors
Wish we didn’t live, wish we didn’t live so far from each other
I’m just sitting here thinking ’bout the time that’s slipping
And missing my mother, mother”.
This is how I picture you, in heaven. Standing high on a mountain, looking around and taking pictures, or shooting a video to show us.
I found this photo, shortly after you died. I keep in my bible, as a bookmark. I see it everyday. And everyday I imagine you this way. I miss you so much. I surround myself with things that are yours or remind me of you. Yet some days, no matter how hard I search for you, I can’t find you.
You left us right before the world went mad. Perfect timing on your part. I think of that daily, that I am so grateful you aren’t here right now. That this would be so hard and traumatic for you. With all the Dr. appointments you had, and lab tests, and being in the nursing home. Alone. And then I get mad at myself for being grateful you are gone. How can you being gone, bring me comfort? I can’t even grieve properly (is there such a thing?) because the earth is sick, and things are at a standstill. Life has literally turned upside down since you have been gone. I wonder, would it feel like that anyway, losing you, without a global pandemic? You have been gone 4 months, it feels like years. Maybe partly, because I, like everybody else, have no clue as to what day or month it is anymore. It doesn’t matter. I have been off work for a month now, so there is nothing to distract me like work did. In some way, it makes sense the world is hurting too, because the world always revolved around you, to me.
I find myself searching for you everywhere. Trying to pick up signs from you. When I see my dachshund, I see you with your doxie Fritz. When I make meatballs and gravy, or chicken and spaetzle soup I can see your face light up. But especially when I hear birds sing. I can clearly hear you imitating every bird that flew into your yard. You could mimic them. And you named them. Billy Blue Jay for one. I was getting sad because everyone I knew was seeing cardinals, visiting them from heaven, they say. Not me. And cardinals used to fly into my yard all the time. I hadn’t seen any. Until this morning. I have a bird feeder right in front of my dining room window. Every day I check, multiple times for one to appear. I listen for their distinct call. I will run to the window, but nothing. Then this morning, in the quiet, sat a pretty little cardinal. And I just stared. And he stared back. I mean it. I didn’t have my phone to take a picture, and honestly, I didn’t want to. I wanted it to just be. To be etched into my memory.
Your 88th birthday would’ve been April 19th. I am anxious over it. And sad. Sad that, like in past years, I would take a picture of you and your twin grandsons who have a birthday a few days after you. It was our tradition. For years. I am mad that it is over. One of the many stages of grief I suppose. Anger. I just wish we could’ve had more. More birthdays with you, more Christmases and pool parties and weddings. It breaks my heart knowing you won’t see my sons get married or become dad’s themselves. I have to believe you Will see it though.
Mom misses you. Most days she remembers you aren’t here. “Your dad is gone you know.” she will say to me. As if to almost get confirmation. She, like everyone in a care facility, is on lock down. No visitors, and no leaving. It breaks our heart. We all call or facetime her as often as we can. Last night, when I called, her dementia had taken over, as it often does in the evening. She thought it was morning and Halloween. She was confused. But she said to me, “Your dad tells me everyday to get ready, to get dressed.” It made me scared and sad at first. But I had a different perspective this morning. I am sure she Does hear you. After 66 years of marriage, how could she not? Your voice must be filling her head. Heck, I can still hear you saying ” Mother, are you ready yet?” You would chide her as she put her “warpaint” on, as you us to call it when she was applying her make up. She relied on you as much as you did her. Even though your last few months on earth were spent apart, you were still one. You always will be.
You would be happy to know, that most of your kids talk or text everyday. We are in constant communication. About you, mom, the mad world. We laugh and cry with each other. We support and comfort each other. We know family Is everything. We give each other a place to grieve and pray. You would be so proud. It is ALL you ever wanted. You are never far from any of us.
So much has changed since you left us. The world changed. Forever. All I can think is, while you were on the earth you were filled with pain, your life was never easy. And now, the world is suffering, every continent, every country, every community, and you are finally pain free and at peace. I hurt for the world and for all of us, down here missing you.
This is how I picture you, in heaven. Standing high on a mountain, looking around and taking pictures, or shooting a video to show us.
Speaking in Cursive 
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