I asked Mom if she'd like to go out to lunch. I'd been away from her a bit, between a long weekend and a medical procedure, though we've talked daily. But she's been feeling a bit neglected, so I wanted our visit today to be a bit special.
We went to one of her favorites, Olive Garden. As I looked around, I was struck by the way our clothes and our companions brand us. I saw tables of apparent co-workers, dressed well, or at least 'business casual', talking intensely. I imagined their conversation ... about interest rates, or project deadlines, or complaining about the boss or the long work days.
I, however, was with the 90-year-old, who came in shuffling extremely slowly with her walker. We had little to say, because we'd already exhausted our usual topics. Instead of a nice knit with a silk jacket and perfect jewelry as I'd worn before, today I wore my shlumpy work-around-the-house, worn-at-the-collar grey velour outfit.
For a moment, I was jealous. I felt ... unimportant. I remembered the days when I went to lunch with co-workers, when we filled our table with laughter or urgent discussion or complaints about all the stress. When I looked good and was valued by my company, my boss, my peers, my clients. I was an expert. I was respected. I influenced senior decision-makers. As I look back, it seems that I used to be important, in my profession.
A few years ago, I chose a voluntary layoff from this Fortune 50 company. I wanted to do more in community service, and supporting my mother and my grandchildren. I honestly am SO very very glad, then and now. Though my work now does not have the value placed on it by salary or corporate world, I remind myself that I touch the lives of humans. I bring meaning to real people. I make a difference in a way that my Senior Program Manager job never did. Never could.
And just maybe just a couple of them looked at a relaxed woman lunching with her aged mother, sitting in a comfortable outfit, and were just a little jealous.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
A terrible honor
Among my siblings, I support my mother here, my sister supports her father-in-law who lives in a nursing home a couple hours from her house in Iowa, and my brother brought his father-in-law in his home some months ago. We each have our responsibilities to our senior generation, to one degree or another.
I received an email from my brother, comparing his father-in-law, 'Ted', to my mother. It was a lengthy email, more than I'd heard from him in some time, comparing functionality point-by-point. Ted is much worse than my mother, and my brother and his wife do a great deal of the very-hands-on personal care. Ted has difficulty (or complete inability) with all of the ADL's (Activities of Daily Living: continence, toileting, transferring, ambulation, dressing and personal care, feeding oneself). My brother says that if Ted was in a nursing home, he would die, period.
It was a "you are so lucky" email.
And, yes, that level of care is not something that I am doing with my mother. She can use a walker (though slowly with difficulty and frequent rest stops). She can transfer with difficulty, very slowly getting out of her chair or bed and getting to her walker. Both the continence and toileting part, she requires complete assistance from the aides at the assisted living home where she lives.
So, yes, I do have an easier time than he does, though I have been visiting her almost daily for three and a half years, and suspect I'll do it for a couple more. I would guess that his father-in-law will not survive as long. His effort is much more intense but will be briefer; my effort is less difficult but much longer.
My sister is a school teacher, and then spends entire weekends driving to and from visit her father-in-law, grading papers. Then she has to go back to work on Monday. Other weekends she comes here to Kansas City area to visit our mother.
And, amid all this sacrifice, family issues from decades ago arise. The competitions. The roles and labels we received then. Old irritations.
Each of us carries our load, our duty, our responsibility, to the previous generation.
I told my brother that I view this as a 'terrible honor', to support someone as they approach death. When elders are feeling vulnerable and helpless, when they can't control their bladder or bowels and feel shame, when they know they have just a short time left ... or, if dementia has robbed them of awareness, they may not even be aware of their fleeting future. The responsibility can be terrible and overwhelming, but there is a great honor in being that person's sponsor, protector, facilitator, and friend/family at such a vulnerable time.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Mike, the uber-chef, and his 'special sauce'
Let me tell you about the charming and kind chef, Mike, at my mother's new care center. He shows me that so much depends on my attitude. I've written about him before, on February 28. He has continued to impress me.
I met Rick as we sat on the couch at the care center, waiting to sign admission papers. A burly man was sitting there looking at some menus, and he stood up (as a gentleman) when we, as ladies, entered the room. We started chatting. He is a displaced Boston Italian, charming. He seems to have a million stories, and has had a rich life. He is a cook, and has owned restaurants with dreams of caring for his family doing what he loves. Yet, after some twists and turns in his life, he is here, cooking for some very senior citizens.
Now, how would you handle that? How would I handle it? Would I see myself as a failure, bitterly disappointed to have to cook for those who may be quick to complain? These elderly ladies and men have palates that are Midwestern, leaning toward meatloaf and mashed potatoes, rather than robust and Italian as Mike loves to cook. Many residents have reached an age where little tastes good, and medical issues may prohibit them from having as much salt and sugar as they might like.
So, given all that, would I value this place in my life, if I now had to cook for these folk? Would I consider myself as being in a successful place in my career? Would you?
If you have any doubt, please talk to Mike.
Mike views this stage in his life as being golden. He works long hours - from before breakfast to after the evening meal - but just for three and a half days a week. The rest of the time, he gets to enjoy time with his family and spend time with his children. He lives in a city where he is able to live at a slower pace than Boston, and I assume, to live in a better home that he would have been able to afford there. You'd think he'd been handed the keys to the city. He glows when he talks about his life and family.
Even more, he treasures his privilege of cooking for the older folks. He told us that he is very aware that he will probably cook the very last meal that some of the residents will ever eat, and he counts that an honor. As we sat there, meeting him for the first time, he repeatedly insisted that my mother tell him exactly how she liked things cooked, and he means it! She even said she doesn't like potatoes in her soup, and so he makes every effort not to give her potatoes in her soup - and he doesn't even point out to her that it's a little cuckoo that she loves potato soup but dislikes potatoes in her soup!
After dinner, he comes out, takes off his cap in deference to the ladies, and talks to his guests. But he doesn't stand next to them, nor even lean down toward them. He gets down on one knee to be sure he is on their level, to hear and look at them in the eye. He laughs with them, gently kids them a little, and gets ribbed in return. He watches to see what food gets returned to learn how to improve his offerings.
And his food is delicious, by the way. Shrimp scampi and barbeque ribs, chicken-fried steak, custom-made salads, and egg or tuna salad sandwiches that are so stuffed that they overflow the side of the bread. And, there's even the occasional spaghetti or ziti pasta! Really delicious.
Honestly, he might still cook about the same, whether he viewed his role as important or not. But I can't help but believe that there is an added sweetness, a 'special sauce', that comes from someone who has chosen to be content. Someone who sees the goodness in his situation, and look beyond the disappointments or even bitterness that we all experience in our lives. Mike smiles his wry lopsided Boston grin, tells you about his kids and this week's menu and about his great life, and you know you are in excellent hands.
I met Rick as we sat on the couch at the care center, waiting to sign admission papers. A burly man was sitting there looking at some menus, and he stood up (as a gentleman) when we, as ladies, entered the room. We started chatting. He is a displaced Boston Italian, charming. He seems to have a million stories, and has had a rich life. He is a cook, and has owned restaurants with dreams of caring for his family doing what he loves. Yet, after some twists and turns in his life, he is here, cooking for some very senior citizens.
Now, how would you handle that? How would I handle it? Would I see myself as a failure, bitterly disappointed to have to cook for those who may be quick to complain? These elderly ladies and men have palates that are Midwestern, leaning toward meatloaf and mashed potatoes, rather than robust and Italian as Mike loves to cook. Many residents have reached an age where little tastes good, and medical issues may prohibit them from having as much salt and sugar as they might like.
So, given all that, would I value this place in my life, if I now had to cook for these folk? Would I consider myself as being in a successful place in my career? Would you?
If you have any doubt, please talk to Mike.
Mike views this stage in his life as being golden. He works long hours - from before breakfast to after the evening meal - but just for three and a half days a week. The rest of the time, he gets to enjoy time with his family and spend time with his children. He lives in a city where he is able to live at a slower pace than Boston, and I assume, to live in a better home that he would have been able to afford there. You'd think he'd been handed the keys to the city. He glows when he talks about his life and family.
Even more, he treasures his privilege of cooking for the older folks. He told us that he is very aware that he will probably cook the very last meal that some of the residents will ever eat, and he counts that an honor. As we sat there, meeting him for the first time, he repeatedly insisted that my mother tell him exactly how she liked things cooked, and he means it! She even said she doesn't like potatoes in her soup, and so he makes every effort not to give her potatoes in her soup - and he doesn't even point out to her that it's a little cuckoo that she loves potato soup but dislikes potatoes in her soup!
After dinner, he comes out, takes off his cap in deference to the ladies, and talks to his guests. But he doesn't stand next to them, nor even lean down toward them. He gets down on one knee to be sure he is on their level, to hear and look at them in the eye. He laughs with them, gently kids them a little, and gets ribbed in return. He watches to see what food gets returned to learn how to improve his offerings.
And his food is delicious, by the way. Shrimp scampi and barbeque ribs, chicken-fried steak, custom-made salads, and egg or tuna salad sandwiches that are so stuffed that they overflow the side of the bread. And, there's even the occasional spaghetti or ziti pasta! Really delicious.
Honestly, he might still cook about the same, whether he viewed his role as important or not. But I can't help but believe that there is an added sweetness, a 'special sauce', that comes from someone who has chosen to be content. Someone who sees the goodness in his situation, and look beyond the disappointments or even bitterness that we all experience in our lives. Mike smiles his wry lopsided Boston grin, tells you about his kids and this week's menu and about his great life, and you know you are in excellent hands.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Learning limits
A comment on a post from one of my favorite bloggers, washashore wannabe, reads, "No one person can keep another person alive - this is what I've learned to tell myself."
Yes yes yes. Exactly. What a difficult lesson. Thank you for reminding me - I'm grateful. (And, readers, be sure to visit his wonderful blog, at http://midlifemidcape.wordpress.com/).
I remember the first year(s) of caring for my mother as she moved to a nearby assisted living home. I ordered her prescriptions and prepared her medicines, took her to doctor's appointments, arranged her clothes. I visited her daily, negotiated with caregivers. I felt the terrible burden of this woman's fragile life being in my hands. My often clumsy or busy hands.
Even as she proclaimed her desire to die, it seemingly became my responsibility to make her WANT to live. As she sits bored in her chair, merely awaiting Dr Phil each day, refusing to participate in most activities, she yearns for death. What will I do about that?
I have learned, and occasionally must re-take the lesson, that I am not responsible for her staying alive. Even more difficult for me, I am not responsible for her happiness or for her having a meaningful or rich life. She alone must do that herself - live - in all senses of the word.
Yes yes yes. Exactly. What a difficult lesson. Thank you for reminding me - I'm grateful. (And, readers, be sure to visit his wonderful blog, at http://midlifemidcape.wordpress.com/).
I remember the first year(s) of caring for my mother as she moved to a nearby assisted living home. I ordered her prescriptions and prepared her medicines, took her to doctor's appointments, arranged her clothes. I visited her daily, negotiated with caregivers. I felt the terrible burden of this woman's fragile life being in my hands. My often clumsy or busy hands.
Even as she proclaimed her desire to die, it seemingly became my responsibility to make her WANT to live. As she sits bored in her chair, merely awaiting Dr Phil each day, refusing to participate in most activities, she yearns for death. What will I do about that?
I have learned, and occasionally must re-take the lesson, that I am not responsible for her staying alive. Even more difficult for me, I am not responsible for her happiness or for her having a meaningful or rich life. She alone must do that herself - live - in all senses of the word.
A welcome inheritance
In our conversations, as I express a preference or interest, my mother loves to wonder aloud, "Who did you get that from?" If I drink a lot of water, "who gave you that?". If I am interested in genealogy or like history, she debates the originator of that gift, as if I had no input. I am an artist, and she likes to know that, like her, I am creative. When I am optimistic, I am my dad. And on and on.
It has been rather irritating, honestly. I haven't had particularly warm-and-fuzzy memories of my difficult childhood. And, having left home at 17 and made very very different choices than did my parents, I consider myself to be very much my own person. As I've moved beyond anger and bitterness at my past, and come to peace with my mother, I'm somewhat less resentful of her having to ascribe every morsel of my existence to something SHE (or my father) gave me. But clearly, yes, it still carries some sparks.
However, recent medical issues have made me grateful for one thing - a (mostly) very healthy heart, much like my mother's.
The issues I've had have to do with some recently-discovered electrical issues - episodes of tachycardia, atrial flutter or AVNRT. My mother has atrial fibrillation, very related. Both conditions represent a short-circuit, with potential complications but easily survivable, and can be cured with a procedure that is scary to me, but is quite common (an ablation, a 'zapping' of the short-circuit area).
But the really excellent news, the wonderful inheritance, is that I apparently have a very very healthy heart (other than the electrical problem), in spite of my very inadequate care of my health. I am overweight and diabetic, and have had cholesterol problems before I found the right medicine. I have been fearing heart problems with every twinge in my chest or arms, since my father had heart disease (and my brother and my husband...). Yet, I have excellent results on an recent extensive workup - very good pumping (ejection fraction much better than normal), no plaque from the cholesterol (calcium score of zero). I can now fix my wiring and hope for a long life. What a relief.
My mother has so far lived until 90, and her own father lived until 92. I think I inherited her heart - both the electrical problems and the strength of it. Finally, I can clearly and openly say, Thanks, Mom. I got that from you.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Eeyore, chapter two
Mom's cough has gotten worse. This is a big deal, since a cough can turn into a fatal pneumonia.
The hospice doctor came yesterday, Saturday, to see her. Prescribed another antibiotic and some breathing treatments on a nebulizer, 4 times a day.
I came to see her late yesterday, about 8PM, and the nebulizer machine was sitting there (delivered by rental agency contracted for by hospice), but not used. The aides at the home didn't seem to know anything about it. I called hospice to ask, and they said, yes, they should have the orders and then ... 'let me call you back'. After a few calls, and a late-night visit by the director of the hospice agency... here is what happened (I think):
It seems that the the hospice doctor assumed his hospice nurse would fax the orders. The hospice nurse assumed the facility would see the orders and make it so. The facility aides somehow missed the orders altogether. And, mom lost a full day in improving her lung function.
Mom didn't get her breathing treatment via nebulizer until 2:30 PM today. Then they were late with the next treatment, so that they could only get two treatments in today, rather than the three we wanted to squeeze in.
What is going on? I just don't get it. The proverbial rain cloud over Eeyore (mom) continues to rain.
So, let me breathe deeply as I conclude this blog post. Maybe I'm getting too much into boring weeds of mom's daily treatment, in my frustration with their errors.
So let me step back and just say... I think it has been essential to take a very proactive role in mom's care at her homes. I'm not saying that family members should be a royal pain to care facilities - but to be a very VERY active and engaged partner with them in her care. I want them to understand that we are working together - and that I am their best friend, or else I'll ask them directly and specifically about matters until I understand that they are handling her care appropriately.
I'm there almost every day. I make an effort to learn the aides' names - Heather, Cindy, Petti, Holly, etc - and to greet them and to thank them just about every time I see them. I smile, show genuine interest, and joke with them. But - BUT - I also insist that Mom gets the care she needs.
Honestly, I'm exhausted right now. Weary of fighting this battle again. Will Mom survive her 'care'?
The hospice doctor came yesterday, Saturday, to see her. Prescribed another antibiotic and some breathing treatments on a nebulizer, 4 times a day.
I came to see her late yesterday, about 8PM, and the nebulizer machine was sitting there (delivered by rental agency contracted for by hospice), but not used. The aides at the home didn't seem to know anything about it. I called hospice to ask, and they said, yes, they should have the orders and then ... 'let me call you back'. After a few calls, and a late-night visit by the director of the hospice agency... here is what happened (I think):
It seems that the the hospice doctor assumed his hospice nurse would fax the orders. The hospice nurse assumed the facility would see the orders and make it so. The facility aides somehow missed the orders altogether. And, mom lost a full day in improving her lung function.
Mom didn't get her breathing treatment via nebulizer until 2:30 PM today. Then they were late with the next treatment, so that they could only get two treatments in today, rather than the three we wanted to squeeze in.
What is going on? I just don't get it. The proverbial rain cloud over Eeyore (mom) continues to rain.
So, let me breathe deeply as I conclude this blog post. Maybe I'm getting too much into boring weeds of mom's daily treatment, in my frustration with their errors.
So let me step back and just say... I think it has been essential to take a very proactive role in mom's care at her homes. I'm not saying that family members should be a royal pain to care facilities - but to be a very VERY active and engaged partner with them in her care. I want them to understand that we are working together - and that I am their best friend, or else I'll ask them directly and specifically about matters until I understand that they are handling her care appropriately.
I'm there almost every day. I make an effort to learn the aides' names - Heather, Cindy, Petti, Holly, etc - and to greet them and to thank them just about every time I see them. I smile, show genuine interest, and joke with them. But - BUT - I also insist that Mom gets the care she needs.
Honestly, I'm exhausted right now. Weary of fighting this battle again. Will Mom survive her 'care'?
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Eeyore in the 'home'
Maybe it's a curse. Maybe mom is just our own Kansas version of Eeyore. While my mom has had her moments of being difficult, I don't see that as her pattern right now. Yet, things keep happening.
Last night's aide refused to help mom change her brief at bedtime. When mom asked for help, the aide pointed at the wet brief and said, "Take that off. Then put this on." And walked out. This is an aide that has a good reputation. (The aide will be assisted to understand what should have happened.)
The night before, the aides couldn't find mom's medicines in the cart. Inexplicable, since the day aides could find them. The night aides couldn't. (She eventually fell asleep without the sleeping pill.)
Her sheets haven't been changed for over two and a half weeks because they do that on Shower Day, but she wasn't scheduled for a shower there since hospice comes in twice weekly. (She has now been scheduled for both a shower and sheets.)
Mom was worried that she had offended someone (which is not completely out of the question, given her history, but is not the issue here). And even if she had been crochety, she deserves good care.
And of course, this follows a nightmarish 5 weeks of dealing with issues at the nursing home where we had just moved her. I kept complaining, daily, constantly, over real issues. I felt like a real kvetch.... because I was one, though fully merited.
Problems here are nowhere near as consistent nor as major nor as frustrating as in the nursing home, but things do keep happening to her! We are handling them with the facility without the least bit of rancor on either side ... and our few concerns are being well-received and handled correctly.
We had a nice, truly friendly chat with the director today. She just shook her head, apologized, said the aide absolutely should have helped, that Mom didn't do anything wrong ... and remarked with surprise that it just seems that it keeps happening just to Mom. A mystery.
Eeyore Roberta, with her personal rain cloud that follows her. I'll bring an umbrella.
Last night's aide refused to help mom change her brief at bedtime. When mom asked for help, the aide pointed at the wet brief and said, "Take that off. Then put this on." And walked out. This is an aide that has a good reputation. (The aide will be assisted to understand what should have happened.)
The night before, the aides couldn't find mom's medicines in the cart. Inexplicable, since the day aides could find them. The night aides couldn't. (She eventually fell asleep without the sleeping pill.)Her sheets haven't been changed for over two and a half weeks because they do that on Shower Day, but she wasn't scheduled for a shower there since hospice comes in twice weekly. (She has now been scheduled for both a shower and sheets.)
Mom was worried that she had offended someone (which is not completely out of the question, given her history, but is not the issue here). And even if she had been crochety, she deserves good care.
And of course, this follows a nightmarish 5 weeks of dealing with issues at the nursing home where we had just moved her. I kept complaining, daily, constantly, over real issues. I felt like a real kvetch.... because I was one, though fully merited.
Problems here are nowhere near as consistent nor as major nor as frustrating as in the nursing home, but things do keep happening to her! We are handling them with the facility without the least bit of rancor on either side ... and our few concerns are being well-received and handled correctly.
We had a nice, truly friendly chat with the director today. She just shook her head, apologized, said the aide absolutely should have helped, that Mom didn't do anything wrong ... and remarked with surprise that it just seems that it keeps happening just to Mom. A mystery.
Eeyore Roberta, with her personal rain cloud that follows her. I'll bring an umbrella.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Dementia and Alzheimer's
The last time my mother went to her regular physician was just before the move around February 1. She needed a checkup in order to be admitted to the nursing home. The visit was routine - heart, lungs, eye, complaints. I've been increasingly lacking confidence in this doctor, but have kept seeing him, for now, since my mother loves him.
As we walked out toward the check-out desk, I saw the doctor had written, "Alzheimer's Dementia" as a diagnosis. I didn't turn around to question him or argue, as I was eager to leave. But, I just don't agree.
I do accept that my mother has a measure of dementia. She forgets words, or what she had for lunch. She occasionally forgets names - but she does not get confused about who someone is, and, honestly, she usually remembers more names than I do. She is sharp and discerning about when someone is treating her well, or badly. She can describe incidents or issues. She does crossword puzzles when she wants to.
Is she occasionally fuzzy? Sure. But more often, she is acutely aware and oriented. She can be rude but also funny and wry. She is both sarcastic and engaged. She has curiosity and is interested in her surroundings - "What are those people doing over there" (going onto a walking path). "When is the first day of spring this year?" (today). I took her along with a group of mixed-aged friends going to the wonderful Toy and Miniature Museum in Kansas City yesterday, and she loved the outing.
Does it matter whether her records read "Alzheimer's dementia" versus "Dementia". I've honestly wondered. Am I wrong to try to get her new doctor at her new assisted living facility to adjust the diagnosis? Does it matter?
I really want to say YES! Of course it does! Not entirely because I feel protective of her, nor to imply any lessened risk to her future - or of any potential risk of my own possible Alzheimer's. And not entirely because "Alzheimer's Dementia" implies a diagnostic precision in the cause of and type of cognitive loss, one that I don't think she carries.
But I think a diagnosis of Alzheimer's carries an assumed way that a resident in assisted living will need to be treated - a way that is not matching what my mother's needs are. And it implies an impending inability to sustain residency in an assisted living facility.
At least, that's my excuse for wanting to clarify the diagnosis. And, I'm sticking to it.
As we walked out toward the check-out desk, I saw the doctor had written, "Alzheimer's Dementia" as a diagnosis. I didn't turn around to question him or argue, as I was eager to leave. But, I just don't agree.
I do accept that my mother has a measure of dementia. She forgets words, or what she had for lunch. She occasionally forgets names - but she does not get confused about who someone is, and, honestly, she usually remembers more names than I do. She is sharp and discerning about when someone is treating her well, or badly. She can describe incidents or issues. She does crossword puzzles when she wants to.
Is she occasionally fuzzy? Sure. But more often, she is acutely aware and oriented. She can be rude but also funny and wry. She is both sarcastic and engaged. She has curiosity and is interested in her surroundings - "What are those people doing over there" (going onto a walking path). "When is the first day of spring this year?" (today). I took her along with a group of mixed-aged friends going to the wonderful Toy and Miniature Museum in Kansas City yesterday, and she loved the outing.
Does it matter whether her records read "Alzheimer's dementia" versus "Dementia". I've honestly wondered. Am I wrong to try to get her new doctor at her new assisted living facility to adjust the diagnosis? Does it matter?
I really want to say YES! Of course it does! Not entirely because I feel protective of her, nor to imply any lessened risk to her future - or of any potential risk of my own possible Alzheimer's. And not entirely because "Alzheimer's Dementia" implies a diagnostic precision in the cause of and type of cognitive loss, one that I don't think she carries.
But I think a diagnosis of Alzheimer's carries an assumed way that a resident in assisted living will need to be treated - a way that is not matching what my mother's needs are. And it implies an impending inability to sustain residency in an assisted living facility.
At least, that's my excuse for wanting to clarify the diagnosis. And, I'm sticking to it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
My brother is irritated with me - but let's not talk about it!
When we were moving Mom a couple moves ago, I had prepared a lot of her apartment for the move to the nursing home. I had spent many hours sorting through her things, planning and anticipating the move. My brother happened to have a business trip here, so happily for all of us, he could help; my sister and her husband were coming down from Iowa. So, we were all there to do the sorting and cleaning out and clearing out. Great. It was a LOT of work - furniture and mementos and clothing and hospice supplies, photos and things both precious and trash-able. A lot of work for a short weekend, and three older adults plus two spouses.
And just to give context, I'll remind you I'm a daughter. Not the golden son, oh no, I am the daughter. And I'm the middle child.
In the course of the move, my sister and I noticed that my brother was irritated.
Let's just say that he is used to being Mr Male, Mr In-Charge.
Ummmm..... so am I, except substitute "Ms". I've managed large and complex projects and high-level work teams in my corporate life, all before I retired. So, I'm really OK with managing things - I was not fluttering around, all confused and silly, "Oh my I wish there were a MAN here to guide me!" I am not an insane control freak, but I knew what had to be done, and I knew our resources and time, and I was somewhat directive.
Anyway... at some point, I'd asked the guys to do something, and my brother just got really tense.
My husband said that my brother made some comment about trying to be accepting. And my brother has been tense ever since. Somewhat. Except of course he doesn't really say anything directly. Just curt, just tiny rudeness. Wisps of smoke, not full flames. I won't bother relating the curt email he sent after ignoring my three weeks' worth of emails.
Oh well. I'm here, doing my thing. It's easy for him to want to waltz in every 2-3 months and be Mr In-Charge, but here, life is going on without him. And we're really very OK. But it puts a distance between him and me. And I'm tired of being the one to make peace since I actually feel like putting a bit of fuel on that fire. So, I'll just let him be the way he is. And it will go away eventually, yet another wound that only partially heals, waiting for the next cut. Just like my entire history of my life growing up in this family.
My father and my sister had a conversation about me, many years ago. He literally said, "Nancy and I have a great relationship - we don't talk". My sister was flabbergasted that he so clearly articulated the matter. That he was, apparently, so very aware. And - my brother believes we had a perfect childhood, and aspires to be my father. I believe he has, for the most part, achieved his goal.
And just to give context, I'll remind you I'm a daughter. Not the golden son, oh no, I am the daughter. And I'm the middle child.
In the course of the move, my sister and I noticed that my brother was irritated.
Let's just say that he is used to being Mr Male, Mr In-Charge.
Ummmm..... so am I, except substitute "Ms". I've managed large and complex projects and high-level work teams in my corporate life, all before I retired. So, I'm really OK with managing things - I was not fluttering around, all confused and silly, "Oh my I wish there were a MAN here to guide me!" I am not an insane control freak, but I knew what had to be done, and I knew our resources and time, and I was somewhat directive.
Anyway... at some point, I'd asked the guys to do something, and my brother just got really tense.
My husband said that my brother made some comment about trying to be accepting. And my brother has been tense ever since. Somewhat. Except of course he doesn't really say anything directly. Just curt, just tiny rudeness. Wisps of smoke, not full flames. I won't bother relating the curt email he sent after ignoring my three weeks' worth of emails.
Oh well. I'm here, doing my thing. It's easy for him to want to waltz in every 2-3 months and be Mr In-Charge, but here, life is going on without him. And we're really very OK. But it puts a distance between him and me. And I'm tired of being the one to make peace since I actually feel like putting a bit of fuel on that fire. So, I'll just let him be the way he is. And it will go away eventually, yet another wound that only partially heals, waiting for the next cut. Just like my entire history of my life growing up in this family.
My father and my sister had a conversation about me, many years ago. He literally said, "Nancy and I have a great relationship - we don't talk". My sister was flabbergasted that he so clearly articulated the matter. That he was, apparently, so very aware. And - my brother believes we had a perfect childhood, and aspires to be my father. I believe he has, for the most part, achieved his goal.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Settling in, both of us
Mom is settled in, and truly content. She is being taken care of, the aides are helpful and positive, and the residents are friendly. Mom actually has actually engaged in some activities, and enjoyed them! The food is good, life is peaceful.
During this past week, each day I've brought more things - purchases, or, from my garage, things that I'd earlier removed when she moved to the smaller space in the nursing home. I've been putting up pictures, arranging clothes. My sister came to visit, and we found a used dresser for her clothes. I really think she's 90% 'done'.
Of course, she constantly says she's about to die, as she's said for three years. "Don't buy that large package of batteries - just the four-pack - since I won't be around long enough." She resisted buying a dresser.
But overall, she is content with her home.
And I'm going to start taking a couple days off each week from visiting her. Today I have all day at home for my own needs (prepping my house to sell it as soon as we can get it ready). And I know she'll be OK. That feels stupendous. A day without a "Mom Run". Taking care of myself. Cool.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
A Disney day
Today feels like a true Disney day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, all's right with the world - with a nod to Robert Browning as well.
Yesterday, the day was dismal - rainy, cold, lightning and thunder. I had acute bronchitis, with a spot on my lung that looked like possible pneumonia. I had chills, fever. My doctor warned me to stay away from my mother and go home to bed.
But it was move day. Nuh uh, doc. Gotta go.
Equipped with hand sanitizer and, yes, a mask, I went to work. Got her physically moved with a few essentials (sheets, blanket, her nightgown, cookies, walker and wheelchair), before lunch. Hospice moved in the hospice bed and her oxygen.
Then went home to wait for the second shift.
My son Kelly and his brother-in-law Chad came at 6:15 that evening. Put a few things in the truck from my home (bouncing some things back to her that she'd already passed to me). Then, off to the old place to pack up and move her things. We got to the new place about 8:45 to find her in bed. After we unloaded, I whirled around, got things out of boxes and set them out - just out, anywhere.
She looked so peaceful and content, happy to have a safe space. A home. And now, her move complete, I can stay home until I'm better and not contagious.
Today, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, all's right with the world.
Monday, February 28, 2011
happy happy...
I took Mom to lunch at her new place. She won't move in til Friday, but we had an advance peek. The apartment had just been vacated, so she got to see. The rooms are a bit smaller than her old assisted living place, but since we just got rid of almost all of her furniture, it works out well to have less space to fill up.
The people were lovely. Elsie agreed to sit with us at a guest table, and though she was pretty quiet, she made an effort to welcome Mom. Joanne met us in the living room and was funny and friendly. Mom actually acted like she might play bingo or Rummicube - she liked the people and seemed like she'd be a part of the community.
There were just 28 people in the dining room. It was peaceful. People were served food hot, and each table was served about the same time so no one had to eat alone. There was friendly, quiet chatter.
After the meal, we went to sit in the living room, and found a man there. Turned out he was the cook, Mike. He was in his upper 40s, from Boston, and really funny. Charmed Mom. Spent a good part of his career owning restaurants, then came to work for this place 3 years ago. Loves it. Recognizes he brings people the last meal they will ever eat, and takes that privilege/responsibility very seriously. Told Mom she needed to tell him how she likes food - oatmeal with brown sugar, eggs scrambled, dislikes mashed potatoes. Makes salad with romaine and spinach, not iceberg. Though he's Boston Italian, he has learned how to make meatloaf and Midwest type dishes. He's a smart-aleck and funny, but respectful. Delightful.
And there's something so comforting, so 'home', about being in a place where the food is welcoming, ample, warm, and familiar.
She repeatedly asked why I didn't find this place three and a half years ago, before she even got into her previous assisted living.
We left content and excited. Can't wait for Friday. Will be a challenge ... but totally worth it.
The people were lovely. Elsie agreed to sit with us at a guest table, and though she was pretty quiet, she made an effort to welcome Mom. Joanne met us in the living room and was funny and friendly. Mom actually acted like she might play bingo or Rummicube - she liked the people and seemed like she'd be a part of the community.
There were just 28 people in the dining room. It was peaceful. People were served food hot, and each table was served about the same time so no one had to eat alone. There was friendly, quiet chatter.
After the meal, we went to sit in the living room, and found a man there. Turned out he was the cook, Mike. He was in his upper 40s, from Boston, and really funny. Charmed Mom. Spent a good part of his career owning restaurants, then came to work for this place 3 years ago. Loves it. Recognizes he brings people the last meal they will ever eat, and takes that privilege/responsibility very seriously. Told Mom she needed to tell him how she likes food - oatmeal with brown sugar, eggs scrambled, dislikes mashed potatoes. Makes salad with romaine and spinach, not iceberg. Though he's Boston Italian, he has learned how to make meatloaf and Midwest type dishes. He's a smart-aleck and funny, but respectful. Delightful.
And there's something so comforting, so 'home', about being in a place where the food is welcoming, ample, warm, and familiar.
She repeatedly asked why I didn't find this place three and a half years ago, before she even got into her previous assisted living.
We left content and excited. Can't wait for Friday. Will be a challenge ... but totally worth it.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Rinse and repeat.
So, the subtitle of this blog says that this will focus on what Mom's care does to her, but also to me, and to my relationship with my family and siblings.
I've started several posts, and abandoned them. They were just rehash of where I've been before, what I've said before. Nothing new, nothing insightful, nothing really very interesting.
But I guess that's the point of exactly where I am in this place of caring for Mom. Yes, I have some adrenaline surging about the poor care in her soon-to-be-former home, and some planning and project-management skills surging in looking for the new place. Many sleepless nights as my mind obsesses about Mom - last night, I couldn't sleep because of thinking about what we'll do for a dresser for her. (Silly, eh?) So, there are some recent variations in Groundhog Day.
But, overall, this is still just 'Rinse. Repeat." (Which is basically the punchline of, "Why did they find the blonde dead, lying in the shower after a week, clutching a bottle of shampoo? The shampoo bottle said, Shampoo. Rinse, Repeat.)
In this blog, I could repeat old themes: My sister has been great. My brother does not seem to be very engaged. I am hungry for my next adventure. I am honored to have the role of supporting someone approaching death. I have grown ... though sometimes reluctantly. Same themes. Same posts. Same same same same.
Rinse and repeat.
Rinse and repeat.
New hope, but with reality
Mom and I are both eager to get her in the new facility. It looks wonderful, peaceful, friendly, caring, competent. The best recommendation is a hospice nurse who gave it HIGH marks ... and she knows the place well as well as seeing the real life there.
She gets to move in early, this Friday Mar 4. Her room will be quite close to the center, limiting the amount she has to walk. She goes back to a small apartment vs a glorified hospital room, though we need to go retrieve some of the furniture that we distributed. It will be so much better.
But I also know there will be problems. Mom will have problems adjusting. They will make errors, and we need to anticipate a certain amount of imperfection. It more than doubles my commute to see my mother in my usual daily trips, and I'm not sure whether I may just need to beg off occasionally.
We can be excited, happy, relieved... but we can't expect an idyllic situation free of any frustrations. Realistic, but content. Sounds good to me.
She gets to move in early, this Friday Mar 4. Her room will be quite close to the center, limiting the amount she has to walk. She goes back to a small apartment vs a glorified hospital room, though we need to go retrieve some of the furniture that we distributed. It will be so much better.
But I also know there will be problems. Mom will have problems adjusting. They will make errors, and we need to anticipate a certain amount of imperfection. It more than doubles my commute to see my mother in my usual daily trips, and I'm not sure whether I may just need to beg off occasionally.
We can be excited, happy, relieved... but we can't expect an idyllic situation free of any frustrations. Realistic, but content. Sounds good to me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tick, tock, tick tock (for two weeks...)
We got an estimated move-in date of two weeks from today, to give the previous resident a week to move out, and to give them a week to prepare the rooms. Mom is just desperate to get out of where she is, so she can feel safe, welcomed, secure.
Every day, problems continue at her existing residence. Today they admitted they have lost her beloved quilt. I can't even recount all the problems ... cold food, tasteless food, long wait times for call buttons, tripping hazards and safety issues, bare mattress for a half-day (when she was napping), lots of lost laundry. There is just an unending list of problems, some serious, some petty, and all chronic.
I honestly don't know how this place gets by with it. I have complained at all levels - to individuals, to the unit nurse, to social work and nursing departments, and to the director of nursing. I've been promised 'investigation', but have not received any further communication in response. There are still stupid errors and neglect that just keeps happening, even though they know I'm there every day and will complain. So, I choose to not continue to complain - it is clear that their service will not improve further, and I don't want her to receive any repercussions or negative treatment in the next two weeks.
After she moves, I will have more to say, both to them and likely in some other more public forum, such as a web review. I feel sad for residents that have no advocate, whose family just dumps them there and rarely visits. They have no voice, no advocate, and surely suffer the same. Or, maybe they're just used to neglect. Sad.
But - woooo hoooooo - she will be truly in a 'home' soon. Yes, they will make some errors, but surely not like it is now. I am confident, I am hopeful.
Every day, problems continue at her existing residence. Today they admitted they have lost her beloved quilt. I can't even recount all the problems ... cold food, tasteless food, long wait times for call buttons, tripping hazards and safety issues, bare mattress for a half-day (when she was napping), lots of lost laundry. There is just an unending list of problems, some serious, some petty, and all chronic.
I honestly don't know how this place gets by with it. I have complained at all levels - to individuals, to the unit nurse, to social work and nursing departments, and to the director of nursing. I've been promised 'investigation', but have not received any further communication in response. There are still stupid errors and neglect that just keeps happening, even though they know I'm there every day and will complain. So, I choose to not continue to complain - it is clear that their service will not improve further, and I don't want her to receive any repercussions or negative treatment in the next two weeks.
After she moves, I will have more to say, both to them and likely in some other more public forum, such as a web review. I feel sad for residents that have no advocate, whose family just dumps them there and rarely visits. They have no voice, no advocate, and surely suffer the same. Or, maybe they're just used to neglect. Sad.
But - woooo hoooooo - she will be truly in a 'home' soon. Yes, they will make some errors, but surely not like it is now. I am confident, I am hopeful.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Tick, tock ... but with hope
I went 'shopping' for places for Mom.
I chopped a lot of places off the list due to bad reputation, or low scores from Medicare site.
I found one, a nursing home, that used to be called the 'county nursing home' - but it is well-organized, pleasant. Her room would be about the same size as her present one, also a semi-private. But they seem to be better organized, more caring, more individualized. They have 'neighborhoods' that are managed independently - she would eat with the same small group, be cared for by the same group of staff. I learned that they pay their staff higher than other places, resulting in being able to keep the best people. Plus, it's cheaper by a bit.
Then I hit pay dirt.
I know a hospice nurse who told me she has several clients in another place she likes - but it's at the assisted living level rather than a full nursing home. But she said that this place 'goes the extra mile' in helping with ADL's - activities of daily living. They would help her with her almost complete incontinence. They would wheel her to her meals, if she felt too weak. They give showers. They have delicious meals. They have homey pictures of residents around. They are in a wooded area in the midst of suburbs, but it feels peaceful and like country.
This is where the hospice nurse would go if she needed it.
Plus, she would have her own apartment - a separate living area (with kitchenette), a bedroom, a large bathroom, closets. Not a glorified hospital room (as in nursing homes).
Plus, it costs less than her former assisted living home (by more than $1,000/month), and almost half the nursing homes.
The downside is that it's farther for me to drive, but it's do-able. And, if her health worsens, she may eventually need nursing home care (though she is on hospice and has end-of-life wishes to not receive extraordinary measures, so maybe she could just stay there - may depend on regulations).
And they have a room coming available in the next weeks.
Now we just wait for them to come assess her to make sure they can accept her, then wait for the room to open up. But I'm so ... content ... that she'll have a place to call home, where she feels safe and cared for. My heart is light for the first time in weeks.
Tick tock, tick tock.
I chopped a lot of places off the list due to bad reputation, or low scores from Medicare site.
I found one, a nursing home, that used to be called the 'county nursing home' - but it is well-organized, pleasant. Her room would be about the same size as her present one, also a semi-private. But they seem to be better organized, more caring, more individualized. They have 'neighborhoods' that are managed independently - she would eat with the same small group, be cared for by the same group of staff. I learned that they pay their staff higher than other places, resulting in being able to keep the best people. Plus, it's cheaper by a bit.
Then I hit pay dirt.
I know a hospice nurse who told me she has several clients in another place she likes - but it's at the assisted living level rather than a full nursing home. But she said that this place 'goes the extra mile' in helping with ADL's - activities of daily living. They would help her with her almost complete incontinence. They would wheel her to her meals, if she felt too weak. They give showers. They have delicious meals. They have homey pictures of residents around. They are in a wooded area in the midst of suburbs, but it feels peaceful and like country.
This is where the hospice nurse would go if she needed it.
Plus, she would have her own apartment - a separate living area (with kitchenette), a bedroom, a large bathroom, closets. Not a glorified hospital room (as in nursing homes).
Plus, it costs less than her former assisted living home (by more than $1,000/month), and almost half the nursing homes.
The downside is that it's farther for me to drive, but it's do-able. And, if her health worsens, she may eventually need nursing home care (though she is on hospice and has end-of-life wishes to not receive extraordinary measures, so maybe she could just stay there - may depend on regulations).
And they have a room coming available in the next weeks.
Now we just wait for them to come assess her to make sure they can accept her, then wait for the room to open up. But I'm so ... content ... that she'll have a place to call home, where she feels safe and cared for. My heart is light for the first time in weeks.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The last straw
I have chronicled the deficits at this nursing home. I have complained to the director of nursing. I have complained to staff. I have been pleasant but firm about providing my mother good care, but have continued to see problems in this place. And tonight was the last straw.
Fecal matter on her sheets.
How long has it been there? The nurse saw it and was horrified, and said that their schedule is to change sheets 'when she gets a shower'. Since the nursing home only gives her a shower once a week (on Sundays), and hospice gives her a shower twice a week, it is presumable that this could have been there since Sunday.
After she said that the sheets get changed when she gets a shower, I said, "or if there is fecal matter on them, right?". She said, yes right.
Also, it shouldn't even happen. We have hundreds of 30" x 30" bed pads, thanks to hospice over-ordering them. Her old place always always had one on her bed. I'm desperate for them to use up these pads, since they are clogging her storage.
Snap. I'm done with this place.
I toured one of the other nursing homes in town, a nice bright one, warm and friendly, and considerably cheaper. Respectful of residents. Surely not perfect, but .... I believe it will be a vast improvement. Her name went on the waiting list today.
It's funny, I'm a practical woman. If only her existing place was a great bargain - I could put up with feces on the sheets maybe, or slow service, or pee left in the bedside commode, or my having to remind them about every little thing. But ... not at premium prices. Nuh uh.
Snap. The straw just broke the camel's back, and I can't wait to pull the trigger. I'm done.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Still on the fence ... leave her there or not?
We met with the director of nursing, and aired the lengthy list of issues that we had with the nursing home where she is staying. They were concerned, clearly, and promised to take steps to improve the deficits. And, she said that Mom is not using her button to call staff needlessly or excessively, which was good to hear.
But are her promises enough?
The next day, her pants had all disappeared. Every one. I went down to laundry's lost and found, and went through a double-mountain of lost items, and found at least a dozen items of hers - including some that were clearly marked.
And the staff was snippy, possibly in retribution for her/our raising issues.
And the shower room was strewn with other resident's dirty towels when it was her time for hospice to come in to help her.
But, at least, for once, her oxygen was not empty.
Mom says she's getting comfortable there. Do I leave her there, hoping that status improves, and that they 'get used to her preferences'? Or, do we move her quickly before it becomes even more traumatic to move a second time?
And if we move her to another nursing home I've researched with an excellent reputation, will they have similar issues? It's impossible to research all the potential problems.
I honestly don't know.
But are her promises enough?
The next day, her pants had all disappeared. Every one. I went down to laundry's lost and found, and went through a double-mountain of lost items, and found at least a dozen items of hers - including some that were clearly marked.
And the staff was snippy, possibly in retribution for her/our raising issues.
And the shower room was strewn with other resident's dirty towels when it was her time for hospice to come in to help her.
But, at least, for once, her oxygen was not empty.
Mom says she's getting comfortable there. Do I leave her there, hoping that status improves, and that they 'get used to her preferences'? Or, do we move her quickly before it becomes even more traumatic to move a second time?
And if we move her to another nursing home I've researched with an excellent reputation, will they have similar issues? It's impossible to research all the potential problems.
I honestly don't know.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Abandon hope all ye who .... ok, maybe that's a bit strong ...
What pushed me over the edge? What was the straw that broke the camel's back?
Maybe it was yet another time when Mom's oxygen tank was on empty. Or the two full, warm opened cartons of milk left til the next day. Or the poopy laundry left on the visitor's chair and on the floor. Or issues with chaos at meals. Or the nighttime bedside commode left full of urine during the day.
But ... I'm ready to look for another nursing home. Shopping around, again.
This facility was supposed to be so good - we are certainly paying premium prices. And there have been kindnesses to her. And there were explanations and justifications from staff about issues I've raised. But there have been a series of dismal failures, explanations or not. And I'm very close to moving her.
In addition, she is really unhappy with the size of this place. She went from a community of 32 maximum residents, with 2-3 staff at a time, to a community of 240 residents and innumerable staff flowing namelessly in and out of her life.
I think it's not a good match. Very frustrating, very disappointing. Starting over, though perhaps with better results. Sigh.
Maybe it was yet another time when Mom's oxygen tank was on empty. Or the two full, warm opened cartons of milk left til the next day. Or the poopy laundry left on the visitor's chair and on the floor. Or issues with chaos at meals. Or the nighttime bedside commode left full of urine during the day.
But ... I'm ready to look for another nursing home. Shopping around, again.
This facility was supposed to be so good - we are certainly paying premium prices. And there have been kindnesses to her. And there were explanations and justifications from staff about issues I've raised. But there have been a series of dismal failures, explanations or not. And I'm very close to moving her.
In addition, she is really unhappy with the size of this place. She went from a community of 32 maximum residents, with 2-3 staff at a time, to a community of 240 residents and innumerable staff flowing namelessly in and out of her life.
I think it's not a good match. Very frustrating, very disappointing. Starting over, though perhaps with better results. Sigh.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Misery loves company
Mom is miserable. She desperately waits for my daily visit.
She is frustrated by the apparent lack of a fixed schedule. In Assisted Living, the meals were precisely at 8, 12, and 5PM. Here, with a larger population and varying needs, people come and go as they wish during open meal hours - some might say it's more flexible, but to my mother, it's more confusing.
More staff work at this larger nursing home than worked at her former facility, and she is saddened to not have as close a connection, to not be able to call them all by name. They just flow in and out of her room, a river of helpers but with less connection, generally (except for the few that have shown particular interest).
She needs more help now, perhaps because she got sick with a cold that weakened her as soon as she arrived, or because she is overwhelmed by the change. Her continence issues have worsened, though they kindly have helped her. A couple of days ago I arrived to find her sitting in her chair in a light summer nightgown and with shawls on her lap and shoulders, after she blew through all her pants. (I've since bought her a much larger supply of pants that fit her.) It was so sad.
The dining room is further away, and walking to it from her room at the end of her hallway is more of a challenge than before. So she must decide if she needs to have them transport her in her chair, or, if she's going to try to walk. Yesterday, she decided to walk, but gave out midway. Someone brought her wheelchair - but then she had a low-blood-sugar incident.
But there are also kindnesses. Sheryl, the aide who stayed a bit late on her shift to do Mom's nails. Mary, who patiently helped her during her diarrhea episodes. The unnamed woman who saw her having trouble walking, and got her chair. The staff who come to visit to offer activities. The hospice folks who provide stability and support.
Mom is back to talking about wanting to die, NOW. She says she won't need the summer nightgowns because she'll be dead by that time. I (again, again, again) remind her of the preciousness of life, that she needs to find at least one thing each day to make someone else's life better. That she needs to live fully each day of life that she has. She nods, says yes, you're right... then says the same thing the next day.
And I continue to look for things I need to learn about this situation, to become more whole myself, while I have this privilege/duty in my life. Today, I'm too overwhelmed with the situation to have perspective, but I continue to seek it. I hope time helps me find the insights.
(I'm not even going to re-read this to edit it. Just too... tired.)
She is frustrated by the apparent lack of a fixed schedule. In Assisted Living, the meals were precisely at 8, 12, and 5PM. Here, with a larger population and varying needs, people come and go as they wish during open meal hours - some might say it's more flexible, but to my mother, it's more confusing.
More staff work at this larger nursing home than worked at her former facility, and she is saddened to not have as close a connection, to not be able to call them all by name. They just flow in and out of her room, a river of helpers but with less connection, generally (except for the few that have shown particular interest).
She needs more help now, perhaps because she got sick with a cold that weakened her as soon as she arrived, or because she is overwhelmed by the change. Her continence issues have worsened, though they kindly have helped her. A couple of days ago I arrived to find her sitting in her chair in a light summer nightgown and with shawls on her lap and shoulders, after she blew through all her pants. (I've since bought her a much larger supply of pants that fit her.) It was so sad.
The dining room is further away, and walking to it from her room at the end of her hallway is more of a challenge than before. So she must decide if she needs to have them transport her in her chair, or, if she's going to try to walk. Yesterday, she decided to walk, but gave out midway. Someone brought her wheelchair - but then she had a low-blood-sugar incident.
But there are also kindnesses. Sheryl, the aide who stayed a bit late on her shift to do Mom's nails. Mary, who patiently helped her during her diarrhea episodes. The unnamed woman who saw her having trouble walking, and got her chair. The staff who come to visit to offer activities. The hospice folks who provide stability and support.
Mom is back to talking about wanting to die, NOW. She says she won't need the summer nightgowns because she'll be dead by that time. I (again, again, again) remind her of the preciousness of life, that she needs to find at least one thing each day to make someone else's life better. That she needs to live fully each day of life that she has. She nods, says yes, you're right... then says the same thing the next day.
And I continue to look for things I need to learn about this situation, to become more whole myself, while I have this privilege/duty in my life. Today, I'm too overwhelmed with the situation to have perspective, but I continue to seek it. I hope time helps me find the insights.
(I'm not even going to re-read this to edit it. Just too... tired.)
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