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Re-birth


I have been many things in my life. A bare-footed child playing her way through a long summer in Indiana. A shy high school student who made herself try out and get into a performing choir. A college student finding her own identity on the campus she still thinks of as home. A young wife moving across many states to begin a life where she knew no one. A daughter, sister, mother, friend, teacher. All of these different phases of my life now combine, in a scattered way, inside my conscious. As I once again re-invent myself I take some part from each of those beings I once was and, hopefully emerge re-born.
I am a mother to my daughters, but they are grown and do not need me as they once did. I was once mother to my own mom as she slipped into dementia. That was a struggle for both of us. The word mother seems to have one meaning, the female parent of a child. But, we mother’s know it has so many more. We cradle our children to our breasts, snuggle them and kiss their beautiful heads. We watch them gallop freely away from us a young children, but know they will turn back to us when they become frightened. We argue with them as teens as they try to find their own definition of themselves. And we cry with excitement and loss as we watch them walk away from us on a college campus. At that moment we know they will truly never return to us as children. I realize my daughters are adults and quite capable of making decisions. Yet, I struggle when I know or feel a decision will not be the right one for them. Still, unless they ask, I try not to voice an opinion. At this point, I have to let them learn from their mistakes. Consequently, I, as so many other mothers before have done, must rebuild the image my daughters and I have of myself.
How do we mothers go about building that new relationship with our children? I am struggling with that now. How do I define to my girls that I no longer feel the need to mother them? In my opinion they turned out pretty good. I know I cannot be a girlfriend. But, can we be friends? Can we share experiences as adults? The trial begins as I realize I must stop myself from being a mother, and they will need to stop being a child. It is a difficult transition. I don’t think I ever successfully made that with my mother. But, I want to try with my daughters. I want to establish a relationship still built on trust, but not reliance. I want my daughters to come to me for advice, but not expect me to solve their problems. I want to respect their independence, but I need them to understand I need independence too. Most of all I want to have fun. I want to laugh with them over silly things. I want to enjoy our times together. I want us to find a common ground we can be comfortable with in our new roles.

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Missing Back to School


The other day the Target flyer came, the one with all of the back to school sales.  I love that flyer, so many cool items.  But, after my first initial inhale of anticipation, I let out a slow disappointed sigh.  I have no one to buy back to school junk for.  No one to buy a myriad of notebooks, a bundle of pens and pencils.  No one to buy funky chairs for the dorm room or a sweet string of lights.  As my sigh ended I was struck with the knowledge.  Once again, I have encountered another new phase of my life.  As a Mom, I have moved out of the school years completely.  Pre-school, Elementary, High School, College, all a blur, all finished.  I have been thrown not under the school bus, but past it into this next phase of my life.  The complication is, I am still struggling to decide what to do.

Last fall I started a new part-time job.  I work for the Scotia-Glenville Traveling Museum.  My job, besides the fact that I have to  carry very heavy loads into the schools, is fun.  Yes, fun word be the word.   In fact, I enjoyed the school year so much, I signed on to teach summer sessions this year.  The other day, as I was trying to get to my destination I became very frustrated.  Traffic, construction and the fact I was lost all sent my heart rate soaring.  When I finally arrived at the school, I was flustered and upset with myself for being late.  The teachers were very gracious and  soon I had everything set up and we were under way with the class.  That day, I was teaching an elementary level class of developmentally disabled students, how to make ice cream.  There were about 30 of them.  I did a small presentation on fun facts about ice cream.  I had several students help me pour the ingredients into our small coffee cans.  The anticipation was growing as I explained how we needed to put the smaller can into a large can and surround it with ice and salt.  Then I put a sleeve made of old sweat pants around each of the three large cans and handed them to the students.  They gathered around their teachers and aides and following my instructions began to roll the cans to freeze the milk and cream inside.  Each table was intent on accomplishing their task.  The students went at their job with gusto.

I stood back for a while and observed the room.  The teachers were encouraging the students, with smiles and kind words.  The students responded with delight and huge grins.  I felt the rush of excitement in the air, like a flash of lightning.  It was that startling to me.  And then I realized I was going to cry.  I bit my tongue.   This will be really embarrassing if I cry for no apparent reason in front of these people.  But the gratitude I felt for the fact I had found a job that brought me such joy was incredible.  It was fulfilling to realize I had a part in bringing a day to these students that would be remembered for a long time. Not wanting to cry I turned from the scene and busied myself with cleaning up and preparing to serve the ice cream to my happy, hungry students.  Yet, the moment stayed with me.  I realized here was one of my purposes in life.  I say one, because I know I have others.  And, like any good student, whether I need to buy back to school stuff or not, I am ready to learn.

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The Caregiver Nation


It seems lately that everyone who twitters has their own nation of followers.  Ryan Lochte, the USA Olympic swimmer calls his followers, the Lochte Nation.  Appropriate.  I follow several Purdue affiliates, and I suppose I am a member of the Purdue Nation.  In fact I like that idea.

Recently, it occurred to me we need the Caregivers Nation.  If you are a parent then you are a Caregiver.  But, talking with woman my age, those of us with aging parents, I find we are more than just caregivers to our children.  We have become the caregivers for our parents.  It seems almost daily someone I know brings up the fact that they are finding themselves having to do more for their parents.

I can certainly relate to this dilemma.  I recently lost my mother to dementia.  But I spent six years prior to that taking on increasing responsibilities for her as her condition declined.  When I hear someone talking about their parents, with that desperate tone to their voice, I feel compelled to help.  Perhaps it is just to listen to them vent their frustrations.  Maybe I can give some advice based on my past experience.  Mostly, I want to tell them, this frustrating time will pass.  Take the time now to enjoy what you can about your parent.  Find things you can do together.  Share their laughter.    You will find it difficult to step up to the parental role for your parent and they will struggle to let you become their caregiver. Consequently, bring in as much help as you can.   Be patient, your parent is frustrated and scared, just like you.  Some days will seem to stretch on forever.  Some days you will think, I can’t sit with my parent one more day and struggle to find something to discuss.  On those days just be there, hold their hand.  You can not be all things, but you can be their companion, their rock to hold on to as they flounder into the sea of dementia.

My mother gave many gifts as she fell to dementia.  One was to look me directly in the eye and tell me she loved me.  Something she had not really done before.  It happened on one of those frustrating days when no matter what I said she just looked at me blankly.  Then from nowhere, as if she had been struggling to say this for sometime but could not figure how to do it, she turned to me and said, “I love you, Posey.”  I melted.

But, before she reached the point of only sitting in her room and staring into space, I  tried to find something positive for us to concentrate on, through each of Mom’s stages.  In the beginning, Mom and I went to lunch.  I took her to get her hair and nails done.  It was difficult getting Mom out of her home and to these places.  She struggled to remember how to get in and out of the car.  She didn’t recall how to put on her seat belt.  I found it was like trying to move around with an infant, but more difficult because I couldn’t just pick her up and carry her.  Besides, I wanted to leave Mom with some dignity.  When she  no longer felt comfortable leaving her home, we did puzzles, and watched day time TV.   With each step down in Mom’s cognitive skills she and I adjusted to what we did for enjoyment.  And, in the end, when Mom sometimes did not recognize me, we sat and held hands and watched the other residents move through her home.

Consequently, yes, I feel I have a kinship with the Caregiver Nation.  We know who we are and we know that it is not an easy life.  And, it is a life that many of us have no choice in whether we will join.  Together we will get through this stage of life and, with any luck, move into the next.  Whatever that may be.

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A Growing and Learning of Confidence


I love watching the Olympics.  I love the excitement of a good contest.  It is fun to cheer on Team USA.  This year I have been observing their amazing bodies and the control they have over them.  I don’t want to sound like a lecherous old woman, but wow, some of those guys are sporting some pretty amazing six packs.  And the woman are just as astounding.  I was watching a piece on the women’s, (and really can we call them women)gymnastic team.  It showed one girl hanging from the wall doing leg lifts.  I know even in my younger days I could never have accomplished that.

Yet lately, I have found a work out program I like.  Deep Water Aerobics.  I call it the “Old ladies secret workout.”  We do leg lifts, sit ups, jumping jacks, running, cross-country skiing and more all while floating in the deep water of a pool.  Most of us wear a floatation belt, the one lone guy in the class does not.  The first class I tried really kicked my butt.  I was in bed by nine that night.  But I have since recovered and built up my stamina.  I am enjoying the fact I feel better, have more energy and a big plus I have definitely shaped up.

So watching the olympics does give me a new understanding of just how much work these athletes must put in.   I have also come to the conclusion on another thought.  I grew up just as Tittle 9 was beginning.  In fact, I was on my high schools very first girl’s basketball team.  I was recruited by some of the other players because I was tall, not because I could play.  We had a total of five players.  Just enough for a team, no one sitting on the bench to relieve you when you got tired.  We played every game and lost every game.  But, we were playing.

On the other hand my daughters have grown up being athletes.  They played field hockey, ran track, and spent many hours tubing behind our boat.  But their biggest sport was downhill ski racing.  This they did for both their high school and a local mountain.  One observation I had many times as I watched my daughters and their friends, was the control and confidence they had in their bodies.  Sports gave them that.  I believe that the confidence my girls and their friends gained, by relying on their determination to improve or to accomplish a goal boiled over into the confidence they have in life.  It helped them get into the college they wanted, it helped them have the confidence to travel to a distant state to attend, and it helped them stay there.  Of course, sports can’t take all of the credit, but I know it helped.

I know because since I have been working out I feel more confident in myself.  Today, as we stood on one of those styrofoam water tubes and then did exercises our instructor said, “Are you proud of yourselves?  Because you should be, this is difficult.”  And I nodded my head in agreement as the realization settled in.  Yes, I do feel good about being able to do this workout.”  Naturally, I didn’t nod my head too enthusiastically, I didn’t want to throw off my balance.

My mother always said, “You should never stop learning.”  I think today I am learning to be more confident and to realize I am quite a woman.

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Decisions,Teen Years and Beyond


As I age, and I will admit it, I’m 53, I find myself realizing, over the past several years I have based most of my decisions on how it will affect those around me.  My thought process consisted of; Will that work with  the girls schedule?  Will Paul want to do this?  Does that work with the budget?  And any other varied questions that might fit with the scenario.  Very rarely did the idea even occur to me to think about my feelings and how the decision would affect me.   But with age, it is said, comes wisdom, and I have been discovering some wisdom of my own. Starting with, instead of considering other’s feelings first I have been working on discovering what I want.

This is new to me as a parent, it may even be a first for me as an adult.  I’m pretty sure at one point I did make decisions based on only myself, but that would have been in my teen years.  I still recall my mother saying, “life is a two-way street.”  Meaning, I needed to change the habit of only worrying about myself and realize others walked this earth.  I fear, I may have heeded that warning too well and went far overboard the other way.  Thus, at the age of 53, I have devised my new decision making concept.  It will work something along these lines.

I will decide what works for me, how that fits into the plans of those around me, and make a concerted effort to have everyone be happy.  But, if that doesn’t work, chances are, I will decide to first make myself happy.

The decisions may be small.  As in, I will eat the last piece of pie and not save it for whoever else may want it.  I won’t cook dinner tonight, even though I have the ingredients, because I am just too tired and the  budget be damned.  On going out, I will pick and stick to the restaurant I want, because that is important to me.

I feel these small decisions will help empower me to make bigger decisions.  I may take more vacations to visit my sisters.  Or, realize my dream of 27 years and finally get a screened-in-porch put on my house.  In general I plan to be just a little more self-absorbed.  I think, in the end, this will make me a happier person. And, I hope, since I am happy, those around me will be too.

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Signs of Change


Lately, I’ve seen the number 5 everywhere. I see it in doubles or triplicate. I take this as a sign from angels.   It means, according to Doreen Virtue, that the angels are signally, “A major life change is upon you.”  Of course what that change is, I don’t know.  But, I heed the warning   It has only been in the past few years that I have begun to see and acknowledge signs given to me,  from angels.  Even as I put this in print, I acknowledge to myself, that sounds crazy.

But spiritually I have changed.  Gradually, I have stopped attending any kind of formalized religion.  An idea that was brewing inside of me for many years, until finally, I allowed myself to go through with the act.  Even as I made the move,  I found myself more connected with my spirituality.  Yet, it wasn’t until recently that I began to notice numbers.  It seemed they demanded my attention.  I’m not sure how I finally came to the realization that these numbers were  signs to me and not coincidence.  Perhaps in a conversation with my sister, who believes in all kinds of signals.  Or perhaps in the fact I kept seeing the same numbers everywhere; car license plates, the clock, billboards, receipts.  It all began to be very strange.  It was unnerving to wake and look at the clock and see the same numbers repeated night after night.  During the day I would see those same numbers displayed on just about everything.  I went to websites that explained these occurrences to me.  According to the information, angels try to convey messages to us.  They can do this in many ways, I just happen to see numbers.   I find this ironic, since I have always struggled with math.  However, perhaps angels do have a sense of humor.  Eventually, I began to look up what the number combinations were supposed to mean.  Each time I did this, the message seemed very relevent to what was taking place in my life.  My eyebrows would raise in curiosity.  The hairs on the back of my neck would stand at attention, and send a shiver down my spine.

In November of the year 2011, I began to frequently see  the number combination of 555.  Warning of a major life change.  I wondered what this transformation would be, but I took comfort in the fact that this new direction, according to the angel message, “should not be viewed as either positive or negative, since all life change is but a natural part of life’s flow.”  (Doreen Virtue)  Consequently, when I received the call on January 1, 2012 that Mom was very ill, I was not shocked.  I had been given the warnings.  And, I felt in my soul that this was the beginning of the end.  I knew Mom was ready to leave this world, though scared.  And, I knew that I could no longer bear to watch her lose anymore of her dignity and mind.  She literally was a shell encasing a soul that needed to escape the confines of earth.  I felt she yearned to once again be the young carefree woman who laughed, danced, sang and loved.  Mom somehow fought her way back through that first bout of pneumonia.  Even with dementia she was a fighter.  But, when she became ill again in February, it was her time.  She died within 48 hours.

I cried for myself, that Mom and I had lost so many years that should have been enjoyed together.  I cried for her grandchildren, they too had lost their  grandmother as she slid into dementia.  But, I did not cry that my mother had lost any of the life she had left on this earth, that life was nothing more than a struggle for her.  She wanted to leave behind her dementia.  I felt it each time she held my hand and her grip, over the years, became less.  As if that represented her grip on reality and life.

Yesterday, as my youngest daughter enjoyed her last full day of freedom, before she joined the workforce, I reflected back to the signs of 5 I have been receiving again.  I wondered, Is this the change that I have been warned is coming?  Or is it a life change for me? 

Maybe it is  both.  Perhaps, we both need to change and start our new lives.  We laughed during the day, my husband, Kristen and I that none of us knew what we wanted to do when we grew up.  I know, I am still trying to figure that out.  But, I think I learned from the best, my mother.  As long as her mind allowed, she never stopped learning, changing and growing.  At the end of her life, the fact she could no longer learn, was her sign to leave the confines of this world.

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Passenger


After two days of adult beverages, rest, relaxation and  laughter while we sat on a screened in porch that overlooked a lake in the Blue Ridge Mountains my sisters and I were ready to fly the nest.   The three of us are doing some much-needed bonding and healing at my sister’s new vacation home.  This morning we planned to take a tour of the beautiful lake.  I’ve ridden on wave runners, jet skis, whatever you like to call them.  But I have always been the passenger.  I hesitated as my sister handed me the keys to one.

“Don’t worry, I will walk you through it.  Driving is actually very easy.”

My confidence returned and to my surprise I was excited about the whole adventure.  I boldly grabbed the keys, listened to the instructions and hoped on board.  My sister pushed me and the wave runner into the water, I hit the start button and realized I thrilled to feel the power of the engine that was now in my control.  I gave the throttle some gas, but not enough and everything rumbled to a stop.  Undaunted, I pushed the start button again, felt the hum and this time gave the throttle much more gas.  The wave runner leapt from its resting spot like a deer suddenly startled and I’m sure my eyes reflected the same look.  I calmed myself with the thought.  Ok, you can do this, this is easy.  Slowly at first,  as I got to know my new mode of transportation, I began to cruise gently around.  Then, as I gained more confidence, more quickly.  My sisters joined me on their wave runner and we began our tour.  I enjoyed the view of the different houses and the landscape but since I could not hear the explanation of what  was pointed out, I grew bored.  And so, I began to play.  Let’s see what this baby can do and more importantly how far I want to take it.  I gunned the engine and began to fly across the water, I skimmed just the surface, and suddenly knew what a Swallow must feel like as it flies over the water in search of bugs.  After the tour we re-grouped.  We left the confines of the quiet cove my sister’s house is on, the one we had just disrupted with noise and waves and headed into the much bigger portion of the lake.  I was mesmerized by the beauty.  The color of the lake on this morning was a beautiful teal.    As we toured around I admired the summer green of the deciduous trees that surrounded the lake as the pranced down to the red Georgia clay of the shoreline.  Further up on the hills and mountains the blue-green of the pine trees demonstrated why these mountains are called Blue Ridge.  Breath taking.  I looked around at the expanse of the lake, surprisingly, the lake was ours.  I did not see any other boats.  I gave the throttle some more gas and once again began to fly.  A huge grin spread across my face, I could not contain it, even if I wanted to.  Without warning a yell of “Yahoo” escaped from my lips.    I sped away from my sisters to do more playing.  I felt free.  Then my eyes began to tear up.  Was I going to cry?  I let my emotions go and I listened to what they were telling me.

Think about it, it has been six years of worry.  For six years every time I went away I worried about the phone call I would get saying something had happened to Mom.  I worried that she would need me, and I would not be there.  For six years I never went anywhere without making prior arrangements for her care.  I left phone numbers and lined up help.  Since our mother’s death, this was the first time in six years I had just packed my suitcase and walked out the door.  I’m not saying I did not enjoy myself during those years.  But, there was always that nagging responsibility and the question of the unexpected phone call.  I worried when doing activities, about injury to myself.  I needed to be in one piece to care for Mom. 

My eyes cleared and my grin returned.  Gratitude for this day and this vacation filled my spirit.  I pulled on the throttle and continued gaining speed until I hit the speed of 53 miles per hour.  I felt this was an appropriate speed as it is also my age on the day I realized I am in control, and no longer a passenger.

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Purdue and all of it’s Promises


I sit in one of my favorite places on the Purdue University campus.  The balcony off the Union building.  It is only a floor above the sidewalk, but it is a view of campus life.

Today, many people, other than students, are meandering around.  This is graduation weekend 2012.  My daughter Kristen will take the walk across the stage at the Elliot Hall of Music Saturday morning.

As I sit and sip my cinnamon dolce latte, I once again come to the realization.  I love this campus.  It is here I matured and developed into much of the adult I am today. On this campus I felt secure to explore new boundaries; establish new friendships, keeping some forever, others a fleeting moment.  I investigated love and it’s highs of first encounter to the eventual low of break-up.

When I was at Purdue, 1977 through 1981, I lived for three of those years in Windsor Hall, which consists of five separate buildings.  They look like they sound, fashioned after the Windsor Castle of England.  As residents we enjoyed three meals prepared in our small cafeteria and once a week the cleaning staff left fresh sheets for our beds.  I felt the security of home and the adventure of a parent not always looking over my shoulder.

My experiences involved what many students of yesterday and today did.  Parties, dancing, football weekends, basketball games and studying.  I grew on this campus.  The people and even the buildings surrounded me with love.  Today, as I sit and enjoy the beautiful blue sky and the cool morning warming to a perfect spring day; I am once again filled with warmth, happiness and the knowledge that all things are still possible.

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Spring Cleaning


Today is a beautiful day in upstate NY.  I am spring cleaning, going through closets.  In one closet I found clothing that belonged to my Mom.  I put them there at the end of  last season.  Her closet, where she lived, was very small and so I would change out her clothing as the seasons changed.  So many of these items brought back a memory of when she last wore it.  I found the Roots Olympic hat we bought her.  She always looked so cute and proud of herself when it sat jauntily on her head.  There was her beautiful camel-hair coat.  I remember when my father bought her that, so many years ago.  She always wore it with pride.   And the light blue cardigan I remember my father wearing.  When he passed Mom began to wear it.  In her later years I think it gave her comfort.  I gave some of the items to family members, I kept the hat.

In my oldest daughter’s closet I found all of her mementos that she had saved.  She has since moved into her own apartment.  These are the treasures left behind.  Ski racing trophies, prom dresses, pictures.  I know I can not decide what to do with these memories so I will leave them for her to go through.  But, I spent some time reflecting on the little girl now grown to a young woman.  Part of me misses those days, when she was always by my side.  But, then I realize what I truly wanted for her has been achieved.  She has grown from my arms and moved out into the world.  She has become the amazing person I dreamt of her being.

In my youngest daughter’s closet I found similar articles.  Trophies, prom dresses.  But since she has not officially moved out of our house, she has left behind items she still needs.  This weekend she graduates from Purdue University.  How did four years go by so quickly?  I know she is itching to find her own place.  I don’t blame her, I remember trying to move back with my parents during summer breaks, it wasn’t easy.  Because she has become independent and self sufficient, she doesn’t need my guidance everyday.  I see in her the courage and ambition to find a career and make a life from underneath my wing.  I encourage her to go.  But I will miss her.