Simplicity

Yesterday, as I sat on the beach, I remembered our family trips to the ocean when dad brought along the habachi. It was a tiny grill that somehow cooked enough food for eight people. Just remembering that grill made me smile. I recently saw a man tug an enormous gas grill on wheels that would not turn in the sand, onto the beach. His state-of-the-art contraption came complete with hanging utensils and a kitchen cabinet built in underneath! There were three whole people in his family to feed, and the baby was an infant--hardly able to down a juicy burger with the works. Oddly, this train of thought led to my mother and how simple her life has become. She has emptied and moved out of her large home on Long Island. She has given away most of her possessions. Somehow, as she gives things away, she becomes more full herself. Last weekend, she gave the Healey family nativity-the one she and my father received as a wedding gift- to my sister who is graduating with her Master's degree in Pastoral Care. This gift had special meaning. It was given in recognition of a journey about to begin --a birth. My mother nurtured this gift for over fifty years, and now she can rest assured that each Nativity piece will bring a new sense of renewal and joy to her own daughter as she begins a new path. I'm deeply grateful that my mother has had the opportunity to simplify her life on her own terms, by giving away beloved treasures to the people she loves more than life itself.

A wonderful resource

I have been remiss. After three weeks without a break, I spent two days in the outer banks of NC with my husband and feel like a new person. My mother also had a great time with my sister while I was gone. Getting away, even for a day, is very rejuvenating. I also discovered a website that has tons of great information and soothing tips.

http://www.caregiverrelief.com/biography.html

Recently, I had lunch with a friend who is making frequent trips to see her mother who has Lou Gehrig's disease. After talking about her visits and heartaches, she apologized then sent an apology email to me that said, "Thank you for putting up with my whining."

I told her not to worry--she's the only kind of friend I have time for anymore. No more talk of weather, outfits, and gossip--I want good real conversation, complete with raw emotions and honest opinions. A dear friend of mine told me years ago after losing her mother that she did not want friends that called her up to talk about other friends. She would only make time for people with meaningful lives, people that cared about other people and wanted to make life better for those they loved- she had no time for petty grievances. She made a lasting impact on me.

Here's to real friends, raw honesty, and listening to each other with good intentions.

A Pain in the Neck

I've been writing less because sitting at the computer hurts my neck. It's gotten so bad that the pain runs down my arm. I'm cranky and irritable and I complain to my mother about it. "My neck's killing me! This is awful. I hate this!" I whine several times a day. And my mother--being the mother she always is, listens and understands. It occurred to me today that I'm whining to a woman who has lost the ability to do just about everything. She can't walk from here to there without struggling for breath. She sits patiently, smiling, so she's "not a burden" to me. Her legs are long sticks of black and blue from the prednisone she takes daily. Her shoulders ache from tension. She leaves things left undone...because she can't do them, the sheets weren't changed this week, her desk needs dusting, and she doesn't even bring them up, because she doesn't want me to "work too hard." Mom rarely complains, and when she does, it is always followed by a lilting laugh and the phrase, "Oh but it's just the way it is. I'll be fine."

I found the gift of my pain in the neck this week--it's compassion. I appreciate more acutely what my mother endures minute to minute and admire her stature and composure. She makes me try harder to be a better person. My neck's killing me right now but I'm not going to announce it to the world (At least I'll try). Thanks again, Mom, you never stop teaching.

The view from above

My mother's peaceful presence offers the only truth we need in life - seek out happiness moment to moment instead of focusing on what is lost, needed, lacking, or not good enough. Blame and bitterness is replaced with pardon and prayer. Material desire is replaced with satisfaction for what one has now: a warm blanket, a hot cup of tea, a faithful companion, and a window that looks out on the birds from far off places singing sweet songs. They flutter and feed then fly away on wings that soar to the heavens. Aloft, they must see how small we become as they hover high overhead, alone, but safe from harm.

Reunions

I find I attend many reunions lately. They aren't exactly barbecues or picnics and don't require any preparation, travel, or fuss. They are reunions of the mind, heart, and spirit. My mother lives with me, but at the same time, she resides in a place of retrospection, often relating any news story of today to a story in her past, exposing the threads of time that bind us in our experiences. These threads are her oral history and her gift. I need only gather them in the moment and understand that they are passed along for safe-keeping, and meant to be shared when the time is right. Our memories are medicine. They morph over time. Like a potent elixir, the right memory applied to a particular ill can soothe better than any painkiller or amnesiac. It's not always in forgetting that we are calmed, but in remembering that first kiss, newborn baby, or view from a mountaintop. I'm collecting her moments, so I can conjure them up when she'll need them most, and so I can smile along with her, when we both might rather weep.

Fragile state of hospice

The House of Representatives approved it's version of the economic stimulus plan on Wednesday, which includes $134 million for Medicare funded hospice programs. It also delays the already approved Medicare budget cuts to hospice for another year. This isn't perfect, but it's welcome news for those in hospice right now.

Still, everyone should realize that the economy has hit hospice hard and we need to work to keep it for the future, our own future. The more of hospice I see, the more I like. Having had the (sad) opportunity to compare living situations in hospitals, assisted living, nursing homes, versus hospice care at home, there is really no comparison. Hospice at home is the best case scenario. To be able to stay with loved ones in your own bed, looking out your own window at your own backyard...well, enough said. If you care about this issue, call or write your representatives and be sure your voice is heard.

It Takes a Child to Remind Us

Sometimes it takes a child to remind us that we just don't have all the answers--and that's okay. As I sat in the audience with my brother and mother Saturday watching five kids sing and dance their way through a live show called, "Children's Letters to God," I could not help but laugh out loud and realize that many of their childish questions are the questions that endure over a lifetime. Watching these kids stop, look up, ask their question to God, then run off and get on with life was refreshing. We all stop and ask at different times "Why is all this happening? Why do people have to suffer?" The energy and raw curiosity of these kids gave mom a two hour reprieve--I'm sure she forgot that she had trouble breathing as she soaked in the presence of these mini actors that evoked fond memories of her own cast of characters years ago. She was shining in the audience and said she could not take her eyes off the littlest one with the larger than life personality. People of all ages have their crises...even little people. Some think the world will come to an end over a turtle dying or a bug being squished. But they speak their troubles out loud, get mad, sad, or sulk for a bit, and skip away. Life goes on. Lesson learned.