Blogging: Is It Really Necessary?

I like blogging.

I like writing about life from my perspective. I find it helpful, dare I say, somewhat healing. Yet, I am keenly aware that ‘some people’ think that blogging is narcissistic. Yes, I’ve been told that. And yes, that causes me pause. After a deep breath, I give my head a shake, remind myself that I am 66 years old, and CAN DO WHAT I WANT!

Being a verbal processor, as are many in my family, I consider my blogging a way to talk out my feelings.

Having said that, I struggled with writing this ‘next’ blog post. So far, I’ve written and deleted at least three. They were either too sad, too depressing, too personal, too cheery, too fake and on and on. This brought me back to a basic question, why do I blog?

Do I blog in the hope that someone out there will understand, care, or respond? Am I looking for agreement or accountability? Will someone tell me that everything is going to be all right? Perhaps I want affirmation that my feelings and thoughts are above all, normal!

What is my why?

I blog because it helps to harness and organize my thoughts. Writing brings me clarity. I post my writing with the hope that maybe someone else will feel less alone alongside my thinking, sorrow, joy, and endless processing. I know I do when I read others’ posts.

Today is still tough. Along with the post-holiday weariness, there is a profound sadness in knowing that Tim will not be with us in 2023. I don’t know if I will ever completely accept that. It helps to know that there are those who know exactly what I mean. Indeed this a group we never wanted to be a part of…I get that now.

Thank you for sticking with me. I remain profoundly grateful for your friendship and kindness. Your vulnerability in sharing your own pain and experiences make mine easier to bear. It’s good to be reminded that I am not alone. We are not alone.

Perhaps we can sit together in stillness and simply be.

I love hearing from you. Until we meet again,

Carol

Faith of My Grandmas

My childhood/early adult memories of Christmas are centred around family, in particular my Omie and Oma. They serve as a reminder that I have strength in my DNA.

Me, Tim, Len, Oma and Kerry

My paternal grandmother, Else Nikolai (Oma) travelled with 3 of her sons from the Ukraine to Canada leaving her eldest son, Arnold, and husband, Adolf, behind. Arnold died in his late teens having been drafted into the army. Her husband was arrested and Oma never saw him again. How similar to the atrocities happening in that same region today. Reports of women fleeing with their children have me in awe of their strength; their commitment to survive.

Oma was a hard worker. She helped in the kitchen at all the church dinners, was a cook at Green Bay Bible camp, and made the best pickles ever. Oma definitely had opinions and wasn’t afraid to share them. She had no qualms about telling pastors and politicians what she really thought! I may have got that trait from her. Oma never remarried. She devoted her life to her children, grandchildren, and her beloved church, Bethany Baptist in Vancouver, BC.

Me and Omie! Matching dresses for one of my birthdays

My maternal grandmother, Gerda Zindler (Omie) travelled to Canada alone in her early twenties to get married to a man she’d never met in person. She told us of getting off the train and meeting August Zindler. They wed soon after her arrival. They had 4 children, one died at age 2. August was quite a bit older than my Omie. He passed away when my mom was only 19. Omie never remarried and lived in her Chester Street house until a week before she died at age 89.

Omie was devoted to her children and grandchildren. I spent a lot of time with her. She taught me how to sew and to cross stitch. She tried to teach me a little bit of baking which did not interest me at all at the time. Now I love baking and cherish using some of her old handwritten recipes. Omie could be quiet and kept her opinions largely to herself. I have fond memories of spending many a Friday night at her place, sitting beside her on her comfy red velvet couch watching TV. I never doubted how much Omie loved me. I miss her to this day.

In the midst of my own grief, my thoughts are on my grandmas. Two strong women. Each experienced loss. Each knew grief. They’d both lost a spouse, a child, a homeland. Both came to Canada alone, or in Oma’s case with 3 youngish boys. Both were generous with all they had. They set the bar high.

Omie and Oma were prayer warriors, not in a loud bombastic way, but in a silent, head bowed, bible in hand, apron on, loving way. They both prayed continually for their families. Their faith sustained them through unimaginable difficulties yet they remained matter of fact about their experiences. Neither talked about things being particularly difficult. As I look back through my own aging lens, I marvel at their enduring strength.

These memories remind me of the importance of living. The importance of enduring, of finishing well. They would have been proud of how Tim finished his life. Working, playing, loving, and ultimately embracing his faith. My grandmas showed me what strength, humility, and faith looks like. It’s still hard for me to find comfort in Tim being reunited with them. Not knowing what heaven is really like from this limited earthly view, I sometimes try to picture them talking, laughing, baking, cooking, with Tim (of course) making his special sauces.

So then, Oma and Omie, I know I don’t need to ask you this, but please take care of my Timmy. Introduce him to your friends, he likes to have lots of attention. He loves getting lots of presents. He’s about quantity over quality. If you do Christmas up there, make sure his first one is super special. I know I can count on you.

Until we meet again,

Carol

I’d love to hear the stories of your grandmothers. Feel free to share.

It Was Good While It Lasted

Today is the 4-month anniversary of Tim’s death. I miss him every single day.

Having said that, the last two weeks have been somewhat better. Not great, but better. We had grandkid sleepovers, I went shopping with a friend – 3 days in a row, Jim and I took a spontaneous trip to COSTCO, I did some more baking, until…I hit the proverbial wall.

I know I’m not alone in grief. Far too many friends, and friends/relatives of friends have died since Tim’s own death. Another one, and another one…sudden, tragic, death, leaving its mark on those left behind. Communal grief is that bond we never wanted yet need.

As futile as it may be, I am resisting a Christmas without my son. I do not want to look back at pictures of Christmas 2022 and not have our Timmy in any of the pictures. His last Christmas will forever be 2021. Sadly there is no stopping time from moving on.

I’ve made the decision not to decorate the inside of our house. No tree, no village, no cute little ornaments. I could change my mind tomorrow, but for today, decorating is a hard no. A good friend came over and did some outdoor decorating. It looks cheery, but for now that good cheer can just stay outside.

After Tim’s diagnosis in January 2020, I’d often (too often according to Tim) ask him how he was doing. “How’s the cancer?” The answer I wanted was “better” or “gone”. There were ups and downs but the “better” and certainly the “gone” never happened. I suspect that when friends now ask any of us, those in Tim’s family, how we are, they are hoping for “better“ in our response. Friends, I feel your disappointment when so often the answer is “the same” or “really, really sad”.

Thanks for asking anyhow.

Acknowledging what I’m learning continues to be a useful practice. So far I’ve learned or relearned:

• Grief is predictably unpredictable
• Grief is exhausting
• I need my friends
• I need lots of alone time
• I have a limitless amount of tears
• My daughter, Courtney is stronger and more caring than I could ever have imagined
• My son Landon holds his grief and sorrow close to his heart
• My heart breaks for my kids and grandkids
• Jim gets tired too
• Walks, even short ones, are helpful
• Blogging helps release some of the stress that comes alongside the grief
• Having a counselling degree doesn’t mean I can counsel me

Note: I intended to apologize if reading my blog posts leaves you feeling uncomfortable. My wise daughter said I don’t have to. This is my story, my experience and it’s not meant to harm you. It’s about me. And Tim would no doubt interject an, “isn’t it always?” right about here.

Christmas 2014 in Vernon.
Tim and his brother Landon getting Christmas dinner ready. Jim and I were still living at the coast,
Landon, Brit and Luka had moved into their own house and Tim was living in our house while he was going to UBCO. They prepared us a tasty meal.

Until next time,

Love, Carol

The Advent of My New Christmas

Every day I wake up thinking…today is the day. Today I will decorate for Christmas.

And then, I don’t. I won’t. I can’t.

Tim and Cambria using up a Chapters Gift Card. Dec 2021 Our last Christmas with Tim.

Baking   Almost Done

Shopping  Done

Outdoor decorations Sort of

Indoor decorations

Not. A. Chance.

December 2013

Grief is a funny thing and not in the ha-ha way. The crushing, take you to your knees, assaults have almost stopped. For that I’m thankful, however, the sorrow remains and continues to show up in unexpected ways. If you saw me in public, you’d never know anything was wrong. I’ve stopped, well almost stopped, reminding people, including strangers, that my son recently died. Yet Tim’s death has left me wondering what Christmas this year will be.

Courtney and Landon, who have been incredibly supportive as they learn to live with their own loss & grief, suggest that putting up decorations may be ‘good for me’. They remind me how much I love our Christmas Village. I do love that village, as do the grandkids. It provides endless ‘scope for the imagination’. Setting it up is a LOT of work. Work I typically enjoy. But the joy in enjoy is missing.

Carol’s Lifeline  

1956-1981 Christmas before Tim.

1982-2021 Christmas with Tim. 

2022 ongoing Christmas without Tim.

A new and unwanted tradition forced upon us by Cancer.

*Big sigh

followed by a quiet deep breath

A week ago, Jim and I went to a grief seminar about surviving the holidays. There were about 30 people in the group. Most of the participants have lost a spouse, although some, like us, have lost a child. There was some practical information that I will tuck away for later but what had the greatest impact was being in a room filled with unabashed, poignant sorrow. This room knew loss. Deep, life changing loss. Here was safety and fellowship. A fellowship of reverence. I’m glad I went.

My new advent: the arrival of a ‘new to me’ holiday. The christian Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ. The beginning of salvation. For unto us a child is born! My personal refrain and either bear with me here or avert your eyes: For unto me my son is dead. A brutal, jarring, truth. Will Christ’s birth take away the sting of my son’s death? Can the two exist side-by-side?

The best I can say today is, I hope so.

Lest you think I’m not trying, that I’m being dramatic, or melodramatic, a Christmas quitter, please take note that I did unpack Christmas music, my name being Carol, as in Christmas, after all. Binders and books of Christmas music came out of storage. Surely playing piano would stir up some Christmas spirit. Not at chance. This music holds too many memories. Memories that are still piercing, sad, and filled with more sorrow than I can bear.

The music remains stacked on the piano.

So here we are. Dec 4, 2022.

I have accomplished: lots of baking, bought many presents which now require wrapping, have my eye on branches for decorating the outdoors.

And that’s it. Anything beyond that is not achievable, at least not today.

How do you celebrate Christmas with your broken heart? Do you? I’d love to hear about what you do or don’t do? My career was largely as a helper. It is difficult to admit/ask for help but here we are. As a grief community, can we help each other?

I miss you Tim. Christmas simply isn’t Christmas, without you.

Take care,

Carol

Reprieve

It was the mid 60’s or perhaps the early 70’s. My mom (Irmgard) was preparing potatoes. Cooking potatoes was never my mom’s strong suit. There were 2 options, crunchy or burnt. Enter the pressure cooker. These were not the sleek InstaPot kind. These were heavy duty pots that cooked on the stove top. The covers were a scary looking contraption that took both courage and strength to use. In went the raw potatoes, a bit of water, some salt and on went the lid. Then we waited.

I distinctly remember being very afraid. Would mom be able to manage this without starting a house fire? Lest you think I’m exaggerating there were Sundays we’d come home from church to find the kitchen/family room thick with smoke from a very burnt roast alongside charred potatoes. My mom didn’t like following directions hence my angst as I waited for her to unleash the pressure that was cooking these potatoes.

I held my breath. She released the valve. Steam came streaming out of the valve. No explosion, no one was steam burned. I can actually still feel that huge exhale.

And that’s what I felt the day after I wrote my last blog post. Apparently in grieving I was holding my breath. On Wednesday, there was a huge exhale followed by reprieve from the crush of the sorrow.

There is no illusion on my part that this reprieve will last forever. While I’m up for air please accept my gratitude for your love, caring, prayers, kind thoughts and non judgemental replies. While God might be quite big enough to hear my cries of angry unbelief, having that affirmed from those of you in the ‘land of the living’ created a safe place for my anger, fear and pain. Community, eh?

I do want to clarify that I know 100% that others are living with loss greater than mine. I only need to spend a few minutes on any news site to witness tragedy and devastation from around the world to here in my own city of Vernon.

Grief & loss is not a competition. My heart breaks for those near and far who have lost love ones. In expressing grief, I am expressing my own grief and how it is impacting me. We all grieve differently. We are all unique. Yet, the common theme of loss can bind us together in understanding. Your understanding held me up this week. Thank you doesn’t seem enough.

For now, the valve holding pressure in my heart has been released. For now, I can breath more freely. For this week, I experienced ‘better’.

Love, Carol

To Love Is to Grieve

January 27, 2020. The day my son, Timothy John Osborne, called to give us the news of his stage 4 colorectal cancer, metastasized to his liver, diagnosis. That story is here: My Son Has Cancer

Timothy John Osborne September 15, 1982 – August 15, 2022

Sadly, on August 15, 2022, Tim died. Three months ago today. The grief is crushing. The reality that I will never see Tim again on this earth sucks the breath out of me. In an attempt to keep on living, day to day, breath to breath, I’ve decided to return to blogging.

The title of my blog is, Better is Possible. Irony? How does one, whether a mother, a spouse, a child, a sibling, an uncle, an aunt, a cousin, an ex, a grandparent, a friend, get ‘better’ when a loved one dies.

I don’t know.

Tim wrote about living with cancer at Tim’s Blog: Can’t Rec Tim He wrote about his experiences more accurately than I ever could. If you’re interested in reading about his treatments and procedures, including the 9 hour liver surgery, head over to his blog.

Why am I blogging again? Why now? The short answer is because I need to. For the record I’ve also starting going for walks. Yesterday was day 3. And yes, we have snow.

I often think of myself as having a big voice that comes out silent in the vastness of the world. Do you ever have that dream where you’re trying to yell but the sound won’t come out of your mouth. You’re dream screaming, your mouth is moving; but nothing.

Silence all around.

No one hears.

That’s kind of how I feel right now. I’m screaming my lungs out but no one can actually hear me. WHY TIM? WHY MY BOY? WHY DID THE TREATMENT WORK FOR KATE BOWLER AND NOT MY TIM? SURELY IT COULD HAVE BEEN SUCCESSFUL FOR BOTH OF THEM. HE DID TEACH AT A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL! (#sorrykatebowler)

I’m struggling to find peace in knowing that Tim is now at home with Christ. Christ has enough people with Him, he didn’t need my son. In my 66 years of life I can’t remember not having a strong and abiding faith. A belief that God will not let us be crushed. That while we don’t know all His reasoning, He could be trusted. Now I’m not sure. This grief has cracked my core. Why on earth would God create a world with people and things and know that there would so much hurt attached to his creation? If he is such a powerful God couldn’t He have done a better job? Yes, yes, I know, free will! I know all the christian answers. I’ve read the books, I’ve lived the life. But now, with this…I just don’t know. Please don’t judge my unbelief.

I do know that Tim would debate this with me. We’d talk back and forth, both of us interrupting each other, each getting louder and Tim finally saying, “Would you let me talk” and then I’d get all Irmgard pouty and let him talk. Rinse repeat. Tim wouldn’t judge me. He’d probably say, “oh mom, it’s ok. You’ll figure it out. God won’t leave you hanging.”

And friends, this is where I am today. I am so very sad. Sad because I miss my boy. Sad because I can’t fix this. Sad because I can’t take away the hurt for Tim’s wife, his daughter, his brother and sister, his niece and nephews, his extended family, and all his friends. Sad because I know that all the things I hoped for my son’s life will not be happening. We’ll never get to open our joint counselling business: Osborne & Mom, or; Perry & Son. We’ll never know who’d have top billing.

From Tim’s Celebration of Life (September 3, 2022)

On December 28, 2017 I wrote a post titled, Joy and Sorrow.

It included these lines that nudged at my heart today:

(from 2017) Today I sing a broken Hallelujah on behalf of friends in the trenches of sorrow…

May I remain steadfast when the extremes of life collide…

May I hold what needs to be held without breaking, leaking, or collapsing…

Where do these thoughts fit in the midst of my own fresh grief?

Today a granddaughter is coming for a visit, a roast is in the crockpot, my reverend is building a new office. Some days life still has some movement. Movement under the weight of sorrow.

Maybe, just maybe, “I will remain steadfast when the extremes of life collide. Maybe I will be able to hold what needs to be held without [completely] breaking, leaking, or collapsing.” To be honest, it’s still too soon for maybes.

Today is love & grief, bleeding into each other.

Take care,

Carol



My Son has Cancer #cancersucks

January 27, 2020. “Mom, are you sitting down? Mom, I have colorectal cancer. They saw some masses in my liver, but those are probably nothing.”

My world changed.

Feb 27, 2020. “Mom, the tumours in my liver are the same cancer as in my rectum. It’s stage 4 and they can’t operate right now. I get a PICC line put in tomorrow and I start Chemo on Monday.”

My world changed even more.

My son, my Timmy, has cancer. He’s only 37. He’s a dad, a husband, a son and a son-in-law. He’s a brother, an uncle, a nephew, a grandson, and an ex husband. He’s a teacher, a musician, and a hard worker. He’s creative, he’s kind, but let’s be honest, he’s also been known to drive me crazy! But those are stories for another time.

• 

Tim and me during his Community Field Experience at Mackie House in Coldstream.

During the month in between those two calls, we talked almost daily.

That’s not unusual. We talk a lot. During his teaching practicum experiences we spoke often. Mom the teacher, sharing with Tim the pre-service teacher. Little did we know that during both of those practicum experiences, Tim had cancer.

When Tim graduated with his Bachelor of Education I sat on the stage with the Faculty. As Tim crossed the stage I clapped and cheered loudly. The proudest mom in the room. The proudest faculty member on the stage. But little did we know. Tim had cancer.

Tim’s 2019 Graduation.

I am cognizant that this cancer journey is Tim’s story. His to tell as he wishes. As family we respect that. As family what we couldn’t expect was how deeply Tim’s story would impact each of us. From his daughter, who is about to turn 13, to his wife, to his siblings, all are in shock.

Dumbfounded.

Grandma Irmgard, my mom, told us we’d never have to worry about cancer, because “we don’t have cancer in our family! We have heart disease and bad hips!” My mom’s health is in decline and at 85 her memory is sketchy. We won’t bother to tell her she was wrong, that we do indeed have cancer in our family. (We love you mom!)

So far, I’ve shared Tim’s news with few of my friends. Tim’s request was that I not tell many people. Last week he gave me the go ahead to tell who I needed to tell. He does know I blog so I’m positive this is what he meant about telling my friends.

My friends are a stalwart bunch. They pray, they encourage, they laugh, and they cry. On the days I must head out to work, I can feel their prayers surrounding me. I may have tear-rimmed eyes from early morning crying, but I’m getting to work. Thank you dear friends.

My daughter in law, Tim’s wife, Cari, remains steadfast in her support of Tim. She loves him to bits. We may mock their referencing each other as ‘my love’, but I am so glad that they are each others’ love. They need each other. They will need more than each other. I am grateful for the cousins, friends, and colleagues who are standing along side them. Thank you.

The journey ahead will be rough. There is so much unknown and for our family, the unknown is a stressor! As I head into this day, I will rehearse what I know; a practice reinforced by my own beloved husband. Today I know that:

• Tim is loved
• Tim has a strong medical team
• Tim is receiving care quickly
• We do this day by day, moment by moment
• Prayer brings peace
• I don’t have to figure out things that are far down the road. I can focus on now.
• We have each other.
• It’s ok to be really, really, really afraid
• My son has cancer. Today is sad.

When my life gets dark, the hymns of my youth come to mind. How thankful I am for the tradition and comfort of song. The words of this old hymn whisper to my heart today:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus Christ, my righteousness;

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
  All other ground is sinking sand.

Getting better is possible, right?

Carol

SOGI 123. Can We Stop Fighting Now?

With civic elections approaching quickly there is growing, dare I say, acrimonious finger pointing surrounding the SOGI123 ideology in BC education.

Here’s a link to SOGIC 123 which includes pages of relevant information. If you have concerns that impact your children please take the time to look through this site. Click on the links – there are lots of them including talking points from the BCTF.

According to the BC Ministry of Education, This is SOGI 123:

Sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI) is not its own curriculum; it is one aspect of diversity that is included across a range of grades and subject areas. SOGI-inclusive education is fundamentally about learning to treat each other with dignity and respect regardless of our differences. It allows teachers to include all students and families in their lessons, language and practices. Like other forms of inclusion in schools, this ensures that everyone can understand the diverse society that we live in and that students and families can see themselves reflected and welcomed.

The Ministry of Education is responsible for the creation of BC curriculum. SOGI 1 2 3 provides ready-to-use, grade-appropriate SOGI-inclusive lesson plans that align with that curriculum. Teachers can adapt or adopt SOGI 1 2 3 lesson plans to meet the needs of their classroom

As you see it’s about diversity and it’s all good!

So then why am I increasingly seeing an escalation of the US vs THEM tone in many of the online and F2F discussions surrounding SOGI123.

Example: on a twitter thread #teamSOGI replied to #teamnotSOGI that if they were unhappy with SOGI there was always the option of private or homeschooling. Do you all hear the irony in this? Accept the changes or you can go somewhere else. How is this inclusion? How is this better?

IMO this conflict is too typical of the oh so many us vs. them conflicts in my almost 40 years of public education. Frankly it is tiresome. When will we learn? Change is hard. Fear often impacts or impedes change. Polarized viewpoints get us nowhere towards the goal we’re seeking, which is what is best for kids.

I’m going to be honest and say that looking through all of the SOGI documentation that I could find, and having heard and discussed SOGI with some of my admin and teaching colleagues, I do have concerns with how this has been ‘rolled’ out. I’m sorry, but it just feels sneaky. And before you come @ me, I said ‘feels’ not ‘is’.

I have worked with some of the people who are on the team that developed SOGI and they are good people…some of the best. I know their intent was never to sneak this into our schools. I know these people were coming from a good place with the best of intentions. Yet here we are in a war of words, insults flying.

At one point in my career I was on the committee that worked on rewriting the anti-harassment policy in SD #35 (2015). We had in depth discussions and the vision was inclusivity. This particular committee work was a highlight in my career and likely one of the precursors to SOGI123.

Sadly what I’m witnessing in the lead up to the 2018 Civic elections is not promoting peace or inclusivity in our schools. There is no one side to blame. We’re all in this together.

Here are some of my ‘What if’s’

What if: we programmed our schools around belonging. BELONGING for all. For the marginalized and the non marginalized. For the at risk (at promise) and the not at risk (full disclosure – I believe each of us is at risk).

What if: instead of forcing our own agenda (silo) on the whole, we really truly invited each group to a peace table.

What if: we laid down our bullying pulpits whether it be around Pipelines, NAFTA, left wing/right wing politics and realized that we all have to co-exist. We have the capacity to do this together; without fighting; wIthout being nasty; without demanding our way or the highway. We have the capacity, do we have the will?

One last thing.

How effective will change be when our emerging adults see and hear the animosity between opposing sides? Wouldn’t it be better if we demonstrated disagreement from a place of wanting to do what is best for all?

Because like it or not we are all in this together.

#gracebatslast #lovewins

Better IS possible. I believe that, don’t you?

Navigating Senior Care

I never.

I never thought it would be this difficult.

To be clear, I mean the situation, not my mother.

We’re starting Mom’s fourth week with us and I’m exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Fortunately my mental capacity remains arguably sharp enough to recognize and practice everything I’ve learned about my own self-regulation. What’s surprised me is that my SR lens is focussed on me much more than my mom. I thought I’d be looking for her stressors, working at reducing and reframing those. Nope – I’m working on me.

With mom’s sketchy memory we’re never really sure what is true and what is drama. She’s homesick, but at times doesn’t remember where home is? She’s angry that she was brought to our place without anyone giving her notice (not true, we’ve been discussing this move since last fall). At least once a day she tells me she never wanted to come here and she wants to go home. While we attempt to respect her wishes we also know that going ‘home’ means she will need substantially more care than she was getting. When we relent and agree to arrange for her to go home she shifts her position to liking it here. There are no goal posts. There is no final answer.

In the positive column, Mom got a cell phone and TELUS set it up with her old home number. She was delighted when she got a call from one of my Aunties. On a recent good day Mom sent out her first text complete with an emoticon happy face. She proudly carries her phone with her everywhere. Her watch strap broke and she’s figured out how to use her phone to tell the time. “Hey Siri, what time is it?” We all celebrate those lucid moments.

I never anticipated having to navigate the BC Senior Care system. Somehow this phase of life caught me off guard. Why can’t they just have a flow chart: step one, step two and so on. If yes, go here; if no, go there. Maybe they do and I’m just missing it.

After many phone calls, we’ve connected with an Integrated Case Manager who was kind and patient. She has the task of getting this process started. Because Mom doesn’t have a family doctor in our town we had to ask our own doctor if they would take on Mom as a patient. Our doctor is fabulous but I didn’t want to ask what seems like a ginormous request. I got my dear Reverend to make that call. The request was graciously declined.

Now we’re back to connecting with the Case Manager for the next step. Without a family doctor Mom is considered to be an orphan in this system. Yup, an orphan. I cringe every time the word is referenced. No doubt a stressor in my ProSocial domain. Pause, breathe, repeat. Hopefully she will get on the intake list (this week?) or perhaps I’m being far too optimistic.

This morning, I ask myself again; what are my hidden and not so hidden stressors? Which ones can be reduced and which ones do I need to take a break from. I’m thankful for friends who have gone this route before me and have been generous with their wisdom and support.

Better is possible, isn’t it?

Carol

PS I’d appreciate any tips, good news stories, and how you navigated this stage of the process. How did you keep your own peace and calm?

PPS The comments and encouragement you all gave me on my last post meant a lot. Thank you so very much.

 

 

 

The Thing About Opening the Can

She’s here!

GG, Grandma, Mom, has arrived. And she’s staying. For three months. At least that’s the plan. The seal on the proverbial can is broken.

Mom and I, like many mother-daughters, have a complex relationship. Mom loves my brothers, and while I know she loves me, it feels like we’ve never really connected. She likes my friends, in fact my friends all think she’s wonderful. But, she’s always had a love/not like, thing for me.

In my early 40’s, I did a lot of work around my relationship with my mom. At 61, I have come to a place of peace about Mom and me. At least most of the time.

Mom is 83 and has lived the last 21 years with my brother, his wife, and their three kids.  Mom’s aging needs coupled with my brother’s aging family (the kids are adults now) meant Mom was in need of more care and attention than my brother, his wife and kids could give her. That is not a blame statement. It’s life.  She was alone far too much now that everyone in that house was either at work or school. We, on the other hand, are retired. The obvious solution…Mom comes to live with us.

Mom is happiest when she is free to do whatever she wants to do, whether that is planting geraniums, hanging laundry outside to dry, or playing scrabble. She loves to hose things and is a master sweeper. She likes to be helpful, but on her terms. Mom does not like adhering to boundaries. Period. Had she been born later, Mom would have been considered a maverick, a cage rattler, and very innovative. She’d always wanted to be a Kindergarten teacher and frankly she’d have been fabulous.

The antithesis is that Mom cries a lot, seems to crave conflict, and sees the glass half empty. When conflict inevitably erupts into flared tempers and unkind words, mom smiles and becomes calm. At 83, those things remain the same. Here’s where my work with self-regulation fits in. The ‘Pause’ has been critical. Looking for and recognizing stressors is giving me a chance to break some of my deep rooted patterns. The goal is co-regulation. We are not there, yet.  (To my faith-based friends, be assured that my ‘pause’ includes prayer.)

In the fall of 2017 my brother and I agreed that Mom could come and spend some time with my husband and me. We were (are) still renovating our house and we needed a bit of time to get the house ready for a long term guest so the plan was to bring Mom to our place at the end of March 2018. She would stay for at least 3 months. On March 31st we arrived at Mom’s place, helped her pack and on Sunday, April 1st we made the 4 hour  journey to our place.

About 25 years ago, my family moved about 4 hours and a drive through the mountains away from my mom. Mom would visit when she could often driving here by herself. My kids LOVE their grandma. She taught them how to throw and catch a ball, how to tie their shoes, and pretty much potty trained my sons. She played games with them, and made them the ‘best sandwiches ever’. The relationship between my kids and my mom warms my heart. When we got to the part of the drive where you can see our city lights at the end of Kal Lake, mom informed us she’d never been here before. We were speechless. The can’s lid lifted. We got a glimpse of what was inside.

Our grandchildren were excited for GG to come and since her arrival they’ve visited and played UNO, trains, and worked on puzzles with GG and it’s only been a week. My heart grew as I listened to the sound of the piano while our Granddaughter and GG played a long and intricate rendition of Chopsticks. GG knows how to have fun with kids.

Yet, at the end of the day, when all my kids and g’kids had left, after watching TV with us until it was bedtime, Mom went downstairs, to her ‘suite’ and cried so loud I sent Jim down to investigate. This was not a little whimpering cry, this was loud sobbing, intermixed with words. Mom’s crying is nothing new, and if you’re wondering, I have for years (decades actually) queried depression and wondered if an anti-depressant might be helpful. I’ve taken mom to the doctor, but have had to fight my way into the treatment room. Long story short, mom insists she is not depressed, her despair is all because my dad left her. It’s been the same story for 50 years. As we peer deeper into the can, it’s getting darker. How do we shine some light into that part of my dear mom’s heart?

I knew when I invited Mom to stay with us, things wouldn’t be easy.  My brothers, their wives, and Jim and I want the rest of Mom’s life to be worry-free or at least have less opportunity for worry. Mom’s memory is sketchy. More so than ever before. My brother warned me. Mom has trouble remembering where she lives, the names of her grandchildren, which is minimally troubling, but when she couldn’t remember where the stairs in our house were, after going up and down them a few times, we knew this was more than ‘memory’ loss. I’m not going to lie, there have been moments I’ve wanted to push down the lid of this darn can, reseal it, and send mom back to my brother. To mix metaphors; that ship has sailed.

Before you go all judgey on me, I did arrange a mental health intake appointment for mom last fall. When they called her, she told them she was fine and apparently that was that. Her ‘walk in’ doctor, ordered a battery of tests and to my knowledge everything came back normal. With mom here with us, we can more aggressively look for some medical answers. We hope.

This week our navigation into the world of Senior Care begins in earnest. I’ll be calling Interior Health and am hopeful we can set up a cognitive ability test that will give us a base line – albeit, a late baseline, so we can get a clearer idea of how mom really is. Just writing that shines some light into our can.

It’s unlikely that mom will go back to live with my brother and his family at the coast. Once we opened the can it became quite clear that moving back may not be an option. In more lucid moments mom gets that, but at other times she sobs because she doesn’t remember where she lives. That is distressing for all of us, but mostly for her.

“They” say that there are 3 stages in life. Apparently I’m in stage 3. I’m sure someone has already figured this out, but I’m convinced that there are more than 3 stages. What do we call the stage where you are losing the ability to consistently make your own decisions? That stage between lucidity and confusion?

We warn people saying, “Be careful. You may be ‘opening a can of worms”.  I’m seeing that in our can it’s more than worms. It’s a new kind of life, a mix of: old and new; past and present; joy and sorrow. The balance is different almost hourly.

It’s not all dark, but it’s not all light. What I’m seeing as I peer into this can is more  kaleidoscope than I’d imagined.

You know how worms are good for the soil? I wonder if by opening this can into mom’s life, we’re providing the air needed for the worms to do their good work…to enrich and nurture…to bring new growth for another stage of life. For better or worse, this lid is staying off.

Post Script: I was asked if my Mom knew I was writing about her and if I’d received her consent. The answer is yes. She read and approved this post. In her words, “Oh Carol, everybody who knows me knows I’m not fake. I have nothing to hide. Maybe they’ll learn from us.” There she is again, my Mom the teacher!

With hope that Better is Possible,