Category Archives: Reading and Writing

A Year of Mourning

Featured

Posted on by
2

It will be a year tomorrow, on June 26, that I held my husband in my arms for the last time as he took his final breath. It was a year of sorrow, tears, blessings and joy. Isn’t that what a life is? A mixture of feelings squashed together, wringing the worst and best out of us.

It was a long year, yet a short year with some days slowly marching through the minutes and seconds, and other days soaring fast from sunrise to sunset.

The last few years with my husband were difficult because of his dementia. Caring for him was hard. If you haven’t experienced it, it is hard to understand because there is so much you don’t see if you’re not a 24/7 person in the caregiving realm. You miss seeing the sweetness that can turn in a minute to anger, always surprising you, keeping you on edge or as the saying goes, pins and needles. Sleep is a rarity. Nighttime is difficult because of sundowning. Yet, you plod on because of love, feeling it is your responsibility to take care of someone you’ve loved and lived with for fifty or more years.

This past year my emotions have been all over the place. Living alone for the first time I faced fears that I felt were silly. But because my anxiety had been out of control while caring for my husband, it didn’t vanish overnight, it just shifted to other things. My body felt like lightning bolts were hitting me while shopping in the grocery store, or being in a large public building, or going downstairs for coffee. I wanted to hide away. I had to schedule work in my home for as small a thing as washing dishes or vacuuming. I would say to myself, “At ten I will wash dishes.” Then I would rest for hours so I could get up for my scheduled load of clothes in the wash machine at two. Small steps as these, gave me so much anxiety, I would be sick. I imagined death in the shower from a fall and no one to call for help. My mind was all over. Driving a distance made me shake, and making a commitment for an engagement made my heart pound and my body weak. I could go on, but I beat myself up on not being strong enough to get over those feelings.

I couldn’t cry anymore. I cried for years while he was sick, large tears, loud sobs and my friends and families’ shoulders were soggy every time they saw me. Some of them understood and other’s thought I was just looking for sympathy and feeling poor me. I maybe was, but not intentionally, and though I knew this, and a few people and family were avoiding me, I still couldn’t stop. I too was sick in heart and mind. I was the lowest of the low the last few years, but I had to plod on, knowing how weak my reserves were. I couldn’t be there for anyone else, not even my children. I was emotionally drained. Not being able to cry on the outside after his death stressed me out and made me feel guilty. I felt I should be crying more now than then, because he was gone.

I am healing. I no longer am afraid to take a shower. I am not afraid to be alone. I had help in that department. My beautiful cousins understood my fear and gifted me an Apple watch to wear so should I fall and need help; it would detect it. That watch became a lifeline the first few months and now too. Friends would call often and check on me. A couple friends got me out on small shopping trips at intervals and encouraged me as I shook walking through the store. A new church welcomed me in and befriended me. My family, kids and grandkids, took time for me. My daughter would pop in or take me out for coffee or a day away, and my grandchildren took day trips with me and made me laugh. My neighbors where I live made sure I was never lonely. A Pastor friend and his wife from many years ago, called sometime twice a week to just chat. There are many others I did not mention, such as my online friends who kept me going with messages and phone calls. It truly takes a village to raise a senior citizen in mourning.

My doctor said I was tired and needed rest. He felt I had PTSD from taking care of someone with dementia. I prayed, meditated, listened to music and became stronger. But I beat myself up continually in wondering if I did enough for my husband’s care. Did I fight for his health enough or could I have been more precise and demanding with the doctors? Should I have taken him off hospice to get him surgery for his back, so he didn’t have to be on so many drugs for pain? Did I spend enough time with him in memory care? Should I have fought harder when I thought the care was not what it should have been? Maybe if I had stayed with him overnights, he wouldn’t have had all the falls and had the pain associated with it. Did I let him die when I should have fought for him to live? No matter what anyone said to me those silent fears were there. I still struggle with them now a year later.

They say God puts people in our lives when we need them the most, and this past month two people entered my life. Two different situations that gave me perspective and helped me feel someone understood my weird fears.

The first is a woman who lost her husband last June too. She shared with me her attempt at taking care of someone with dementia and then living alone for the first time in her life. She couldn’t go to the store without panic attacks. She was afraid of taking a shower that she would fall. Driving distance made her shaky. She too scheduled her household chores. And she felt guilt at not being sure she had done enough. Her feelings mimicked my feelings and my insecurities. I began to feel I was normal.

Another person entered my life as a friend. They too are alone for the first time in fifty-three years. It’s a different scenario I won’t get into, but they shared with me the fear of being alone for the first time too. This friend was driving out on the road in the country, and they began a panic attack because their mind asked themself, who do they call in case the car breaks down? They weren’t prone to panic attacks until now. Eventually they realized they have many friends they can call, but they couldn’t call their spouse. This was a male person and they again helped me see life changes and anxiety spans the sexes.

I’m sharing this on the anniversary of my husband’s death so others know that the feelings they may have after the death of a spouse are their feelings, but other’s share the insecurities that to the world who have not experienced this, seem silly. Each person’s grief is different.

The good memories are back. I look at pictures, have dreams almost every night about my husband and cherish what we had. The good, the bad and the in-between. He was the love of my life. It doesn’t matter what the world saw. Marriage is joyous, difficult, loving, scary and there is no normal. Marriage is compromise and forgiveness. People need to choose on their own what they can live with and when they need to let go to live.

This year I’ve lost my sense of humor in my writing, when I can actually bring myself to write. I need to find that again. I’m learning new things such as wood burning with a laser, watercolor painting, spoon carving. I recently took a class in vibrational sound. Zip lining is on my list though I don’t know if I will complete that one. I learned I’m an introvert pretending to be an extrovert. I would be lazy in my room alone if my friends and family weren’t always pulling me out into an enticing activity. This year has been extremely busy to keep me from wallowing in grief. Now I am feeling the need for a little solitude to take care of me. My friend that I mentioned earlier is doing the same thing. She echoed my thoughts. Taking care of ourselves is one of the hardest tasks, because we were so used to taking care of our spouse. It feels decadent to spend time on us.

I have no advice for getting through losing a spouse. I’m still figuring it out. What I do know is that I have to figure me out, taking the time to find out who I want to be when I grow up, because death and losing the one you love changes you, no matter what the relationship was. Most of my adult life I was part of a couple. I am learning what it is to be me, alone for the first time, finding my path and journey for hopefully, many years to come. And cherishing the life I had.

“What is lovely never dies, but passes into another loveliness, star-dust or sea-foam, flower, or winged air.” — Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Disappearing Dining Rooms

Featured

Posted on by
1

I read an article this morning that stated dining rooms were disappearing from American households. I wonder what that might say about family life today or get-togethers with friends.

I grew up in the 50s. A few of my friends’ homes had dining rooms, and others’ homes, including ours, had kitchen tables where we would dine with our family. At the time, dining rooms were reserved for special meals, or the occasion when guests visited for dinner. We sat down together, every night for the family meal by a table. It didn’t matter what was going on, especially if you were a kid, you were to be home for dinner, which in those days the night meal was called supper in the Midwest.

Usually, when meals were served in dining rooms, the dining experience was reserved for the special China and the good silverware. We had certain manners we had to use. I always loved the dining room experience as it made it a special meal.

I must admit I didn’t read the entire article. It could have been that people are transitioning to the big room experience and table. I suspect if I would have read it more in-depth than just a skim, the main focus would have been on family either having a leisurely dinner hour, or the fact many families do not sit down together for a meal anymore because they are too busy. Kids and parents grab their plates and sit separately at a counter, or in front of the television, or with a book or phone in their hands, ignoring the other people in the room. In my youth I tried to read books at the table. I never wanted to put down my book, but reading at meals wasn’t allowed. The same as hats at the table were not allowed. Fast food pickup today is popular with the working moms and dads and kids. The family can eat on the run separately while on the way to the many activities.

If I travel back through time and look at my pictures of the past, the photos over the years depict my family dining experience with family and friends. It was the heart at the meal. Every birthday is captured around the table. Every anniversary, birthday celebration, and the night meal are around a table. That was our time, coming together over a meal at night. Granted my kids would complain, they didn’t always like the food. Brussel Sprouts were not their favorite. One evening we had company and the adults sat at the table with the kids sitting at their own table because of space. We learned we should never let the kids out of our sight when there was a questionable vegetable. I found out later that one of my children put their creamed rutabagas in a napkin and snuck it into my friend’s purse so it only appeared that he ate them. Yes, at our table the kids had to try everything and eat what we served. There were no separate meals for the kids. We had a good laugh at that one. When my friend informed me weeks later of the mischief, I was upset. She laughed and said that was why she didn’t tell me sooner. My friend thought it was funny. She was a teacher who apparently had a sense of humor. The memory of the meal together stayed with us for many years. Now I have no one but the culprits to share the memory with and they aren’t talking. My friend has passed on, but he friendship and memory of that night by a forgiving friend is priceless.

As a family at the table, we shared our day, our fun things and our sad experiences. We laughed, we fought, we complained, but we were together. My kids learned manners and how to use the right utensils in case they were at a fine dining establishment. It was a time that I fear is long gone. There is something to be said about sitting around a table and talking for hours. And… teaching kids they do need to learn to sit and listen to adults and have patience. Yes, it can be done. Manners at a table, I believe reach out to the world in better learned behavior. Have you been in any restaurants with kids these days? Behavior hasn’t changed but the response of the parents has. Eating together also was an opportunity to assess if our kids were doing okay. Yes, sometimes we missed it. But family meals result in many funny stories to our grandchildren.

A few years ago, I was a guest at my son’s home. My grandson requested noodles for dinner. He then said to me, “Grandma, do you know what dad told me? He said if he didn’t eat what you made, he had to go to bed and he didn’t get any supper, and everyone had to eat the same thing. I told him you wouldn’t do that.” I laughed and informed him that it was indeed true. I don’t know if that was a teaching moment in my grandson’s life or a realization that perhaps his grandma wasn’t who he thought she was.

I’ll confess, I no longer have a dining room or a kitchen table in my apartment. It is too tiny a space. I had a table and chairs for the last year, but having guests was too cramped with the table. Have I given up on the sitting around the table experience? No. I am translating the table to tv trays, sitting them in a circle in front of my living room furniture so guests can sit and still have a table and group experience.

There is a reason the television show, Blue Bloods, dining scene is popular. They represent the families of the past, sharing bread and sharing their life, once a week. The Reagan family slows down and takes the time to learn about each other’s up and downs of the week, building a bridge one conversation at a time. Maybe we all want to experience that connection again.

We need those bridges of conversation at a dinner table more today than possibly in the history of our country. Families are fractured. Friendships survive on meeting in between our busy activities. We have a hard time turning off our phones and stepping away from the noise. We have sacrificed time with those that mean the most to us, for living in a world that offers us glamour, stress, and builds in us an idea that for our kids being busy keeps them out of trouble. We spend more time online with strangers than we do with those who share our lives in the flesh. How’s that working for us? Build that bridge. Break that bread at the table with family and friends. That’s the spice of life. We will all leave this earth one day. What will our life and the way we spend our time tell others about what we value?

Senior Snarking

Featured

Posted on by
2

Laying low. Being silent. Reflecting. Crabbing. Yes, I have tried all those various ways of being lately. It’s been two years the end of this month since we moved from our home, first into independent living for both of us, then memory care for Mark and HUD independent living for me. I’ve learned so much about aging and care. My moods have been euphoric, depressing to the point of falling apart, sad at the passing of my husband, and anger at rules that are and are not enforced,and happy for my new environment and friends.

One of the hardest lessons is learning to live in an apartment for the first time in buildings for seniors that have many rules which call for adjustments in the way we were used to living.

It’s no secret that in my first abode, first try at senior living, we were always at odds with management because of mistakes in billing and care. However as residents we were not restricted with many things we could or could not do which affected our freedom of living.

I love where I live now. My second senior housing try. The campus and my independent living apartment are very beautiful and comfy, however I am learning that as a resident there are many more restrictions. I and other residents have a hard time adhering to rules. Remember teenage years when the don’t always turned into…I want to try that?

It’s very hard for older people who have had to leave their homes, their communities and the independence they had, to find their world smaller and their choices restricted. Younger managers don’t always understand their role in making sure seniors do not feel threatened by the penalty for a misstep in not following what seems to seniors, silly and frivolous restrictions. Considering everything else seniors may be encountering physically an emotionally, being stressed about getting written up should not be happening. Staff is not always trained to patiently work and understand the way problems are addressed whcih makes a difference in older people’s reactions to having their boundaries changed when it comes to living their lives. If seniors are talked down to, treated like children and addressed by raised voices they feel threatened and disrespected and not being heard. You’ve read the articles on senior citizens not being seen as viable people that still have wisdom and years of living experience that would benefit being listened to. Many managers do not know that the subject being complained about is not necessarily the problem, but the restriction is about another choice being taken away. The language and tone about which it is addressed matters.

Seniors in senior housing, especially low income senior housing, should not have to feel afraid to speak up because of repercussions, but they do. Plus, they are afraid of losing their home if HUD funding changes.

If it were not for HUD housing many elderly tenants would have no home and it is a worry that is real. Elderly tenants that live in HUD housing have worked hard all their life, but have no retirement savings as benefits were not a available to them, or they come from an abusive household, or their medical bills ate up everything they have. Some make just enough from Social Security to not qualify for help such as Medicaid, but do not make enough to pay the rents, groceries and health care.

And so we argue about things that to the younger generation doesn’t matter, such as the ability to move tables around in the dining room, changing the arrangement of them according to our activities and groups that might want to have their own conversations. Or the ability to have our small kitchen in our dining/community room open so on weekends we don’t have to bring pots of coffee down from our apartments to serve our afternoon coffee crowd. We argue over communication when we feel we are being patronized, dismissed and not heard. Our opinions don’t matter to the running of our home when we have decades of wisdom that might make a difference to the peacefulness of community. We want an environment that is well taken care of so when visitors arrive they don’t see the stuffing in the dining room chairs or the cracks in patio furniture that says we are not the wealthy side of the community.

I learned myself that asking questions over and over because of not getting a satisfactory answer, or expressing concern over management, can get you written up and result in a conversation with the manager and upper level staff. These things are destroying the peaceful atmosphere. It’s felt like being called into the principal’s office in high school, which never happened to me. It took 73 years to be called to the office. I learned recording a resident meeting so we have minutes is a no-no because I didn’t inform them I was doing it, though those at my table knew. I honestly didn’t know the rules of recording a community meeting. But I now know what can and can’t be done so I can do better

It is hard for all of us that haven’t lived with these restrictions in our home to get used to having them at our age. However, I understand to have a peaceful environment rules are needed and entities may impose them so we don’t have problems.

Those are the hard parts, but these are the blessings. I have eleven neighbors on our floor and we help each other out. We have fun, we watch out for one another and we don’t ever have to be lonely. We just have to step outside our door. Add the other four floors and we are a family. I’ve met so many good people and I have learned about courage from those whose lives are hard and filled with pain and disability. Yes, residents have squabbles with each other. Who doesn’t have issues even in a family environment.

I live in a beautiful friendly community that keeps me busy and interested. I have met people of different races, religion and genders that have given me growth in acceptance of those who are different than me. I didn’t want to move those years ago but it was necessary for my husband’s care, and yet it’s one of the best experiences of my life. The people we met, the places we’ve lived, learning about hospice and feeling enveloped by family and friends through my husband’s death. God does know what he’s doing. We have to trust there is a plan. Now I just need to learn to follow the rules. You know they say curiosity killed the cat. I don’t want to use up my nine lives, plus detention is no fun at my age.