I felt horrible yesterday. I woke up with sinus issues that made me feel as if I was getting really sick. I thought, oh no! Not another reason to ruin my vacation! I slept quite a bit yesterday and feel much better today. But with sleep, comes dreams.
Up till now, dreams that have my mom in them have made me sad upon waking and wishing she was there. Don't get me wrong, I had my sad moments yesterday, but this wasn't one of them. I had a dream that my mom and I were sitting on my lawn chatting. I was well aware she was dead in the dream, but it didn't bother me like it had in past dreams. She looked as she had when I was high school, younger, full of life. I told her that she should call my dad, because he had really been wanting to hear from her. She liked the idea and whipped out her cell phone. She kept trying to dial and wouldn't get anyone. I asked her what number she was calling and she chanted off my dad's old cell number. I gave her his new number and she tried it, no good. I got up from my chair and tried to take the phone from her and she said, quite indignant, "I can do it! I'm ok, now after all!" I looked at her phone and I said, "Mom your phone doesn't work, I cancelled the contract." She gave me a wide eyed look and said, "Why?"
I said, "um, mom, your dead."
She said, in characteristic mom style, "SO!" as if to say, "what cheek! I might need my phone!"
The dream made me laugh. I haven't laughed with a dream about mom in a long time. I thank her for that. I know she was trying to tell me something in that dream. She misses our times together, wants to chat with us and be with us, because, after all, she's ok now. But she just can't.
As it says in Eccleisates 3:4 "There is a season for everything...."a time to weep and a time to laugh"
My mom reminded me of this in her style.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Vacation!!!!
It's been several years since we've been on vacation. 2005 to be exact. We've been places, but never really on vacation. Two vacations were planned, but had to be changed due to my mom's illness. The last "mini-vacation" I went on, I did nothing but worry about her. Not this year. We plan to go on vacation this year. Soon, actually. I plan to carry her spirit with me and not obsess about stuff this time around. I feel truly free to enjoy myself for the first time in a long time.
I will be concerned about my Dad, but I won't be gone that long.
I am so excited to get to the date that I can hardly wait! Working each day has become a struggle as I wait!
God grant me the patience to wait till the reward! And God grant us a worry free vacation this year!
I will be concerned about my Dad, but I won't be gone that long.
I am so excited to get to the date that I can hardly wait! Working each day has become a struggle as I wait!
God grant me the patience to wait till the reward! And God grant us a worry free vacation this year!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Green Monster
Jealousy? No, not that green monster. The monster is fear. Real or imagined, fear can paralyze you. It's one of the major regrets I have now, since my Mom has passed. When she was alive and free of MSA, just fighting her normal day-to-day battles with heart issues, I worried about her every minute. I worried about if she was ok, called her all the time. Now this didn't happen all the time, mind you, but I did obsess about it some times to the point of ruining vacations, work days, and all sorts of time I will never get back. In this case, it was imagined fear. My mom was fine. This past year, when I traveled to the Mayo clinic with my Mom and Dad, just about this time last year actually, I found out what real fear was. I found out my Mom really was dying this time, and that no amount of doctor intervention would help. A miracle would do it, but God had decided this was her last battle-something I realized after a few months.
Lately, the green boy is back. I don't have my Mom to obsess over, so I have turned it onto myself. I have been concerned for some time that my Mom's disease might be hereditary. Though it states in the literature that in 95% of cases its not, my family has a tendency to fall into that 5% all the time. My Grandfather died of Parkinson's disease combined with several strokes. His brothers all had some sort of neurological disease. Either Parkinsons or Alzheimers. My mom was my grandpa's only child and I am her only child. So, you do see my concern.
So lately I have noticed little things that remind me of my mom's issues happening to me. All of them could be explained by stress, possible perimenopause, and several other things. But my mind has leaped to the possibility that I will be another MSA stat and that I will be one of those young people who get this dreaded disease. I have a talent for leaping to the worst possible conclusion because in my lifetime, many times, it always seems to be the worst possible thing. My mom was told she was going to die more times than I can count, after all.
What makes it different this time is that I have her experience to bring some of this into perspective. Worrying does no good. If you get it, you do. There is no cure, so knowing ahead of time really isn't going to make things any better. So each time I accidentally drop a cup, feel my fingers wanting to move a little too hard on my mouse when I didn't expect it, or I trip over something (usually my cat!), or can't find the word for something I am trying to say, my mind tends to think, "Oh no, is this the start of it?"
Who knows. If God intends for me to be another in our family to die of a neurological disorder, then I will, right?
But, God? I'd really rather not.
Green monster wins again I guess.
Lately, the green boy is back. I don't have my Mom to obsess over, so I have turned it onto myself. I have been concerned for some time that my Mom's disease might be hereditary. Though it states in the literature that in 95% of cases its not, my family has a tendency to fall into that 5% all the time. My Grandfather died of Parkinson's disease combined with several strokes. His brothers all had some sort of neurological disease. Either Parkinsons or Alzheimers. My mom was my grandpa's only child and I am her only child. So, you do see my concern.
So lately I have noticed little things that remind me of my mom's issues happening to me. All of them could be explained by stress, possible perimenopause, and several other things. But my mind has leaped to the possibility that I will be another MSA stat and that I will be one of those young people who get this dreaded disease. I have a talent for leaping to the worst possible conclusion because in my lifetime, many times, it always seems to be the worst possible thing. My mom was told she was going to die more times than I can count, after all.
What makes it different this time is that I have her experience to bring some of this into perspective. Worrying does no good. If you get it, you do. There is no cure, so knowing ahead of time really isn't going to make things any better. So each time I accidentally drop a cup, feel my fingers wanting to move a little too hard on my mouse when I didn't expect it, or I trip over something (usually my cat!), or can't find the word for something I am trying to say, my mind tends to think, "Oh no, is this the start of it?"
Who knows. If God intends for me to be another in our family to die of a neurological disorder, then I will, right?
But, God? I'd really rather not.
Green monster wins again I guess.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
And the hits just keep on comin'!
I thank God now for trials as well as blessings. Does that sound crazy? Well it isn't, really. We are called to thank the Lord for both, equally. In truth, we are called to thank Him for the trials more. Do you ever feel like your Christian walk begins to get less and less a priority when things are good? It's human nature. If things are good, we go along with our nomal lives, getting lulled into a sense of security. It is evil? Probably not, its just the way we are. Can evil draw us there? Sure can.
Well, its obvious that I've been through my share of trials lately. I thought I would mention a few more that just happened the past month or so. My husband lost his job in February, his car died on Tuesday and we had to shell out repairs, his computer broke down, my car's check engine light came on, work has been stressful. I could go on.
But my husband and I just laughed. Yes, laughed. "Boy," my husband said, "We must be doing something right to be attacked this much!" Yes I believe that attacks come from the enemy to steal our joy or make us turn our backs on God. If you aren't a believer, you'll find all this rather nutty. But that's the way it is, whether you believe it or not.
On the up side, my husband received a small inheritance that has helped things, his car was fixed and cost less than we thought, his computer was covered under the warranty and my care was fine. All worked out ok. Does it always work out ok? No. But I will still praise the Lord in my trials. I may not like it, but praise is a choice, not a reaction.
Well, its obvious that I've been through my share of trials lately. I thought I would mention a few more that just happened the past month or so. My husband lost his job in February, his car died on Tuesday and we had to shell out repairs, his computer broke down, my car's check engine light came on, work has been stressful. I could go on.
But my husband and I just laughed. Yes, laughed. "Boy," my husband said, "We must be doing something right to be attacked this much!" Yes I believe that attacks come from the enemy to steal our joy or make us turn our backs on God. If you aren't a believer, you'll find all this rather nutty. But that's the way it is, whether you believe it or not.
On the up side, my husband received a small inheritance that has helped things, his car was fixed and cost less than we thought, his computer was covered under the warranty and my care was fine. All worked out ok. Does it always work out ok? No. But I will still praise the Lord in my trials. I may not like it, but praise is a choice, not a reaction.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Happy Birthday
Today is my Mom's birthday. If she would have lived she would have been 66 today. As I mentioned in my Easter blog entry, I didn't give too much thought to these milestones before. I figured they would be difficult, but not too overwhelming.
Well I was wrong and I was right. Let me explain. I woke up this morning to get ready for Sunday School and Church and found that I just was unable to do anything without crying. You see myself, my husband, my dad, my sister and my aunt are all going to the cemetary later today to see the flowers my dad purchased to put on my Mom's grave. This will only be the second time I've been up there. The first time was with my dad alone in March. It wasn't as difficult as I imagined, but seeing the fresh dirt on the ground, and grave stone with the needle and thread on it signifying her, upset me. I could have cried long and hard there for a bit, which would have been cathartic. But I can't cry in front of my dad. He just can't take seeing my cry any more than he could take my mom doing it. The two of us have always been the strong ones in our family. When something happens, people literally look at us to see our reactions to temper how they will react. Its a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, because you can help others remain strong during a crisis, a curse because you can only grieve in private.
Private grieving is what my mom always did and had to do.
I guess the torch has passed.
My husband is going to church without me today. I need some private grieving time before we go to the cemetary. Traditions can be interesting, can't they?
Well I was wrong and I was right. Let me explain. I woke up this morning to get ready for Sunday School and Church and found that I just was unable to do anything without crying. You see myself, my husband, my dad, my sister and my aunt are all going to the cemetary later today to see the flowers my dad purchased to put on my Mom's grave. This will only be the second time I've been up there. The first time was with my dad alone in March. It wasn't as difficult as I imagined, but seeing the fresh dirt on the ground, and grave stone with the needle and thread on it signifying her, upset me. I could have cried long and hard there for a bit, which would have been cathartic. But I can't cry in front of my dad. He just can't take seeing my cry any more than he could take my mom doing it. The two of us have always been the strong ones in our family. When something happens, people literally look at us to see our reactions to temper how they will react. Its a blessing and a curse at the same time. A blessing, because you can help others remain strong during a crisis, a curse because you can only grieve in private.
Private grieving is what my mom always did and had to do.
I guess the torch has passed.
My husband is going to church without me today. I need some private grieving time before we go to the cemetary. Traditions can be interesting, can't they?
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Never Underestimate Grief
Last night I felt like such a fraud. I've been on this blog saying how happy I am that my mom is in a better place, that she has told me she is ok, yada, yada. Well as Easter has approached, a holiday that my mother LOVED, I find myself getting more and more depressed.
The last two days I have done something I haven't done in months. Cry uncontrollably in the shower. The shower is a great place for crying, don't you think? I mean, you are already wet, you already look like junk, why not cry too. Plus, you can't be heard in there very well. Perfect crying closet.
When my mom died, I had this crushing guilt over her final days. My mom started having pain in her legs and all over her body, she began crying constantly, couldn't stop. She would call out all the time and pull at her legs. Her swallowing became non-existent as well and she couldn't hardly take her meds. I found out later that this had been going on for several weeks, from my dad. The only thing that would quiet her and give her some relief was drops of morphine, adminstered through a liquid in her mouth. She was very sensitive to medicine, but hospice told us that the morphine was so light and such a small amount, that it would only make a person sleep. Well, when they told us that the pain she was going through was the dying process, we relented in giving her more morphine. This is common for people in their final days/hours, but I couldn't get over the idea that maybe we were accelerating her death. Hospice told me over and over that there was nothing that could be done and that if we took her to the hospital, they would try to use heroic measures such as feeding tubes (she couldn't swallow), vents (for breathing) or intraveneous morphine (stronger than what we were giving her.) My mom said many times she didn't want a feeding tube, didn't want to go to the hospital, didn't want any of that. She had a do not rescussitate on her living will. She stopped swallowing, could not take her meds anymore, pills that, in essence, were keeping her alive. So really, nothing could have been done more to help her at this point.
But I still feel like I didn't do what she wanted. I still have moments where I wish she could have told me what she wanted. When her swallowing stopped, her ability to communicate stopped too. She was crying as if she was trying to tell me something, but I never could get out of her what it was. When I finally told her, after a couple of days, that they told us she was dying, she calmed down. I think she just didn't understand that this was the final fight. She didn't have to struggle anymore. For someone who had lived through a terminal cancer diagnosis in her 20s, breast cancer in her 40s, heart disease in her 50s and 60s, just laying down the fight is hard to do.
My husband asked me the same questions I ask myself. What if she had lived through this crisis? She would have been in a nursing home the following week, and my mom didn't want to go to a nursing home. My wonderful husband also said, "God takes us in His own time. You second guessing God?" Sage advice from my hubby.
I guess my biggest issue is that I was unable to be at my mom's side every minute that last 7 days. I was there, don't get me wrong, but for the most part my husband, my two uncles and my sister sat vigil. My dad and I, after years of constant caregiving, and some of the hardest months in our lives, just couldn't watch it anymore. I feel like I abandoned her when she needed me the most. I still carry that with me, though I know, deep down, my mom has forgiven any weakness I might have shown in those last days, and knows that I did my best.
What I am saying is never underestimate grief. It comes in lulls and bursts. I have just had a burst. My friend, who has lost both her parents, told me that the "firsts" are the worst. First Easter, First Birthday, etc.
I discounted that early on, but not again. I know somewhere my mom is trying to reach across the great divide between this world and the next and comfort me. I will take all I can get right now, Mommy. I'm sorry for my mistakes. I did the best I could.
If I made some that I shouldn't have, I guess she can admonish me in glory. We'll have eternity to commiserate about every detail.
Somehow I don't think she plans to do that when I see her again. Just not her style
The last two days I have done something I haven't done in months. Cry uncontrollably in the shower. The shower is a great place for crying, don't you think? I mean, you are already wet, you already look like junk, why not cry too. Plus, you can't be heard in there very well. Perfect crying closet.
When my mom died, I had this crushing guilt over her final days. My mom started having pain in her legs and all over her body, she began crying constantly, couldn't stop. She would call out all the time and pull at her legs. Her swallowing became non-existent as well and she couldn't hardly take her meds. I found out later that this had been going on for several weeks, from my dad. The only thing that would quiet her and give her some relief was drops of morphine, adminstered through a liquid in her mouth. She was very sensitive to medicine, but hospice told us that the morphine was so light and such a small amount, that it would only make a person sleep. Well, when they told us that the pain she was going through was the dying process, we relented in giving her more morphine. This is common for people in their final days/hours, but I couldn't get over the idea that maybe we were accelerating her death. Hospice told me over and over that there was nothing that could be done and that if we took her to the hospital, they would try to use heroic measures such as feeding tubes (she couldn't swallow), vents (for breathing) or intraveneous morphine (stronger than what we were giving her.) My mom said many times she didn't want a feeding tube, didn't want to go to the hospital, didn't want any of that. She had a do not rescussitate on her living will. She stopped swallowing, could not take her meds anymore, pills that, in essence, were keeping her alive. So really, nothing could have been done more to help her at this point.
But I still feel like I didn't do what she wanted. I still have moments where I wish she could have told me what she wanted. When her swallowing stopped, her ability to communicate stopped too. She was crying as if she was trying to tell me something, but I never could get out of her what it was. When I finally told her, after a couple of days, that they told us she was dying, she calmed down. I think she just didn't understand that this was the final fight. She didn't have to struggle anymore. For someone who had lived through a terminal cancer diagnosis in her 20s, breast cancer in her 40s, heart disease in her 50s and 60s, just laying down the fight is hard to do.
My husband asked me the same questions I ask myself. What if she had lived through this crisis? She would have been in a nursing home the following week, and my mom didn't want to go to a nursing home. My wonderful husband also said, "God takes us in His own time. You second guessing God?" Sage advice from my hubby.
I guess my biggest issue is that I was unable to be at my mom's side every minute that last 7 days. I was there, don't get me wrong, but for the most part my husband, my two uncles and my sister sat vigil. My dad and I, after years of constant caregiving, and some of the hardest months in our lives, just couldn't watch it anymore. I feel like I abandoned her when she needed me the most. I still carry that with me, though I know, deep down, my mom has forgiven any weakness I might have shown in those last days, and knows that I did my best.
What I am saying is never underestimate grief. It comes in lulls and bursts. I have just had a burst. My friend, who has lost both her parents, told me that the "firsts" are the worst. First Easter, First Birthday, etc.
I discounted that early on, but not again. I know somewhere my mom is trying to reach across the great divide between this world and the next and comfort me. I will take all I can get right now, Mommy. I'm sorry for my mistakes. I did the best I could.
If I made some that I shouldn't have, I guess she can admonish me in glory. We'll have eternity to commiserate about every detail.
Somehow I don't think she plans to do that when I see her again. Just not her style
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Maundy Thursday
No, its not a Mama's and Papa's song. On the liturgical calendar, today is Maundy Thursday. Today is remembered as the night that Christ had his Last Supper with his disciples before he then walked to the Mount of Olives, and was later arrested.
I was raised in a non-liturgical church. We didn't celebrate Maundy Thursday services. I knew nothing about them until I took a part-time job as a church secretary/administrator at a Presbyterian church in the early 90s. Though my demonination does not celebrate these type of remembrances, I find going through the motions of what actually happened on those nights as very interesting. I plan to attend a Good Friday service tomorrow if I can make it out of my office. There are several churches in town that have them, I will just need to look for them.
The only problem I have with these type of services is that many times its more about the service, the pomp and pagentry, then it is about what is really going on. Jesus was definitely not a pomp and pagentry type of guy. I find it difficult to believe that the minister of one of the services tomorrow is going to whip out his towel and bowl of water and begin washing our feet. Besides the fact that most people would probably run screaming from the building because they were touched inappropriately, modern man just isn't that humble. Don't be too hard on modern man, though. Ancient man wasn't that humble either. Peter, the disciple called His Rock, by Jesus, was appalled when, that night, Christ began washing his disciples feet. He told Christ that it was basically below him to be doing this. Christ told Peter he was acting like the devil. Literally. It was bad day for Peter, after all. He got into lots of trouble later that night.
But never put yourself above any of these men when you read the Bible or hear of what they did. These were ordinary men put into extraordinary situations. I only hope I would have a tenth of the strength of Peter or a tiny bit of the love and excitement of John.
So as you go scurrying around trying to find that bag of Reese cup eggs on sale, or that perfect box of Peeps for your Easter baskets, remember this holiday isn't about the Easter Bunny or chocolate. It's about the God of the universe lowering himself into the body of "just a guy." Someone like you and me.
Though, I believe Jesus is the kind of guy that would have loved Reese cup eggs. Don't you? I know plenty of carpenters and builders who can't resist and a little PB and Chocolate.
Point is, this holiday is all about Him. Let's try to keep that way.
I was raised in a non-liturgical church. We didn't celebrate Maundy Thursday services. I knew nothing about them until I took a part-time job as a church secretary/administrator at a Presbyterian church in the early 90s. Though my demonination does not celebrate these type of remembrances, I find going through the motions of what actually happened on those nights as very interesting. I plan to attend a Good Friday service tomorrow if I can make it out of my office. There are several churches in town that have them, I will just need to look for them.
The only problem I have with these type of services is that many times its more about the service, the pomp and pagentry, then it is about what is really going on. Jesus was definitely not a pomp and pagentry type of guy. I find it difficult to believe that the minister of one of the services tomorrow is going to whip out his towel and bowl of water and begin washing our feet. Besides the fact that most people would probably run screaming from the building because they were touched inappropriately, modern man just isn't that humble. Don't be too hard on modern man, though. Ancient man wasn't that humble either. Peter, the disciple called His Rock, by Jesus, was appalled when, that night, Christ began washing his disciples feet. He told Christ that it was basically below him to be doing this. Christ told Peter he was acting like the devil. Literally. It was bad day for Peter, after all. He got into lots of trouble later that night.
But never put yourself above any of these men when you read the Bible or hear of what they did. These were ordinary men put into extraordinary situations. I only hope I would have a tenth of the strength of Peter or a tiny bit of the love and excitement of John.
So as you go scurrying around trying to find that bag of Reese cup eggs on sale, or that perfect box of Peeps for your Easter baskets, remember this holiday isn't about the Easter Bunny or chocolate. It's about the God of the universe lowering himself into the body of "just a guy." Someone like you and me.
Though, I believe Jesus is the kind of guy that would have loved Reese cup eggs. Don't you? I know plenty of carpenters and builders who can't resist and a little PB and Chocolate.
Point is, this holiday is all about Him. Let's try to keep that way.
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