I was reading something online on Saturday about grief and the grieving process. It said that when dealing with someone who has lost a spouse or a significant person in their life, the second year is actually harder than the first. At first I thought this was crazy. I mean that first year was a complete hell at times. But then I read on. They said that the first year you are in survivial mode. You are worried about keeping healthy, planning, sorting through stuff, etc. But year two rolls around and you are now realizing, hey, they is not going to end. This is the way its going to be from now on. You aren't going to hear that persons voice, see that person, smell their perfume again until eternity.
I had been thinking this past week that maybe I was losing it. People move on, don't they? I mean you get past this eventually, right? But as I read, my feelings made perfect sense. So do my Dads. He is actually more listless and more easily depressed lately than he was early on. He was a bundle of energy, nervous energy before. Now, not so much. He has a lady friend he has asked to go out to lunch or something soon. Part of me was like, cool. Part of me found this less charming than I did when he first told me. He also is wanting to sell his house. That is natural. But he wants to talk about it all the time. I also find this less charming too. I find myself easily annoyed by some of his rambling talk. I then feel guilty about it and the cycle goes on and on.
So I have decided to be less hard on myself. God has been working on me during this. I lean on Him daily more than I ever have before. Which is the point, isn't it? God puts his children through things that they have no earthly way of handling so he can handle them for them.
I dont' know where I will end up at the end of this road. But the ride has been interesting. That is one thing I CAN say about this!
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Making life not just Living it
I have been thinking lately about a lot of things. This can be good, but sometimes, in my case, it can be a very bad thing. I have one of those minds where I am start thinking about someone having a spot on their cheek and I have them dead in about 10 minutes. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, be glad.
In business, that mind can be a great thing, because you are always one step ahead. But in everyday life, it can be stress-inducing.
Let me explain. My Dad has been doing well with my Mom's abscence. When I say well, I mean that he still is able to function, he does things, he takes care of himself, his home, etc. He even has little part time jobs he does. However, sometimes my Dad shows signs of memory loss, racing thoughts etc. Being the zero to sixty person I am. I have been watching him for signs of Alzheimers. I don't think he has it, mind you. But at the very least he has moments. So I pull back from the abyss and think. My Dad has always battled some depression. My Dad is 76 years old and will have some memory loss. He hasn't forgotten how to do things, he doesn't call me in a panic that he has misplaced his checkbook. So I say to myself, lonliness, depression and grief can cause the mind to do all sorts of things. Why do I know this? Because its happened to me and I'm not 76 yet.
I have racing thoughts, I forget things, I have depression. Do I have Alzheimers, probably not. Yes, I know its important to watch an elderly parent to make sure they are not exhibiting signs of this, but obsess about it? Probably not.
So what does all this have to do with making life, not just living it? I've spent the better part of my adult life worrying about something. True story. From my Grandmother and Grandfather and their health, to my Mom and Dad, to my own health, finances, jobs. I could go on. But what I realized during my Mom's illness was that not only is worry a sign of unbelief its like telling God that he really doesn't get how hard YOUR life is. I don't know about you, but I don't think I am brave enough to say that to God. I'm not brave enough to look Him in the eye let alone speak. Does it mean that its not human to worry? No. As a matter-of-fact, its all too human. I give in to it less than I used to. But I still give into it.
My Mom used to say that her one purpose for surviving her cancer when she was in her 20s was to raise me to adulthood. It's what kept her fighting, its what got her up in the morning for her entire life. She prayed to live to see me grow up. When I was grown, married and in my career and she got sick for the last time, she welled up with tears one evening when I was visiting her. She said that God allowed everything she asked for and now that I didn't need her anymore, she was going to die. I told her I would always need her, but she was inconsolable, for she knew that God had held up his end of the deal, now it was time to go.
God uses the experience of my Mom's illness and her eventual death daily in my life in ways that still astound me. It made me more patient, caring, empathetic, thankful, and most of all, less of a worrier. I've stated this before in other blog entries, that I worried about my Mom's eventual death for a good part of my 20s and 30s. Worry that didn't add another day to her life, worry when nothing was wrong and I could have spent in more positive time with her.
So making life, not just living it, means this. Wake up each day happy to be breathing. Take the opportunity to spend time with your family every chance you get, even when you don't feel like it. Call your parents or kids often. I mean often. I call my Dad every morning on my way to work and at least two other times a day. You may not have a parent that likes that many calls, but once a week at a minimum. Before you bring your laundry list of requests to God, thank Him. Thank Him for letting you breathe another day, having what you have, no matter how small it is or insignificant the world may think it is. Be happy for what you have, period.
I was at a meeting yesterday where a speaker from Dale Carnegie Training told his principals. I didn't want to "dis" Mr. Carnegie, but he basically ripped off Jesus Christ. Not that it isn't good ideas, but they weren't his alone. Much of it, is in the paragraph above, with my own slant.
Lastly, my Mom bought me a plaque at Cracker Barrel that I hung in my office over my shoulder. It says, "I will Not Worry: Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requestions be known to God." Phillipians 4:6. I have more comments about that. I can't tell you how many. My Mom still speaks to me and reminds me of it daily. Through God's urgent whispers.
In business, that mind can be a great thing, because you are always one step ahead. But in everyday life, it can be stress-inducing.
Let me explain. My Dad has been doing well with my Mom's abscence. When I say well, I mean that he still is able to function, he does things, he takes care of himself, his home, etc. He even has little part time jobs he does. However, sometimes my Dad shows signs of memory loss, racing thoughts etc. Being the zero to sixty person I am. I have been watching him for signs of Alzheimers. I don't think he has it, mind you. But at the very least he has moments. So I pull back from the abyss and think. My Dad has always battled some depression. My Dad is 76 years old and will have some memory loss. He hasn't forgotten how to do things, he doesn't call me in a panic that he has misplaced his checkbook. So I say to myself, lonliness, depression and grief can cause the mind to do all sorts of things. Why do I know this? Because its happened to me and I'm not 76 yet.
I have racing thoughts, I forget things, I have depression. Do I have Alzheimers, probably not. Yes, I know its important to watch an elderly parent to make sure they are not exhibiting signs of this, but obsess about it? Probably not.
So what does all this have to do with making life, not just living it? I've spent the better part of my adult life worrying about something. True story. From my Grandmother and Grandfather and their health, to my Mom and Dad, to my own health, finances, jobs. I could go on. But what I realized during my Mom's illness was that not only is worry a sign of unbelief its like telling God that he really doesn't get how hard YOUR life is. I don't know about you, but I don't think I am brave enough to say that to God. I'm not brave enough to look Him in the eye let alone speak. Does it mean that its not human to worry? No. As a matter-of-fact, its all too human. I give in to it less than I used to. But I still give into it.
My Mom used to say that her one purpose for surviving her cancer when she was in her 20s was to raise me to adulthood. It's what kept her fighting, its what got her up in the morning for her entire life. She prayed to live to see me grow up. When I was grown, married and in my career and she got sick for the last time, she welled up with tears one evening when I was visiting her. She said that God allowed everything she asked for and now that I didn't need her anymore, she was going to die. I told her I would always need her, but she was inconsolable, for she knew that God had held up his end of the deal, now it was time to go.
God uses the experience of my Mom's illness and her eventual death daily in my life in ways that still astound me. It made me more patient, caring, empathetic, thankful, and most of all, less of a worrier. I've stated this before in other blog entries, that I worried about my Mom's eventual death for a good part of my 20s and 30s. Worry that didn't add another day to her life, worry when nothing was wrong and I could have spent in more positive time with her.
So making life, not just living it, means this. Wake up each day happy to be breathing. Take the opportunity to spend time with your family every chance you get, even when you don't feel like it. Call your parents or kids often. I mean often. I call my Dad every morning on my way to work and at least two other times a day. You may not have a parent that likes that many calls, but once a week at a minimum. Before you bring your laundry list of requests to God, thank Him. Thank Him for letting you breathe another day, having what you have, no matter how small it is or insignificant the world may think it is. Be happy for what you have, period.
I was at a meeting yesterday where a speaker from Dale Carnegie Training told his principals. I didn't want to "dis" Mr. Carnegie, but he basically ripped off Jesus Christ. Not that it isn't good ideas, but they weren't his alone. Much of it, is in the paragraph above, with my own slant.
Lastly, my Mom bought me a plaque at Cracker Barrel that I hung in my office over my shoulder. It says, "I will Not Worry: Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requestions be known to God." Phillipians 4:6. I have more comments about that. I can't tell you how many. My Mom still speaks to me and reminds me of it daily. Through God's urgent whispers.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Memorial Day-Year Two
Yesterday was Memorial Day, a time to thank those that had given so much for the cause of freedom, as well as to remember those that have passed. Yesterday my Dad and I traveled to all the cemetaries locally that we have family or friends buried. We went to a small cemetary in Upland where my Dad's childhood friend lies and put down a grapevine deer that my Mom had bought for just that purpose many years ago. It was a feeling of closure finishing something she had started and brought my Dad the same feeling. We then traveled to Fairmount to place some flowers on the grave of my paternal Grandmother and Grandfather. We cleaned up around the stones and placed flowers. For you movie buffs out there, this is the same cemetary that James Dean is buried in-but I digress. We then made the long trip north to Gardens of Memory to lay flowers on my Grandparents, my recently departed Aunt and Uncle and my Mother's graves. The cemetary was bustling with activity. There were flags everywhere, cars parked everywhere, and cemetary employees everywhere.
It made me think. Normally these places are pretty solitary. When I visit them, my Dad and I, or my husband and I are usually one of very few people there. I began to think about my own mortality, as cemetaries are wont to make you do. I have no children and will, unless God intervenes, have none. My husband and I will be buried in the same area that my Mom and one day my Dad will inhabit. Our hope is that somebody will continue to decorate the graves when I'm gone and since we near by, just happen to drop a couple of roses on ours. But this also made me think. Does that matter to me? It matters to who is left, of course, but should it matter to me? It mattered to my Mom and does to many, but I am quite sure, I won't care too much when I'm gone. Even if I had kids, it would be no guarantee that I would have flowers on my grave. Case in point. Though my Uncle and Aunt had flowers on their grave yesterday that their children must have placed, most of the time, I am the only person that puts them out. They have children and grandchildren that live close, but I put them out.
So it begs the question. What does it say about people that have nothing on their graves. I visit cemetaries on a fairly regular basis. Being a history nut, I like to see where historical figures lay. So I see all sorts of graveyards in all sorts of conditions. Most of the ones I visit are very old and though these people are fairly famous, they seldom have anything at their graveside. Unless you are Stonewall Jackson or someone equally as famous, eventually, as generations pass, where you lie will be forgotten.
So, for future geneologists, who will be tramping around Gardens of Memory is Huntington, IN., wondering about my tick on the family tree, I've made it easy for you to find me. I'm close to Karen and Richard, Robert and Helen, Bruce and Judy and Una. I'm not too far away. Pretty much the way it has been my whole life.
So, Memorial Day year two, that is, two years since my Mom's death, was relaxing and uneventful. Though provoking, as it always is, but ok.
It made me think. Normally these places are pretty solitary. When I visit them, my Dad and I, or my husband and I are usually one of very few people there. I began to think about my own mortality, as cemetaries are wont to make you do. I have no children and will, unless God intervenes, have none. My husband and I will be buried in the same area that my Mom and one day my Dad will inhabit. Our hope is that somebody will continue to decorate the graves when I'm gone and since we near by, just happen to drop a couple of roses on ours. But this also made me think. Does that matter to me? It matters to who is left, of course, but should it matter to me? It mattered to my Mom and does to many, but I am quite sure, I won't care too much when I'm gone. Even if I had kids, it would be no guarantee that I would have flowers on my grave. Case in point. Though my Uncle and Aunt had flowers on their grave yesterday that their children must have placed, most of the time, I am the only person that puts them out. They have children and grandchildren that live close, but I put them out.
So it begs the question. What does it say about people that have nothing on their graves. I visit cemetaries on a fairly regular basis. Being a history nut, I like to see where historical figures lay. So I see all sorts of graveyards in all sorts of conditions. Most of the ones I visit are very old and though these people are fairly famous, they seldom have anything at their graveside. Unless you are Stonewall Jackson or someone equally as famous, eventually, as generations pass, where you lie will be forgotten.
So, for future geneologists, who will be tramping around Gardens of Memory is Huntington, IN., wondering about my tick on the family tree, I've made it easy for you to find me. I'm close to Karen and Richard, Robert and Helen, Bruce and Judy and Una. I'm not too far away. Pretty much the way it has been my whole life.
So, Memorial Day year two, that is, two years since my Mom's death, was relaxing and uneventful. Though provoking, as it always is, but ok.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Happy Birthday to Me
Birthday's are funny things. While at once, supposedly, the most special day a person can celebrate (being that this is the only holiday on the calendar that is JUST YOURS) it can be a difficult reminder of change in ones life.
Most people lament getting older. Though there are downsides to this, that hasn't been a big deal for me. I can hear people saying, "wait till you get to my age then we'll talk!" But aging in my household was always seen as a gift. My Mom was sick most of her adult life, so every year she got to celebrate another birthday was a victory. So being raised in that environment gives me a unique perspective on birthdays that others may not have. My husband says that birthdays were never that important to him. He just isn't "wired" that way. But, as I told him last night, birthdays are the only days on the calendar that are just yours. Every holiday is designed around something or someone. Even Mother's Day includes all mothers. Your birthday, though you probably share the date with many on the globe, is YOUR day.
So, when I woke up this morning, listening to my IPAD chirp at me with the multiple happy birthday hits on Facebook, I received texts and got a "happy old day" from my Dad on the phone, I wondered back at past brithdays. Even though I won't do much today and it may not be the most "special" birthday I will ever spend, it will be less stressful or less dramatic than some.
I'll pick one out to share with you. Two years ago this week and day, I was in Rochester, Minnesota at the Mayo Clinic with my Mom and Dad. Mom was there being tested to see what was slowing killing her and making her an invalid in the process. It was our last stop on the diagnosis train. We had gotten the news that they still didn't know what was wrong with her and we were going to have to spend another week up there. My birthday fell on a Sunday that year on the exact same day as Mother's day. So we were celebrating two holidays away from home, in basically a hospital-albeit an above average and fabulous place-still a hospital. Not the first birthday I had spent in a hospital with my mom, but this would be the last.
That Saturday, despite being in pain, emotionally distraught, and physically wrecked, my Mom, her way, made a point to make the day as special for me as she could. We took their van out of the downtown and found a local Wal-Mart. We loaded her up in an automatic wheelchair/cart and went inside to get some supplies for the next week. My Mom shooed me away so she and my dad could go to the bakery. I knew they were getting me a birthday cake, but I let on that I didn't know. My mom then disappeared. Knowing she couldn't control that cart very well, I was somewhat concerned. But my fears were allevieated as she came around the corner of the jewelry counter, putting along in her cart with a big mylar balloon clutched in her hand. She had a big grin on her face that I will never, ever forget. She was so pleased that she was able to go off by herself and get me a balloon and her face was so happy. A bit of normalcy, in a very unnormal situation that caused us all to chuckle.
We got our things and went back to our hotel room at the clinic, also with a Mother's day card and things for her in hand. I didn't keep that balloon, though now I wish I would have, but it was vintage mom. Thinking of me before herself, thinking of others despite her pain.
She didn't live long after those days at the clinic. She steadily declined that summer and though she had plateaus, we finally lost her in November. Though I've said this before to people, and in this blog, those two, sometimes hellish, weeks at Mayo Clinic are some of the most treasured moments I will ever remember. God gave me two uninterrupted weeks with my parents. Two weeks of chuckles and giggles at silliness, sitting and watching episodes of the Golden Girls, holding close to each other in our fears and just being together. Was it hard? Yes. Was it something I wanted to have over with? Yes. Would I trade it for anything in the world? No way.
So, as I sit here, in comfort and minimal stress this May 10th, 2011, my mind goes back to May 10, 2009. A time I thought horrific that now has become sublime.
That's a message to all of us. Make each birthday special. You don't have to be showered with gifts, you don't have to eat until you pop, you don't even have to be at home. Just enjoy the moment. Remember the good times, try to make the bad times less bad, and remember those that love you.
I may never be the number one priority to anyone on my birthday that I was when my mom was alive, but the memories I will have will be enough to get me through the rest of my birthdays.
Most people lament getting older. Though there are downsides to this, that hasn't been a big deal for me. I can hear people saying, "wait till you get to my age then we'll talk!" But aging in my household was always seen as a gift. My Mom was sick most of her adult life, so every year she got to celebrate another birthday was a victory. So being raised in that environment gives me a unique perspective on birthdays that others may not have. My husband says that birthdays were never that important to him. He just isn't "wired" that way. But, as I told him last night, birthdays are the only days on the calendar that are just yours. Every holiday is designed around something or someone. Even Mother's Day includes all mothers. Your birthday, though you probably share the date with many on the globe, is YOUR day.
So, when I woke up this morning, listening to my IPAD chirp at me with the multiple happy birthday hits on Facebook, I received texts and got a "happy old day" from my Dad on the phone, I wondered back at past brithdays. Even though I won't do much today and it may not be the most "special" birthday I will ever spend, it will be less stressful or less dramatic than some.
I'll pick one out to share with you. Two years ago this week and day, I was in Rochester, Minnesota at the Mayo Clinic with my Mom and Dad. Mom was there being tested to see what was slowing killing her and making her an invalid in the process. It was our last stop on the diagnosis train. We had gotten the news that they still didn't know what was wrong with her and we were going to have to spend another week up there. My birthday fell on a Sunday that year on the exact same day as Mother's day. So we were celebrating two holidays away from home, in basically a hospital-albeit an above average and fabulous place-still a hospital. Not the first birthday I had spent in a hospital with my mom, but this would be the last.
That Saturday, despite being in pain, emotionally distraught, and physically wrecked, my Mom, her way, made a point to make the day as special for me as she could. We took their van out of the downtown and found a local Wal-Mart. We loaded her up in an automatic wheelchair/cart and went inside to get some supplies for the next week. My Mom shooed me away so she and my dad could go to the bakery. I knew they were getting me a birthday cake, but I let on that I didn't know. My mom then disappeared. Knowing she couldn't control that cart very well, I was somewhat concerned. But my fears were allevieated as she came around the corner of the jewelry counter, putting along in her cart with a big mylar balloon clutched in her hand. She had a big grin on her face that I will never, ever forget. She was so pleased that she was able to go off by herself and get me a balloon and her face was so happy. A bit of normalcy, in a very unnormal situation that caused us all to chuckle.
We got our things and went back to our hotel room at the clinic, also with a Mother's day card and things for her in hand. I didn't keep that balloon, though now I wish I would have, but it was vintage mom. Thinking of me before herself, thinking of others despite her pain.
She didn't live long after those days at the clinic. She steadily declined that summer and though she had plateaus, we finally lost her in November. Though I've said this before to people, and in this blog, those two, sometimes hellish, weeks at Mayo Clinic are some of the most treasured moments I will ever remember. God gave me two uninterrupted weeks with my parents. Two weeks of chuckles and giggles at silliness, sitting and watching episodes of the Golden Girls, holding close to each other in our fears and just being together. Was it hard? Yes. Was it something I wanted to have over with? Yes. Would I trade it for anything in the world? No way.
So, as I sit here, in comfort and minimal stress this May 10th, 2011, my mind goes back to May 10, 2009. A time I thought horrific that now has become sublime.
That's a message to all of us. Make each birthday special. You don't have to be showered with gifts, you don't have to eat until you pop, you don't even have to be at home. Just enjoy the moment. Remember the good times, try to make the bad times less bad, and remember those that love you.
I may never be the number one priority to anyone on my birthday that I was when my mom was alive, but the memories I will have will be enough to get me through the rest of my birthdays.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Memory Lane-Good, Bad and Ugly
Last evening a good friend of mine from high school was here visiting his sick mother, so a few of us got together. Some of these folks I haven't seen in over 20 years. Times like this are great while they are happening and its fun to reminisce about the old days and laugh about times gone by. But for people like me, who think deeper thoughts than they really should sometimes, events like this bring up all sorts of feelings.
Though I am not what you call "old" by societal standards, you still realize how fast time goes. Your parents always told you that time goes faster the older you get. As teens you "poo-pooed" that and just wanted to be 21. But, as with most things that they told me, they were right. This morning I started thinking about how different a person I am from then, but then conversely, how little I actually have changed. In some ways I don't even remember the person I was in high school. I was very outgoing, but down deep pretty insecure. Aren't most teenagers? But then I thought, has that really changed? Yes, I am more secure in myself now than I was then, but aren't we all just nervous 13 year olds under the skin?
Grown women worry about what their friends will think of them and if they are too fat. Grown men worry about whether the will be accepted by their peers or succeed. The playing field may be different but the games we play with ourselves are the same.
My Mom was 65 years old and near the end of her life and she was still playing mind games with herself. She said she was being punished because of how she took care of her Mother and Father in their failing years. I thought she was nuts. My Mom was the example of how to take care of your parents. She did more for them than anyone else in her family and shaved years off her life doing it. My Mom had a phobia about going to resturants and sitting alone because of something mean girls did to her in middle school. She carried this into her late adult life. Yesterday, as I got ready to go meet my friends, I worried if my thighs looked fat.
So when you chastise your young child or teen to not worry about what everyone else thinks, don't be too hard on them. Yes, its a good lesson, but remember before you teach it, "physician-heal thyself!"
Though I am not what you call "old" by societal standards, you still realize how fast time goes. Your parents always told you that time goes faster the older you get. As teens you "poo-pooed" that and just wanted to be 21. But, as with most things that they told me, they were right. This morning I started thinking about how different a person I am from then, but then conversely, how little I actually have changed. In some ways I don't even remember the person I was in high school. I was very outgoing, but down deep pretty insecure. Aren't most teenagers? But then I thought, has that really changed? Yes, I am more secure in myself now than I was then, but aren't we all just nervous 13 year olds under the skin?
Grown women worry about what their friends will think of them and if they are too fat. Grown men worry about whether the will be accepted by their peers or succeed. The playing field may be different but the games we play with ourselves are the same.
My Mom was 65 years old and near the end of her life and she was still playing mind games with herself. She said she was being punished because of how she took care of her Mother and Father in their failing years. I thought she was nuts. My Mom was the example of how to take care of your parents. She did more for them than anyone else in her family and shaved years off her life doing it. My Mom had a phobia about going to resturants and sitting alone because of something mean girls did to her in middle school. She carried this into her late adult life. Yesterday, as I got ready to go meet my friends, I worried if my thighs looked fat.
So when you chastise your young child or teen to not worry about what everyone else thinks, don't be too hard on them. Yes, its a good lesson, but remember before you teach it, "physician-heal thyself!"
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