Total Reliance

I just left my Saturday visit to BiLO.  My third graders won the monthly competition, so I had to get ingredients for their chosen prize:  an Oreo cake, not cupcakes.  As I was getting what I needed from the baking section, I noticed a sale on chocolate sprinkles and peppermint sugar.  $2 a bottle---not a big deal, except they were "extras," not necessary.  I thought of Lucas, who had requested chocolate sprinkles.  The peppermint sugar would go well with my planned Christmas cupcakes.  I said a little prayer to God to make sure He provides for what I need if I make this little splurge.  He knows my paychecks will take a hit for the n ext year. On the way home, it hit me:  this is what He wants.  He doesn't want Sundays only+ He wAnts Monday through Saturday, too.  This is what a relationship with Him means.  He wants us talking  to him over chocolate sprinkles for a brown-haired little 9 year-old named Lucas, too.

Childhood Memories

Can you see the two huge pine trees about where the grass is missing in this picture?  You can't?  I can.  When I look at this site in my parents' backyard, in view of the bathroom window, I am transported back to the early-mid 1970s.  There are two large pine trees and tucked between them is a camper shell---blue---my playhouse after Dad decided to sell the truck.  This was where the idea to become a teacher was birthed, I suppose.  (though I did NOT go to college for teaching)  I had a play kitchen set and dining table out there.  I would line the dolls and stuffed animals up and "teach" them.  Mother has told me she could hear me from the bathroom window (In those days we had 1 bathroom for 5 of us.)

To the right of where I stood to take this picture are two graves:

My first two cats are buried here by the garage.  The top one, Fluffy Marie's, is not legible because of algae that has grown on it.  This one, Priscilla Mae ("Prissy") was my very first cat I got at age 12 when my poodle died.  Prissy's mother was my paternal grandmother's barn cat.  My dad made these headstones for them, and I carved their names and dates into the concrete.

 

My parents bought this house before I was 2; they have lived in it since I was 4.  Someday, too soon for me no matter when, all of this will be gone-----sold.  So, I am capturing the memories while I can.

Hope in the Dark...

The last few days have been emotionally toiling.  I have felt like pulling the covers over my head and not emerging until spring.  God has given me a couple of nuggets to strengthen me.  The first was a phone call with a Fayetteville, NC area code; that could mean just one person---my guardian angel who began as a fresh-faced student in my English class in August of 1988.  He encouraged me for about half an hour as I got to work this morning.  The second nugget was this: 

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2015/10/how-to-keep-hoping-when-you-really-just-want-to-give-up/

It is a wonderful read, but the crux of it is that there is hope in the dark.  There is always hope in the dark.....That hope is faith.  We must have faith in the darkest of times.  That is what faith is; if things are going well, we don't need faith.

When God is all there is

Life sucks.  It stinks.  People you love will deliberately (or not) hurt you.  They will deflect responsibility and play the blame game, assigning all of their problems' origins  to you.  No one can help; all your "friends" are absent.  There is but one you can run to, count on---and that's God.  He is always there to listen; He knows before you ever utter a word.  When God is all there is...

The tears flow

uncontrollably............The tears flow....not tears of sadness but of joy...uncomprehending joy.  How could God love me that much?  How could he love me enough to put a person from my past back into my life to offer encouragement when I am down? 

The tears flow when he tells me that my early morning prayer text signaled to him his meeting with a less-than-forthright boss would be ok.....

The tears flow.........uncontrollably when I think of the impact he says I had on his life....

The tears flow when I think of the little ones....and the not-so-little ones who lumber into my room each Friday....whose faces show indescribable joy when they bite into a simple cupcake...........

The tears flow when I think that such a simple act brings them such happiness..........

The tears are flowing unchecked tonight................

Shaking the Past of Failure

There is a time when I have to shake off the past....shed that skin before it consumes me and takes me back to that dark place...the place of Failure.  The place of I failed as a parent.  I failed as a Christian.  I failed as a teacher.  I was never good enough and never will be good enough.  I don't measure up in any area. To shake this, I must excise people from my life.  The perfect people have to go.  In their perfection they are toxic.  I must surround myself with the real people....the blemishes...the imperfect.

Thinking Inside the Box

This is the inside of Mother's precious box.  I have written about this before, but this is very dear to her.  Whenever I bathe her, she is very particular about where I put this and makes sure she gets it back when I am done.  It has items she wants near her:  Vicks Rub, a compact with mirror, lipstick, eyedrops, and Benedryl.....oh, and the tissues.   This affords her a modicum of control in a situation where she otherwise has no control.

Time marches on

I have been coming here to my parents' house every Saturday and Sunday now for five months.  I missed one Sunday.  I am tired.  God knows the deal I made with Him to enable me to continue this pace.  He has kept His end so far, and I have kept mine.  There are weekend days when I just want to stay in bed.  I don't like the drive even though it is only an hour.  My back yard needs attention, but I have no time for that now.

Yet, I relish this time with them. Changing Mother, bathing her....and all that encompasses.  Dad is almost 88, and Mother is 84.  Time marches on.  I am almost 53, a number so foreign to me forty years ago.  We don't know how much time any of us have, so I make the best of it.  He will give me strength for each day to do what I must.

Laughter

There is always laughter when I visit my parents.  Much of it centers around Mother's bodily functions.  Weird, I know, but she initiates it.  As I have said before, she has this child-like laughter.  Yesterday when I walked in, laughing was the first thing we did. 

When I walked into the kitchen, Dad was at the counter with a plastic Walmart-type bag--the kind that is killing our environment.  When I asked him what he was doing, he replied, "I'm taping it."

"What?!"  I asked incredulously. 

"I'm taping it.  We go through too many here to throw it away because of holes."

He was referencing, of course, the bags needed for my mother's hygiene needs, to put it delicately.

I shook my head as I walked into the former dining room-turned-her-room.  I greeted her, "You two are a mess.  It's obvious you grew up during the Depression."

Then, I noticed a new "covered" trash can by her bed.  "Why did you get that?" I inquired.

"Because we smelled the other one too much," was her and Dad's response almost simultaneously.

The "old" one was an old shredder whose mechanism had broken.  They used that as a trash can as I do my old broken one.  When I asked Dad where that one was, he replied, "It's in the back bedroom as a trash can."

We laughed, and so we started the day laughing over Mother's bodily functions and the ingenuity borne from being a child in the Depression.  If you are, you improvise, you make do. 


Before I left, she told me I would have to write a story about this.  Last week when I read them this entry, here, about making memories, she laughed, Dad stonily kept his emotions in check, but I broke down, and she offered me a tissue.  I expected her to be the one most upset.  She asked for a printout of it, so that is what I am doing next.

Then, it will be off to see what today's visit brings.  And I will start taping my bags.

Making Memories

  Here are some pictures that will stay with me for the rest of my life when I think back on my time with my parents during Mother's hospice time.

Here is a glimpse into our Saturdays and Sundays together.  I usually get to Walterboro between 9 and 10 am.  Dad always has the back door unlocked for me, so I just go on in.  Mother is, of course, in her hospital bed in the dining room, while Dad is in his recliner in the living room.  We go through just about the same thing each time.  When I ask her what she had for breakfast, she invariably says, "Ginger's cake."  You see, I alternate baking her this lemon bundt cake (in *her* bundt pan she gave me a few years ago) and an apple bread.  She likes a slice with her morning black coffee.  A bundt cake like this will last her about two weeks.  She always tells Dad not to eat too much of it. 

Sometimes then, Dad will leave and go run errands to Walmart, the Dollar General, and other stores.  He has his list, mostly for snack items like in the above picture.  It is funny because when he is gone, Mother usually says, "I don't know what he has in there (meaning the kitchen snack corner).  He doesn't tell me what he buys."  When I took the snack counter picture above, I took my phone to her to show her.  She shook her head.  Sometimes she says, "Well, he doesn't offer me anything."  I have to add that she is horribly allergic to corn and any corn products.  He has to make sure corn syrup is not in anything he gives her, and we know that is difficult.  She does get potato chips and there is a type of cookie she can eat.

Between 10 and 10:30, which is not long after I get there, she begins the lunch talk.  There is great debate on what we will have for this very important meal.  Most of the time on Saturday Dad will go get our lunches.  She pours over the menu from Daily Land, or she will ask him what coupons he has for Wendy's....or she will ask how we feel about shrimp fried rice from the Chinese restaurant.  There have been times when he has gone to two different fast food joints to get our orders. 

Sundays I cook.  Dad will often go to their church's Agape service on the second Sunday.  No matter, at 10:30 Mother starts telling me she needs the radio to listen to their church's 11 o'clock service on the radio.  A few minutes to 11, I put the radio on her hospital tray and turn it on for her.  Then, I go into the kitchen and begin cooking.  We have the same thing now each week. Two students from my earliest years teaching married and live in the same neighborhood.  They and their son are rabid fishermen.  We have enough fish for about a dozen meals.  I prepare Caleb's fish and the baked potatoes and salad.  By the time Mother finishes listening to the church service, it is time to eat.

Sometimes after lunch on either day, we will take a nap.  I go to the back bedroom, turn on the fan, and close the door.  I might sleep for half an hour or so.  Because I am a light sleeper, I hear anything Mother says.  Dad naps in his recliner while he can.

Along about 2:30 I bathe her.  I have written of this before.  About a month ago, Dad asked, "I bet you never thought you would be changing your mother."  I replied, "You do what you have to do." All of that routine is just second nature now, and I can bathe her in twenty minutes.  Afterwards, I leave for home.

I thank God for the sweet memories I am making now.  Long after they are gone I will have these pictures and this blog to look back on.  Those pictures encapsulate what I will remember most about my time with my parents.  Dad's love of all things snacky will resonate with me forever.  The above picture is his main snack stash, but he has some in my childhood bedroom, which became Matthew's tv room in later years.  He also has some in the hall closet, though when Mother had me look last weekend, it was empty of snacks.  I don't keep any unhealthy food in my house, but when I go to my parents' house, my mind goes back to my childhood, and I have some of his junk food...be it chips or ice cream, I am a kid again.

Before closing, I have to explain the dishwasher-turned-pantry.  Several years ago I was looking for something---it may have been crackers---and Mother said to open the dishwasher.  I didn't know they no longer used it.  There were the crackers.  She has had both shoulders replaced and can not reach up.  For practicality, they moved most of their every day food items to the dishwasher.  What an ingenious idea for the elderly or handicapped.