This evening we met my parents and my baby brother in Santa Fe at a restaurant to introduce my brother to the baby. It should be noted here that my bro is completely petrified of babies. He seriously has some sort of repellent in him...I don't know what it is, but prior to tonight, the last time we handed a baby to Bro, he pushed the baby out at arms length and held the baby by the baby's armpits for about a nanosecond, and then asked us if we could take "it" back.
So my whole goal of the evening was to catch "Uncle" Bro holding the baby in a photograph. I figure he'll be able to avoid holding her forever after this, and we'll have proof to the baby that at some time, Uncle Bro did hold her. Good 'nuff, right?
Bro took the baby and actually cradled her in his arms. I'm not entirely sure what happened next, because I think the brain will actually sometimes prevent oneself from remembering exactly what happened before a crisis. I know the baby was making some movement, and we'd been cracking jokes, and laughing so hard that most of us were practically falling off our chairs. I looked at my father, who was trying to cough through his laughter, and realized he was really red. I asked Dad if he was ok, and he shook his head NO, right as he began to literally fall off his chair towards my mother.
My mother has arthritis, and my father is not a small man. Mom pushed him with one hand back towards his chair as Hubby leaped from his chair to try to catch Dad. I said in a loud firm voice (I don't think I yelled it...Mom said later it was "textbook") for someone to call 911, and somehow shoved the stroller out of the way and didn't knock over my brother or the baby as I raced around the table.
You know how time stands still? Everything slows down to such a non-existent pace that you just suddenly see everything around you? The whole room of the restaurant was slowed way down. Strangers were shoving back their chairs with horrified expressions on their faces, and a man was suddenly behind my father with me on the side. I was contemplating how to lower my father to the ground because there was no way I could get around him for the Heimlich maneuver and I really thought he was choking on a crouton or something.
And just like that, Dad started to breathe again.
I don't think my mother will ever be the same. I'm not sure Bro will ever be the same. I'm not sure about Hubby either. In retrospect, I've always known that God teaches us lessons at all sorts of opportunities, and I learned that as scared as I may be, I will not just sit still...
We also learned that God always surrounds us. A while later, the man that had magically appeared behind my father came up to us and told us that he was with Santa Fe Sheriff's Department and recently became a chaplain--he told us that he was really glad he didn't have to use his training to help Dad...and we're all grateful that we didn't need neither his first aid/CPR training nor his chaplain services.
So while the restaurant had a family joke name before, it's a little too close to home now. And I'm pretty sure it'll be a long time before we enter its doors.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Not just about the woes
What a shame that I don't really stop often to list my blessings, but instead usually list my woes? I am for sure not good at stopping to thank God for my blessings. How lame is it that I'll be sure to list my blessings here, like a million other bloggers, on Thanksgiving, so that I will know where to find it? Lame or not, here goes, in no particular order:
*A faithful and loving God that holds me close
*Family that love me no matter how crazy I am, and that I love no matter how crazy they make me
*Warm cat bodies that know when to throw all 22 pounds on my lap
*Cold puppy dog noses pressing into me, and warm puppy dog tongues that HAVE to lick every available part of my body
*A hovel that provides shelter, no matter how it looks on the outside
*A steady job that I love, even when I don't love my co-workers...although I love them today--we just had pancakes!
*Knowledge that I don't have to work...I can always adjust my bountiful lifestyle
*A hubby that's willing to throw our money out the window to help me usher in the official beginning of my third decade on Earth
*Friends that have surpassed the friendship level and are now extended family
*Sisters that learn of my desire, and find a way for it to come true (hence the whole adoption!)
*The men, woman, and even my Kiddos that fight for my right, and for all Americans' rights, to be free every day
*Comfort just in seeing a police or fire uniform and knowing that they're protecting my home and those I cherish
*Family traditions that begin with Thanksgiving dinner and run through the holidays
Actually, the list goes on and on...and I will try to remember to share the good, and not just the bad.
*A faithful and loving God that holds me close
*Family that love me no matter how crazy I am, and that I love no matter how crazy they make me
*Warm cat bodies that know when to throw all 22 pounds on my lap
*Cold puppy dog noses pressing into me, and warm puppy dog tongues that HAVE to lick every available part of my body
*A hovel that provides shelter, no matter how it looks on the outside
*A steady job that I love, even when I don't love my co-workers...although I love them today--we just had pancakes!
*Knowledge that I don't have to work...I can always adjust my bountiful lifestyle
*A hubby that's willing to throw our money out the window to help me usher in the official beginning of my third decade on Earth
*Friends that have surpassed the friendship level and are now extended family
*Sisters that learn of my desire, and find a way for it to come true (hence the whole adoption!)
*The men, woman, and even my Kiddos that fight for my right, and for all Americans' rights, to be free every day
*Comfort just in seeing a police or fire uniform and knowing that they're protecting my home and those I cherish
*Family traditions that begin with Thanksgiving dinner and run through the holidays
Actually, the list goes on and on...and I will try to remember to share the good, and not just the bad.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The "Master's" Teacher
It is so incredibly hard to put into words just what it meant to have to decide if it was time to put down our oldest four-legged child.
Thor was the puppy that nobody wanted. Classic story--Hubby and I were getting married in a couple of months, and Hubby wanted a dog. I didn't like big dogs, was even a little afraid of big dogs, but agreed that rescuing animals from a shelter was something we could definitely do. I owed a house (the same hovel we're in today) with a big yard, and because of my love for my then soon-to-be husband, we went to the Animal Shelter in Podunk. I found the dog I wanted--he was small, part Heeler, and cute as a button. Hubby kept pointing to this already large puppy with HUGE paws that was distinctly part Rot. I asked Hubby again about the small button cute puppy, and Hubby just kept watching the large puppy. The shelter manager, a co-worker of mine, advised us that the large puppy had been there so long, that if he wasn't adopted, he would be put down on Monday. This was late Thursday afternoon.
So Friday a friend and I went to Wal-Mart, and as I had never had a dog, and didn't know what we really needed, we bought random crap (we did know to get a dog bowl, leash, collar, food), and on Friday afternoon, the large puppy came home with me. Hubby had to leave town, but the puppy wasn't named. The puppy had already had multiple messes, and I have a thing for animals named after mythology, but I couldn't remember the name of the god of rain. Jokingly, I suggested Thor, god of thunder, because that usually was followed by rain. Hubby liked it, and thus Thor was named.
Thor grew to be an 80 pound dog, and was determined to be part Rot, part Doberman, and part German Shepard. Thor insisted on taking what we thought was forever to be housebroken...of course, he really just needed to be trained properly. Thor taught us all about patience.
Thor had to sleep so that one of us was within sight. The kitchen, downstairs, was linoleum, and therefore it was okay if he piddled there--not on my hardwood floors elsewhere. So many a night we spent taking turns sleeping on the couch so that Thor could see us. This was where I learned that loving something sometimes means stepping out of my comfort zone, and where Hubby learned that it was okay to stand up to his parents (we weren't married, and the thought of him sleeping at my house--when I was at work even--was a horrid thought). Later Thor would insist on sharing my twin-sized bed with me, and I learned that there's always room for those we love.
When the town caught on fire, Thor and the crew moved into my parents' house with me. Thor had a knack for believing that he was the one in charge, and that meant that Thor climbed into the driver's seat any chance he got. As the town was evacuating, and I raced from work to be sure my parents and animals were leaving safely, I'll never forget the look on my father's face as Thor sat in the driver's seat, waiting to take them out of the flames. Thor would then be transferred to Hubby, and Hubby's family, to wait for permission to return home. Hubby's father took a liking to Thor, and took Thor running. This is where I learned that my father-in-law had greater depths than I once thought.
I brought home a kitten, and Thor studious watched the cat carry the kitten, too little to go up and down stairs on his own, in her mouth. Thor proceeded to pick up the kitten in his mouth to transport the kitten around, scaring the bejeezers out of me. This is where I was reminded that it doesn't matter what we are--the need to assist and protect is in every one of God's creatures.
Thor loved to explore and would jump our four foot (five feet in some areas) fence in the backyard. Thor would wander the neighborhood, and all of the neighbors knew Thor. A good reminder that we should all know our neighbors. Once, while jumping the fence, Thor tore his ACL or a tendon or something in his knee. Thor was not even 3 years old, and we had to take him to an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. I spent a month taking Thor every week for a check up, and we spent a fortune for his surgery. I learned that money is nothing more than paper, life--and the quality of life--cannot have a price tag put on it.
Thor was fabulous with small children. He let children pull on his tail, his ears, etc. Children could climb on Thor, and Thor wouldn't even flinch. Thor was always careful about his kisses--Thor wasn't a licker. A lick from Thor was truly a kiss, a rare and precious experience. Thor had no trouble kissing children...a lesson that children should always be kissed.
With each new animal that came home with us, Thor lead the pack. Thor would teach the other puppies about going outside to do business, the proper way to wait to be fed, staying off the furniture...and he taught the last puppy about jumping the fence as well :) Thor walked proud before the pack, leading the way. Thor would even take the leash from us and walk himself. More importantly than leading the other animals, Thor lead us down a path we never would have known without him. Thor taught me to try new experiences, not to be afraid of something just because I always have been, that love is so much bigger than myself, and that there's nothing like a puppy dog to spoon with after a hard day.
In the end, Thor had dwindled to 46 pounds. It didn't stop him until the last two days of his life from jumping, running, playing with the other dogs, or chasing the kitten. And in his final two days, it didn't stop him from leaning on us, following us, and trying to do what he thought would make us happy. In his final minutes, it didn't stop Thor from gathering enough strength to walk--which he had stopped doing the last day of his life--to me and pushing his head into my hand. It didn't stop him from pushing his head up on Hubby's chest in a final hug. And that taught me that we never stop trying for those we love.
The hole left in me by Thor's death, the tears shed by all of us knowing that he had lost the battle for recovery from whatever was ailing him, and the pain that it brought to Hubby, are huge reminders of what we've lost. The lessons learned while being blessed to have had Thor as a family member for 9 years will never be lost.
Thor was the puppy that nobody wanted. Classic story--Hubby and I were getting married in a couple of months, and Hubby wanted a dog. I didn't like big dogs, was even a little afraid of big dogs, but agreed that rescuing animals from a shelter was something we could definitely do. I owed a house (the same hovel we're in today) with a big yard, and because of my love for my then soon-to-be husband, we went to the Animal Shelter in Podunk. I found the dog I wanted--he was small, part Heeler, and cute as a button. Hubby kept pointing to this already large puppy with HUGE paws that was distinctly part Rot. I asked Hubby again about the small button cute puppy, and Hubby just kept watching the large puppy. The shelter manager, a co-worker of mine, advised us that the large puppy had been there so long, that if he wasn't adopted, he would be put down on Monday. This was late Thursday afternoon.
So Friday a friend and I went to Wal-Mart, and as I had never had a dog, and didn't know what we really needed, we bought random crap (we did know to get a dog bowl, leash, collar, food), and on Friday afternoon, the large puppy came home with me. Hubby had to leave town, but the puppy wasn't named. The puppy had already had multiple messes, and I have a thing for animals named after mythology, but I couldn't remember the name of the god of rain. Jokingly, I suggested Thor, god of thunder, because that usually was followed by rain. Hubby liked it, and thus Thor was named.
Thor grew to be an 80 pound dog, and was determined to be part Rot, part Doberman, and part German Shepard. Thor insisted on taking what we thought was forever to be housebroken...of course, he really just needed to be trained properly. Thor taught us all about patience.
Thor had to sleep so that one of us was within sight. The kitchen, downstairs, was linoleum, and therefore it was okay if he piddled there--not on my hardwood floors elsewhere. So many a night we spent taking turns sleeping on the couch so that Thor could see us. This was where I learned that loving something sometimes means stepping out of my comfort zone, and where Hubby learned that it was okay to stand up to his parents (we weren't married, and the thought of him sleeping at my house--when I was at work even--was a horrid thought). Later Thor would insist on sharing my twin-sized bed with me, and I learned that there's always room for those we love.
When the town caught on fire, Thor and the crew moved into my parents' house with me. Thor had a knack for believing that he was the one in charge, and that meant that Thor climbed into the driver's seat any chance he got. As the town was evacuating, and I raced from work to be sure my parents and animals were leaving safely, I'll never forget the look on my father's face as Thor sat in the driver's seat, waiting to take them out of the flames. Thor would then be transferred to Hubby, and Hubby's family, to wait for permission to return home. Hubby's father took a liking to Thor, and took Thor running. This is where I learned that my father-in-law had greater depths than I once thought.
I brought home a kitten, and Thor studious watched the cat carry the kitten, too little to go up and down stairs on his own, in her mouth. Thor proceeded to pick up the kitten in his mouth to transport the kitten around, scaring the bejeezers out of me. This is where I was reminded that it doesn't matter what we are--the need to assist and protect is in every one of God's creatures.
Thor loved to explore and would jump our four foot (five feet in some areas) fence in the backyard. Thor would wander the neighborhood, and all of the neighbors knew Thor. A good reminder that we should all know our neighbors. Once, while jumping the fence, Thor tore his ACL or a tendon or something in his knee. Thor was not even 3 years old, and we had to take him to an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. I spent a month taking Thor every week for a check up, and we spent a fortune for his surgery. I learned that money is nothing more than paper, life--and the quality of life--cannot have a price tag put on it.
Thor was fabulous with small children. He let children pull on his tail, his ears, etc. Children could climb on Thor, and Thor wouldn't even flinch. Thor was always careful about his kisses--Thor wasn't a licker. A lick from Thor was truly a kiss, a rare and precious experience. Thor had no trouble kissing children...a lesson that children should always be kissed.
With each new animal that came home with us, Thor lead the pack. Thor would teach the other puppies about going outside to do business, the proper way to wait to be fed, staying off the furniture...and he taught the last puppy about jumping the fence as well :) Thor walked proud before the pack, leading the way. Thor would even take the leash from us and walk himself. More importantly than leading the other animals, Thor lead us down a path we never would have known without him. Thor taught me to try new experiences, not to be afraid of something just because I always have been, that love is so much bigger than myself, and that there's nothing like a puppy dog to spoon with after a hard day.
In the end, Thor had dwindled to 46 pounds. It didn't stop him until the last two days of his life from jumping, running, playing with the other dogs, or chasing the kitten. And in his final two days, it didn't stop him from leaning on us, following us, and trying to do what he thought would make us happy. In his final minutes, it didn't stop Thor from gathering enough strength to walk--which he had stopped doing the last day of his life--to me and pushing his head into my hand. It didn't stop him from pushing his head up on Hubby's chest in a final hug. And that taught me that we never stop trying for those we love.
The hole left in me by Thor's death, the tears shed by all of us knowing that he had lost the battle for recovery from whatever was ailing him, and the pain that it brought to Hubby, are huge reminders of what we've lost. The lessons learned while being blessed to have had Thor as a family member for 9 years will never be lost.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Hot Dogs May Contain Milk
This last trip to Baltimore had a lot of surprises in it.
First and foremost was that it is possible to be sick and miserable and to lose days in a hotel room. I'd been in Baltimore for less than 48 hours when my body went under protest. I think I caught the flu or some other awful respiratory crud. My father had also caught something, and he knew how to find the local doctor's office, and so he took me there on Monday morning. The doctor that was fresh out of high school stopped listening once the words "used to be an asthmatic" were revealed, and determined I had asthma. My last attack was 9 years ago, so that surprised me. The fact that I don't carry an inhaler and that I didn't know that asthmatics shouldn't take over the counter cough syrup surprised her. So I left with a prescription for an inhaler and instructions to buy some disgusting huge horse pills that have a commercial with disgusting mucus men playing in lungs complete with furniture. Know which one I'm talking about? I took one, and decided that made me sicker, and just fought the crud on my own with my trusty only used once inhaler. Another surprise here came from the hour wait for an inhaler at the pharmacy (imagine if it was a life or death situation...it's not like 50% of the East Coast doesn't have asthma...and I don't think I do have asthma even if that's what the kid in the white coat thinks was the official reason I was hacking up crap and burning a high fever for almost a week).
So I got better, but my grandmother got worse. Within 48 hours, she had gone from hallucinating but feisty and aware of her situation and surroundings to a crumpled little old lady in a chair that held a baby doll, needed full nursing attention and talked nonsense. When I saw her again (after I was sure I wasn't contagious enough to spread the crud throughout the rehab center, which was a couple of days after Mom had warned me about her decline), I confess I was stunned. Mom thought that grandma must have contracted an infection, as that makes those with dementia a little more loopy sometimes, and asked to have her tested. Of course, the fact that the rehab center STUNK and wouldn't feed my grandmother or be certain she had water or assist her to the restroom when she asked for help, should have been our first clue. There were 2 days where if we had not been there for lunch and dinner, I don't think anything would have gone into my grandmother. I had to feed her like you feed small children and coax her into drinking--after I hunted down a food tray. I think had events not taken place early Friday, my grandmother would have died. The rehab center didn't chart her sudden decline (and NOBODY declines this fast without an additional problem) nor did they test her as requested by Mom--her health care agent. The surprise here is that the rehab center is run by one of the largest medical agency in the Baltimore area and they are allowed to treat people the way they did. Guess who's drafting a letter to the State of Maryland?
Grandma decided early Friday morning--in her state as described above--to get up and walk. I don't know if it's survivor instinct or what, but she got out of the chair that the rehab center had her deposited in and tried to walk. She fell, and they thought she may have hit her head, so the center sent her to Sinai Hospital in Baltimore. The ER doctor and nurse couldn't believe how dehydrated she was. The ER doc pulled some strings and had Grandma admitted while Mom arranged to have her moved into a dementia unit at a new assisted living facility. The nurse on the floor Grandma was moved to had an idea to test her stool for infection, and sure enough, there was one...a highly contagious infection that so far hasn't been responding to the antibiotics so she can't leave the hospital until it's under control. Having her in Sinai was a God-send. The nurses are good to her. The doctors are good to her. The Rabbi even came and sang a blessing for her--one day in English so that we could understand, and the other time in Hebrew (which I missed and was bummed). Some of her confusion has cleared, but I don't think I'll ever see her completely clear again. The surprise here was in multiple places--this was the largest exposure I've had with those of the Jewish faith, and while I've always known that the Jews are God's chosen people, I've not had a chance to witness their actions, passion and faith practices. I am amazed with the way that their faith is so incorporated into the hospital and into its practices, and I'm certain not all of the hospital staff is Jewish, but the love and the concern for healing people overwhelmed me at times. I was also surprised to know that there are hospitals where people truly believe in the calling that they heard to become doctors and while I'm sure the hospital is about making money (because what place isn't these days?), I never heard any questions about how the care was going to be paid for--the conversations were always about what the best options were and how to obtain them. This wasn't just with my grandmother, but also when I passed the Auxiliary fundraising or overheard staff while on the elevators. I was honestly surprised to learn that there are those in the health care occupation that care about healing people and not about making money or showing off. Talk about stereotypes being blown to pieces. I wish my local hospital would go to Baltimore and witness what it means to admit a patient and discharge a friend (that's Podunk's hospital's silly catch line). Anyway, Grandma's still in the hospital today.
We went through the rest of Grandma's home and began to prepare it for sale. I didn't ever think about what a building could mean to a person. We moved around some when I was a child, so I guess I've never felt the draw to a house. Home is where you make it, not where you were born or where you were raised in my mind. However, my grandmother's house had seen almost 60 years of good times, such as the births of two children, two marriages for my grandmother, grandchildren, parties (nobody threw a party like my grandparents, I've been told), family dinners, holidays, etc., and 50 years of sorrow, such as the deaths of both my biological grandfather and my step-grandfather, the loss of children, dreams not quite accomplished for some family members that resided there, fights that threatened family ties, and more. I spent a morning with my great uncle listening to him describe the loss he felt at seeing the house go up for sale, because as he said "if these walls could talk" and because it was a constant in his life--he'd go there for lunch every day while he worked for Black and Decker, which was for over 50 years, to spend time with my grandparents, not to mention that he was present for all the above good and bad.
I did not get together with MIA, and for that, I am truly sorry. I haven't figured out how to talk with him about how things were/are. Once I got well, Grandma ended up in the hospital, and my days were spent going to see her or moving her belongings into her new home (should she ever get released from the hospital!) or closing up her original house, and the hours flew by. As my father keeps pointing out, we were gone from the hotel from 9 am until almost 10 pm each day. This doesn't excuse my not seeing MIA. And I do need to be sure he knows what happened and where Grandma is, as I'm sure he's discovered the house--which may be the only house he ever knew he was safe in as his childhood was not what I would wish for any child--is for sale and he himself told me he didn't know where she is. I'm surprised I'm still so selfish--worrying about how I'm going to talk with him instead of worrying about how he is feeling.
Not surprisingly, after eating out 2-3 meals a day (the hotel had a free continental breakfast), my clothes are definitely tighter than they were before. I don't think I care if I ever eat in a restaurant again...although I've eaten out 4 times in the week I've been home. There's a diner in northern Baltimore that has a menu to end all menus. There's got to be over 150 meals served in this diner. You name it, they have it. I was searching for something to eat, and I came across the warning "Caution--Hot Dogs May Contain Milk." Of all the things I knew hot dogs may contain, milk was not one of them. I think it sums up just how the trip made me feel. When I think I've figured out what life contains and how to get from the start of life through the end, I find out there are other ingredients I haven't thought about that sneak in and change the flavor.
First and foremost was that it is possible to be sick and miserable and to lose days in a hotel room. I'd been in Baltimore for less than 48 hours when my body went under protest. I think I caught the flu or some other awful respiratory crud. My father had also caught something, and he knew how to find the local doctor's office, and so he took me there on Monday morning. The doctor that was fresh out of high school stopped listening once the words "used to be an asthmatic" were revealed, and determined I had asthma. My last attack was 9 years ago, so that surprised me. The fact that I don't carry an inhaler and that I didn't know that asthmatics shouldn't take over the counter cough syrup surprised her. So I left with a prescription for an inhaler and instructions to buy some disgusting huge horse pills that have a commercial with disgusting mucus men playing in lungs complete with furniture. Know which one I'm talking about? I took one, and decided that made me sicker, and just fought the crud on my own with my trusty only used once inhaler. Another surprise here came from the hour wait for an inhaler at the pharmacy (imagine if it was a life or death situation...it's not like 50% of the East Coast doesn't have asthma...and I don't think I do have asthma even if that's what the kid in the white coat thinks was the official reason I was hacking up crap and burning a high fever for almost a week).
So I got better, but my grandmother got worse. Within 48 hours, she had gone from hallucinating but feisty and aware of her situation and surroundings to a crumpled little old lady in a chair that held a baby doll, needed full nursing attention and talked nonsense. When I saw her again (after I was sure I wasn't contagious enough to spread the crud throughout the rehab center, which was a couple of days after Mom had warned me about her decline), I confess I was stunned. Mom thought that grandma must have contracted an infection, as that makes those with dementia a little more loopy sometimes, and asked to have her tested. Of course, the fact that the rehab center STUNK and wouldn't feed my grandmother or be certain she had water or assist her to the restroom when she asked for help, should have been our first clue. There were 2 days where if we had not been there for lunch and dinner, I don't think anything would have gone into my grandmother. I had to feed her like you feed small children and coax her into drinking--after I hunted down a food tray. I think had events not taken place early Friday, my grandmother would have died. The rehab center didn't chart her sudden decline (and NOBODY declines this fast without an additional problem) nor did they test her as requested by Mom--her health care agent. The surprise here is that the rehab center is run by one of the largest medical agency in the Baltimore area and they are allowed to treat people the way they did. Guess who's drafting a letter to the State of Maryland?
Grandma decided early Friday morning--in her state as described above--to get up and walk. I don't know if it's survivor instinct or what, but she got out of the chair that the rehab center had her deposited in and tried to walk. She fell, and they thought she may have hit her head, so the center sent her to Sinai Hospital in Baltimore. The ER doctor and nurse couldn't believe how dehydrated she was. The ER doc pulled some strings and had Grandma admitted while Mom arranged to have her moved into a dementia unit at a new assisted living facility. The nurse on the floor Grandma was moved to had an idea to test her stool for infection, and sure enough, there was one...a highly contagious infection that so far hasn't been responding to the antibiotics so she can't leave the hospital until it's under control. Having her in Sinai was a God-send. The nurses are good to her. The doctors are good to her. The Rabbi even came and sang a blessing for her--one day in English so that we could understand, and the other time in Hebrew (which I missed and was bummed). Some of her confusion has cleared, but I don't think I'll ever see her completely clear again. The surprise here was in multiple places--this was the largest exposure I've had with those of the Jewish faith, and while I've always known that the Jews are God's chosen people, I've not had a chance to witness their actions, passion and faith practices. I am amazed with the way that their faith is so incorporated into the hospital and into its practices, and I'm certain not all of the hospital staff is Jewish, but the love and the concern for healing people overwhelmed me at times. I was also surprised to know that there are hospitals where people truly believe in the calling that they heard to become doctors and while I'm sure the hospital is about making money (because what place isn't these days?), I never heard any questions about how the care was going to be paid for--the conversations were always about what the best options were and how to obtain them. This wasn't just with my grandmother, but also when I passed the Auxiliary fundraising or overheard staff while on the elevators. I was honestly surprised to learn that there are those in the health care occupation that care about healing people and not about making money or showing off. Talk about stereotypes being blown to pieces. I wish my local hospital would go to Baltimore and witness what it means to admit a patient and discharge a friend (that's Podunk's hospital's silly catch line). Anyway, Grandma's still in the hospital today.
We went through the rest of Grandma's home and began to prepare it for sale. I didn't ever think about what a building could mean to a person. We moved around some when I was a child, so I guess I've never felt the draw to a house. Home is where you make it, not where you were born or where you were raised in my mind. However, my grandmother's house had seen almost 60 years of good times, such as the births of two children, two marriages for my grandmother, grandchildren, parties (nobody threw a party like my grandparents, I've been told), family dinners, holidays, etc., and 50 years of sorrow, such as the deaths of both my biological grandfather and my step-grandfather, the loss of children, dreams not quite accomplished for some family members that resided there, fights that threatened family ties, and more. I spent a morning with my great uncle listening to him describe the loss he felt at seeing the house go up for sale, because as he said "if these walls could talk" and because it was a constant in his life--he'd go there for lunch every day while he worked for Black and Decker, which was for over 50 years, to spend time with my grandparents, not to mention that he was present for all the above good and bad.
I did not get together with MIA, and for that, I am truly sorry. I haven't figured out how to talk with him about how things were/are. Once I got well, Grandma ended up in the hospital, and my days were spent going to see her or moving her belongings into her new home (should she ever get released from the hospital!) or closing up her original house, and the hours flew by. As my father keeps pointing out, we were gone from the hotel from 9 am until almost 10 pm each day. This doesn't excuse my not seeing MIA. And I do need to be sure he knows what happened and where Grandma is, as I'm sure he's discovered the house--which may be the only house he ever knew he was safe in as his childhood was not what I would wish for any child--is for sale and he himself told me he didn't know where she is. I'm surprised I'm still so selfish--worrying about how I'm going to talk with him instead of worrying about how he is feeling.
Not surprisingly, after eating out 2-3 meals a day (the hotel had a free continental breakfast), my clothes are definitely tighter than they were before. I don't think I care if I ever eat in a restaurant again...although I've eaten out 4 times in the week I've been home. There's a diner in northern Baltimore that has a menu to end all menus. There's got to be over 150 meals served in this diner. You name it, they have it. I was searching for something to eat, and I came across the warning "Caution--Hot Dogs May Contain Milk." Of all the things I knew hot dogs may contain, milk was not one of them. I think it sums up just how the trip made me feel. When I think I've figured out what life contains and how to get from the start of life through the end, I find out there are other ingredients I haven't thought about that sneak in and change the flavor.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Seeds from the Family Tree
My grandmother has broken her hip. She had to have it replaced with surgery.
This means that the majority of the East Coast is in an uproar. No, not the whole East Coast, just the ones related to me by this dwindling bloodline.
So my parents are racing across the country, and should arrive there by tomorrow. I'm flying out on Thursday. I leave immediately following a 12 hour graveyard shift. Keep in mind that catching a flight to Baltimore for me means a minimum hour and a half drive to the airport, the obligatory hour and a half wait due to security, a minimum two to three hour flight to an airport that is bound not to have anything that I want to eat and most likely will have to catch a ride to the other side of the airport, minimum two hour lay over in said terribly stinky small airport, and another minimum three hour flight to BWI. Each plane means tiny seats for my rapidly expanding behind (I really shouldn't stop to eat the airport food!), grumpy travelers, and usually at least one whiny child who's parents didn't think to drug the kid before embarking on a long trip.
Upon arrival at BWI, I inevitably get the baggage carousel that is furthest from my gate. I have a huge suitcase, and I'll have to pretend to smile while sporting greasy hair and mascara-y racoon eyes because I'll have been in my make up for at least 24 hours, and I'll have a whooping maybe 3 hours of sleep in me. I then have to trust my father to not kill me while driving on I-95/695 with the most aggressive drivers that I have ever seen in a state that boasts teaching defensive driving.
I haven't packed. I don't have a hotel reservation for the 13-14 days we'll be in a hotel. I haven't paid off my credit card from the last mad dash East in September. I'm leaving Hubby on Valentine's Day with a pile of debt that's going to double while I'm gone.
The only good thing is that my missing-in-action cousin has held out an olive branch. And I have always loved MIA. I've been terrified of what MIA has been told and has heard, and I've wanted to talk with MIA for months. I've got to get my arse out of bed in time to call MIA before I descend as a huge witch with a capital W on Baltimore, because he will make the whole trip worthwhile.
Don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother. I love my great-uncle. I have the related-so-I-love-you for my aunt. But I know it's not my grandmother that's waiting for me--it's a scared, lonely old woman who doesn't understand what's going on, and in that sense has become like a child. My great-uncle will be under layers of resentment and fear that he's losing his sister and that he's never going to have anybody love him, no matter how many reassurances we offer. I don't really have much faith in my aunt anymore. My parents will be stressed trying to do what's right for everyone, and therefore not taking care of themselves. And my brother has chosen to be dogsledding in Alaska instead of joining this fun (actually, I don't think anybody has told him what's going on).
And then we have the long drive home.
It's amazing that as I age, the forces that formed this family have given way, and rather than the limbs branching out while the trunk remains strong, the limbs have fallen and little seeds are forming additional trees. MIA has his beautiful family. Hubby and I are a family. Someday Bro will possibly have a family (ew, Bro with a girl?!). I just don't want us to lose the connection we had because of the big tree. I don't know how to keep our roots entwined. But I'm pretty determined to make it happen.
This means that the majority of the East Coast is in an uproar. No, not the whole East Coast, just the ones related to me by this dwindling bloodline.
So my parents are racing across the country, and should arrive there by tomorrow. I'm flying out on Thursday. I leave immediately following a 12 hour graveyard shift. Keep in mind that catching a flight to Baltimore for me means a minimum hour and a half drive to the airport, the obligatory hour and a half wait due to security, a minimum two to three hour flight to an airport that is bound not to have anything that I want to eat and most likely will have to catch a ride to the other side of the airport, minimum two hour lay over in said terribly stinky small airport, and another minimum three hour flight to BWI. Each plane means tiny seats for my rapidly expanding behind (I really shouldn't stop to eat the airport food!), grumpy travelers, and usually at least one whiny child who's parents didn't think to drug the kid before embarking on a long trip.
Upon arrival at BWI, I inevitably get the baggage carousel that is furthest from my gate. I have a huge suitcase, and I'll have to pretend to smile while sporting greasy hair and mascara-y racoon eyes because I'll have been in my make up for at least 24 hours, and I'll have a whooping maybe 3 hours of sleep in me. I then have to trust my father to not kill me while driving on I-95/695 with the most aggressive drivers that I have ever seen in a state that boasts teaching defensive driving.
I haven't packed. I don't have a hotel reservation for the 13-14 days we'll be in a hotel. I haven't paid off my credit card from the last mad dash East in September. I'm leaving Hubby on Valentine's Day with a pile of debt that's going to double while I'm gone.
The only good thing is that my missing-in-action cousin has held out an olive branch. And I have always loved MIA. I've been terrified of what MIA has been told and has heard, and I've wanted to talk with MIA for months. I've got to get my arse out of bed in time to call MIA before I descend as a huge witch with a capital W on Baltimore, because he will make the whole trip worthwhile.
Don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother. I love my great-uncle. I have the related-so-I-love-you for my aunt. But I know it's not my grandmother that's waiting for me--it's a scared, lonely old woman who doesn't understand what's going on, and in that sense has become like a child. My great-uncle will be under layers of resentment and fear that he's losing his sister and that he's never going to have anybody love him, no matter how many reassurances we offer. I don't really have much faith in my aunt anymore. My parents will be stressed trying to do what's right for everyone, and therefore not taking care of themselves. And my brother has chosen to be dogsledding in Alaska instead of joining this fun (actually, I don't think anybody has told him what's going on).
And then we have the long drive home.
It's amazing that as I age, the forces that formed this family have given way, and rather than the limbs branching out while the trunk remains strong, the limbs have fallen and little seeds are forming additional trees. MIA has his beautiful family. Hubby and I are a family. Someday Bro will possibly have a family (ew, Bro with a girl?!). I just don't want us to lose the connection we had because of the big tree. I don't know how to keep our roots entwined. But I'm pretty determined to make it happen.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Bah-Humbug
It's 0200 on Christmas morning, and I'm feeling like Scrooge still.
So we all know I work graveyards, and my regular schedule is Tuesday through Friday nights. I sleep for hours when I'm not at work so that I don't totally screw up my system. This weekend, though, I made an effort to screw up my system just so that this morning, Christmas, I could go and be with people that don't like me.
To put it mildly, my in-laws don't particularly care for me. I don't think I ever cross their minds, other than when it's the holidays and they realize that they have to tolerate me for a couple of hours. Hubby and I have been married for 7 years, and we were together for just over 2 years prior to getting married, so there's 9 years of resentment on my behalf. In-laws say things that I find rude and disrespectful to Hubby, and it makes me mad (things about him not having a real job and therefore he'd never understand travelling for work--this was like 6 years ago, and it still makes me mad). In-laws tell private jokes around me and don't include me--and since we only see them once a year or so (despite the fact that we live less than a mile away from them), it's hard to learn the jokes when you're having to guess at them. In-laws make comments about me not having a college degree, and therefore I'm stupid or wasting my life--never mind that I was the responsible one with a full time job and a home owner at 19; nor the fact that I'm the only one out of my sibling-in-laws and even Hubby that has never lost a job.
Hubby and I had a really rough couple of years, and even separated for a while. Of course, according to in-laws, it was my fault--and they even knew most of the story. That Christmas, Hubby was invited to go to Colorado to be with them, but I wasn't--although we were trying to work on our marriage, and we were still married. I haven't seen the in-laws for more than say a half hour since we were separated, and it's been a couple of years now. But I'm sure I'm the paranoid one and it's not that they hate me.
So anyway, this year, we were supposed to go to Colorado for Christmas. We weren't invited, it's more like Hubby told his mom that I got the time off and we were planning to join them up there for the holidays. I did get the time off, and they moved Christmas back here. I then sort of felt guilty for taking the week off, and we lost someone at work, and I was assigned a trainee that would have had to just sit there all week long, so I agreed to give up my leave and work all week. Trouble began to rear its ugly head when I remembered that in-laws celebrate on Christmas morning...and I ended up with extra hours at work on top of my regularly scheduled 40 hours.
Hubby asked in-laws if this year we could have brunch and I would be up and functioning by 1100. In-laws called yesterday to say that they were having brunch at 1000 and Hubby said he'd be there. Is it me or is this really like a rude gesture? What the heck is wrong with waiting one more hour? I seriously am offended. And what's wrong with Hubby that he didn't say to them, gee too bad--Kate and I will be there at 1100 like I told you we could be. Hubby tells me that this is much later than they wanted it to be--and I told Hubby that he should have just told them to do whatever they really wanted since one hour obviously meant the world to them. Considering that I am the one that's responsible for providing police/fire/EMS to the whole freaking community, I don't think it's wrong of me to want to have at least 5 hours of sleep in me before going in to work for a 12 hour shift. I think it would be incredibly irresponsible and WRONG to not sleep and then I put the community--and much more importantly, my officers and firefighters--in harms way when I'm falling asleep at work and am sluggish.
So I have spent this whole weekend trying to readjust to day time, which is futile. I was awake all night long on Saturday night, and went to sleep around 0700. Then Sunday night I was awake all night long and went to sleep around 0800. And I spent most of yesterday in bed, sleeping until 1600 and then falling back asleep at 0900--and so now it's 0200 and I'm wide awake. I have to work tonight from 1830 until tomorrow morning at 0630, and I'm thinking things don't look good. There's not enough energy drinks in the world to propel me through 26 hours of life and to keep me a reasonable human being.
And now there's the whole in-law dilemma. They got their way of keeping me out by having the blasted brunch earlier than I said I could be there--and Hubby told them I wouldn't actually come until after noonish--but if I'm awake, can I really let Hubby go without me so I can sulk for a couple of hours? Or do I go to show them? Do I go and leave right after to go home to bed? We're supposed to go to my parents' house around 1630 for presents and dinner before I go to work--a place that we're both welcome and always have been welcome even in the midst of crap--and I'd much rather just go there and skip the in-laws. Who wants to go somewhere they're not welcome and are treated poorly when they could be at a comforting place?
And who says that Christmas has to be spent with family anyway?
So we all know I work graveyards, and my regular schedule is Tuesday through Friday nights. I sleep for hours when I'm not at work so that I don't totally screw up my system. This weekend, though, I made an effort to screw up my system just so that this morning, Christmas, I could go and be with people that don't like me.
To put it mildly, my in-laws don't particularly care for me. I don't think I ever cross their minds, other than when it's the holidays and they realize that they have to tolerate me for a couple of hours. Hubby and I have been married for 7 years, and we were together for just over 2 years prior to getting married, so there's 9 years of resentment on my behalf. In-laws say things that I find rude and disrespectful to Hubby, and it makes me mad (things about him not having a real job and therefore he'd never understand travelling for work--this was like 6 years ago, and it still makes me mad). In-laws tell private jokes around me and don't include me--and since we only see them once a year or so (despite the fact that we live less than a mile away from them), it's hard to learn the jokes when you're having to guess at them. In-laws make comments about me not having a college degree, and therefore I'm stupid or wasting my life--never mind that I was the responsible one with a full time job and a home owner at 19; nor the fact that I'm the only one out of my sibling-in-laws and even Hubby that has never lost a job.
Hubby and I had a really rough couple of years, and even separated for a while. Of course, according to in-laws, it was my fault--and they even knew most of the story. That Christmas, Hubby was invited to go to Colorado to be with them, but I wasn't--although we were trying to work on our marriage, and we were still married. I haven't seen the in-laws for more than say a half hour since we were separated, and it's been a couple of years now. But I'm sure I'm the paranoid one and it's not that they hate me.
So anyway, this year, we were supposed to go to Colorado for Christmas. We weren't invited, it's more like Hubby told his mom that I got the time off and we were planning to join them up there for the holidays. I did get the time off, and they moved Christmas back here. I then sort of felt guilty for taking the week off, and we lost someone at work, and I was assigned a trainee that would have had to just sit there all week long, so I agreed to give up my leave and work all week. Trouble began to rear its ugly head when I remembered that in-laws celebrate on Christmas morning...and I ended up with extra hours at work on top of my regularly scheduled 40 hours.
Hubby asked in-laws if this year we could have brunch and I would be up and functioning by 1100. In-laws called yesterday to say that they were having brunch at 1000 and Hubby said he'd be there. Is it me or is this really like a rude gesture? What the heck is wrong with waiting one more hour? I seriously am offended. And what's wrong with Hubby that he didn't say to them, gee too bad--Kate and I will be there at 1100 like I told you we could be. Hubby tells me that this is much later than they wanted it to be--and I told Hubby that he should have just told them to do whatever they really wanted since one hour obviously meant the world to them. Considering that I am the one that's responsible for providing police/fire/EMS to the whole freaking community, I don't think it's wrong of me to want to have at least 5 hours of sleep in me before going in to work for a 12 hour shift. I think it would be incredibly irresponsible and WRONG to not sleep and then I put the community--and much more importantly, my officers and firefighters--in harms way when I'm falling asleep at work and am sluggish.
So I have spent this whole weekend trying to readjust to day time, which is futile. I was awake all night long on Saturday night, and went to sleep around 0700. Then Sunday night I was awake all night long and went to sleep around 0800. And I spent most of yesterday in bed, sleeping until 1600 and then falling back asleep at 0900--and so now it's 0200 and I'm wide awake. I have to work tonight from 1830 until tomorrow morning at 0630, and I'm thinking things don't look good. There's not enough energy drinks in the world to propel me through 26 hours of life and to keep me a reasonable human being.
And now there's the whole in-law dilemma. They got their way of keeping me out by having the blasted brunch earlier than I said I could be there--and Hubby told them I wouldn't actually come until after noonish--but if I'm awake, can I really let Hubby go without me so I can sulk for a couple of hours? Or do I go to show them? Do I go and leave right after to go home to bed? We're supposed to go to my parents' house around 1630 for presents and dinner before I go to work--a place that we're both welcome and always have been welcome even in the midst of crap--and I'd much rather just go there and skip the in-laws. Who wants to go somewhere they're not welcome and are treated poorly when they could be at a comforting place?
And who says that Christmas has to be spent with family anyway?
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Holiday Spirit
You know how people are always saying "in the spirit of Christmas" or something of the sort? Here's my horrid thoughts on it this year.
We took my parents to see "Christmas in Dublin," a show in Albuquerque that was to feature the Three Irish Tenors, the Irish Divas and maybe something else...I can't really remember any more. The day started with the long drive down, which we did separately because I of course had to go into work immediately following the show (although it was my day off--this is an increasingly common theme). This meant that we had to go to lunch with the 'rents instead of dinner with them, and we didn't get to invite my brother to join us because lunch is WAY before his waking hour. So we go to lunch (I of course have had 2.5 hours of sleep because I worked extra the day before), and then we head off to the parking structure. My parents drive a bug...a little electric blue Volkswagen. They were directly behind us. Hubby zips into a parking space, and Dad takes the bug the other direction and throws it into reverse to back into a spot one up from us. As the reverse lights come on the bug, a huge donkey (of course that's not really the word I want to use to describe him) in a large sedan pulls up and goes into the spot that Dad was beginning to back up into. Never mind that all over the parking structure, other New Mexicans with an ounce of common courtesy are waiting for other vehicles to back into the parking spaces as Dad was intending to do because it makes it much faster when it's time to filter out of the spot if you can just pull out into the line. Anyway, Hubby has gone to get the tickets from the office, and Donkey says to me "Wonder who gave that guy his license" referring to Dad who is now trying to back up into the spot next to the large sedan Donkey has parked ONE THE WHITE LINE (and that drives me nuts--even if Donkey hadn't already just shown terrible driver etiquette, he would have teed me off with the parking on the white line). So I say sweetly to Donkey "THAT man is my father, and he was reversing into the spot you just raced into." Donkey doesn't even look ashamed. Donkey's wife is trying to unload Grandma out of the back seat with the door flung open into the spot Dad is now trying to back into. Donkey's wife is glancing at Donkey and I and shaking her head as if the whole dilemma is Dad's fault. Here's another thought--we were like 35+ minutes before the show even was scheduled to start. It's not like an extra 5 minutes would have made anyone late for the show.
The other issue is that my family motto is "don't get mad; get even," so Dad comes raring out of the bug (he's 6'2 and I'd guess around 350 lbs., so take a minute to picture this climbing out of a bug) and is ready to charge the Donkey and his family. I too am mad, but then it occurs to me that Grandma had a walker and we have handicapped seating inside the theater, and what if we now have to sit next to Donkey? I was in total fear of this possibility--but that didn't happen. What was the point of holding onto the anger really? Everybody attending had spent good money for the show, it was about Christmas, and it was lovely. I guess the whole incident had me thinking that common sense and courtesy has totally escaped the world and I don't know why. And I'm having a hard enough time feeling the love of the season (let me be clear--I love the Reason for the season, and I know He loves me and I'm not doubting that--I'm doubting the rest of humanity) without spending my fun family holiday time with a Donkey and his attitude.
Of course my terrible thoughts about the holiday spirit are that really the world has changed more into what can I get and not celebrating the birth of my Savior. I'm almost over the Santa Claus thing--I think he's pretty cute, and while my children will never wait for gifts from him or sit with him, he can be a fun thing like the Coke Polar Bears are a fun thing. To me, Christmas is about 1st) the birth of Christ; 2nd) time with family and friends; and 3rd) Christmas letters and cards.
I love getting Christmas letters because let's be honest, I like to see what everybody else has been up to, and these letters are the perfect brag time. There's almost always a common theme, and when I write a letter/posting, I feel that I have to do the same thing. Sentences are always such as the "We traveled the whole world twice and are ready to embark on our third trip"; "we've adopted a third world child and have singlehandedly rebuilt a village in her honor;" "little James has completed college at the age of 4 and is beginning medical school next year;" "we have built our new home and it is called the Taj Mahal III;" "Hubby has promoted so much that he's now known as Lord and Master instead of just Hubby at work;" and pictures of everybody's too cute for words children are always included. I love to see the children--I've always loved kids. I love to hear that others are achieving their goals and that it's been a good year for them. I joke with my mom that I may just borrow a line from everyone else's Christmas letter and send it out as my own, because I think my life is truly too boring to be relayed. If I had kids, maybe I'd have more fun stories. I don't know. In all honesty, when I start to write a letter, it occurs to me that there is so much else that we should have been focusing on throughout the year, and ways that we should have been spending our time, and then I get bummed, and then slowly and surely the spirit sneaks out of me bit by bit.
You wouldn't know that this is my favorite time of year by the way I've been feeling/acting this year. I guess this post is a definite example of that. I've been assured by many of my officers that the best way to get into the holiday spirit is with "spirits" (you know, Jack and Jim), but I'm hoping that it's more like when I see my family and friends, the true meaning of Christmas will wrap me up and propel me to a happier mood. And I hope it also promotes a better attitude towards Hubby's family that in going on 10 years with Hubby I've been yet to find. If it doesn't, you'll see a spirit of fire about me on the 26th :)
Happy Holidays!
We took my parents to see "Christmas in Dublin," a show in Albuquerque that was to feature the Three Irish Tenors, the Irish Divas and maybe something else...I can't really remember any more. The day started with the long drive down, which we did separately because I of course had to go into work immediately following the show (although it was my day off--this is an increasingly common theme). This meant that we had to go to lunch with the 'rents instead of dinner with them, and we didn't get to invite my brother to join us because lunch is WAY before his waking hour. So we go to lunch (I of course have had 2.5 hours of sleep because I worked extra the day before), and then we head off to the parking structure. My parents drive a bug...a little electric blue Volkswagen. They were directly behind us. Hubby zips into a parking space, and Dad takes the bug the other direction and throws it into reverse to back into a spot one up from us. As the reverse lights come on the bug, a huge donkey (of course that's not really the word I want to use to describe him) in a large sedan pulls up and goes into the spot that Dad was beginning to back up into. Never mind that all over the parking structure, other New Mexicans with an ounce of common courtesy are waiting for other vehicles to back into the parking spaces as Dad was intending to do because it makes it much faster when it's time to filter out of the spot if you can just pull out into the line. Anyway, Hubby has gone to get the tickets from the office, and Donkey says to me "Wonder who gave that guy his license" referring to Dad who is now trying to back up into the spot next to the large sedan Donkey has parked ONE THE WHITE LINE (and that drives me nuts--even if Donkey hadn't already just shown terrible driver etiquette, he would have teed me off with the parking on the white line). So I say sweetly to Donkey "THAT man is my father, and he was reversing into the spot you just raced into." Donkey doesn't even look ashamed. Donkey's wife is trying to unload Grandma out of the back seat with the door flung open into the spot Dad is now trying to back into. Donkey's wife is glancing at Donkey and I and shaking her head as if the whole dilemma is Dad's fault. Here's another thought--we were like 35+ minutes before the show even was scheduled to start. It's not like an extra 5 minutes would have made anyone late for the show.
The other issue is that my family motto is "don't get mad; get even," so Dad comes raring out of the bug (he's 6'2 and I'd guess around 350 lbs., so take a minute to picture this climbing out of a bug) and is ready to charge the Donkey and his family. I too am mad, but then it occurs to me that Grandma had a walker and we have handicapped seating inside the theater, and what if we now have to sit next to Donkey? I was in total fear of this possibility--but that didn't happen. What was the point of holding onto the anger really? Everybody attending had spent good money for the show, it was about Christmas, and it was lovely. I guess the whole incident had me thinking that common sense and courtesy has totally escaped the world and I don't know why. And I'm having a hard enough time feeling the love of the season (let me be clear--I love the Reason for the season, and I know He loves me and I'm not doubting that--I'm doubting the rest of humanity) without spending my fun family holiday time with a Donkey and his attitude.
Of course my terrible thoughts about the holiday spirit are that really the world has changed more into what can I get and not celebrating the birth of my Savior. I'm almost over the Santa Claus thing--I think he's pretty cute, and while my children will never wait for gifts from him or sit with him, he can be a fun thing like the Coke Polar Bears are a fun thing. To me, Christmas is about 1st) the birth of Christ; 2nd) time with family and friends; and 3rd) Christmas letters and cards.
I love getting Christmas letters because let's be honest, I like to see what everybody else has been up to, and these letters are the perfect brag time. There's almost always a common theme, and when I write a letter/posting, I feel that I have to do the same thing. Sentences are always such as the "We traveled the whole world twice and are ready to embark on our third trip"; "we've adopted a third world child and have singlehandedly rebuilt a village in her honor;" "little James has completed college at the age of 4 and is beginning medical school next year;" "we have built our new home and it is called the Taj Mahal III;" "Hubby has promoted so much that he's now known as Lord and Master instead of just Hubby at work;" and pictures of everybody's too cute for words children are always included. I love to see the children--I've always loved kids. I love to hear that others are achieving their goals and that it's been a good year for them. I joke with my mom that I may just borrow a line from everyone else's Christmas letter and send it out as my own, because I think my life is truly too boring to be relayed. If I had kids, maybe I'd have more fun stories. I don't know. In all honesty, when I start to write a letter, it occurs to me that there is so much else that we should have been focusing on throughout the year, and ways that we should have been spending our time, and then I get bummed, and then slowly and surely the spirit sneaks out of me bit by bit.
You wouldn't know that this is my favorite time of year by the way I've been feeling/acting this year. I guess this post is a definite example of that. I've been assured by many of my officers that the best way to get into the holiday spirit is with "spirits" (you know, Jack and Jim), but I'm hoping that it's more like when I see my family and friends, the true meaning of Christmas will wrap me up and propel me to a happier mood. And I hope it also promotes a better attitude towards Hubby's family that in going on 10 years with Hubby I've been yet to find. If it doesn't, you'll see a spirit of fire about me on the 26th :)
Happy Holidays!
Friday, September 28, 2007
Family Ties
There are a million stories I can (and most undoubtedly will) tell, and I'll try not to put them all in this post. Basically, my grandmother (the only grandparent that I still have alive) is aging, and with her Parkinson's and the Dementia that she has that is rapidly progressing, it was time to have her placed in an assisted living facility. Consequently, Mom and Dad drove to Baltimore, and I flew out and drove home with them after we packed Granny up.
Let's just say that putting someone you love in a tiny room that's "NOT a nursing home" but that's not home is very difficult. I know it was miserable for me, and I imagine that it was a million times harder for Mom. For years, Granny has begged us not to put her in a nursing home, and the assisted living facility is not a nursing home, but it is a home with nurses and health aides and everything is monitored. Further, Granny had lived in her home for 58 years, through the deaths of both her husbands, raised two children and one grandchild, watched the world change as her neighborhood changed, and spent all of her adult life in this house.
It's also not easy to watch someone you love deteriorate, both physically and mentally. It's particularly scary when you realize that this could be you in another 50 years.
So I went to try to ease the situation for both Granny and for my mother. I'm not so sure I did anything for either of them. A little bit of background info on my family is that in addition to the medical issues for Granny, there's also family drama everywhere....I have an aunt that is not the best example of what a person should be that's fleecing Granny of every nickel and dime that she's ever saved--which Granny freely hands over fistful after fistful--and is married to an honest to God mental patient; a cousin that's trying so hard to get away from his mother (said aunt) that he has changed all his numbers and hasn't contacted the family in months--enough months that we didn't even know that he has another child; and a great uncle that is very lonely and has discovered in the past 10 years or so that his life wasn't what it could have been or what he wanted it to be--so he struggles to control everyone else's life. It wasn't just a matter of trying to move Granny, but a matter of dealing with all of them and the constant drama that surrounds them. We watched my aunt remove a couple of hundred dollars in a matter of days from Granny. Aunt announced that she hunted Cousin down and told Cousin that we didn't want to see him--not at all true; in fact, my mother and father have acted as pseudo grandparents to my cousin's children and desperately wanted to see them, but couldn't reach Cousin as he's hiding from Granny and Aunt. Great Uncle is really distraught to see his sister, Granny, in the state she's in and is depressed enough that Aunt and Mom are worried about his well being. Granny can't keep track of days or conversations, sees hallucinations, and honestly believes that she should be going to the house although she falls on a regular basis and the house is full of stairs and other obstacles.
I really did not get to spend much time with anybody as I was packing and searching the house for the valuables and memories that couldn't be replaced if something should happen to the house now that it's empty (because we all know what a safe city Baltimore is). I think I spent maybe a total of 4 hours with Granny, about 30 minutes with Aunt and a different 30 minutes with Great Uncle. I wish I could have spent more--this is what's left of my family, and I don't really know any of them. To be honest, I don't think I want to know my aunt, but my great uncle is a fascinating man, and I enjoy conversations with him. I find it difficult to spend time with Granny because of what's changed due to her medical issues, but I wish I had had more of an occasion to try with her.
Growing up, I didn't know my family on either side very well--we lived out West and everyone else lived on the East Coast. I knew my paternal grandparents better because they came out West a couple of times a year, but my maternal grandparents came once and then not until I got married. We did go East once or twice a year until I was in high school and then I didn't go any more. Once I graduated high school, I made an effort to go East myself and to see family, but that was only once a year or so. I've always envied those with close extended family. As my in- laws and I can't seem to get along with each other (probably because although we live less than a mile away from each other and my husband and I have been together for going on 9 years, there just hasn't been time to get to know each other--according to my MIL and FIL, it's not that they don't like me, but that they don't know me), it appears that should I ever have children, they won't have an extended family either. I guess it's just really hit hard, and picking through my grandmother's memories hasn't made it any easier.
On a more cheerful note, I did have a chance to visit with my Aunt and Uncle from my father's side of the family. That Aunt and I exchange e-mails every now and then, and I hadn't seen them since my father's father passed away back in 1994. I actually don't know if my Uncle came to the services then, but I don't remember him at all. They are a hoot--think New York, think Italian, and think fun--that explains them. They brought my cousin's baby, their newest grandchild, with them from NY and spent a couple of hours with us in Baltimore. They have invited/encouraged me to visit them at their home in Florida, and if I can figure out when I'll be able to do so, I'd love to see them again. I don't want to lose a chance to get to know any of my family, and other than occasional generic e-mails/Christmas cards, I don't have contact with anyone from my father's family since his parents passed away.
The other thing that keeps sticking out in my mind is that family is not just by blood, and I have been truly blessed to have a number of brothers and sisters by choice. I guess I really do have a large extended family in the ways that matter most--by love.
Let's just say that putting someone you love in a tiny room that's "NOT a nursing home" but that's not home is very difficult. I know it was miserable for me, and I imagine that it was a million times harder for Mom. For years, Granny has begged us not to put her in a nursing home, and the assisted living facility is not a nursing home, but it is a home with nurses and health aides and everything is monitored. Further, Granny had lived in her home for 58 years, through the deaths of both her husbands, raised two children and one grandchild, watched the world change as her neighborhood changed, and spent all of her adult life in this house.
It's also not easy to watch someone you love deteriorate, both physically and mentally. It's particularly scary when you realize that this could be you in another 50 years.
So I went to try to ease the situation for both Granny and for my mother. I'm not so sure I did anything for either of them. A little bit of background info on my family is that in addition to the medical issues for Granny, there's also family drama everywhere....I have an aunt that is not the best example of what a person should be that's fleecing Granny of every nickel and dime that she's ever saved--which Granny freely hands over fistful after fistful--and is married to an honest to God mental patient; a cousin that's trying so hard to get away from his mother (said aunt) that he has changed all his numbers and hasn't contacted the family in months--enough months that we didn't even know that he has another child; and a great uncle that is very lonely and has discovered in the past 10 years or so that his life wasn't what it could have been or what he wanted it to be--so he struggles to control everyone else's life. It wasn't just a matter of trying to move Granny, but a matter of dealing with all of them and the constant drama that surrounds them. We watched my aunt remove a couple of hundred dollars in a matter of days from Granny. Aunt announced that she hunted Cousin down and told Cousin that we didn't want to see him--not at all true; in fact, my mother and father have acted as pseudo grandparents to my cousin's children and desperately wanted to see them, but couldn't reach Cousin as he's hiding from Granny and Aunt. Great Uncle is really distraught to see his sister, Granny, in the state she's in and is depressed enough that Aunt and Mom are worried about his well being. Granny can't keep track of days or conversations, sees hallucinations, and honestly believes that she should be going to the house although she falls on a regular basis and the house is full of stairs and other obstacles.
I really did not get to spend much time with anybody as I was packing and searching the house for the valuables and memories that couldn't be replaced if something should happen to the house now that it's empty (because we all know what a safe city Baltimore is). I think I spent maybe a total of 4 hours with Granny, about 30 minutes with Aunt and a different 30 minutes with Great Uncle. I wish I could have spent more--this is what's left of my family, and I don't really know any of them. To be honest, I don't think I want to know my aunt, but my great uncle is a fascinating man, and I enjoy conversations with him. I find it difficult to spend time with Granny because of what's changed due to her medical issues, but I wish I had had more of an occasion to try with her.
Growing up, I didn't know my family on either side very well--we lived out West and everyone else lived on the East Coast. I knew my paternal grandparents better because they came out West a couple of times a year, but my maternal grandparents came once and then not until I got married. We did go East once or twice a year until I was in high school and then I didn't go any more. Once I graduated high school, I made an effort to go East myself and to see family, but that was only once a year or so. I've always envied those with close extended family. As my in- laws and I can't seem to get along with each other (probably because although we live less than a mile away from each other and my husband and I have been together for going on 9 years, there just hasn't been time to get to know each other--according to my MIL and FIL, it's not that they don't like me, but that they don't know me), it appears that should I ever have children, they won't have an extended family either. I guess it's just really hit hard, and picking through my grandmother's memories hasn't made it any easier.
On a more cheerful note, I did have a chance to visit with my Aunt and Uncle from my father's side of the family. That Aunt and I exchange e-mails every now and then, and I hadn't seen them since my father's father passed away back in 1994. I actually don't know if my Uncle came to the services then, but I don't remember him at all. They are a hoot--think New York, think Italian, and think fun--that explains them. They brought my cousin's baby, their newest grandchild, with them from NY and spent a couple of hours with us in Baltimore. They have invited/encouraged me to visit them at their home in Florida, and if I can figure out when I'll be able to do so, I'd love to see them again. I don't want to lose a chance to get to know any of my family, and other than occasional generic e-mails/Christmas cards, I don't have contact with anyone from my father's family since his parents passed away.
The other thing that keeps sticking out in my mind is that family is not just by blood, and I have been truly blessed to have a number of brothers and sisters by choice. I guess I really do have a large extended family in the ways that matter most--by love.
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