Our lost cat Heiva, (AKA Harvey) came home this morning. Heiva is known to wander the neighborhood at night and come home in the morning but last Saturday she didn't come home. We worried for a few days, then I started walking the roads, checking for a body, calling her name. Brandy mentioned yesterday we should look at the pound so Amy and I did that, but no Heiva. Amy said she knows if a pet has died - she actually knew Notch had died last June before we told her. And she didn't think Heiva was dead.
This morning Riley found her on the back doorstep. She's a little thinner, has a few wounds on her nose and belly and her front claws are worn down. She must have been in someone's shed or garage and tried to get out. Maybe someone in our ward checked after I emailed the whole ward her picture and that she was missing. She's a lovey cat, happily sleeping curled up on our bed, not even minding that Lupita's tail is touching her. She normally hates Lupita. Maybe she's just content to be back home.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
The good, the bad and the ugly
The good:
My mom is doing better. She and I sat in the porch swing at her house yesterday for almost two hours.
I love fall. Our leaves are falling.
It's Monday. I love my job.
I'm going to make brownies. And share them.
I got to see all my kids yesterday. They are good kids.
The good list is longer than the bad and the ugly lists. Positive thinking.
The bad:
Heiva is missing. I need to put up "Lost cat" posters.
The ugly:
A box elder bug flew down my shirt this weekend. Gross.
Somebody smashed a pumpkin in the road in front of our house. Even more gross.
Lupita played outside with a dead mouse last night. Thoroughly disgusting.
My mom is doing better. She and I sat in the porch swing at her house yesterday for almost two hours.
I love fall. Our leaves are falling.
It's Monday. I love my job.
I'm going to make brownies. And share them.
I got to see all my kids yesterday. They are good kids.
The good list is longer than the bad and the ugly lists. Positive thinking.
The bad:
Heiva is missing. I need to put up "Lost cat" posters.
The ugly:
A box elder bug flew down my shirt this weekend. Gross.
Somebody smashed a pumpkin in the road in front of our house. Even more gross.
Lupita played outside with a dead mouse last night. Thoroughly disgusting.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
I Stand All Amazed
I got to go to our stake conference today. I haven't been to church much lately because of my mom's needs. It was so nice to listen to uplifting talks and beautiful music. One song in particular, brought tears to my eyes. And down my cheeks. And onto my dress. It was a beautiful reminder that in the middle of even the most trying times, our Savior is there for us. The choir sang "I Stand All Amazed," and the words sank into my heart one at a time. I know he died for me and that anything I have to face that's hard, he has already faced it for me.
I decided today I would write some things that I stand all amazed at:
~the colorful changing fall leaves
~medical knowledge
~the love and support of family and friends
~gospel principals that bring nothing but happiness
~the excitement of my great-nephews looking at a Jerusalem beetle and a scorpion with Riley
~that I have an incredible job where I get to interact with bright young students
~hot chocolate chip cookies out of the oven
It's a good life. An amazing life.
I decided today I would write some things that I stand all amazed at:
~the colorful changing fall leaves
~medical knowledge
~the love and support of family and friends
~gospel principals that bring nothing but happiness
~the excitement of my great-nephews looking at a Jerusalem beetle and a scorpion with Riley
~that I have an incredible job where I get to interact with bright young students
~hot chocolate chip cookies out of the oven
It's a good life. An amazing life.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Crappy day!
So I guess I'll follow up happy day with crappy day. My mom is losing ground again. She lost the weight she had gained and another nine pounds. She's on an IV. She doesn't want to eat or get out of bed. Since she's at a rehab center they will probably tell us, sooner than later, that she can't be there anymore. If you aren't making progress Medicare won't pay.
I look at my mom and wonder how old age creeps in so efficiently. Her hearing is worse. She can't see hardly at all. She can't get up by herself. I try to imagine what she is going through.
I remember coming home from a waterpark in Texas and having an ear infection for the next few days. Sounds were garbled, like I was underwater. I think of how things must sound like this to her now and how frustrating it is to be left out, to lose the clarity of mundane things like traffic and the sweetness of children's laughter. I have, in the past few years, had a few panic attacks -- mostly at night in the dark where I couldn't see. I anxiously looked for anything to bring light to my face - even the glowing dial of my watch. She stares at pictures or things on her plate and tries to make sense of it. I cry when I remember the joy she felt watching sunsets, looking at roses, or even watching Animal Planet. I wonder if, like my panic attacks, she grasps for something to come into focus to settle her fear. She keeps her eyes closed a lot now.
When I had my babies I remember trying to get out of bed the first time with wobbly legs, leaning on someone to help me to the bathroom. I didn't like being dependent on someone but I knew it was temporary. My mom trembles as she stands, fumbling for something to find to steady her. It's not temporary.
The way she is now fills my mind and my thoughts on a daily basis. I search the recesses of my heart to remember what she used to sound like when she'd call and say, "run to the window and look at the GORGEOUS sunset," always saying the word gorgeous in a exaggerated way. My kids even know how to do it. I'd call her, saying something like, "Maybelline Marblehammer?" She'd respond, "Gladys Pipsqueak?" and we'd laugh. Sometimes the first name was so silly we couldn't get to the second one, we'd be cracking up too much. I think of her pulling into her driveway in her car, grabbing bags to bring in and I'd fake hide as she came in the door, having just vacuumed her house. She'd seek me out and we'd laugh. We sat for hours at her kitchen table talking about everything important and unimportant - usually laughing about goofy things.
I get angry about this situation. I don't see how it can be fair for someone who gave and loved so freely for 79 years to now have to deal with pain, suffering and feebleness. Then I realize she had 79 good years, bumps and bruises here and there, but still, 79 years. If it were to truly be fair she would have had half a life of sweet joy and half a life of crap. That we've only had nine months of hardship is really a blessing. It's just hard to see it that way sometimes.
I look at my mom and wonder how old age creeps in so efficiently. Her hearing is worse. She can't see hardly at all. She can't get up by herself. I try to imagine what she is going through.
I remember coming home from a waterpark in Texas and having an ear infection for the next few days. Sounds were garbled, like I was underwater. I think of how things must sound like this to her now and how frustrating it is to be left out, to lose the clarity of mundane things like traffic and the sweetness of children's laughter. I have, in the past few years, had a few panic attacks -- mostly at night in the dark where I couldn't see. I anxiously looked for anything to bring light to my face - even the glowing dial of my watch. She stares at pictures or things on her plate and tries to make sense of it. I cry when I remember the joy she felt watching sunsets, looking at roses, or even watching Animal Planet. I wonder if, like my panic attacks, she grasps for something to come into focus to settle her fear. She keeps her eyes closed a lot now.
When I had my babies I remember trying to get out of bed the first time with wobbly legs, leaning on someone to help me to the bathroom. I didn't like being dependent on someone but I knew it was temporary. My mom trembles as she stands, fumbling for something to find to steady her. It's not temporary.
The way she is now fills my mind and my thoughts on a daily basis. I search the recesses of my heart to remember what she used to sound like when she'd call and say, "run to the window and look at the GORGEOUS sunset," always saying the word gorgeous in a exaggerated way. My kids even know how to do it. I'd call her, saying something like, "Maybelline Marblehammer?" She'd respond, "Gladys Pipsqueak?" and we'd laugh. Sometimes the first name was so silly we couldn't get to the second one, we'd be cracking up too much. I think of her pulling into her driveway in her car, grabbing bags to bring in and I'd fake hide as she came in the door, having just vacuumed her house. She'd seek me out and we'd laugh. We sat for hours at her kitchen table talking about everything important and unimportant - usually laughing about goofy things.
I get angry about this situation. I don't see how it can be fair for someone who gave and loved so freely for 79 years to now have to deal with pain, suffering and feebleness. Then I realize she had 79 good years, bumps and bruises here and there, but still, 79 years. If it were to truly be fair she would have had half a life of sweet joy and half a life of crap. That we've only had nine months of hardship is really a blessing. It's just hard to see it that way sometimes.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Happy day!
I don't like reading my blog and seeing all the sad and negative. It's just not me. Yes, it's a part of my life right now but the good still outweighs the bad, it always has. So here's to counting the latest blessings:
1) My mom had a good day Tuesday - IV out, 12 pound weight gain (who'd have thought that would be a good thing?), a visit to her house to see her cats (she cried), advances in her meds.
2) I love the crispness of fall weather, finding my flannel jammies in the back of the closet, and eating homemade apple pie.
3) I'm watching the sun rise and last night I watched the sun set with my mom and sister.
4) I love my job.
5) It's fun to have Amy and her cat Lupita living at home.
6) We video chatted with Andrea last night.
7) My house is fairly clean for the first time in a long time.
8) Conference is next week.
9) I love my life, even with all the hard stuff. It's a good life.
1) My mom had a good day Tuesday - IV out, 12 pound weight gain (who'd have thought that would be a good thing?), a visit to her house to see her cats (she cried), advances in her meds.
2) I love the crispness of fall weather, finding my flannel jammies in the back of the closet, and eating homemade apple pie.
3) I'm watching the sun rise and last night I watched the sun set with my mom and sister.
4) I love my job.
5) It's fun to have Amy and her cat Lupita living at home.
6) We video chatted with Andrea last night.
7) My house is fairly clean for the first time in a long time.
8) Conference is next week.
9) I love my life, even with all the hard stuff. It's a good life.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Getting old
Back when Riley's mom Aileen was alive she used to say she didn't want to get old. (She died at age 65 so she got her wish.) I never understood what she meant exactly - if you could be old, travel, enjoy grand-kids, eat whatever you wanted and not work, what was so bad about that? I understand now. Getting old isn't the problem - it's getting old, having health problems and then languishing through the last years of life.
I have a friend who is 82, does aerobics, drives, plays bridge and lives alone just fine. She is perky and cute, dresses stylish (no polyester for her), has darling hair and a great attitude. The key is keeping in shape both physically and mentally.
My mom is now officially old. She thinks so because she is 80. The thing is, she didn't act old until just the past eight months or so. Because she enjoyed good health most of her life she stayed somewhat active and engaged. Now that back pain and a mild stroke have plagued her recently, she acts old. But it isn't an act. My mom has been robbed. She has no muscle mass due to lack of exercise. She has lost brain capacity because of the stroke. She is feeble. Those are hard words to write. It tears at my heart. My mom has always been my best friend - full of life, jokes, wit and fun. Now she asks the same questions over and over and she realizes she's different. She comments on her brain not being right. She asks if her voice sounds different. She wonders why her skin hangs off her bones. She's lost 35 pounds in the past year.
One of her physical therapists told me that when people come to rehab because of an injury, if they've kept themselves in good shape, they rehab better and bounce back faster. He said old folks who have lived sedate lives don't do as well. Sometimes they don't even rehab and end up going to a nursing home. This doesn't bode well for my mom as she starts rehab. She has been pretty sedate for the past eight months and longer. She was a librarian and retired just four years ago. She hauled books all over the library, drove herself, shopped for groceries and new shirts, went to lunch with friends, watered her lawns, did her own laundry, cooked for herself and more. Just a year ago she was doing all of this and now she does none of it.
I'm learning lessons. Patience, for one. When someone has a brain injury you can't get impatient as they repeat the same questions, five minutes apart. You factor in an extra half hour when you take them someplace they need to be because they just can't move quickly. You listen to obsessing over small details that seem important to them, but in reality, aren't.
I'm also learning that I don't want to end up the same way. I wouldn't call my mom a burden - I love her and she took care of me so it's my turn for payback. But I don't want to burden my kids with the same kinds of responsibilities I have right now. I want to be able to drive, move, walk, pay my own bills, think and converse. I want to exercise my body and my mind so I stay fresh. Like spinach from a garden.
Once in a while my mom, my real mom, comes out to play. It's rare because the pain has transformed her into someone who, if I hadn't seen her for a few years, wouldn't even know. But she's still there and we get glimpses of her when she's feeling good or we walk down memory lane. I kid myself that I will get her back, that a miracle will take place - pain will leave, muscles will rebuild, brain will heal. I can hope for all of this but I have to be ready for if it doesn't happen. I will love my mom to her dying breath and I will exhibit patience and kindness because she deserves no less. When I go through the veil I want her to be able to say, "thanks for hanging in there until the end, I know it was tough, but you never failed me."
I have a friend who is 82, does aerobics, drives, plays bridge and lives alone just fine. She is perky and cute, dresses stylish (no polyester for her), has darling hair and a great attitude. The key is keeping in shape both physically and mentally.
My mom is now officially old. She thinks so because she is 80. The thing is, she didn't act old until just the past eight months or so. Because she enjoyed good health most of her life she stayed somewhat active and engaged. Now that back pain and a mild stroke have plagued her recently, she acts old. But it isn't an act. My mom has been robbed. She has no muscle mass due to lack of exercise. She has lost brain capacity because of the stroke. She is feeble. Those are hard words to write. It tears at my heart. My mom has always been my best friend - full of life, jokes, wit and fun. Now she asks the same questions over and over and she realizes she's different. She comments on her brain not being right. She asks if her voice sounds different. She wonders why her skin hangs off her bones. She's lost 35 pounds in the past year.
One of her physical therapists told me that when people come to rehab because of an injury, if they've kept themselves in good shape, they rehab better and bounce back faster. He said old folks who have lived sedate lives don't do as well. Sometimes they don't even rehab and end up going to a nursing home. This doesn't bode well for my mom as she starts rehab. She has been pretty sedate for the past eight months and longer. She was a librarian and retired just four years ago. She hauled books all over the library, drove herself, shopped for groceries and new shirts, went to lunch with friends, watered her lawns, did her own laundry, cooked for herself and more. Just a year ago she was doing all of this and now she does none of it.
I'm learning lessons. Patience, for one. When someone has a brain injury you can't get impatient as they repeat the same questions, five minutes apart. You factor in an extra half hour when you take them someplace they need to be because they just can't move quickly. You listen to obsessing over small details that seem important to them, but in reality, aren't.
I'm also learning that I don't want to end up the same way. I wouldn't call my mom a burden - I love her and she took care of me so it's my turn for payback. But I don't want to burden my kids with the same kinds of responsibilities I have right now. I want to be able to drive, move, walk, pay my own bills, think and converse. I want to exercise my body and my mind so I stay fresh. Like spinach from a garden.
Once in a while my mom, my real mom, comes out to play. It's rare because the pain has transformed her into someone who, if I hadn't seen her for a few years, wouldn't even know. But she's still there and we get glimpses of her when she's feeling good or we walk down memory lane. I kid myself that I will get her back, that a miracle will take place - pain will leave, muscles will rebuild, brain will heal. I can hope for all of this but I have to be ready for if it doesn't happen. I will love my mom to her dying breath and I will exhibit patience and kindness because she deserves no less. When I go through the veil I want her to be able to say, "thanks for hanging in there until the end, I know it was tough, but you never failed me."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
It's really hard to want to blog right now but I should probably get a few feelings down. My mom is having a hard time with life. It's been a downhill slide since January and I don't see how she is going to get back on her feet again. There are a million things I could write - medical details, frustrations, trying to accomplish regular life stuff while taking care of all the things that involve her. The bottom line is I just want my mom back.
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