Thursday, 30 September 2010 -- Day 284 (297)

Grandma Ruth passed away last night.  She was 98 years, 8 months, and 10 days.  Why is it we always count the weeks and months and days at the end and beginning of a person's life?  When my daughters were babies, I would tell people that they were eight weeks or eight months or 18 months.  Then when they got older they were never just eight years old, they were eight-and-a-half.  We find it so important to record the passage of time.  Even w/ this blog I keep track of how many days I've been writing, and how many days since Mom passed away.  It's like we expect some amazing, miraculous event to occur after we've marked enough time.  And I guess we receive if it......if we believe.  I'd like to believe that Mom's on the Welcoming Committee in Heaven's Esprit de Corps, and that she's showing Grandma Ruth the ropes and getting her acclimated to an eternal life that's full of peace and free of pain.

Wednesday, 29 September 2010 -- Day 283 (296)

I wish I could say, "I wish Mom was here so I could talk to her about Mackenzie," but the truth is that I probably wouldn't b/c I wouldn't want to worry her.  Having said that I really can't feel bad when Kenzie says she doesn't want to tell me certain things.  "What goes around, comes around," and we give what we get.

Tuesday, 28 September 2010 -- Day 282 (295)

The terrible two's have nothing on the tortured teens.   I'm afraid to answer the phone any more for fear of what someone is going to tell me about Kenzie.  I can't go into detail here.  Perhaps someday if I write a memoir there will be enough time passed to discuss it.  Suffice it to say that I'm very worried, sad, angry, frustrated, and confused.  I thought I was well equipped to deal w/ a daughter w/ a chronic illness, but now I'm not so sure.  Just when we were starting to get her Crohn's under control........

Monday, 27 September 2010 -- Day 281 (294)

When I taught high school world literature my students wrote definition essays on truth by answering the question, "Is ignorance bliss?  As a mother of two teenage daughters, I would now answer that question w/ a resounding, "YES!!!"   Recently I learned some things about Mackenzie that I almost wish I hadn't, and it has made me stop and think about parts of my life that I kept secret from Mom.  I'm discovering it's a fine-line b/w showing concern and prying.  Mom never pried into my personal life perhaps out of respect for my privacy or perhaps out preference for ignorance.  When I was young, I used to play school in my room using my walls as a chalkboard......w/ real chalk.  I don't remember how I got rid of the chalk dust after I wiped the walls off with a rag, but Mom never said anything.  Later when I was older, I used to smoke cigarettes in my room.  There was a secret shelf in the top of my closet where I kept my cigarettes.  I know I burned incense cones to cover the smell, but I don't remember how I got rid of the butts.  There was only one time when she said something to me.  It was after she found my cigarettes in my purse one morning when I had forgotten to hide them after a late night.  It wasn't that she was going through my purse w/o my knowledge.  She had asked me where something was, and in my sleepiness I directed her to my purse, not remembering that the cigs were still in there.  I don't remember that she yelled at me or lectured me.  I think she just quietly told me that smoking was bad for me. 

I think I was well into my 20's before I smoked in front of her.  Knowing that she died of lung cancer makes me wonder if it was some of my second-hand smoke that led to it.  Should she have tried harder to get me to quit smoking when I was 17?  If she had, would she still have died of lung cancer?  I wasn't the only one in my family who smoked.  My dad used to roll his own cigarettes, but he quit over 35 years ago.  Ron still smokes, but he rarely did in front of Mom.  One of her doctors once asked her if she used strong solvents when cleaning, implying that inhaling them had led to the lung cancer.  She always did.  You could smell the ammonia and pine-sol a block away.  Another doctor implied that the Radioactive Gold that she was given to treat the ovarian cancer in 1968 had led to the leukemia 40 years later.  I kinda wish the doctors had never mentioned those things and left us ignorant.  Ignorance doesn't cure cancer, and apparently it doesn't cause it either.

Sunday, 26 September 2010 -- Day 280 (293)

I was thinking today how Mom has been gone about the same amount of time that it takes for a human baby to gestate.  I thought how we get about nine months to prepare for birth, and how my family had about two years to prepare for Mom's death.  I anticipated the birth of my daughters, relishing in the weekly and monthly changes.  Doug and I made plans by preparing the nursery.  Mom and Dad got down the baby bed and bassinet that was used by all my siblings and me.  Mom started making baby pajamas and receiving blankets during that gestation period.  In retrospect those nine months went by incredibly fast even though near the end I was very ready to be done being pregnant.  

I didn't anticipate the death of my mother even though we had a much longer time to prepare for it.  We didn't use the time the doctor told us she had left to make plans and relish in our time together.  I blew it, and I'll never get that time back.  The times I went back to visit, I cooked and cleaned and did laundry b/c I knew Mom was too weak and Dad needed a break.  In retrospect I realize how much time I wasted, and how I was doing exactly what Mom used to do when she came to visit me.  When she used to come to my house and do all those things, I used to think how much I wished we could just sit and visit and not worry about all the work.  Yet, I did the same thing during those last months and years.  I had opportunities to sit down and just visit and reminisce and let her talk, but I didn't.  Instead I did chores. 

It wasn't until I looked up the gestation period for humans at http://www.answers.com/topic/gestation-period-1 that I realized the average number of days we spend in the womb is 280.  That's how many days I've been writing.

Saturday, 25 September 2010 -- Day 279 (292)

I've come to the conclusion that mourning isn't a process.  Calling it "The Stages of Mourning" isn't quite accurate either b/c each expression implies moving in a linear manner.  There's been nothing linear about my thinking or emotions.  One day, I feel like I'm beginning to accept a life w/o Mom, and the next day I'm back to feeling depressed.  I found this diagram at http://changingminds.org/disciplines/change_management/kubler_ross/kubler_ross.htm.Looking at it assures me that my emotional roller coaster is normal, and my waffling back-and-forth is known as cycling, which isn't a good thing.  Cycling means I'm trying to move to another stage before I'm ready, which hurls me back to the previous stage.  I think my conscience mind is thinking, "I've got less than 90 days to make it to acceptance."  My unconscious mind, however, realizes that this is bunk and sends me back where I belong.  Three-hundred-sixty-five days isn't a magic number for going through mourning; it's simply the time-frame I gave myself for this blog.  Even after Day 365, I'll continue to mourn.  But I have to hope, that if this is a grief cycle, I won't just keeping spinning my wheels.

Friday, 24 September 2010 -- Day 278 (291)

I thought for sure that once the carpet was laid, and we started to put the house back together that my listless feeling would go away.  There were literally nights when I tossed and turned b/c my bedroom was packed full of stuff from the un-carpeted rooms.  I don't function well in chaos.  I did have "up" points today such as seeing my daughters atop a fire truck riding w/ their volleyball team in the Homecoming Parade.  I borrowed Ron's digital 35 mm camera to document Kenzie's senior year so after I snapped a few pictures I left.  I left a parade early......who does that?  Is this an indication that I'm slipping into another bout of depression?

When I got home I downloaded the pictures onto a flash drive, and in doing so, I found pictures of Mom that Ron still had on his camera.  These were pictures from the last year of her life.  I could see the steady decline in her health through the pictures, but I never saw it in person.  Why didn't I see it?  There's one picture of her and Dad that looks like it was snapped after the formal pose was over.  They're sitting on the loveseat on the front porch. Dad's hugging Mom.  She's grimacing in pain, and he's flashing a worried glance out of the corners of his eyes.  I missed those grimaces and flashes before.  Why?  Because I didn't want to see them?  Seeing that grimace now made me think of the story Mom used to tell about when her ovarian cancer was first discovered 42 years ago.  Dad had given her a big hug in the kitchen, so big that he lifted her off the ground.  When Dad was working for the town, he always carried a big key chain on his belt.  Those keys dug into Mom's side, and she spent the night in serious pain, sitting at the kitchen table.  Shortly after that she had a complete hysterectomy b/c they found ovarian cancer.  Dad's hug and keys had nothing to do w/ the cancer, but Mom always marked that as the beginning of her first battle w/ cancer.

That hug 42 years ago is what I thought of in seeing Dad hug Mom on the loveseat.  During her lung surgery, the surgeon had to spread apart some of her ribs causing a couple of them to break, but rather than removing them, the surgeon thought they would heal on their own.  They never did and eventually broke off.  So many times Mom would press her elbow to her left side and mention that the floating rib was in a bad spot.  I was always cautious of hugging her after that for fear of hurting her and causing that floating rib to poke her.  I think that's why Dad's face flashed fear b/c he was worried that another of his hugs had brought pain instead of comfort.

Thursday, 23 September 2010 -- Day 277 (290)

It's the first day of Autumn.  This is the last season I have to experience for the first time w/o Mom.  Maybe this was the reason I was missing her more tonight, or maybe it was b/c I was putting our house back together.  Cleaning and organizing were always Mom's strengths.  I'm pretty good at it too when I put my mind to it and have time to do it right.  I learned from the best.  I'm happy to be getting my home back together, but sad b/c Mom wasn't here to help.  She loved this kinda stuff....cleaning everything before putting it back in place, and then standing back to enjoy all he hard work and progress.  And maybe I was extra sad b/c I listened to Dan Fogelberg while cleaning, which is the first time I've played any of his music since he passed away.  I was listening to his music while I was in the delivery room w/ Kenzie.  Too many memories across too many decades.  I did have a happy memory this afternoon when I heard on NPR that tomorrow marks the date that Love Boat first debuted in 1977.  I loved that show.  Always had to watch it while babysitting on a Saturday night.  I was in 7th grade.  Happy times.

Wednesday, 22 September 2010 -- Day 276 (289)

God's been cleaning house today.  That's what Mom used to tell me when I was younger and afraid of thunderstorms.  She'd say God was moving his furniture so he could vacuum, and that's what the loud, booming sounds were.  All the water coming down meant he was mopping his floors.  The lightning was him turning on the lights in different rooms of his house.  I always thought it was kinda funny that God couldn't afford to get a maid, but it all worked to distract me from my fear. 

The summer before my senior year in high school, we had a really bad summer storm during our town's annual celebration.  I was going to be accompanying someone during the talent show when the tornado sirens went off.  The entire gymnasium full of people had to cram down into the basement locker rooms.  I sat near a little kid who was very frightened, and I told him what Mom always told me about God cleaning house.  I'm not sure if he thought I was the most loony person on the planet, or if he thought it was a funny story, or if he actually believed me.  It didn't matter.  It soothed him to know that God wasn't angry w/ us; he was just doing some late, spring cleaning.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010 -- Day 275 (288)

I promised to write in this blog every day.  I do think about what I want to write about, but these last couple of weeks have seen me posting some of my entries a day late.  I do think about what I want to say, but I haven't always been motivated to write or willing to take time out from working and remodeling to write.  I also don't always feel motivated to write.  At first, I would write in this no matter what time of night, but now I don't even feel guilty if I don't write until the next day and have two entries in one day.  I'm not sure what that means and whether it's a good thing or not.

Monday, 20 September 2010 -- Day 274 (287)

The upstairs family room, the dining area, the living room, and the library are all bare.  The carpet is out, staples pulled, and the underlayment vacuumed.  Maddy decided the flooring now made a perfect pallet for tracing our hands, signing our names, and providing a few tidbits about the people who now occupy this house.  She wanted whoever pulls up this carpet to know a little about the family that lived here on September 20, 2010, which is the last time the floor was bear.  Here are some of our words:

On part of the living room floor she wrote:  "This is the floor I danced and tumbled on since we moved in.  I mastered the cartwheel on this floor and later perfected a round-off.  Over there is out kitchen where my mom and I would waltz with me standing on her feet. I made chicken alfredo, spaghetti, hamburgers, and many desserts."

On another section of the living room she wrote:  " Just so you know that when you tear up this carpet, this was my childhood home; don't ruin it w/ red shag carpet.  Oh! and Maddy is in a Christian Band called Thre3e Days Later which is probably famous by now!

Beside her traced hand, Kenzie wrote:  "17-years-old and the hands of a 10-year-old."

I wrote by all of our hands:  "These hands have played balloon volleyball and decorated Christmas trees and given lots of hugs and squeezes right here in this room." 

On the steps leading up to the library Maddy wrote:  "Maddy rode down these stairs in a laundry basket when she was younger."

Between the girls' bedroom doors she wrote:  "Here hung a mirror Kenzie and I would practice our crying faces in front of so when we got in trouble we could do it just right!"

Such wonderful memories, and it makes me so happy that my daughters have had such a joyous childhood in this house just like I had in my childhood home.  Even when we no longer live here and when Doug and I are dead, Kenzie and Maddy can always recall these words and memories. 

Sunday, 19 September 2010 -- Day 273 (286)

I went to Jen Howard's visitation tonight.  She died of cancner.  She was only 40 years old.  We played tennis together a few times, and we worked at the same college but on different campuses.  I would call her an acquaintance.  There were a lot of people who called Jen a friend or acquaintance.  How wonderful to have that kind of impact on so many people that they would take time out to pay their respects.  I think part of the reason I want to be cremated and have a private service is b/c I'm afraid very few people would show up.  Anyway, back to the funeral home.  I found out while standing in line waiting to shake hands w/ the family that I know Jen's sister, Laura, and I work w/ Laura's husband Dave on this campus.  Their daughter Ali is the same age as Maddy.  I saw Ali sitting in the front row of chairs, a look of complete sadness and confusion.  It was a face that simply asked, "Why?"  Why did the person who taught me how to ride a horse leave me?  Why does she no longer look like my Aunt Jen?  Why are all these people that I don't know here?

I made it through the receiving line.........is it acceptable to use that term in this situation?  We use it for wedding parties.  Can we use it for funeral parties?  Anyway, I made it through the receiving line until I got to Laura and Dave, and then I started to crack.  I couldn't even talk by the time I got to Jen's two youngest sisters.  I'm sure they were thinking, "Why is this stranger crying?"  It was the scene, the entire sad scene w/ flowers and the casket and mourners that brought everything w/ Mom's funeral and visitation right back to the forefront, and I broke.  I felt like an idiot.

Saturday 18 September 2010 -- Day 272 (285)

I believe Dad enjoyed his birthday very much.  He received numerous cards and phone calls.  Ron, David, and I took him out for lunch and then went back home to visit.  Dad and David both talked about their wartime experiences, and I brought down their uniforms that Mom kept nicely under plastic in an upstairs closet.  We also found a box of some of Dad's WWII artifacts.  This was a time in his life before he had started dating Mom.  Dad was honorably discharged in April of 1945 and took Mom on their first date to the Butler County Fair in August.  Something else we found up in that closet was a box of old, old makeup w/ powder, lipstick, rouge, etc.  I'd seen it before but had forgotten its significance.  Dad reminded me that this was the first Christmas present he gave Mom when they were dating.  Mom kept the object of that memory for 64 years.

Mom was the kind of homemaker who cleaned closets at least once a year.  For the big, walk-in closet upstairs this meant hauling everything out, wiping down the walls and shelves, mopping the floor, and putting everything back.  Occasionally she would throw things away, but Mom had a difficult time throwing things away b/c every THING held a memory.  I think many times we use objects to remind us of past events, but all those objects take up a lot of space over the years.  I'm at a point in my life where I'm realizing those objects won't be around forever, or at least I've reached an age where I'm realizing it's not possible.  Mom was the keep of my memories for 45 years, and within the next several years there will probably no longer be a house for those memories.  Every so often I need to pull out those memories from the closet, now more than ever, so I can remember the object that holds the key to the memory.  Each time I return to the home of my youth, I pull out a few more objects and repeat previous objects so the memories will be saved in my mind's hard drive.

Friday, 17 September 2010 -- Day 271 (284)

I'm at Dad's tonight.  Tomorrow is his 85th birthday, and I didn't want him to be alone when he woke up in the morning.  This will be his first birthday w/o Mom, which means we've all gone through our first birthday since she died.  I think we're all beginning to pick ourselves up and trying to move forward.  I'm discovering that grieving is one step forward and three steps back, and some days it's 10 steps back, which makes the next 10 days a struggle to get back to that one day when I felt good.  But I'm also noticing that each time I claw my way back to a good day, it's an even better day.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that when the good days come they're better than they were after having gone through the bad days.

It's funny.  While we were playing cards tonight, I was talking about the big mess I have at home w/ all our home improvements.  Dad doesn't read this blog, but he said the same thing I talked about the other night about what Mom used to always say about making messes.  He said, "Ma always used to say, 'You gotta make a mess to make it nice.'"  That sure makes it obvious that they spent 62 years together.  Sometimes it's almost like talking to Mom when I'm talking to Dad.  I wonder sometimes if he feels the same when he talks to me b/c people have always said that I sound like Mom.  I was very careful when I walked in the door tonight not to holler, "Helloooo" like she used to.  I also noticed at dinner that it almost pained him to look at me, and I thought maybe it's b/c I look a lot like Mom when she was younger.  I wonder sometimes if looking at me just makes him miss her that much more, but then I notice that he has at least one picture of her in every room of the house so wherever he goes, he can see her.  The pictures reflect her at many different times in her life.   

I brought the multi-colored hummingbird solar light since Dad took the flower solar light out to Mom's grave.  I know when he passes, I'll put it by the gravestone so the flower and the hummingbird can be reunited.  He told her all about it tonight when he talked to her picture in the funeral program. That's his way of working through the grief just like this blog is for me.

Thursday, 16 September 2010 -- Day 270 (283)

Life is what you make it, so I'm making it happy.  POOF!  I'm happy. 

Wednesday, 15 September 2010 -- Day 269 (282)

After playing tennis tonight, I thought about a phone call I got from Mom almost three years ago when I was playing tennis on the indoor courts at the college.  Mom told me that her test results were favorable, and I remember jumping up and down (not quite over the net), but being very ecstatic.  My tennis ladies were so happy for me. 

People remember where they were when they learned of traumatic events.  I was working at Strait Music Company in Austin, TX when the space shuttle Challenger blew up.  Standing in the amp room, I watched the explosion over and over and over.  I watched the attack on the Twin Towers on a television that was set up by the college gymnasium.  I had a really stiff neck then and had gone over to the athletic area to get some ice.  When Mom first told me that she had lung cancer over three years ago, I was standing in WalMart.  I had a pair of black, sling-back pumps in my hand that I was going to buy, but after talking to Mom on the phone, I put them back, walked out of the store, went to my car, and cried. 

When I got the good news that night playing tennis, I went back to WalMart and bought those pumps. 

Tuesday, 14 September 2010 -- Day 268 (281)

Mom always said, "Sometimes you have to make a bigger mess to clean up a smaller one."  Man is this true right now.  We've started ripping up the carpet so now there's not a single room in my house that isn't affected by the mess.  I know that home improvement takes on a life of its own w/ one project leading to another and then another.  A new roof leads to new windows, which leads to new trim, which leads to new baseboard to match the window trim, which leads to new carpet, which leads to new furniture, which leads to window coverings, which leads to insanity.  Some people may like making all the decisions necessary in home improvement....I don't.  And what I really don't like is not having Mom to help me make those decisions.  This is the first major home improvement project I've taken on w/o Mom to help clean up the mess.  She also said that when faced w/ a big mess, Mari, you just start in one corner and work your way around, and before you know it, the mess is gone or at least more manageable.  She taught me how to work hard and organize and clean so I know that a month from now I'll be sitting on a new snuggler under new windows and shades on new, lush carpet.  Hope God lets her take a glimpse at it when we're all done.

Monday, 13 September 2010 -- Day 267 (280)

Remember a week ago when I wrote about my fantastic day where I let myself be truly happy.  Yea, well that lasted less than 24 hours.  I had to reread that post to remember my euphoria b/c that pleasure is rather elusive right now.  Things are pretty much back to normal w/ Kenzie, but Maddy is on crutches after messing up her knee last night at volleyball practice.  She has an MRI on Wednesday to see if there's a tear in any of the ligaments.  Dad had his scope procedure today; there's no sign of any cancer in his bladder, etc.  I could tell he was greatly relieved that the scope was over and the results favorable.  I know he didn't sleep well last night worrying.  Thank God Ron is willing and able to accompany him to all these appointments and procedures. 

Hospice has been brought in for Grandma Ruth.  Apparently they can administer some drugs that the nursing home cannot.  I really don't know all the services Hospice provides.  I haven't wanted to know b/c admitting Hospice means admitting defeat.  And defeat means weakness.  I understand that their purpose is to bring comfort and ease the pain for both the dying and the living, which is why I still have pangs of guilt that I didn't respond to Mom's comment when she mentioned Hospice.  I can be so selfish and pig-headed sometimes.  Grandma's breathing has become labored, but her heart must be strong.  I can't help but think how quickly Mom went once the breathing tube was removed, and she was almost 20 years younger.  But Mom was already in a much weaker state physically.  I think Mom knew when she went into the hospital that she'd never return home, and that decision right there shows great strength and resolve. 

Sunday, 12 September 2010 -- Day 266 (279)

The basement at Mom and Dad's house has had an interesting lifespan.  The house is over 110 years old and was moved from a farm.  In the early years it wasn't anything impressive, at least that's what I'm told.  It had a coal room at first, but after Mom and Dad put in a gas furnace and added on the first major addition to the house, the basement became partly functional and partly playroom.  One room was for the sole purpose of my house.  I divided the room into kitchen, living room, bedrooms, etc.   I even used wood blocks to make stairs so I could walk up to an imaginary second story.  The other rooms of the basement were more functional with a stove, refrigerator, table, and chairs.  This is where we canned corn in the hot, hot days of August.  This was also where I played restaurant, taking orders, "cooking" the food, carrying out the dishes to my customers, making the malts by using the refrigerator handle as my malt mixer, and running the cash register with the play money I made myself.  When I got older, the basement became the scene of boy/girl parties.  My playroom had been replaced with the used furniture from upstairs after Mom got a new sofa and chairs.  Mom spray-painted a light bulb brown to create the mood, but we were too young and scared to take advantage of it.  Eventually we added carpet squares and a TV to make a pad for hanging out with boys.

The part that was "my house" now has the TV, sofa, electric fireplace, and the rest of the basement is a playroom for Mom's grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  It has all the toy dishes and food and dance costumes that my daughters outgrew along with shoes and purses that Mom no longer used.  The basement became what Grandma Miller's house was famous for.....that and her amazing cooking.  When great grandchildren were confused as to which grandpa and grandma they were visiting, they would ask, "You mean the grandma with toys in the basement?"  Mom always made sure any kid who came to her house had a cool place to play.   Before and after and even sometimes during every family dinner, the kids were racing to the basement to play.  What a wonderful legacy that basement has become.  Three generations have enjoyed it and continue to enjoy it, all because of Mom. 

My mother-in-law said that her kids (my husband included) always distinguished their two grandmothers by "the food grandma" and the "reading grandma."  I think Mom would be considered the "play grandma."

Saturday, 11 September 2010 -- Day 265 (278)

I'm entering my final 100 days of writing in this blog, which means in 87 days Mom will have been gone for one year.  

I think I'm shrinking.  I'm an inch-and-a-half shorter today than I was 20 years ago.  I realize that women lose bone density as they age, and maybe since I had a hysterectomy almost seven years ago, my bones are starting to condense.  I've got to remember to take my Calcium daily.  I set it on the desk in my office yesterday hoping that by seeing it there I would remember to take it.   I did, but now that it's the weekend  I'll need another reminder.  Excuse me, I'm going to take it now.

Okay, I'm back.  This idea of women shrinking as we age has been on my mind a lot lately.  Mom was a petite woman standing only 5'3.  My daughters gauged their own growth by how close they were to passing Grandma or by how much taller they were than Grandma.  Kenzie would always give her a hug and say, "You're so little, and you're so cute."  Now she's saying that to me.  Doug commented to me the other day, "You seem to be channelling your mother."  This was after he'd commented on the fact that I'm shrinking.  He also said I'm starting to call Kea (our Shi'tzu) the same way Mom called for her.  I don't know..."channelling" makes it sound like I'm trying to communicate w/ her from beyond the grave like some psychic or medium.  I know that's not what he meant.  I'm just trying to keep her close in my heart and thoughts, and sometimes that spills out my mouth and actions.

Grandma Ruth continues to hang on.  She's back in the nursing home after several days in the hospital for fluid around her heart.  I've known Grandma Ruth for over 18 years now, ever since I married her grandson.  When I first met her she was a tall, proud octogenarian.  I think she probably stood close to 5'10".  With that height came a pride and confidence from having raised three children, being a bookkeeper at the town bank, and surviving the death of one child, a husband, and several grandchildren.  Grandma has been a widow for over 30 years.  I've never seen her angry or heard her speak an unkind word.  Even when visiting her in the hospital two days ago, I was shocked to not hear any complaints.  My own paternal grandmother lived to be 94, but for her it was shear meanness and stubbornness that kept her around so long.  That woman could complain about every ache and pain in her body and every person in her life she felt was a disappointment.  I was also shocked two days ago at seeing how tiny Grandma Ruth has become.  I touched her shoulder and thought I was touching a spindle.  Lying on her back w/ only her head showing above the covers, she looked like a hobbit, a happy hobbit with a sweet secret.  Lately she has had to subdue her pride by allowing the nurses to lift her onto the toilet  using a harness.  I saw this contraption in the hallway outside her room and was reminded of the scene in Jurassic Park when they lower the goat into the dinosaur paddock.  This hospital harness has the same degrading effect.

I know that pride is considered a sin, but I think being proud keeps us alive.  Without pride we allow anyone to do anything to us, and it's the one thing that mortals cannot take from us unless we surrender it.  I'm afraid of shrinking into nothingness and being too proud to do something about it.  Maybe that was Grandma's sweet secret:  she's leaving this world the way she entered it, small and wrinkly.

Friday, 10 September 2010 -- Day 264 (277)

I'm not as motivated to blog, and I'm not sure why.  It could be that I've said all I need to say about dealing w/ Mom's death.  I doubt it.  It could be that I'm too distracted in dealing w/ Mackenzie's situation.  Possibly, but she and I are communicating better.  It could be that all the work we're doing on our house plus teaching five, maxed-out classes, attending volleyball games, board meetings, etc., etc., etc., has me exhausted by the end of the day.  Very likely, but it's still not an excuse.  It could be that Grandma Ruth is very near death, and being on death watch brings back too many recent memories.  Absolutely.  I have a similar, sinking feeling in my stomach each time the phone rings.  Doug said something rather odd today. In planning out his schedule for next week, he said he should probably account for taking time off to go to Grandma's funeral.  It's strange to fit-in a funeral and plan for it just as one would plan for an upcoming doctor's appointment.  It's really not that odd, I guess, since she has her funeral all planned out, including hymns, scripture, and songs she wants Kenzie and Maddy to sing.  That's all too familiar as well. 

Thursday, 09 September 2010 -- Day 263 (276)

I've lost my appetite again.  I'm depressed.  Mackenzie and I have had a falling-out.  The ease with which we used to converse is now strained, and I fear it will take a long time for our easy banter and heart-to-heart talks to return.  I can't lose my mom and my daughter all in one year.

Depression is a helluva diet plan.  Not eating means my energy level is low.  A low energy level decreases my activities.  Lessened participation in activities depresses me.  Vicious cycle.

Wednesday, 08 September 2010 -- Day 262 (275)

I hate the word cope.  Such a stupid word.  To me it means to put w/ crap imposed upon you by someone else.  My daughter has to cope with having Crohn's Disease for the rest of her life, and I have to cope with the way she's coping with it.  She has to develop coping skills, which are supposed to help her endure this lifelong struggle.  She would prefer not to but no one ever consulted her.  I have to cope with the death of my mother.  I would prefer not to but no one ever consulted me.  Dictionary.com defines cope as: 1.  "to struggle or deal" and 2. "to face and deal with responsibilities, problems, or difficulties."  My translation: take it in the a$$ and get over it.  Supposedly by wrestling with some opposition we will become stronger human beings, but I feel my most powerful when I'm happy and content and not having to deal with any bullshit.

Cope has an interesting etymology in that it derives from the word coup (pronounced koo), as in what Native Americans would do to any enemy by attacking them w/o any reciprocation.  For example, a Sioux warrior would count coup on his enemy by sneaking up on him and attacking him before the enemy could strike back.  Therefore, coup was an accomplishment.  So it was an act of bravery.  Well, I do consider my daughter very courageous in dealing with her disease.  Maybe cope should actually be an acronym for Courageous, Obstinent Person Effectuating.  Yep, I think that describes Mackenzie and me.

Tuesday, 07 September 2010 -- Day 261 (274)

I suck at being a parent.  For someone w/ a master's degree in communication studies, I blew it tonight when trying to talk to my daughter.  For being so euphoric yesterday, life blows today.  Ha!  There's irony in that statement considering the wind was pseudo-tornadic today.  Maybe I'm the cause.  Such extreme highs and lows make me think I'm becoming bipolar. 

Mom, for all the times I made you sad or mad or worried, I'm so sorry.  Like the time I stayed out until five in the morning and didn't call, I'm sorry.  When I disappointed you by getting suspended from high school for three days, I'm sorry.  For the time when I was home from college, talking on the phone to a friend, and said I was bored b/c there was nothing to do, I'm sorry.  I know you heard me b/c Lori took me aside to tell me the look of sadness that you had. 

I know being a parent means dealing w/ sadness and anger and disappointment as well as joy and gladness and pride.  I just didn't realize all those emotions could be felt in 48 hours.

Monday, 06 September 2010 -- Day 260 (273)

Today was a fantastic day b/c I let myself be happy....truly happy.  I laughed to the point of crying and didn't feel guilty about it.  I didn't stop myself to think, "How can you be happy when your mother is dead?"  That thought didn't even cross my mind.  I was silly and goofy, and I loved it.  Kenzie told me about a friend of hers who has rented a new house.  His name is Cody, and the name of his roommate is Cody so I said, "It's the Ko(dy)tex Maxi Pad."  I know.  It sounds stupid now, but at the time I found it really funny, and my family laughed more at me than at my joke but that's okay.  I'm laughing and enjoying life, and that's what's important.  I used to be afraid to be too happy, even when Mom was alive, b/c I knew that happiness wouldn't last.  I knew that something would happen to destroy that happiness so I figured if I wasn't too happy then I wouldn't have as far to fall.  I guess it's part of my German upbringing to do everything in moderation.  This attitude has helped in regard to eating and drinking but has stunted me with relationships.  This is the point when I say, "I love you, Man," to all the people in my life whether I've known you for one month, one year, or one lifetime.  So now, rather than focusing on the fact that happiness won't last, which is true, I'm going to focus on the fact that there will always be another happiness to follow.

Sunday, 05 September 2010 -- Day 259 (272)

Does a parent ever stop worrying about a child?  There used to be a public service announcement on TV that said, "Parents: it's midnight, do you know where your children are?"  Well, it's 10:17 p.m., and I'm hoping Mackenzie is on her way home from work.  But that's what worries me b/c she worked a double shift, which has amounted to an eleven-hour day, and she's going to be tired. Thank God for cell phones and text messaging.  I sent her a text to call me when she got off work and was on her way home, and praise be.....she just called to tell me she's on her way.  Hallelujah!  Now, I can stop worrying.  I told her to roll down her windows, crank up the AC, and turn up her radio.  It's about a 20-minute drive so, yes, I'll be waiting up until she gets home.  So, actually the worrying will stop then.  Wow!  I sound just like my mother.  I know Mom said she worried about me less when I was away at college, but whenever I would come home for weekends or breaks, she'd worry about me all over again.  There's a warmth and comfort that comes from having people worry about you, but all that worrying can be crippling.

Dad has been worried about his house, and what will happen when he's gone.  Mainly he fears that the state will get control of it after he's gone, or if he has to go into the nursing home.  Even when Mom was alive he wanted the two of them to sign their house over to my three siblings and me so that the house wouldn't be included as part of the estate, especially if they would need to go to the home.  Within the last several years, however, the state enacted legislation that says a house must be turned over to the dependents at least five years prior to the passing of the owner.  Dad's convinced he won't live another five years so it would be pointless to start this process.  He says he sits on the porch worrying about this, and I told him it's pointless to worry about it now.  We (my siblings and I) will sort it out after he's gone.  He'll be in heaven with Mom, and the last thing he'll be thinking about is whether the four of us are arguing over how much to sell their house for.  I think it was Abraham Lincoln, or maybe it's from the Bible, but there's a quote that goes something like this, "A house divided cannot stand."   I hope my siblings and I can remember this.  Continuing the legacy of our parents can't happen if we don't have a united front.  Besides, wealth shouldn't be measured by how much we leave behind for others to divide.  During these last nine months I have had more conversations w/ my father than I've had for 45 years, and most of our telephone conversations last about 40 minutes every other night.  That's wealth..........., and I don't have to divide it w/ anyone.

Kenzie is home safely now.  Dad is tucked safely in his bed.  Maddy just finished marking all the books in her Bible with sticky tabs.  Doug is on the Internet downstairs.  All is right in my world.  I have no worries, but tomorrow is another day, and I'll have to remind myself all over again to turn all my worries over to God.

Saturday, 04 September 2010 -- Day 258 (271)

Doug and I watched The Bucket List tonight.  Made me wonder if Mom did all she wanted to do.  Also made me wonder if there's anything that Dad would like to do yet.  I used to think that you have to have goals and something to work toward in order to be satisfied.  There has to be more than just sitting around waiting to die, but I guess if sitting around gives you time to reflect on a life well-lived, it shouldn't matter.  A person doesn't have to visit the pyramids or climb the Himalayas to be happy.  Sharing a family dinner or watching a granddaughter's dance recital can be equally fulfilling.  Carter Chambers, played by Morgan Freeman, tells Edward Cole (Jack Nicholson) that the Egyptians believe that they will be asked two questions in order to get into heaven: 1. "Have you found joy in your life?"  2. "Has your life brought joy to others?"  Mom told me she wasn't afraid to die, but I never asked her if she was ready....if there was anything she still wanted to do.  I know she had joy in her life through her family, her Sunday School kids, and being on the City Council.  I truly believe she felt fulfilled.  To the second question, yes, a thousand times, yes.  She brought great joy to everyone who knew her, whether it was for decades or for minutes.  Undoubtedly then, she was welcomed w/ open arms at the gates of heaven.

Friday, 03 September 2010 -- Day 257 (270)

Last night was one of those nights.  I knew it was going to happen as soon as it flashed into my head.  Lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I saw Mom lying in the hospital bed on her last night w/ us.  Once that image gets in my head, I can't turn off my brain, and my thoughts jump willy-nilly.  Rather than fighting the images last night, I just let them come.  The hospital bed image led me to the OK sign that Mom gave as she lightly twisted her right hand after Dad and Lori agreed to patch things up.  That led to holding Mom's hand while dancing in the kitchen and the look of concentration as she spun me around.  That led to other mannerisms all uniquely Mom.  That led to the a fear that, over time, I'll forget these expressions so I tried to copy a photo image in my memory of how she held her mouth when telling a story or how her hands nimbly peeled potatoes.  I also thought last night about how I have less than 120 days of writing in this journal, and that made me worry that I won't think about Mom as much.  And if I'm not thinking about her, I'm afraid I'll forget her look and her laugh.  I guess in a way this blog has become my surrogate mother.  As long as I'm writing in this, I feel closer to her, and that makes me less sad.

Thursday, 02 September 2010 -- Day 256 (269)

We live two blocks from a hospital, a hospital w/ a helipad for transporting serious ill or injured people to larger hospitals in Sioux Falls, SD, or Rochester, MN.  I absolutely hate the sound of that helicopter as it flies low over my house making the chopping of the blades much more audible.  Each chop of the blades tells me that someone is in bad shape, someone might not make it through this night.  Tonight it came for a woman in my neighborhood.  I said a prayer that she would not be afraid.  Lately I haven't said prayers that God spare the lives of the sick.  I simply ask that He is w/ them and comforts them.  Anything, even death, is easier to face when you're not afraid.

Wednesday, 01 September 2010 -- Day 255 (268)

Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Tonight I shed tears of gratefulness to those of you who responded to my plea about contacting Dad.  His phone was ringing off the hook tonight....good thing he has call waiting; he was jumping from one phone call to the next.  And in the process of all this, he missed one so he called me to find out if it was me.  It wasn't.  He still doesn't know who it was, but hopefully that person will call back.  He was absolutely giddy tonight, and I know it's b/c he feels like he's not alone and that he has a purpose in life.  Thank you for letting Dad know he's loved and remembered.