Tag Archives: lessons from the universe

Bromance

Posted in February by

Tony and William are my brother and bro respectively, one related by blood and the other by biology (7th grade bio to be exact). There’s no way I could be doing “this” without them. I know that there are support groups I can turn too and I do have a lot of friends that I can call but there’s nothing like having people here in the trenches with you. I know this isn’t a battlefield and believe me, I know I can sound like a whining asshole sometimes but they get “it” and they get me (that alone helps so much).

I’ve known William since I was twelve years old. He tells the story of the day we first met in gym class, I was (apparently) sitting on the floor hugging my knees to my chest (trying to make myself invisible I’m sure) and he came and sat beside me, said “hi” and we’ve been best friends ever since. I call him the keeper of the memories because he remembers everything about our shared history. He has the most remarkable memory, not just about us-he remembers everything.

Even though life had very different paths laid out for us; different colleges, living in different parts of the country, even losing touch for a few years here and there, the bond we formed oh so many years ago is just as strong,so we always found or way back to each other. Now that I’m on the East coast we’re living about forty minutes apart for the first time in our adult lives, which is great.

Years ago Williams’ father go sick so he made the choice to build his house next door to his parents so that he could be there to help out. Through the years he’s taken on not only his father’s care but responsibility for his mother’s wellness, too. So, he’s not only a great support system for me, I’m finding that he’s one of my guides through the process of learning how to become a caregiver. The specifics of our parent’s situations are different but at the end of the day we’re both adult children of parents that need us.

We had a chance to spend the day together not long after my discussion/argument with Miss Cathy. Our outing couldn’t have come at a better time. When he picked me up for our day together I was ready for some “me” time (translation: I just needed to get the “flock” outta that apartment). I sat in his car and listened as he drove and told me the latest story about his parents-some mishap over what was served for dinner. I don’t know, I could feel my body relax just by listening to him tell me all the funny, frustrating events of his day. It’s not that ”misery loves company”, or that I was happy to hear that things aren’t always perfect with his folks, no, it’s more like war buddies sharing stories of being “in country”. It’s not stuff you tell just anybody, lest they think you’re whining, bitching or complaining-which you’re not, you’re just “telling it like it is”, reporting from the “battle field”. He didn’t know it at the time but his telling me about his day made me feel better about mine.

Later, over dinner I told him what was going on with Miss Cathy, all about the trip and her announcement that “she’s not leaving her house ‘no more after this trip ‘down south”. We laughed about it, not at Miss Cathy but at the similarities because William had just driven his parents to North Carolina over Christmas and let’s just say,” it wasn’t a road-trip Norman Rockwell would be painting any scenes about”. I felt better just talking to him about everything because he knows me, he knows Miss Cathy and he knows the situation all too well.

As for my brother, Tony is my only sibling and he’s older than me by eleven months and one week. We were both born on a Tuesday in January, he in 1958 and me in 1959, so for three weeks we’re the same age-we’re what they call “Irish twins”. Since we were so close in age Miss Cathy used to dress us alike (she said it cut down on bickering about “who got what”) and since we looked a lot alike early in our childhood people thought we were twins. I don’t know if this gives us any “special” bond or connection but unlike William, Tony and I couldn’t be more different. None the less, even though we’ve grown into very different men from the fat, little brown butter-balls that people couldn’t tell apart as kids, we remain extremely close without having to communicate much at all.

After my day with William I called Tony to let him know what was going on. Like I said, we don’t talk often but we do call to touch base. I always think of Tony as someone that I know will be there for me no matter what I need (which in itself is a great feeling) but I forget that he doesn’t have to be called to slay a dragon or to run into a burning building-I can call him “just” to talk.

Talking to my brother after my time with William was the one-two punch I needed to make me feel a whole better about the choices I’ve made so far. I told him how I was starting to doubt “our” decisions about how we’re handling Miss Cathy and her illness. I told him that she was starting to make sense (which in and of itself should have given me pause). I told him that I was kinda confused and not so “certain” about all the pontificating I’ve been doing-to her and at her.

In no time flat he straightened me out, and I realized that I’d started to feel like Ingrid Bergman in “Gaslight” but Tony snapped me out of it before Charles Boyer could murder me in the thick London fog….RIGHT, that was a movie and I’m not Ingrid-now back to real life. What Tony did was to remind me of all that’s happened in the past year, and to give me some distance from being “in it” with her day in/day out. He did a great job of wiping away the clouds of doubt that had been gathering around me.

He reminded me that her behavior hasn’t been normal for a while now and it crossed the line of being “Oh she’s just getting forgetful” a long time ago. Also, she’d been going to great lengths to keep her decline from us, and all of this was before the fall last year that precipitated her Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

It’s funny, but if you live with someone and they are your focus you can lose some perspective (at least I was starting to). I’ve got a little book knowledge but very little experience caring for someone with a degenerative disease. So every know and then it gets confusing, “do I know what’s best for this person?” “She seems fine (now) so why deny her the freedoms she wants?”, you know, questions like that. I think that if I’d been checking in with Tony on a more regular basis then I wouldn’t have some of these questions or insecurities. His confidence in what we’re doing reaffirmed my faith that everything that can be done is being done.

I was also grateful and surprised when he offered to drive Miss Cathy to North Carolina for me. All I have to do is drop her off at his house and he’ll take it (her) from there-Hal-lay-loo! He said it was the least he could do because he appreciates all that I’m doing.

Just like my time spent with William, I hung up the phone after talking to Tony feeling so much stronger. I’m lucky to have these guys in my life-I’m gonna need them.

Up in smoke

Posted in January by

I knew Miss Cathy was going to bring up my trip and somehow, someway, some day when she did-she’d give me agida. I wasn’t sure when but I knew it was coming. And sure enough, a couple days ago it happened. I’d walked into the kitchen for a coffee refill and she was sitting at the counter with her “hot comb” straightening her hair. She said, “You’re counting down the days huh?” It was early in the am and I was still in my own little world so I didn’t really get what she was talking about so I said,” counting down for what?”

While passing a section of hair through the teeth of a very hot device she explained, “till you go to Kansas City.” The smell of burning hair was thick in the air as she used the comb to straighten her natural curls. The air would soon get thicker still for a whole “nother” reason.

“Oh yeah, that”, I thought, it’s not like I’d forgotten about my plans so much as I wasn’t bringing them up (at all in fact). I wasn’t talking about the trip because I was dreading the inevitable argument that would result. I know you’re thinking, “I’m projecting” or “I’m putting a negative out to the universe” or better yet “that on some level I ‘wanted’ the conflict.” But no, but NO, I’ve read my Deepak Oprah, I’ve had a Life-coach and know that we manifest the “story” that we tell and I’ve logged enough hours “navel gazing” during talk therapy to know fact from neurosis. So yes, I know all this and I also know that if YOU spent the amount of time with Miss Cathy that I have you’d think the same-it’s not “negativity” it’s “self preservation”.

Imagine my surprise when she said, “depending on the weather I’m going to go visit Tine while you’re gone.” Tine (Ernestine, “Tine” for short) is Miss Cathy’s youngest sister who still lives in their hometown, Henderson, North Carolina.

Well, she certainly “buried the lead” didn’t she? I was happy as could be for her but “practical me” was wondering, “how was she going to get down there?” and thoughts of me driving her “down South” didn’t exactly thrill me. I don’t know about you but to me it’s as if every mile I drive past the NC border takes a year off the calendar so by the time we’re in Henderson it’s 1952 down there-and I wasn’t born until 1959 so what does that say?!, oh well, what price freedom.

While I pondered her mode of transport she continued, “and I’ll tell you something right now (the mood in the room suddenly changing), if in two or three months you want to go someplace else you go right ahead but I am NOT leaving this house-no more!” (I could have sworn I heard a little sizzle off the “hot comb” but I can’t be sure.)

“Alrighty then, so, here we are, and here we go”, I thought. I put my coffee down, took (half) a deep breath and before I knew it (although I’d predicted it) it was October all over again. Remember, back in October when I told her about my first trip and how she tried for days to convince me that she was “well” and that she should stay home alone. She tried everything, even what I call the ”Five stages of persuasion”:

1)    Intimidation: One has to be loud and authoritative, this works best on small children with a vested interest in survival but not on adult children of parents who no longer pay your bills or wipe your butt for you

2)    Reasoning: This can only work if both parties are in denial about the disease or condition at hand

3)     Cajoling: This could include anything from the “buddy” approach in speech and body language to bribes of favorite meals or money

4)    Threats: These usually take the form of self-important statements that start with “Do you know who I am?” or “ You don’t know who you’re dealing with buddy” but realistically that can’t be backed up by any substantive actions)

5)    Self pity: This can include tears, mournful looks, pleas to God for help and as a last resort threats of suicide but once the “suicide” card is played one can’t keep throwing it down lest somebody calls your bluff

So, after going back and forth and over and over the same territory, I had to ask myself, “Was there anything different about this discussion/argument that was any different from any other discussion/argument we’ve had over the past year about whether or not she could or should be able to stay by herself for any length of time?”

To be honest, the answer was “no” but this time I just wasn’t sure-maybe I was tired. I found myself almost persuaded by her arguments and for the first time I wondered if she was indeed capable of taking care of herself alone for on week or more.

I mean, she made a strong case for it-in volume if nothing else. I listened past the anger and stubbornness, the denial and pride. She may not think I understand what she’s going through but I’m trying (I am HERE after all). To her credit she hasn’t had any accidents in months nor has she shown any lack of judgment that would put her in danger of hurting herself or others.

So, I was in a quandary, I had to admit to myself (if not to her) that maybe “we’d” (Tony and I) had jumped the gun here. Maybe she was “better” and all she needed was some time to get herself together after the events of last year. Could it be, could the doctor’s be wrong?

I mean, at the end of the day all I want is for her to be happy (and safe) and although I know what the doctors have said I’m the one living with her and from what I’ve observed she’s not doing too bad.

She was also doing her hair the entire time we were talking and it was somewhere around this point in our discussion/argument while she was straightening a section of hair that she singed the ends because she’d left the curling iron on the heat too long.

Nothing like the smell of frying hair to give you pause while you’re arguing. Since she’d just finished making a long winded, pretty well rehearsed speech about how well she could take care of herself I was tempted to use what had just happened against her but she was embarrassed enough (not to mention that it would take weeks for her hair to grow out so she’d be reminded enough of “how well she’s taking care of herself”).

So, I graciously said nothing while she sat there pulling at her burned follicles and let that be the end of the discussion/argument…….. for now.

I think I’m ready to go under

Posted in January by

Night after night Miss Cathy says, “I think I’m ready to go under”. No, she’s not channeling Dr Kevorkian; she’s just letting me know that she’s ready for me to turn off her TV and bedside lamp so that she can go to sleep. She’s not ready for the “Big sleep”- just a deep one. But, when I hear it I know that it’s a sign for me that the day is done and I’m pretty much free to be.

Recently I’d been spending my days stressing about telling her about my upcoming trip. It’s that time again, my “quarterly time-off”!(sounds like I’m working for an insurance company). My plans have been set for weeks now but I was waiting till about two weeks before (the trip) to tell her because I’ve been dreading a repeat of what happened last October when I told her I was leaving for a week (my first “time off” after being here for three months). She had no problem with me taking a trip (in fact she was happy for me) the problem started when she realized that my leaving didn’t mean that she’d get to stay alone in her apartment, it meant she’d have to go over to my brothers’ while I was gone (in her mind a fate tad amount to internment). Which also meant almost daily conversations, arguments and campaigns on her part to stay home alone. Oy Vey! It was exhausting and by the time I dropped her ass off at my brother’s “you best believe” I was in need of a holiday.

I’d remembered something that a psychiatrist told me years ago about sharing difficult news, she suggested letting the news come out of a normal activity and not to call any more attention to the news than was necessary by doing something out of the ordinary like 1) sharing it on a major holiday b) calling everyone to a specific room to share the news or 3) taking the person someplace unfamiliar to talk to them, lest you set up a future trauma that would include not just the news BUT the person, place or thing surrounding what you have to say.

So, with that in mind I set about waiting for an opportunity to tell her about the trip. The moment presented itself the other day while we were playing 3-13, the card game. She had asked if I wanted to play and at first I thought “Uggh, I am not in the mood”, then I realized that it would be the “normal activity” I was waiting for so I said “I’m in!”

It was after I’d won the game and we were still sitting at the dining room table, straightening up when I simply said,” I’ve got some news. I’ve got a trip planned and I’ll be gone Feb one through the ninth.” I know it sounds kinda dry, but I didn’t want to make a “bigger” deal out of the trip (nor did I want it to spark a major blow up either) so I opted for a “Readers Digest” version of events. After delivering my news I braced for whatever she was going to say but other than asking me to repeat the dates a couple times she didn’t say much else. I suggested that if she didn’t want to stay with Tony that maybe she could ask her girlfriend, Adele, about staying with her. That kind of just lay there so I burbled on about “too bad the weather wasn’t nicer or you could take some time and go home to North Carolina for a visit.” After chatting a few more moments we were up from the table and onto our separate activities for the rest of the day.

I gotta say, I was a little surprised by her response; maybe I’d built it up too much in my head (and believe me the quiet way she received the news was far preferable to what I’d imagined). Not sure what was coming (if anything) I kinda walked around the rest of the day “waiting” and “it” never came.

Well, it’s been three days since I gave her the news and not a peep out of her about it. Maybe I misjudged what her reaction was going to be (Nah!), maybe she didn’t hear me or maybe she’s just resigned to the way things are-the “new normal”. What I really think is that she’s just waiting for her moment (same as me) and she’ll “pop” out with something that I didn’t expect so I’ll deal with it then.

No matter, she’s given me plenty to think about at night right before “I go under”.

Sweets n’ treats

Posted in January by

Miss Cathy’s project d’jour was cleaning all the pieces in the china cabinet. I was happy to see that she was doing something other than sitting in the living room watching television (not that there’s anything wrong with that-I too continue to clock way too many hours staring into “the box”). She said she thinks it’s been at least two or maybe three years since she’s taken out all the dishes, crystal stemware and choctchkes and washed each by hand. It’s a big commitment of time and energy, delicately removing each piece and not breaking it or any of the other items that are stuffed onto the shelves.

The dining room in the apartment is rarely used, except by me to work (sometimes). I don’t remember the last time anyone actually had a meal in there. It’s not a large space and unfortunately it’s made even more uninviting by the huge “Mediterranean” style dining room “suite” that Miss Cathy brought here from one of her previous marriages. The furniture is too large for the room (I think it was designed with a Medieval Spanish Castle in mind), several of the chairs are in need of repair (meaning broken) and I was beside myself with joy when Miss Cathy suggested that I get rid of two of them not too long ago.

I took to the task of breaking down the chairs with gusto, in my mind they were just two more things standing in the way of this becoming a “livable” space instead of the stuffed animal “way-station” filled with chairs that were either uncomfortable, broken or occupied by her collection. Since the chairs were so old and wobbly (not unlike our matriarch come to think of it), it was very easy to pull them apart (I know what you’re thinking……..but, no, I NEVER think of “pulling Miss Cathy apart”). After my remark about “understanding” elder abuse I feel a need to include disclaimers ever so often lest social services may be reading “in” or someone feels the need to mistake my sense of humor for a confession of condoning or participating in aberrant behavior. All rightly then, now that that’s out of the way………..

In no time at all I had the pieces tied into two bundles ready for the trash. Unfortunately they couldn’t be recycled or used as kindling because they were made of some kind of wood composite or man-made, factory turned material. I think if you put a match to them you would asphyxiate from the smoke rising off the plastic.

So, happy that she was occupied with an activity I was off to “the city” to have lunch in downtown DC with three friends from Philadelphia who were down for the day to visit the National Portrait Gallery (and to see me, of course). We had a great time at lunch and seeing friends had the usual effect of working like a ‘tonic’ on me-I drove home energized and refreshed.

Before we walked to the restaurant from the museum where I met them I had the chance to talk to one of my friends alone about Miss Cathy. Cassandra has been taking care of her mother for years now so I was happy to have some time to compare notes and ask her advice. Our mothers do not suffer from all the same illnesses but they do have diabetes in common. No matter the particulars, if only for the benefit of being able to sit across from and vent to someone who ‘gets it”. Besides, I think there’s always something to be gained from talking to a “fellow” traveler who walks down the path of care giving.

I listened to some of her “war” stories then I shared some of mine. Then we got on the topic of “picking our battles”, we were talking about the fact that both our mothers are diabetic but love sweets, we sounded like two parents with little children feeling guilty because we’re the ones doing the shopping and have control over buying the foods they consume but find it difficult/exasperating/hard to say “no” to their requests sometimes.

Cassandra told me that what she does (on top of rationing her mom’s sugar intake-and picking her battles) is to give her mother a baked sweet potato loaded with Cinnamon, it not only satisfies her cravings for dessert it’s healthy food that can be easily digested and it helps psychologically because one doesn’t feel deprived.

I thought that was a brilliant idea and now I can’t wait to try it out on Miss Cathy, who knows, maybe I’ll serve it to here in the dining room on one of her china plates now that they’re sparkling clean.

How the Grinch stole Christmas (well, not exactly Xmas but most of my stuff instead)

Posted in December by

It was the week after Christmas and all through my house, there was the usual activity, the usual grouse. I was snug as a bug when my cell rang, “Yoo-hoo, yoo-hoo” but it wasn’t Cindy-Lou or any other Who…..it was the manager of the storage facility in Kansas City calling to tell me my unit had been robbed.

She was sorry to tell me that while on her morning rounds she discovered that my lock had been cut and when she opened the 10 by 25 foot unit I rented she could see that for such a big space there was very little in it.

I was then and I am now still in a state of disbelief-denial being a safer place to live than Missouri I’ve come to learn, too late. My initial reaction was ”Oh no!” and “Fuck!”(I think I said that a couple of times) then I reminded myself out loud not to take out whatever I was feeling on this woman who was just doing her job and concentrated on listening to what she was telling me. I asked a few questions and hung up knowing that I’d be talking to her again along with the police.

My first call after I hung up was to Chad and not the police, I wanted his comfort and I needed his help. Poor puss, I think he took the news harder than I did when I told him. Thank God for Chad, though, he was (and is) there for me, agreeing to do whatever was needed in my stead.

Funny, I used to write that I “left” my life in KC to join my mother’s here in Maryland, but at the time I thought that what I left was safe and sound on Southwest Blvd in a 10 x 25 foot space, neatly packed on “pause”, just waiting for me to return and hit the “resume” button that was my life.

Since I was in the middle of shaving when Joyce, the manager called, I saw no reason to not finish my toilet so I proceeded shave and shower so that I could be fresh for whatever hell was in store for the rest of the day.

I didn’t know what I felt, but I knew I didn’t feel like sitting around the apartment so I went to the Mall-what better place to clear your mind after you’ve heard that everything other than what you could mail to yourself or load in your PT Cruiser was probably gone.

I walked the Mall aimlessly for a while, no clear path or destination in mind. Truth be told the local Mall has seen better days-as have the shoppers that frequent it. Nothing piqued my interest until I found myself in Target, the familiar feel of a shopping cart and the noise of a catty-wompuos wheel that was rattling. I walking up and down the aisles perusing the after Christmas sales and in no time I had a cart full of crap, 1/2 priced Xmas decorations and candy (bags of marked down treats). I even managed to justify a flat screen TV (on sale!), DVDs and some accessories for home I just “had to have”-after all I “don’t have” as of today, so, shop I did.

I even managed to drum up a little “after Christmas” spirit and put a pack of Nathan’s Hot Dogs in the cart for Miss Cathy. She loves Nathan’s Hot Dogs, she considers the price exorbitant for frankfurters so to her they are a delicacy and a “special treat”-much the way others would view caviar. Well, if I could have a tin of cashews dipped in chocolate while I watched something banal on a new flat-screen then she should have a treat, too!

An hour or so into my shop-a-thon I headed for the check out, stopping an aisle or two away, coveting my orgy of purchases. I looked at all that I’d picked up, carefully scrutinized and selected (these were no random, impulse items) I comparison shopped, selected the best of what was left on the sale racks and satisfied with my selections I went to the check out.

I left with the Nathan’s Hot dogs as my sole purchase. The shopping cart, I’m ashamed to say because I believe in department store etiquette (putting things back where you found them if you’re not going to buy them) was left abandoned for some clerk to find and have to re-stock.

In the parking lot holding onto my weenies while I looked for my car, I thought about what the universe was trying to tell me-again. Unfortunately, this is not my first experience with theft. Back in the late 80’s my apartment in New York was robbed of all my jewelry. At the time I had a lot of unique, expensive antique and original jewelry-most of which were gifts that I wore religiously, pins and brooches, on my lapel, fingers, on my hat, sweaters and vests. I was “known” for my eccentric style and the jewelry was an important part of giving me an identity that I could hide behind long before I had one of my own. What that loss taught me was not to covet ‘things’ so much as to enjoy possessions for what they are and not what they represent. The theft also forced me out from behind the accoutrements, to be me-sans decorations, unadorned, flaws and all. So, the universe had an important lesson for me to learn and I think I got it.

I lived that lesson for several years, but as time accumulated so did new possessions and obsessions (antiquing and collecting) and my ego for a time was stocked as full as my wine cellar. So, the universe stepped in, once again, to give pause to my life so that I could reevaluate what was important.

In 2004, what the papers called a “100 year rain” hit the small rural town where I once lived and owned an old farmhouse. After it’s sale the town in which it was located became the location of the storage facility for all that housed my life; antiques, furniture, archives of my life’s work up until that point (about 20 years worth of original art, sketches, notes, serigraphs and sketchbooks) books, clothes and all of my childhood possessions including pictures, yearbooks, comics and all my old “diaries” and adult journals.

The “100 year rain” came so fast and so furious that the Delaware River that bordered the town became so swollen that it overflowed it’s banks and flooded the town, leaving hundreds homeless. My storage facility was in the low-lands and thus in the river’s watery path so 65% of my possessions ended up buried under seven feet of water and mud. What little was let was dried in the sun and moved to higher ground, there was much pain and a long battle with the insurance company but ultimately, another lesson learned in “letting go” and moving on.

And now the universe is speaking to me once more, but, damn, does it always have to be a punch up side the head instead of a soft tap on the shoulder to get my attention, robbed of about 80% of what I’ve accumulated since starting what I thought would be a new, quiet life in the Midwest.

And so I ask, what is the measure of a man? In years gone by property, possessions and children were what were left to judge a life lived well. Well, we all know I have no children (that is if you don’t count Miss Cathy), and although I’ve owned two homes and possessions worthy of being photographed for a life-style magazine I find that I have nothing more than the memories and a magazine.

Here I am at the close of 2010 living in Maryland with my mother, the Midwest forsaken for selflessness. For the first time since I was seventeen years old I find that I do not have a lease with my name on it, so I have no “home” to call my own and now only a few possessions that represent the life I’ve lived. What I wonder is what am I to gain from this? What is the universe is telling me, showing me?

Part of me feels that what I have to learn (again) and be reminded of (again) is that nothing is tangible, to enjoy what you have when you have it, and that our memories of what we do with what we have is truly all we can ever have to hold onto. It’s the people and experiences that are important and not the “things”, although there is nothing wrong with possessions, just the importance we attach to them can be suspect.

And maybe the universe is telling me that it’s time to let go of the (recent) past-literally, for my time in Kansas City was anything but quiet. I was tested and judged, and learned a lot about myself and grew in ways that I could only learn having been there, in that time, under those circumstances. Suffice to say it was one of the most challenging chapters of my life. So, maybe now the time has come to be free, and in loss there is much to gain.

I’d also like to believe that at the end of this decade, after all that I’ve been through in the “aughts” and now 2010, that the new decade ahead holds so much abundance for me that I had to make room for all that is to come.