"My First Wicked Woman"

I like themes in life. Do you? Here's the link for a great story that The Prof wrote about his elderly aunt who recently died. (We met The Prof hiking on the PCT in 2002.)

http://iwishiwereayoda.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-first-wicked-woman.html

Be Still, My Soul

Here's a video Tamie posted to her blog this summer when she lost her grandmother, and I think of it now in our situation. I love this hymn, and it's especially peaceful and grounding set against images of imprisonment, inhumanity, and sorrow. It hearkens to some movies we've watched recently from the seclusion of our little bedroom, including "The Lives of Others," "Babel," and "Black Snake Moan."

* * * * *

Take Me by Don Chaffer

“Old ain’t a word that I’m fond of,” he said.
“And these days I’ve begun to lose count.”
Mumbling she rolls in her wheelchair, and says,
“I’m afraid that they’ve closed my account.”

There’s a blur that occurs in the line of their life
That decays the whole notion of sense
And they call to the past, insisting that it last,
While they’re climbing down reality’s fence

Singing with me
Take me
Take me
Write my name in the most Holy Tome
And when it’s my time
To assume the sublime,
Take me to my promised home

And their hands aren’t gnarled, they’re in love with the earth
And they’re dying to go there again
We say the essence of life is strong in our youth,
Slowly buried under wrinkles of skin

But there’s God in the way that life comes to an end,
In the way that it draws to a close,
In the saying of soul to the house of the skin,
You’re too weak now to really oppose

week 2 with grandpa & grandma

Twenty:

1. It's how many ounces of coffee Jason just ordered without blinking. We knew we needed to come get coffee for therapy this evening, but that's when we realized how badly we needed it. He's usually a 16-ounce guy.
2. It's how many minutes after we got home from a doctor's appointment today that Grandma looked at her calendar and exclaimed, "Oh no! We've missed today's appointment!"
3. It's how many years before dementia is even a possibility that we are going to sit our offspring down and plainly say to them, "When we get to such-and-such point, don't listen to us anymore. If we're too much for you, put us someplace for help. Do it. You have our blessing. We hope we raised you well enough that we can trust you with that decision."
4. It's how many times Grandma has whispered to Grandpa that we kids have been here too long. It's also how many seconds later she turns to him and asks if we were here yesterday.
5. It's how many times Grandpa has responded with "I dunno" and his signature shoulder shrug.

Our second week isn't over yet; there are actually 53 hours and 59 minutes left. But it has been much more difficult than last week because they are increasingly more decided that we should hit the old dusty trail. The tasks we do are outside of their normal routine, so they forget about them and can't understand we're around for their sake. Instead, they're starting to think we're milking them for something. I tell you, it's almost impossible to separate ourselves emotionally, because they're not yet totally out of it. Some facets of their real selves are still active. So, words hurt.

We're trying to remember how hard this is for them, how tough it must be to let that thing go you began striving for as soon as you could crawl: independence. The freedom to go and do and be. And now you have a couple of yae-hoos asking if you've taken your medication or if you need to use the restroom. Ridiculous! Who do they think they are, taking over our lives?

Still, when I put myself in their shoes and really think about it, I want to attain peace, not independence. I want to think that this is my lot. This is my time to let go, my season for fading. I'm going to sink into the loving arms of my family, to remember that God is holding me through them. Is that a fundamental perspective difference, a personality difference, or naivety? This whole experience makes me want to firmly establish those routines, those thought patterns of un-anxiety, of trust, that will last me.

My sister Rachel thinks somebody should make cookies, lollipops, etc. laced with weed for the elderly. I can't say I disagree. But also, elderly schmelderly; I could use a lollipop myself. Cream soda flavor, please.

family conversing

In line at the grocery store a couple days ago, there was a tired dad, a very yappy 7-year old boy, and a responsible 9-year old girl ahead of us. If I could always listen to interactions like theirs, I wouldn't mind standing in line. Be sure to read these in a thick, southern Indiana drawl:

Boy: Daddy, what are them [pointing]? What are them, Daddy? Daddy, what are them?
Dad, eventually: Them are Skittles.

....and only seconds later....

Boy: My asthma's gone! My asthma's gone!
Girl: Asthma don't just go away. It never goes away.