Saying Good-Bye to Mom's Angel

I wondered which one of us (me or my brother Corey) would post about Harold first.  I came up with most of these thoughts and typed them in by 1:00 am this morning - but only drafted it as I had no title.

Last year we (my sibs and I) put mom into an assisted living program as she was in need of 24/7 care.  This time last year she was trying to escape.  She wore her coat and carried her purse and would walk around the doors and windows of the facility – looking for a way out.  She wasn’t happy there – not all the time anyway.

By mid April, mom had accepted her new home and was reading everything she could get her hands on.  She didn’t retain anything.  But she did read.

I don’t think it was until May when she developed an attraction to Harold and soon the two became inseparable.  I find it interesting that Corey created this post on June 3.  Mom has a boyfriend.  And just one month later I created this post indicating that he was not.  Depending on her mood.

Actually, I don’t ever recall mom referring to Harold as her boyfriend.  That was more from our point of view.  It really depended on mom’s mood and the turn of events that took place each day.

Harold had known that mom was diabetic and was not supposed to have sugar.  And some days he’d scold her or strongly advice against satisfying her “sugar eating desire” Those were the days when she would not even acknowledge Harold as a friend.  He became “that guy” – an intrusive resident. 

Other days (I’m finding in most cases) mom was infatuated so much that she would rather remain in the company of Harold than to have to leave him in order to visit with one of us.  Corey lovingly wrote this post about feeling like “second fiddle” – but not really.  It did seem somewhat comical at times.

In the beginning, Harold was just “an old man – old enough to be mom’s father” or so she’d say.  I figured there were probably a good number of years between them – nothing that drastic however.  I had asked Harold his age and learned it was a twelve-year difference.  The same as with my sister and her husband.

By August mom was beaming while telling people about her friend, Harold.  In her mind they were only five years apart.  I find it interesting that her mind had gone from one extreme to another in only two months.  For each month she lived there, she fully believed it had been another year.

Harold was quite bent over.  For the most part when I saw him, he was wearing blue scrubs.  He was very positive and always wore a smile on his face.  He and my mom were so very happy to have one another.  Funny how they never sat together for meals.  Except for mealtime, rarely was one ever seen without the other.

On September first, after mom was found upon the floor and rushed to the hospital, the staff told Harold to get rid of all of his candy.  Harold blamed himself for mom’s condition.  But it wasn’t his fault.  A few fun-sized candy bars would not have made her blood count go that high.  Two truckloads of candy would probably not have made her blood sugar go that high.

We thought she would die in the hospital.  Harold had made arrangements for one of his sons to bring him to the hospital to see her.  He was all decked out in suit and tie.  He came in to visit with mom and held her hand and talked to her with his loving voice. 

Mom didn’t wish to die in the hospital.  She wanted to return to the assisted living.  She lay in her room in a hospital bed and Harold would come to visit – knowing she would pass.  He was ever so gentle with her.  He loved her. And she him.

When he wasn’t in her room, he would visit with Joh and tell him things about his relationship with my mom.  Joh said it was my mom’s desire for she and Harold to wed and maybe have a child together.  Harold had reminded her that they both had spouses already.

At the funeral he rushed to the casket for one last good-bye.  I had never seen Harold move so quickly.  It was also the straightest I had ever seen his posture.

After she died, Harold tried to return to living without her.  He wanted to smile and help with the residents the way he had before.  And he did . . . for a while.  But in time the smile faded.  He missed mom!  There was no doubt about it.

Corey would call him.  Kayla and I would visit on occasion.  Jenna and I would take the bus.  We may have stopped when we no longer had bus passes.  But I would write to him and call him and let him know we would come see him when the weather cleared.

I thought we could go during Jenna’s Valentine/Presidents Day holiday – unfortunately she got sick.  And I am currently with my annual February sinus infection.  I planned to call him when my head cleared.  I guess there’s no sense in calling.  His daughter-in-law called me and told me that Harold is now on hospice.  That is a good thing really. 

The last two times that Jenna and I did visit was heart breaking.  Harold seemed so bent to the floor that it appeared his head was nearly in alignment with his feet.  He was banged up in different places each time we would visit.  He had taken I don’t know how many spills.  He would walk us to the door but he had slowed down.  But he’s going to be whole again pretty soon.  And he will finally be able to meet dad.  He and mom can have a reunion and the two couples can have a party.  It will be great!

I’m sorry that Harold declined so much after my mom passed.  I am sorry he became so sad.  He really didn’t enjoy living there.  And now he won’t have to anymore.  Thank you, Harold, for befriending mom and for allowing her to experience the joy.  May you share some great moments in the afterlife as well.

Preparedness

Preparedness (according to Wikipedia) refers to a very concrete research based set of actions that are taken as precautionary measures in the face of potential disasters. These actions can include both physical preparations (such as emergency supplies depots, adapting buildings to survive earthquakes and so on) and trainings for emergency action. Preparedness is an important quality in achieving goals and in avoiding and mitigating negative outcomes. 

Methods of preparation include research, estimation, planning, resourcing, education, practicing and rehearsing.

         It’s been eighteen years since BYU hosted the imperial tombs of china – an exhibit that my mom and I had gone to.  I found it odd that these rulers would spend their entire lives preparing for their deaths.  But then I suppose to some extent many of us experience a similar thing.

         Oh, we don’t design the interior of our tombs, or have servants weave the jade suit that we will be buried in, or spend billions of dollars recreating an army of statues or select people to be buried with us. Yet there are millions who will send a check to a life insurance company each month so that their beneficiaries may be able to use that money on their burial when the time comes.  Some actually plan out their programs, purchase plots, and even make final arrangements for themselves. And sometimes those plans are carried out.  Others are not.  And it’s not as if the deceased will really be the ones who benefit

         We are also encouraged to prepare to face disaster.  Keep a backpack near the front door so that we can evacuate at a moments notice.  It has happened.  An apartment complex had flooded and the tenants were asked to relocate.  Fires in various cities have kept the residence away – or rather it has been enforced.  

There are a number of reasons why we need toprepare.  We may have invested on creating a food or water storage for example.  We may need it when the weather is great and there are no elements to force us to leave our house. We may use your food supply during the time we are out of work and there is no income.  Roland and I lived off food storage and charity for two years.  And I am grateful that we had the sense to store the food that we had – for it was desperately needed.

         One day last week Roland and I had the opportunity of attending an emergency preparedness class.  I had made arrangements to leave Jenna with a friend, but she said she wanted to go to the class.  I had heard the “earthquake lady”’s demonstration before.  This video will give you an idea of how involved she is with emergency preparedness.

         For Christmas she will give “preparedness” gifts – and while it’s a wonderful thought, I bet the average receiver (grateful or not) would hope that she or he will never have the opportunity to use said gift.  I have a hard time collecting “stuff” that takes up space when I’m having a hard enough time finding space for the essential day to day stuff.

 

         We were advised to prepare backpacks for each individual in the family.  Jenna took her words to heart  – and though she couldn’t find a backpack to use, has put together the necessary items and had filled a handled bag.  If we were asked to leave the house right now, she is the only one who is physically ready.

        

Two Weeks

 
Two weeks after I started my blog I became part of a search party who went out looking for mom who had dementia and had wandered from home.  She could not be left alone.  Each of us worked out a schedule so that someone would always be with her.

Two weeks after this year started mom was released from the hospital and spent her last night at the house she’d lived in for over fifty years. It had been on a Sunday when Ellen found my mom passed out and called for Nate to assist.  Patrick ended up taking her to the hospital.  He and Nate were both dressed for church but stayed at the hospital all day. They did not go to Church that day. Patrick had chosen to stay with mom. On Monday mom’s four children worked together to fill out the paperwork to move mom into assisted living. On Wednesday Kayla took mom to her new home at the assisted living facility – the last place she would live. And Corey came from Las Vegas to assist and say good-bye to the house. 

Two weeks ago we lay mom to rest - buried beside my dad.  She’d been rushed to the hospital two weeks prior to that.  It was on a Sunday when she was found passed out on the floor. She'd been rushed to the hospital. Patrick met her at there.   He was dressed for church but stayed at the hospital all day.  He did not go to Church that day.  He had chosen to stay with mom. He took the next two weeks off.  And Corey drove from Las Vegas to say good-bye.  We all spent time with her for 7-10 days.  And then she finally let go.

Two weeks ago Corey and Kayla and I met Fern and Michelle at the Mortuary.  We watched Corey and the Mortician dress my mom.  Michelle applied some lipstick – that’s all that was needed.  Mom looked like she always does when she falls asleep. She still has her purse.

Two weeks ago we talked with family and friends who had come to pay their last respects.  Sunny offered a beautiful prayer before we all went into the chapel. I tied mom’s bow and veiled her face – my final act of service for her.  The lid was closed.  I think Brian cried the hardest. His sobs just seemed louder than the rest - maybe because he's a giant.

 Two weeks ago today we paid our last respects and shared our stories and beautiful thoughts for such a marvelous woman.  Daddy’s birthday was the day after the farewell services.  It was on a Sunday. Corey had planned to spend this week with mom. Instead she's spending it with dad.  We miss you mom! (and dad)

Ode to David Smith

We all know a

David Smith such a

common name 

In my case you were

the boy next door

middle child

your mom and

my mom showed

pregnant bellies

three times the

same time – well maybe

just two and a half.

Tow headed blonds

we both were

neighborhood games

and school

Your family had

the only trampoline

there for a while

chain linked fence

separated our back yards

we grew

neither of us married

until our late thirtys

you had two daughters

I have one.  Wish we could

have gotten them together

before you passed on

a year ago last month

Your final act of

service happened when

you were only 49.  You

were in the basement of

your parents up 
on the ladder I believe 
and you lost your balance 
or your footing

and you fell and left this

earth life. 

Your family will keep your

memory alive and I

hope that your girls may

visit often and learn more about

who you were and

who you are now.

It's Been A Tough Week

          A week ago yesterday mom

was discharged from the hospital

A week ago yesterday I

drove her home – her actual house. 

She wanted me to take her

to the one in her mind.

A week ago yesterday I drove

her to my house where we waited

for Nate (my nephew) to come

get her and take her

to her real home. 

A week ago she was

still distorted and not

satisfied with where she was.

A week ago today my

brother Patrick and his son-in-law

Nate moved some of mom’s furniture. 

A week ago today my sister-in-law

Sunny and our friend Becky

helped pack clothes.

A week ago today

unbeknownst to my mom,

she spent her last day

in the house where she started

a new life with dad and raised all

four of her children.

A week ago today my

sister Kayla took my mom

to the doctor. 

A week ago today, Patrick and

Sunny and their daughter Ellen

rearranged mom’s furniture and

decorated her walls.  

A week ago today Kayla drove mom

from the doctor’s office to what

appears to be her permanent home. 

A week ago today (well tonight) mom

spent her first night in

the assisted living community.

A week ago tomorrow my

brother Corey arrived at Salt Lake airport.

A week ago tomorrow Sunny picked

him up from the airport and

drove him to the house where

he had been raised. 

A week ago tomorrow my

mother received visits from each

of her kids and some

of the grandchildren.

A week ago today mom expressed

to each of us that she didn’t/doesn’t

want to stay and for her desire for

each of us to take her home.

There are photos taped around

the mirror. Mom had taped them

there herself.  They are her photos. She

has fond memories of each one –

perhaps some more than others.  Some

of them have been removed. She has

taken them off the mirror and put

them into her purse so that she will

have them when she gets to leave –

and return to the house that exists in

her mind but doesn’t

have an address for.  

Yesterday Corey cancelled his
flight and rented a truck

Today he'll pick up the truck and
fill it with things  that are his as
well as my moms.

Tomorrow he will drive
back to Las Vegas

                                      kfralc

Understanding Death

          Many people are upset by death or have a lack of understanding.  It’s really hard when it is children whose lives have been claimed before they have much of an opportunity to live.  Or a young parent with children still in diapers.

          Many believe that death is the end.  It is when the Spirit no longer needs the body.  Death is the end of mortality – but not the end of existing on earth in a human sense.  The Spirit lives on and has the opportunity to reunite with loved ones who have already passed on.

          Roland started off last month attending his sister’s funeral.  Her death was very unexpected – but I’ve learned to handle sudden death rather graciously, I think.  I have seen too many spend their last years dying – and that, for me personally, is a lot more difficult to handle.

          Roland said the priest had a thick Jamaican accent and was hard to understand.  He did turn the time over to the family members who wished to say something.  Roland, of course, jumped at the opportunity and explained the spirit world to his family and defined his sister’s whereabouts – how she is now reunited with their father, her husband, her youngest daughter and countless others who have passed before her.  

          I would have taken the opportunity also – had I been there.  Jenna had already missed two days of school when we had gone down for the party.  I couldn’t risk three more, could I?

          As it turned out, Jenna was throwing up the night before.  With her sensitive stomach she does NOT do well in the car.  I doubt we would have even made it out of the city. 

          Roland can make it to his family’s house in about 12 hours when he is by himself – but when Jenna and I are with him, there are more stops required which have added two to four hours to his time. 

          I would rather deal with death than deterioration whether of the mind or the body – or both.  My dad’s mind was very sharp and alert – up until his dying day.  But not everybody saw that.

          After the strokes robbed him of being able to use his muscles, his brain would tell his mouth what to say but it was slurred – hard to understand for most.  And so many thought he had lost his mind as well.  But he knew fully well what was taking place.  It must have been so frustrating Not to communicate that.

          And I know dad is not alone.  There are many who are robbed of health physically.  And even though their minds may be active, their thoughts are not always conveyed – and that hurts.

          And then there’s my mom – whose mind seems to be going before her body does.  And because she forgets, she also neglects her physical health.  Either way seems to be a raw deal.  But I don’t always think of death as a raw deal – but sometimes the way one dies is unbearable and often too hard to think about.

          Roland’s sister went quickly.  There was little suffering on her part.  Her daughter had a really hard time with it.  I don’t think she would if she understood that this earth life is just a test.  It is where we do things with physical bodies that a spirit by itself cannot do.  But we only have these bodies on borrowed time.  The spirit lives on.  So people don’t really die – they’re just separated from bodies they don’t need any more. 

Those who have touched so many lives live in our memories and are shared with others through words, through books, through the Internet.  Those who have made such impact and impression never really die.  We know their names.  We have their histories.  They are a part of us.

If He’s Just Going to Die Anyway . . .

My dad had had a series of strokes later in life.  Some of them were so “small” that they went undetected.  The first one I remember had temporarily paralyzed the left side of his jaw.  Not realizing the magnitude of what was happening, we made jokes about it.

Because he was such a quiet man, we commented that his jaw was sliding off his face as he never used it. It eventually returned to his normal appearance.  It wasn’t until later on that we learned his downward jaw had been the result of one of the strokes he had had.

Dad started keeping odd hours.  He’d be awake while the rest of us were asleep and vise-versa.  He was in need of care 24-7 and it became too overwhelming at times.  We were told that the insurance he had would not cover a live-in aide – but they did have a list of nursing homes.  We did our best to avoid it, but it finally got to the point that we needed assistance.  I don’t know how we ended up with the facility that we did.  It was depressing.

He actually had strength left in his hands as he would hang on for dear life to any person who would assist him in walking out to the car or whatever.  We called it “the death grip”.  I would always stop in our tracks and tell him, “If you would like to continue moving, you will have to ease up on your grip because you are hurting me!” 

He’d laugh and his juices would come out and he’d start to drool. It was painful watching him go downhill.

We took my dad to therapy.  He was a favorite patient as he was very cooperative to do everything he was told. Except for one time when my mom took him out of bed and tried walking with him and decided to put him back before someone came in and caught them doing something that they weren’t supposed to do.

Mom would push on one side and race around the bed to pull him.  He laughed while she frantically moved from one side to the other saying, “Someone is coming. I don’t even know if we were suppose to get you out of bed”

Mom had done therapy with him.  They were both quite worn out when an orderly came in and brightly asked, “Are you ready for physical therapy?”

Mom looked at dad and nodded “yes” while he shook his head “No”.

Because the muscles in his mouth weren’t working the way they should, it became difficult to swallow anything.  We started out with thick juices and nectars to a no liquid restriction. He was given wet sponges to suck on in order to quench his thirst.

Each stroke left him paralyzed just a little bit more. He walked with a cane.  His speech became difficult to understand.  So difficult that many didn’t realize he still had the ability to think and still had a sharp mind. 

One time my brother’s family brought to him a vase of flowers.  When he was alone in the room, he removed the flowers and drank the water from the vase.  My sister-in-law was upset.  She said she hadn’t even cleaned the vase all that well, and would have done a better job had she known.  It was dirty water.  He was desperately thirsty though.

He would get out of bed and fall and was restrained and would cry that he was being tied up.  And we would cry with him.  Sometimes we would loosen the bands and then report our deeds to the nurse. 

I really don’t remember how long he’d been there.  But the insurance company gave us a deadline for when they would no longer supply payment for keeping him there. Eleven days before the deadline he had another stroke.  An ambulance took him to the hospital that was near the house of my family.  Someone went to see him every day.

We were able to teach him some finger spelling – which of course came slow.  And if we asked a question that wasn’t a “yes” or “no” question – it became quite a game to figure out the answer.

One time my mom went up to one of the members of the Church to thank him for visiting my dad.  He was taken aback and asked sincerely, “How did you know that?”

“He told me.”

“He told you?”

“Yes.”

“But when I saw him . . . I didn’t know he could . . . How did he tell you?”

Dad loved chocolate milk shakes and hamburgers.  He had been hooked up to a feeding tube.  Daddy had already lost so much weight.  His legs were thin – like arms. He still had tastable desires.

Once my mom asked, “If he’s just going to die anyway, what difference does it make whether we give him a milk shake or not.”

The comment brought on some cold hearted stares, but seeing the sadness in mom’s eyes, they knew she was right.  It was highly probable that he would not be leaving the hospital alive.  And he did get at least two milk shakes out of the deal.

My dad never returned to the nursing home.  He spent his 54^th birthday in the hospital – he was laid to rest a month later. He’d been released from his physical body.  He had endured to the end.  And he hadn’t complained.  How amazing is that?

It was a beautiful day.  The sun was shining.  My brother, Patrick, and I both gave talks. We played a recording of Corey reading his poem (as he was on his mission at the time) and my sister, Kayla sang Amy Grant’s “Father’s Eyes”  It was a really nice tribute.  I miss my dad.  I think of him quite a bit on really awesome days that take place in the fall.