To Everything There is a Season

          For the first time I recently watched “The Odd Life of Timothy Green” – I’m certain it was involved with a lot more symbolism than what I saw.  Timothy came to his mom and dad in the spring and had to leave when the last leaf fell in the fall. 

          I was crying hard as the show came to an end – nothing to do with Timothy Green or his departure or anything to do with the movie at all.  Just reminiscing the long fall that was present during the last five months of 2012 – symbolizing the same fall as my mother and each of us seemed to be going through with her. Her leaves were falling more rapidly each day – and then came the harsh winds of winter. And it’s been cold.  Bitter cold.

          She will never return to spring again.  Not in this life anyway.  The only way she can have spring again is if daddy returns for her.  That may be a long time from now.

          I had no idea that the 8^th would be her last good day.  Our last day as Lucy and Ethel.  She seemed almost comatose after that.  And had passed out at least three times.  And then she was hospitalized. And when I brought her home, she wouldn’t accept it.  I don’t think it would have mattered where I had taken her.  She wouldn’t have wanted to stay.  She certainly doesn’t want to be in the memory care unit that Kayla drove her to. Where she needs to be.

          She sits in the community like a child starting his first day of kindergarten – willing to participate as long as at least one family member is in sight.  Panic sets whenever that family member has left – or so the child believes.

          She doesn’t understand that we’ve moved her in there for her own good – for protection as well as consistency.  She’s safe. She’s not alone.  But somehow – even if she does accept it, she doesn’t retain for even a full minute.

          George and Peggy Bird came to visit mom while Jenna and I were still with her.  I took it as an opportunity to slip out without mom being irate or hurt over it.  Peggy asked if she had had any other visitors.  Mom said no.  Even though Jenna and I were probably still just in the parking lot.

          I think I may be in the fall of my life right now.  I think these winter storms may have pushed me into fall ahead of schedule.  I hope it’s a long fall and that my leaves shine brilliant colors for a long while before the winds set in.  And hopefully my children won’t have to watch me experience the harshness of winter but may enjoy the peace of the falling snow. 

          If I could lose just one ounce per tear – just an ounce – I would have disappeared by now.  I don’t wish to cry anymore.  Lucy wants more time with Ethel – the way it was.

          Today is Kayla’s birthday.  She’s just started the summer of her life.  It looks like it will be summer for a while.  Happy Birthday, Kayla!

The Power of Music

          Paul Cardall must have been 15 at the time he had worked at the ice cream store. They didn’t hire younger than high school.  But he seemed to have such a junior high awkwardness about him.  But he may have lacked in social skills because of his heart and hospitalization and being in and out of the doctors all of the time.  But I don’t know.  I didn’t really have a whole lot of interaction with him.  I’m sure our difference in age and maturity contributed to that.

          Whenever Paul had been assigned to dishes and was able to listen to music – his music – some wholesome music even – the twerpy kid would disappear and he would actually turn into a regular human being.

          Corey said he had had some nice conversations with Paul regarding music.  I would have never dreamed that he would one day perform his music and record albums and become a name in many households.   

          I don’t know where he had been performing when Sunny had taken my mom to see it.  Mom tells it a little differently each time.  But one thing’s for certain – he did request for my mom to come stand by him on the stage as his picture was being taken by various people.

          Mom still has it on the mirror in her new room at assisted living.  And she can tell you about why she has it and how surprised she had been.  But she knew Paul from the ice cream store.  We all did.  Apparently some of us better than others.

          Today there was a program at the community where mom now lives.  Some of my family members were there when we arrived.  We took her by the hand and forced her to sit down. 

          “What’s going on?” she asked.

          “We are listening to someone who is playing the piano.  But it’s not Paul Cardall.”

          She related the story again.  This time she hadn’t known anyone else in the room.  Nor did he.

          In my entire life I had never seen the enthusiasm that mom displayed today – for the first seven or eight songs anyway.  Seems in the past she has always tuned music out so it wasn’t even a background sound.  But today she sang along with the player.  It was so awesome to see that – until Roland got up to escort Jenna out of the building and then panic set in.  She stood up to once again ask why she was there and why none of us would be taking her home.  But for a brief moment there was a vibrant thrill that had been awakened with mom.  And it was great to see her enjoying herself and singing along.

          Jenna had also chimed in with the few songs that she knew.  I love listening to my daughter singing.  She was singing with MercyMe in the car.  I wasn’t aware that she had even known the words to the song.  And I loved that she is so in tune and focused on the music that I like.

          Music can change our mood.  It can uplift our spirits and rejuvenate the soul.  It can also bring us down when dark tunes and lyrics are played.  I prefer being uplifted and invigorated.

          I love that we have so many varieties of music and how it is a language that each of us can understand.  

I have four coats and LOTS of Chapstick

          Having a coat in Utah is a necessity – sometimes a few coats (as there are various kinds) but sometimes the amount of coats one has in his or her possession

isn’t always seen as a necessity – but more of a desire.

          I have never spent an outrageous amount for a coat.  I have usually gone for something economical pricewise. Warm.  Cute.  Except for one year when it seemed the only coats offered were either wool or those down filled sleeping bags with arms (that’s what I called them)  I’m allergic to wool.  Greatly allergic.  I had red rings around my wrists just from trying them on.  Seriously.

 

          I did have a raincoat/trench coat at one time.  I’ve always wanted a rain slicker – but have never purchased one.  Though I did purchase a rain hat at one time.

 

          Currently I have four coats.  Only one of the four that I actually purchased – when I was single and could afford it.  It is my Sunday coat.  It isn’t very warm – though many people think it is.  I’ve had warmer jackets.

          The coat I wear most often – or DID wear the most often is a red reversible that was left behind in the house where we currently live.  It goes to my waist and usually serves its purpose for keeping me warm.

          I received a corduroy jacket from one of Biff’s friends who’d outgrown it.  It’s actually warmer than the red coat and so I’ve worn it a few times during the cold months.  The last couple of times that I put it on, I couldn't button because of my weight.  But it is still warm even when it's open. But I still wear the red coat the most – probably more than the other three put together.  

          Unlike my first coat which looks warmer than it is, I think the corduroy is warmer than it looks.  

          And then there’s the green coat – my only long coat.  Originally purchased by Sunny’s sister when she was on her mission in Spain, but didn’t have a use for it when she returned to the states as she is currently living in Arizona.

          She in turn passed it onto Ellen who is always cold – or so it seems.  She is really quite thin.  And I can’t believe that I can actually wear something that has been on Ellen’s body as I haven’t been that thin for decades.

         I don’t know how many years Ellen kept it before it was passed on to me.  I’ll wear it on occasion as it does cover my legs and so overall really is the warmest of the four.  Usually it has been too warm – except for this year.  Welcome to 2 degree weather!  I haven’t even touched any of the other three coats since the year started.

          Roland doesn’t like it.  He calls it my bag lady coat.  At least it doesn’t look like a sleeping bag with arms!  Roland wouldn’t even be able to be in the same house as one of those as he is allergic to feathers.

          I have a huge assortment of hats and gloves – mostly due to my being an airhead as I’m always misplacing both.  

          The purple hat initially belonged to a former co-worker.  She had made it for herself.  Every day I would tell her what I liked about it.  I thought it was a cute hat.  Possibly cuter on her than me.  The hat is cute – but I can make it appear to look dorky.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps it’s the huge mass of hair I have on my head 

          Roland and I have also knitted hats for each other.  I have never attempted to knit or crochet gloves or mittens however. 

          And then there is the long pink scarf that has been a part of my daily wardrobe many days in November and December and every day since this year began.

          It is, without doubt, the longest scarf I have ever seen in my life.  Sunny gave it to me just before the first really cold day.  I could wrap that pupper around my head and my neck and still have a lot left to cover both back and front.  And I really do stay warm.  

          My car has killed over a few times - I’m sure due to the cold.  I wouldn’t blame it for stopping all together.  But am very grateful that it doesn’t (or at least hasn’t yet). 

          The air has been so fricken cold – and dry.  Very DRY. 

          I had purchased a package of Chapsticks.  20 -  40 of them – which I meant to use as stocking stuffers but then forgot about them.  But I retrieved the package earlier this month and have opened several tubes and placed them in pockets of each coat and each purse or tote that I may use.  I don’t ever wish to be caught without something to keep my lips from cracking.

          You know it’s been cold when 20 degrees actually feels warm.

I’m Not Staying Here, Take Me Home

          Wow.  What a day. 

          Mom was discharged with a great bill of health.  Great . . .  

          The paper work had not yet been processed for the assisted living.  Mom didn’t have to go to a rehab center as had been speculated earlier.  She was discharged.  And it was up to me to drive her away from the hospital.
          It was disheartening as I watched the nurses wheel her to the curb and load her into my car.  Less than nine years before, I had given birth to Jenna.  And it was mom who was driving while the nurses wheeled me out and loaded me up.  It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about it.  I absolutely HATE this role reversal thing.

          So I take her to the house where she has lived for the last fifty years (and she has not lived anywhere else during that time) and we actually have trouble getting in the door (I don’t think my key got cut all the way) and have to really work at getting in.

          She doesn’t have a problem until we have walked through the door.  She sits down and checks HER MAIL – mail addressed to the house where I had taken her.  I say I am fixing lunch.  She says she is not hungry.  I still fix her lunch.  She childish refuses to eat.

          I tell her to take off her coat. 

          “I don’t want to stay here!”

          “Where do you want to be?”

          “Home.  My home.”

          “Do you have an address?”

          She was irate – thinking I was just playing games with her.  I guess I was.  But not to be funny. But it’s just better to give in to her reality than to argue.  But her reality doesn’t have an address. 

          But she doesn’t want to stay in the house where we are because it’s boring!  So I ask what makes it boring.  What makes her other replica house more exciting?

          She said it’s not the house itself – but the location.  Her other house is in the city.  And there is a store on every corner!  She doesn’t want to live in this boring house in the “country”.

          I cover my mouth and hope that she doesn’t see the laughter in my eyes.  Mom’s house may not be downtown city – but it is definitely NOT the country. I’ll admit that the location was on a bit the desolate side 50 years ago – but the city has built its way around her house.  There are at least thirty eating places that can be walked to.

          A former neighbor from across the street knocks at the door.  He came to talk to Nate.  Mom told him that Nate didn't live there.  Then she practically ordered the neighbor in to explore her “weird house” with her.  He seemed to provide more comforting words than I did.  She still wasn’t convinced, but he seemed to calm her nerves.  And he helped to lighten my load. 

          I had to go get Jenna from school.  Mom was ready to go at 2:30.  Jenna’s school doesn’t let out until 3:20.  Her school is only ten minutes away.  I wasn’t planning on leaving and told mom hang tight for another 30 minutes.  We played Taboo.

          Both Kayla and Sunny offered to sit while I went and got Jenna – but I knew that mom was anxious to leave and so I told both that it would be an hour less that each of them would have to deal with if I were to take her and have Nate come pick her up from where I currently reside.

          So after I picked up Jenna, I brought mom to my home.  She hasn’t been here often, but hasn’t ever been comfortable with being here.  I don’t blame her though.  I’m not all that comfortable myself.

          But yesterday she was content.  She finally ate something and watched one sitcom while we waited for Nate to come get her.  For in her mind, Nate and Ellen live in her new house.  So even though I couldn’t remember her new address, Nate would know where to take her.

          Poor mom.  I hope that when we are able to move her into assisted living – which hopefully will be soon this week – she may “recognize it” as somewhere she’s been before and will feel more at home there than she does in the house where she actually does live but doesn’t want to anymore.

          I’m certain that once she gets going, she will be comfortable in the community and know that she is not alone.  She will be on a consistent schedule and she’ll have peers that will share in her limited time frame.  Of course we will all continue to visit her – but as her children and not her primary care givers.  And that will be a blessing to ALL of us.