When a mother dies.....

When a mother dies.....

Today the call came in that there really is not much more that can be done for my mother. She has battled cascading cancer from HRT for over 10 years. The battle is coming to an end. Hospice is being discussed and all my siblings (there are seven) are as shell shocked as they can be.

For the past six months, I have had time to reflect as to how I'd handle this when it came. This woman has fought through more impending death sentences than a death roe inmate. She has battled more than most people I know against such an insidious disease She was about to die so many times last summer, i started thinking of her as immortal. But one thing she has done for us children with all her fighting is to give us time to ready for her passing. 

I thought I had it all figured out. But I don't. No, the cold fact of the matter is I have grown enough to know that one never really knows how one will act until we are in a given situation, and I believe that includes death of a family member.

Three years ago this month, I lost my mother-in-law. That was hard, actually much harder than anyone could have ever told me it was going to be, My grief seemed to have no outer perimeters, hence no end in sight. Nevertheless, time passed and eventually the severe depression that had cast a pall over my existence for about a year began to fade. If the truth be told, I am just this year coming to accept my loss without horrid, dark sorrow. I miss Eloise. I always will. So, I think it is somewhat ironic that this month might be the month I also lose my biological mother. Just when I thought I was getting better and April and the spring time wouldn't hurt so bad.....

I know I probably should not make this all about me, but I have come to believe that death, when it visits each of us, is intensely personal. I believe that the death of a parent has a different set of grieving emotions than would the death of a child. But pain is pain. Immeasurable and invisible. Mourning has a visible sign with crying. Grief however does not. In can penetrate like nothing else. It truly can "break" one's heart. (Another saying I did not believe in).

Back to the point at the beginning.  As I listen to my siblings slowly "come to Jesus" about Mom's medical situation, I have also come to hear a tiny voice in me that reminds me that no matter what, I am not impervious to grief. No one is but sociopaths. Even if my mother wasn't "June Cleaver", she is still my parent. With her alive, I have an invisible boundary separating me by a generation from looking directly at my own mortality. Having that generation gone will herald a completely new dimension for me. It can be good, but that means one has to come to an end with her passing. That dimension that houses Mom will be gone very soon. And no matter what, that dimension will demand it's pound of flesh in grieving. I know now not to fight that. I will cry the tears that Mom's time on earth deserves. I also personally know, as a NDE (Near Death Experience) survivor, that I will see her again  soon.

I ask all my friends for prayers for my family and me. There can never be enough good wishes and tiding sent towards each other. One thing my mom said once is true today, "No one can receive too much love." She got that right.

Peace to you all

Birds calls

I had dinner the other night with a close friend. We gabbed on so many topics; honestly, I can’t remember everything we covered. It had been quite some time since we caught up with each other. However one topic sticks in my brain that I thought I’d share with you guys. It was about birds. Not the ones falling from the sky like the apocalypse is coming either (-;

My friend recounted a story about finally getting to see and hear her favorite bird in the world, the Loon. With sparkle in her eyes, she told me about being on a quiet lake in New Hampshire, in the early morning and finally getting to see her favorite bird with a BABY. She said the baby was quite large and Mama Loon would have agreed, because as the frightened baby kept trying to jump on Mama’s back for a free ride about the lake, Mama was insistent that Baby swim along. I couldn’t wait to get home and find the call on Youtube: Here it is:

This brought to mind my love of a certain bird and its call. I love all birds, but one in particular stands out for me; the Mourning Dove. I must now admit to you, the reader, my early years of ignorance, clear into my thirties! I thought because I seemed to hear this bird only in the morning, it was called a Morning Dove. Why someone had to give this bird such a sad name, I don’t’ know. I suppose her call can sound mournful. But I always tried to pretend it was saying something. Something I just couldn’t quite make out. Today, that seem silly to some, but I know now that I am not the only one to do this. My daughters think their breast pumps say things to them like: “Wanna coat” or “Need a cot” and more. Maybe one time I’ll write about just that!

I have recently taken to telling my oldest granddaughter that the dove is called the “hide- and- seek bird” I told her if she listened very closely she’d hear it call “Where ARE you, Helen?”

I told her not to answer because that was part of the fun. The bird had to find her. Silly I know. But don’t you think it is fun to think that a bird will play such a simple game with you? I do(-;

Maybe my friend’s endearment to a Loon MEANS something. Maybe my adoring the soothing call of the Mourning Dove says something about me. I don’t know. What I DO know is birds make wonderful sounds if we just sit down long enough to enjoy them.

Ice Ice Baby!

First it was a drought last summer. Than came a wet fall. However, this winter…whew! Enough already!

I actually saw some crazy woman interviewed that said “global warming” was responsible for opening a “artic corridor”. What? I don’t know that I believe in all the global warning stuff. I don’t think I have studied the subject enough, nor do I care to. There are way too many “experts” on the topic for me to want to way in. But I know this;

My poor willow cannot stand much more. As I looked out my picture window Tuesday night and watched the rain weigh the poor baby’s limbs down, I wanted to cry.

She has withstood a previous drought, this last drought and now this. Do I intervene?

Well, yes I do and did. I watered the crap out of last summer.

I love trees. I always have. An abnormal attachment that even makes me cringe when I see loads of cut timber on the back of semis. I have asked the question “Do you suppose trees cringe at the sound of a chain saw like we do when we hear screeching brakes?”

Trees hold the earth down. I think that is why I love them. They hold us all down so we don’t drift away into oblivion. Tress give shade, furniture, warm and land. Just gives it all to us without charge. Amazing that we all don’t give back more than we do.

So…I worry about my tree. I pray for my tree. Stupid I know. Nevertheless, I hope that the patron saint of trees, whoever that is, looks out for and cares for my willow. Amen

My Pup Pups!

Aren't Dogs the Best?!

I think I take one or should I say two of my best friends for granted...most of the time.
My Labradors, Luna and Gunny (the oldest and blind), love me unconditionally. I know this because they get completely thrilled every time I enter a room, let alone come home from being gone for more than 5 minutes.

                                                                                                                     

I think of this now because some weeks are hard. Let's face it, some weeks just plain suck! And absolutely nothing can be done but survive it. But then again....

Every time I get in the tub to soak, especially if I am depressed, I can't help but smile when Gunny successfully finds me. She knows I'm in the bathroom somewhere. She sniffs and snuffles until she finds my hand. She wags, awaits a lick of bar soap from my hand for a few seconds, then lays right down on the bathmat protecting me until I'm through. She never fails to be there. She is quiet. She's patient. But most of all, she always anticipates my moves.

 For instance, she knows when I turn off the shower that I'm getting out, so she'll get up from in front of the shower. She also somehow knows when I'm ready to get out of the tub. She knows if I'm standing to wash or standing to get out. I've never figured out how she knows this blind. But Gunny and her daughter Luna love me enough to know these simple things about me.

I do not walk them enough. I dont brush them enough. I sure am not as good of a friend to them as they are to me. I could do better. I will do better! I will brush them more and feed them less. I didn't mention it but they are both obese. Nevertheless, most of all, I want to learn how to observe my friends as they observe me. I want to be more anticipatory of my friends’ moves and needs like my dogs are to me. But most of all, I want to be as joyful as my dogs are when they see me when I see MY friends.

Thank you Pup Pups for being such loving creatures, and for the reminders with your actions alone how I can be a better person and friend.

What is a Fixer?

That is a very good question. I would have to say that we Fixers are from all walks of life. However, we all have an abnormally strong desire to help others with their problems. For instance;if you were to say "Man, GramE, I can't figure out my taxes!" It would be virtually impossible for me to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll get it.” Believe me; I am still trying to do that after 52 years. I cannot seem to be neutral on ANYTHING!

If you have a problem, I want to help fix it. I believe I am hardwired that way, since no one or nothing short of disowning me, can prevent me from saying "Well, I did...blah blah blah" To which you might say, "I've tried it, it didn't work." I will worry that problem at 2 am until I can figure out a way to help if I can.

Now, I am aware of those that may feel I am being a Busybody, Know it all, Little Miss Nosey.
I get it. People don't always want you to "fix" a problem that they bring to your attention. They just want to be heard. However, the truth of the matter is I truly can not help it. To love me is to accept sometimes I can't “help but help”.

My adult children are doing fine. My grandbabies are too young to need much help other than cuddles, bottles and diaper changes. So, here I am, this font of information on many topics ranging from child rearing to restoring old homes, or how  I think one should kill a copperhead snake.(At least the way that I did it without my dog or me getting bit in the process.) I’ve also learned quite a bit about the sad, disparaging part of human existence and came out with my head help high. I think learning to grieve was one of my hardest lessons. We all have to learn how. It is kind of like learning to walk. Watching others will not help you to learn how, really. No, you have to stand up and do it yourself. But it never hurts to have encouragement.

So, my ADULT children suggested I start a blog. One that anyone can ask for sound advice from the areas of experience from my listed titles, or just plan want to complain and have a Know it all make suggestions for you to think about that you might not have thought of, before you asked a neutral party.

I am a fixer right off Exit 91 and proud of it! Here I am. Tell me how I can help you. In the mean time, I will just keep a running dialog about being fifty something, and all the fun events and not so fun events that arise from time to time.
Thanks for dropping in.