This past weekend a friend asked me "How do you do it?" He was referring to my working in a place where, on a regular basis, people die. (I work in an assisted living facility.) My answer was embarrassingly incomplete.
I have since given his question a lot of thought. How DO I do it? I certainly don't take it lightly. Nor am I depressed when one of our residents dies. Sad...yes. Tears do flow.
Today I think I'm closer to the answer I wish I had days ago.
I have noticed that most people become more honest towards the end of their life. Honest with themselves and those around them. They are past the point of beating around the bush when it comes to life's important questions. The past is done. Sometimes completely forgotten. The future is not something that they are anticipating. There are those who want to know that "Yes, there will be another meal today." or that "This afternoon we will have music in the dining room." But for the most part...the closer a person gets to the end of their time here on earth...the more present they are in the moments they have. And...the more present I am with them...in those moments.
In the cases where the person has dementia...and they've flipped into a past time...I am there with them. Our conversation may be about them getting ready for a dance...or how they need to get home soon to finish sewing their daughter's wedding gown. It doesn't matter. They've invited me into that moment of their life...and I'm there with them. "Tell me about your beau." or "What does the dress look like?" I can be there too.
Many of our residents are Catholic and they talk about going to heaven. Most of them are tired and have days when they share with me, "Growing old is the pits." A moment later we can be laughing ourselves silly over some unexpected comment another person makes. Moment to moment. We travel together. My time with them is the most important part of my job. And thankfully...it brings me the greatest joy!
Because they live together and eat together, they become family to each other. Everyone notices when someone at their table is not there. A missing place mat can cause quite a stir. When someone there dies...although life does go on...it effects those left behind greatly. After such news, the conversation will often center around "I could be next. You never know." It weighs on their minds.
Although there have been a few cases where a person has died unexpectedly, usually there is a decline ahead of time and hospice becomes involved. As their days become numbered, we are allowed to go in and say goodbye. If a family member is there, I always ask permission. If not, I let the caregiver know. I don't know who these people were back when they were "in their prime." I only know them now. I have no history to get past. I only have the present to be in. I tell them who I am, touch them softly, call them by name and tell them I love them. I thank them for sharing their time with me. I tell them that I will be praying for them and that all will be well. "God is with you...and will never leave you." Sometimes I pray out loud then and there. Sometimes I pray quietly. Usually I give them a kiss.
The first woman I sat with I didn't know well. She had been in a wheelchair, her legs had been amputated above her knees. She didn't come in the coffee shop very often. I talked about the pictures on her walls, the "treasures" that surrounded her. I sat with her for two hours...longer than I've sat with anyone since. A couple days after she died, I had a vision. It was Katherine. Not the Katherine I knew, in the wheelchair with no legs. It was a younger Katherine...whole and peaceful. She smiled and her eyes were full of love. "Thank you." she said. And that was it. She was gone.
How do I do it? I let God love these people through me. And I end up getting to love them too! It's more than "the circle of life." It's one precious moment after another.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Christmas Lights To Remember
Last week I had the opportunity to share the story of my mom's passing with my boss. (I work in an assissted living facility now and we were talking about what happens there, when one of the residents dies.) By the time I finished my story...we were both laughing. You see...there is humor both in life...and in death.
Sometime I will write about the end of mom's life. About how moving it was to witness her life draw to a close and about what an honor it was for me to be there with her. But not today. Today, I will share the lighter side of the story.
It was December 29, 2009. We all knew mom's life was coming to an end. After living with Alzheimer's Disease for over seven years, her passing would come at any moment. There was a different feeling in our home that day. Kind of a heavy feeling...not necessarily of sadness...but more of resignation, or acceptance, perhaps. Family came by. Friends came by. Our pastor came by. Each spent a bit of time with mom in her room...then they left. And mom was still here. I slept with her that night. Singing Christmas carols and Sunday School songs softly to her, praying over her and just cuddling with her. I was sure she'd be gone by morning...but she wasn't.
In the morning, outside of mom's bedroom, life went on. As "normally" as it had been for years. Jeff and I had coffee and read the paper. He had the day off, which I was thankful for. Stephanie got up, kissed mom goodbye and went to work...leaving us with the instructions, "Call me if anything happens."
Jennifer came over...she decided to take the day off. Her husband, Terry, would come by later. Kori (originally Jenn's friend) took the day off also. Over the years she had come to think of mom as "her grandma" too.
As the day creeped along, Jeff puttered around the house, the girls watched TV and I went back and forth between chatting with them, checking on mom...and napping alongside her. It was about suppertime and Jeff was pondering what he would make for us. I took that opportunity to crawl back in bed with mom. Within minutes...mom died. It was a very peaceful passing. Not at all what I was ready for. No sound. No nothing. And I wondered, "So...that's it? All the years we spent together...and that's it? No final words to me?" (I probably would've jumped out of my skin if there were any last words...as she hadn't really spoke to me in months.) I took her pulse...several times...and there was just...nothing.
I went into the living room where everyone was sitting and announced, "She's gone." "Are you sure?" Jenn asked. "I took her pulse" I said, holding my palms upward, as I did when the kids were little, (the "all gone" pose) shaking my head..."nothing." It was as if a signal to take action went off. Everyone got up and we all went into mom's room. For a few moments we all were sitting on mom's bed, silently saying our goodbyes. "Are you sure she's dead?" Kori asked. "I took her pulse several times. You can try too." And they did. Each of them. On her neck and on her wrists. No pulse anywhere. We even got a little compact mirror and held it under her nose to see if there would be even a tiny little trace of steamy breath on there. (Something one of us must have seen on some TV cop show once.) Still nothing. Yes. We were all in agreement that mom had died. "So...now what do we do?" Jenn asked. "Well. We don't HAVE to do anything right this minute." I said. "We should call Stephanie. And Amy and David...Uncle Bob...and then when we're ready...we should call Hospice." Steph said that she would try and leave work as soon as possible...but she didn't feel the need to see mom's body. And she didn't want to be showing up as the body was being taken out by the mortuary people. Okay. Understandable. The first call was done. Check. We made the rest of the family calls. Amy, check. David, check. Uncle Bob, check. I had this mental list of things I needed to do...and felt that if I went slowly I could check them off one by one. Four calls down...one to go. Hospice. I called Hospice thinking that they would call the funeral home and they would come right by and pick mom up. After all...the funeral home was only twenty blocks away. That's not exactly how it went. Hospice did call the funeral home...but apparently it was a busy night for them...and we were told that they could come in about three hours. Who knew a funeral home could have busy nights? Like a lunch rush in a restaurant! We agreed to the 9:00 pick up time...thinking that it actually would work out just fine...as Steph would be home a little before 10:00...and they surely would be gone by then. It would also give us enough time to pack up some clothes, make-up etc. to send with them.
I blew out the small candles that had been burning in mom's room. They had provided enough light for "end of life hours"...but now we needed more light. We had clothes to pick out, makeup and accessories to choose...the bedroom light was going to have to be switched on. I had gotten rid of most of mom's clothing a year ago...saving a few of her favorite outfits...and those were the ones we were debating over. Once the dress was decided upon, the accessories were next. Then came the "wig or no wig" question. Mom was born a red head. And she considered herself a red head. She had worn Eva Gabor wigs for decades. When she began losing her hair from chemotherapy, she snipped off a good size lock of hair and sewed it to a paper tab...so she could bring that swatch into the wig store with her...forever. For the last three years of her life, however, we didn't put the wigs on her. We opted for her second choice...the turban. Very chic. And much more comfortable. So...we were used to her with no wig...but should she be buried with one on? I voted no. Let her go au natural. I was quickly...and loudly outvoted. "Grandma would not be caught dead without her wig and make up on!" All of these choices were made in mom's room, sitting on her bed...with her still in there. Although she had no say in the matter...we kept looking over at her...lovingly, like we were girlfriends picking out what she was going to wear to the prom!
Once everything was packed up and ready to go, we turned off the light and went back into the living room. It was almost 9:00. Jeff said, "I turned on the Christmas lights outside...so your mom can see them from heaven. She can tell everyone...'See those lights...that's our house!'" (We do put up a LOT of lights. Thousands of lights. It is quite possible that they can be seen from heaven.) I sat on the piano bench by the window, next to the Christmas tree and waited for the mortuary people. A van pulled up and stopped. "I think it's them. They're getting out of the van." Then there was a white flash. "Nope. It's someone taking pictures of the decorations." They left. A few minutes later, another van pulled up. "I think this is them." Flash. Flash. More pictures of the house with all the lights. A third van pulled up. Two men in dark suits got out. They looked at the house and paused for a moment. I'm sure as busy as they had been that night...they had not made any pick ups from a house more decorated than ours. "Come on in." I said as I met them on the porch. "Probably the brightest house you've been to tonight, eh?" "That's for sure." one fellow answered. Once inside, I don't know for sure what they expected to see...but I couldn't help but feel they were surprised. The house was as fully decorated on the inside as the outside. Nativity scenes, snowmen, Santa's, poinsettias...everywhere! I got the feeling that part of their job was to console us a bit...but that's not "where we were." They were quite subdued, formally dressed...being very careful and respectful...and looking a bit bewildered. We, on the other hand, were in jeans, sweatshirts and slippers...and we had mom all packed up and ready to go.
I led them to mom's room and they assessed the situation. Their gurney was not going to make it around the corners to her room...this was for sure. Trying to be helpful, I suggested that they stand it on end and take it in there that way...like we did the antique sofa. The two men looked at me like I was crazy. Then I began to giggle...as I got the mental picture of how that would look coming OUT of mom's room...with mom on board. "Uh...never mind. I guess that wouldn't really work so well..." It was decided that they would roll the gurney in as far as possible and then carry her to it. Which they did. I offered to help...but they thought it best for me to go back into the living room and wait. I obliged. Kori then turned to me in a panic and asked, "What if she's not really dead? Shouldn't we get an official opinion?" My first impulse was to laugh. More than three hours had passed since the four of us had each declared that mom was indeed gone. We had been in her room the whole time, on her bed, lights on. There was no sign of life at all. I could see that she was really serious...she was worried. Laughing would not have been a helpful response. "Oh Kori...Honey...I would not have called for them to come pick mom up, if for even a fleeting moment, I felt that she might be still alive."
Just then, they rolled mom's body into the living room. She had been laying on her side, knees bent, when she died. Now she was on her back, knees bent, on the gurney. One of the men was trying to straighten out her legs a bit...which startled me. "You know...her knees have been bent for years...arthritis...I really don't think you're going to straighten them out now." "Oh. Okay. How about if we turn her back on her side then?" he asked. "That would be fine." I told him. So he did. They had a pillow under her head. And a beautiful quilt over her body. We each gave her a goodbye kiss and they rolled her towards the front door.
As they were carrying her out the door and down the front steps, a station wagon pulled up across the street from our house. Flash. Flash. It made me chuckle. How many people do you suppose have a photo like that? A house fully decorated for Christmas, with a multitude of colorful lights on both sides of the yard...and in the middle of it all...coming down the walkway, a body being carried out on a gurney, by two men in dark suits. Won't they be surprised when they download their photos!
Sometime I will write about the end of mom's life. About how moving it was to witness her life draw to a close and about what an honor it was for me to be there with her. But not today. Today, I will share the lighter side of the story.
It was December 29, 2009. We all knew mom's life was coming to an end. After living with Alzheimer's Disease for over seven years, her passing would come at any moment. There was a different feeling in our home that day. Kind of a heavy feeling...not necessarily of sadness...but more of resignation, or acceptance, perhaps. Family came by. Friends came by. Our pastor came by. Each spent a bit of time with mom in her room...then they left. And mom was still here. I slept with her that night. Singing Christmas carols and Sunday School songs softly to her, praying over her and just cuddling with her. I was sure she'd be gone by morning...but she wasn't.
In the morning, outside of mom's bedroom, life went on. As "normally" as it had been for years. Jeff and I had coffee and read the paper. He had the day off, which I was thankful for. Stephanie got up, kissed mom goodbye and went to work...leaving us with the instructions, "Call me if anything happens."
Jennifer came over...she decided to take the day off. Her husband, Terry, would come by later. Kori (originally Jenn's friend) took the day off also. Over the years she had come to think of mom as "her grandma" too.
As the day creeped along, Jeff puttered around the house, the girls watched TV and I went back and forth between chatting with them, checking on mom...and napping alongside her. It was about suppertime and Jeff was pondering what he would make for us. I took that opportunity to crawl back in bed with mom. Within minutes...mom died. It was a very peaceful passing. Not at all what I was ready for. No sound. No nothing. And I wondered, "So...that's it? All the years we spent together...and that's it? No final words to me?" (I probably would've jumped out of my skin if there were any last words...as she hadn't really spoke to me in months.) I took her pulse...several times...and there was just...nothing.
I went into the living room where everyone was sitting and announced, "She's gone." "Are you sure?" Jenn asked. "I took her pulse" I said, holding my palms upward, as I did when the kids were little, (the "all gone" pose) shaking my head..."nothing." It was as if a signal to take action went off. Everyone got up and we all went into mom's room. For a few moments we all were sitting on mom's bed, silently saying our goodbyes. "Are you sure she's dead?" Kori asked. "I took her pulse several times. You can try too." And they did. Each of them. On her neck and on her wrists. No pulse anywhere. We even got a little compact mirror and held it under her nose to see if there would be even a tiny little trace of steamy breath on there. (Something one of us must have seen on some TV cop show once.) Still nothing. Yes. We were all in agreement that mom had died. "So...now what do we do?" Jenn asked. "Well. We don't HAVE to do anything right this minute." I said. "We should call Stephanie. And Amy and David...Uncle Bob...and then when we're ready...we should call Hospice." Steph said that she would try and leave work as soon as possible...but she didn't feel the need to see mom's body. And she didn't want to be showing up as the body was being taken out by the mortuary people. Okay. Understandable. The first call was done. Check. We made the rest of the family calls. Amy, check. David, check. Uncle Bob, check. I had this mental list of things I needed to do...and felt that if I went slowly I could check them off one by one. Four calls down...one to go. Hospice. I called Hospice thinking that they would call the funeral home and they would come right by and pick mom up. After all...the funeral home was only twenty blocks away. That's not exactly how it went. Hospice did call the funeral home...but apparently it was a busy night for them...and we were told that they could come in about three hours. Who knew a funeral home could have busy nights? Like a lunch rush in a restaurant! We agreed to the 9:00 pick up time...thinking that it actually would work out just fine...as Steph would be home a little before 10:00...and they surely would be gone by then. It would also give us enough time to pack up some clothes, make-up etc. to send with them.
I blew out the small candles that had been burning in mom's room. They had provided enough light for "end of life hours"...but now we needed more light. We had clothes to pick out, makeup and accessories to choose...the bedroom light was going to have to be switched on. I had gotten rid of most of mom's clothing a year ago...saving a few of her favorite outfits...and those were the ones we were debating over. Once the dress was decided upon, the accessories were next. Then came the "wig or no wig" question. Mom was born a red head. And she considered herself a red head. She had worn Eva Gabor wigs for decades. When she began losing her hair from chemotherapy, she snipped off a good size lock of hair and sewed it to a paper tab...so she could bring that swatch into the wig store with her...forever. For the last three years of her life, however, we didn't put the wigs on her. We opted for her second choice...the turban. Very chic. And much more comfortable. So...we were used to her with no wig...but should she be buried with one on? I voted no. Let her go au natural. I was quickly...and loudly outvoted. "Grandma would not be caught dead without her wig and make up on!" All of these choices were made in mom's room, sitting on her bed...with her still in there. Although she had no say in the matter...we kept looking over at her...lovingly, like we were girlfriends picking out what she was going to wear to the prom!
Once everything was packed up and ready to go, we turned off the light and went back into the living room. It was almost 9:00. Jeff said, "I turned on the Christmas lights outside...so your mom can see them from heaven. She can tell everyone...'See those lights...that's our house!'" (We do put up a LOT of lights. Thousands of lights. It is quite possible that they can be seen from heaven.) I sat on the piano bench by the window, next to the Christmas tree and waited for the mortuary people. A van pulled up and stopped. "I think it's them. They're getting out of the van." Then there was a white flash. "Nope. It's someone taking pictures of the decorations." They left. A few minutes later, another van pulled up. "I think this is them." Flash. Flash. More pictures of the house with all the lights. A third van pulled up. Two men in dark suits got out. They looked at the house and paused for a moment. I'm sure as busy as they had been that night...they had not made any pick ups from a house more decorated than ours. "Come on in." I said as I met them on the porch. "Probably the brightest house you've been to tonight, eh?" "That's for sure." one fellow answered. Once inside, I don't know for sure what they expected to see...but I couldn't help but feel they were surprised. The house was as fully decorated on the inside as the outside. Nativity scenes, snowmen, Santa's, poinsettias...everywhere! I got the feeling that part of their job was to console us a bit...but that's not "where we were." They were quite subdued, formally dressed...being very careful and respectful...and looking a bit bewildered. We, on the other hand, were in jeans, sweatshirts and slippers...and we had mom all packed up and ready to go.
I led them to mom's room and they assessed the situation. Their gurney was not going to make it around the corners to her room...this was for sure. Trying to be helpful, I suggested that they stand it on end and take it in there that way...like we did the antique sofa. The two men looked at me like I was crazy. Then I began to giggle...as I got the mental picture of how that would look coming OUT of mom's room...with mom on board. "Uh...never mind. I guess that wouldn't really work so well..." It was decided that they would roll the gurney in as far as possible and then carry her to it. Which they did. I offered to help...but they thought it best for me to go back into the living room and wait. I obliged. Kori then turned to me in a panic and asked, "What if she's not really dead? Shouldn't we get an official opinion?" My first impulse was to laugh. More than three hours had passed since the four of us had each declared that mom was indeed gone. We had been in her room the whole time, on her bed, lights on. There was no sign of life at all. I could see that she was really serious...she was worried. Laughing would not have been a helpful response. "Oh Kori...Honey...I would not have called for them to come pick mom up, if for even a fleeting moment, I felt that she might be still alive."
Just then, they rolled mom's body into the living room. She had been laying on her side, knees bent, when she died. Now she was on her back, knees bent, on the gurney. One of the men was trying to straighten out her legs a bit...which startled me. "You know...her knees have been bent for years...arthritis...I really don't think you're going to straighten them out now." "Oh. Okay. How about if we turn her back on her side then?" he asked. "That would be fine." I told him. So he did. They had a pillow under her head. And a beautiful quilt over her body. We each gave her a goodbye kiss and they rolled her towards the front door.
As they were carrying her out the door and down the front steps, a station wagon pulled up across the street from our house. Flash. Flash. It made me chuckle. How many people do you suppose have a photo like that? A house fully decorated for Christmas, with a multitude of colorful lights on both sides of the yard...and in the middle of it all...coming down the walkway, a body being carried out on a gurney, by two men in dark suits. Won't they be surprised when they download their photos!
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Vision...or a Dream?
Last Fall, I had this picture in my mind. It remained on my "front burner" for several months. I'm not sure if it was a vision...or if it was a dream.
Mom and I had been traveling together. We were in no hurry...just walking along. We met people on the way and enjoyed their company...but they were only temporary companions...they were not full partners in our journey.
I knew that our final destination was a beautiful home, where a grand party was in progress. I was not on the guest list...yet, but mom's invitation was tucked away safely in my bag. Neither of us had been to this place...but I knew we were on the right path. The plan was that I would walk with her up to the front porch and ring the doorbell. When the door would open, I would give her a kiss goodbye and see her safely inside. Then I would head back home.
As Fall turned to Winter...it was as if I had zoomed in on that picture. The road we had been traveling had come to an end. We were now resting on a split rail fence. Not speaking...just sitting together at the property's edge...spending some last moments together before we parted ways. The house was lovely. It was a white, large home with lots of windows. We could hear laughter and music from where we sat. Mom recognized many of the folks inside. I could tell she was anxious to join them. Together, we slid off the fence and began walking towards the house. The grass had that freshly cut smell and was soft on our feet. Everything looked so inviting. I couldn't blame mom for wanting to go in...nor could I shake the overwhelming sadness I felt at letting her go. On the porch, we shared a hug. A big hug. I gave her a kiss. Before I could even ring the doorbell, the front door opened wide and I heard the voices from inside call out, "Lois! Welcome! We're so glad you are here! We've been waiting for you!" Mom stepped in and the door closed. The party continued inside...and I was left standing on the porch.
Our trip was completed. I had done what I had promised to do...stay with her until we reached what was really her destination. What a wonderful journey we shared. Someday, that home will be my destination. I am certain that when I finally arrive...mom will make her way to the front of the crowd to be one of the first to welcome me in.
Mom and I had been traveling together. We were in no hurry...just walking along. We met people on the way and enjoyed their company...but they were only temporary companions...they were not full partners in our journey.
I knew that our final destination was a beautiful home, where a grand party was in progress. I was not on the guest list...yet, but mom's invitation was tucked away safely in my bag. Neither of us had been to this place...but I knew we were on the right path. The plan was that I would walk with her up to the front porch and ring the doorbell. When the door would open, I would give her a kiss goodbye and see her safely inside. Then I would head back home.
As Fall turned to Winter...it was as if I had zoomed in on that picture. The road we had been traveling had come to an end. We were now resting on a split rail fence. Not speaking...just sitting together at the property's edge...spending some last moments together before we parted ways. The house was lovely. It was a white, large home with lots of windows. We could hear laughter and music from where we sat. Mom recognized many of the folks inside. I could tell she was anxious to join them. Together, we slid off the fence and began walking towards the house. The grass had that freshly cut smell and was soft on our feet. Everything looked so inviting. I couldn't blame mom for wanting to go in...nor could I shake the overwhelming sadness I felt at letting her go. On the porch, we shared a hug. A big hug. I gave her a kiss. Before I could even ring the doorbell, the front door opened wide and I heard the voices from inside call out, "Lois! Welcome! We're so glad you are here! We've been waiting for you!" Mom stepped in and the door closed. The party continued inside...and I was left standing on the porch.
Our trip was completed. I had done what I had promised to do...stay with her until we reached what was really her destination. What a wonderful journey we shared. Someday, that home will be my destination. I am certain that when I finally arrive...mom will make her way to the front of the crowd to be one of the first to welcome me in.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A Christmas Person
I am, without a doubt, a Christmas person. I joke about being obsessive compulsive about it...but in true life...it's just who I am.
I've been giving a lot of thought to why that is...and this is what I've figured out:
During the year, there are many times when I will say, either to myself...or to those around me, "I need a little more sparkle in my life." Sometimes it's, "I need to have more fun." Other times I'm thinking, "I need more peace."
Do you see where I'm going with this? During the Christmas season, there is no shortage of sparkle. Almost everywhere I go...things are sparkling! Decorations, houses, people's clothing and accessories...even nature sparkles more. I love it!
As for fun...I can't think of anything more fun that celebrating with my family and my friends...and we do a lot of that during the Christmas season. Whether it's baking thousands of cookies, going out for a meal together, staying in and watching Christmas specials on TV, viewing old home movies...it's just wonderful to be laughing and enjoying life with those I love.
Overall, people seem nicer during the Christmas season too. They give more. Even to people they don't know. Charitable contributions go up. I think that people tend to look at their own lives a little differently during this time of the year...and they realize that they are more blessed than they've thought...so they tend to "share the wealth."
Our yard will be completely "decked out" for Christmas. Thousands of lights, a couple of reindeer, a snowman and two nativity scenes will be set up. The one nativity scene is over 50 years old...it was a gift to us. Each figure is about four or five feet tall. They are prints of the Holy family, shepherds, wise men, camels, etc. that look like they came out of an old Bible, attached to plywood. We have sealed them to protect them from the weather...and they will sit under our giant rhododendron in the front. (It's their makeshift stable.) The other nativity scene is much larger in size...Joseph is close to seven feet tall. Jeff and I made that one together. He cut out the plywood figures and I painted them. That one goes up on the flat part of the roof, above the living room window. Of course we will have our Christmas tree in the front window.
People slow down when they drive by our home. And they stop and look closer if they are walking by. Kids and grownups alike enjoy the decorations. I am reminded of times when I was a child and we would drive around and look at the Christmas lights. Or of when I drove my young daughters and my mom around to different neighborhoods at Christmastime...picking our favorite houses, warm in the car, singing carols along with the radio. These are wonderful memories.
I'm thankful that Jeff is a Christmas person also. (Our friend Mary said that the two of us must have been Santa's elves in our former lives.) This year, he made us a beautiful wreath out of branches from a monkey tail tree. He painted it red and added some holly branches which he painted white. Then he sparkled it up with the sparkles left over from Jennifer's bridal bouquet. He hung it up over the fireplace a month or so ago...before Halloween! Our hospice chaplain commented to me that we were coming into "my season" soon...and I agreed. She asked about Jeff's feelings on that and I said, "Oh...Jeff's a Christmas person too. He just didn't know it until he came here." She laughed...but I think it's really true.
Today is Thanksgiving. Most of our yard is already decorated. We will finish it off this afternoon...while the turkey is roasting. Holiday scents have filled our home. Pies baking, hot cider, peppermint tea...and soon turkey and all the trimmings. I am very thankful to be where I am. To be with the right partner. To have the support and love of friends and family. To have a great neighborhood church which is a big part of our lives. For my beautiful daughters and to have had another year with my mom. I am thankful for my sister and brother...my new son-in-law and for the rest of my family.
I am especially thankful that this is the beginning of my favorite season of all. The time of year when I get enough sparkle and I have lots of fun. This is also the time of year when I feel God's peace...and His presence in my heart, the most.
Yes...without a doubt, I am a Christmas person! Let the celebrations begin!
I've been giving a lot of thought to why that is...and this is what I've figured out:
During the year, there are many times when I will say, either to myself...or to those around me, "I need a little more sparkle in my life." Sometimes it's, "I need to have more fun." Other times I'm thinking, "I need more peace."
Do you see where I'm going with this? During the Christmas season, there is no shortage of sparkle. Almost everywhere I go...things are sparkling! Decorations, houses, people's clothing and accessories...even nature sparkles more. I love it!
As for fun...I can't think of anything more fun that celebrating with my family and my friends...and we do a lot of that during the Christmas season. Whether it's baking thousands of cookies, going out for a meal together, staying in and watching Christmas specials on TV, viewing old home movies...it's just wonderful to be laughing and enjoying life with those I love.
Overall, people seem nicer during the Christmas season too. They give more. Even to people they don't know. Charitable contributions go up. I think that people tend to look at their own lives a little differently during this time of the year...and they realize that they are more blessed than they've thought...so they tend to "share the wealth."
Our yard will be completely "decked out" for Christmas. Thousands of lights, a couple of reindeer, a snowman and two nativity scenes will be set up. The one nativity scene is over 50 years old...it was a gift to us. Each figure is about four or five feet tall. They are prints of the Holy family, shepherds, wise men, camels, etc. that look like they came out of an old Bible, attached to plywood. We have sealed them to protect them from the weather...and they will sit under our giant rhododendron in the front. (It's their makeshift stable.) The other nativity scene is much larger in size...Joseph is close to seven feet tall. Jeff and I made that one together. He cut out the plywood figures and I painted them. That one goes up on the flat part of the roof, above the living room window. Of course we will have our Christmas tree in the front window.
People slow down when they drive by our home. And they stop and look closer if they are walking by. Kids and grownups alike enjoy the decorations. I am reminded of times when I was a child and we would drive around and look at the Christmas lights. Or of when I drove my young daughters and my mom around to different neighborhoods at Christmastime...picking our favorite houses, warm in the car, singing carols along with the radio. These are wonderful memories.
I'm thankful that Jeff is a Christmas person also. (Our friend Mary said that the two of us must have been Santa's elves in our former lives.) This year, he made us a beautiful wreath out of branches from a monkey tail tree. He painted it red and added some holly branches which he painted white. Then he sparkled it up with the sparkles left over from Jennifer's bridal bouquet. He hung it up over the fireplace a month or so ago...before Halloween! Our hospice chaplain commented to me that we were coming into "my season" soon...and I agreed. She asked about Jeff's feelings on that and I said, "Oh...Jeff's a Christmas person too. He just didn't know it until he came here." She laughed...but I think it's really true.
Today is Thanksgiving. Most of our yard is already decorated. We will finish it off this afternoon...while the turkey is roasting. Holiday scents have filled our home. Pies baking, hot cider, peppermint tea...and soon turkey and all the trimmings. I am very thankful to be where I am. To be with the right partner. To have the support and love of friends and family. To have a great neighborhood church which is a big part of our lives. For my beautiful daughters and to have had another year with my mom. I am thankful for my sister and brother...my new son-in-law and for the rest of my family.
I am especially thankful that this is the beginning of my favorite season of all. The time of year when I get enough sparkle and I have lots of fun. This is also the time of year when I feel God's peace...and His presence in my heart, the most.
Yes...without a doubt, I am a Christmas person! Let the celebrations begin!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Sacred Flight
Sacred Flight is a group of musicians who provide musical therapy for people who are at the end of their lives. Yesterday, a woman from Sacred Flight came to our home and played her harp. It was an incredible experience for me...as mom's main caregiver and as her daughter.
Last night, I was trying to pinpoint exactly what it was about that experience that moved me so much...and I think I figured it out. First, let me set the scene...
For the last several weeks, we have been in "Wedding Mode" here in our house. (My oldest daughter got married last weekend.) Because I have been so busy taking care of mom, I really wasn't very helpful to my daughter, in the wedding planning stage, up until a couple of weeks ago. As the day grew closer, I got busier. My sister came out a few days beforehand (with one of her daughters and her boyfriend) to help with the last minute details...such as flowers, food, cakes, set-up, clean-up etc. There was a lot going on in a short amount of time.
Two days ago, things had calmed down...and I thought we would get back into our "normal" routine. And then the hospice nurse called. She told me of this program called Sacred Flight. I had read an article about them in the newspaper and thought it sounded lovely. A Japanese news team had also heard of them and wanted to do a story about them. They needed a couple of hospice families to allow them in their homes, so they could share in the experience. I thought it sounded like a wonderful idea and agreed to have them come by. Yesterday, they did. The harpist, a photographer and two reporters pulled up in front of our house at one o'clock.
Yesterday was our usual day for our hospice nurse and our bath aide visit...so they were both there. Jeff's boss didn't have any work for him...so he was home. Amy's flight wasn't until later...so she was there too. A representative for Providence hospital was there...who also happens to be our respite volunteer! And of course, mom and I were there. It was the first time that all of mom's usual caregivers were all in the same room at the same time. That in itself, was pretty special.
The harpist held mom's hand, felt her pulse, listened to her breathing...and then sat down to play. The music was simple...and lovely. Very calming. I sat with mom, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes rubbing her back and shoulders, sometimes just touching her arm. Periodically, I would look around the room...catching the eye of my husband or one of mom's caregivers. With a smile and I sigh I turned my attention back to my mom...or the harpist. It was such a tremendous experience for me. To be together with all of these people who have been a major support system to me over the last couple of years...and for all of us to just be still, together. To stop for a few moments in our busy lives...and just be together. It was very powerful.
Mom sat quietly, listening...until the harpist began singing softly as she played. Mom joined right in...using her own words and sounds. It was lovely. Then mom began talking a little. "Hear our prayer. Our prayer. Our prayer."
Caregiving is exhausting work. Constantly, I have energy flowing out. Naps help relieve the tiredness...but they don't fill me back up. The visit from Sacred Flight yesterday...did the trick. My heart was filled with love and gratitude. I feel ready for whatever the next step in this journey is.
I thank God for life, music, prayer, song, family and friends. I am truly blessed.
Last night, I was trying to pinpoint exactly what it was about that experience that moved me so much...and I think I figured it out. First, let me set the scene...
For the last several weeks, we have been in "Wedding Mode" here in our house. (My oldest daughter got married last weekend.) Because I have been so busy taking care of mom, I really wasn't very helpful to my daughter, in the wedding planning stage, up until a couple of weeks ago. As the day grew closer, I got busier. My sister came out a few days beforehand (with one of her daughters and her boyfriend) to help with the last minute details...such as flowers, food, cakes, set-up, clean-up etc. There was a lot going on in a short amount of time.
Two days ago, things had calmed down...and I thought we would get back into our "normal" routine. And then the hospice nurse called. She told me of this program called Sacred Flight. I had read an article about them in the newspaper and thought it sounded lovely. A Japanese news team had also heard of them and wanted to do a story about them. They needed a couple of hospice families to allow them in their homes, so they could share in the experience. I thought it sounded like a wonderful idea and agreed to have them come by. Yesterday, they did. The harpist, a photographer and two reporters pulled up in front of our house at one o'clock.
Yesterday was our usual day for our hospice nurse and our bath aide visit...so they were both there. Jeff's boss didn't have any work for him...so he was home. Amy's flight wasn't until later...so she was there too. A representative for Providence hospital was there...who also happens to be our respite volunteer! And of course, mom and I were there. It was the first time that all of mom's usual caregivers were all in the same room at the same time. That in itself, was pretty special.
The harpist held mom's hand, felt her pulse, listened to her breathing...and then sat down to play. The music was simple...and lovely. Very calming. I sat with mom, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes rubbing her back and shoulders, sometimes just touching her arm. Periodically, I would look around the room...catching the eye of my husband or one of mom's caregivers. With a smile and I sigh I turned my attention back to my mom...or the harpist. It was such a tremendous experience for me. To be together with all of these people who have been a major support system to me over the last couple of years...and for all of us to just be still, together. To stop for a few moments in our busy lives...and just be together. It was very powerful.
Mom sat quietly, listening...until the harpist began singing softly as she played. Mom joined right in...using her own words and sounds. It was lovely. Then mom began talking a little. "Hear our prayer. Our prayer. Our prayer."
Caregiving is exhausting work. Constantly, I have energy flowing out. Naps help relieve the tiredness...but they don't fill me back up. The visit from Sacred Flight yesterday...did the trick. My heart was filled with love and gratitude. I feel ready for whatever the next step in this journey is.
I thank God for life, music, prayer, song, family and friends. I am truly blessed.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
JJ Newberry Work Stories
Last night I got to thinking about the "good ol' days" when I was working in restaurants. There were some pretty funny incidents...and I just thought I'd write a few of them down...so I can recall them in years to come.
My first restaurant job was at the J.J. Newberry's lunch counter in downtown Portland. I was hired as a server...for $1.90 an hour. Although my job was serving breakfast and lunch to our customers, often I had to help out on the line. (Cooking.)
Portland is known as The Rose City. Each year we celebrate our Rose Festival. There are parades, contests, a carnival, an air show, the navy ships come in...it's a big thing. Lots of people come into town and lots of people get out and participate in the celebrations. The grand floral parade used to run down 3rd Avenue...right by Newberry's. Families camped out on the street to get the best views. They came in the store to use the restrooms and to grab a bite to eat. The lunch counter (and the other two snack bars) were busy from the moment we opened the doors, until closing time.
The first parade day I worked, my job was "toast." That's it. Just toast. I made toast for hours...and someone else ran the grill. The next year, it was my turn to run the grill. Making eggs, hash browns, pancakes, French toast, frying bacon, sausage etc. (Another new person made the toast.) Naomi, the head waitress, gave me a bit of advice on how to keep up. "Never turn around. You'll be fine if you just focus on the grill and don't turn around. Just make the orders as they come up. Don't turn around." Well, the orders started coming in. Quickly. And they just didn't stop. Hours went by and I was doing okay...but I just couldn't see and end to the breakfast rush. I couldn't stand it any longer...so I finally...turned around. I wish I hadn't done that. Every one of the stools was occupied and all I could see was a sea of munching faces...and behind each stool there were people waiting for their turn to sit down...six deep! I felt my heart stop. Naomi came over to pick up an order and I looked at her in terror. "WHAT did I tell you? DON'T TURN AROUND!" She shook her head and hurried off. I don't know how I got through that day...but I did.
Another good story involved my sister Amy. She was working at the hot dog counter. They had one of those roller machines that make the best hot dogs in the world. She served hot dogs and soft drinks...and chips. That sounds pretty easy...but she worked the counter alone. Which meant that she also had to take the cash, do the stocking and cleaning on her own. Someone from my lunch counter would check on her from time to time to see if she was in need of any supplies. She'd hand over a list, usually written on a paper napkin, of what she needed and we'd send the note up the dumb waiter, to the kitchen on the 3rd floor. Jean L. would fill the order and we'd take it back over to the hot dog counter.
This one day it was extra busy. The lunch rush was so crazy, that we didn't get time to check on Amy. Finally, Naomi asked me to go see how she was doing. I headed on over and saw that she was frantically running back and forth behind the counter, filling drink cups, slapping hot dogs in their buns, taking cash...she was, as we say in the restaurant business..."in the weeds." I stepped behind the counter with her and cheerfully said, "Hey there! What can I do for you?" I swear, Amy fell on her knees, dropped her head in her hands and cried out, "Thank GOD you are here!" All of the people at her counter looked over the top to see where she went. "Load up the hot dog roller!" she yelled...still on the ground. I did. Then I helped her up...and we got that whole mob fed. I've never felt anyone was ever happier to see me...than Amy was at that moment.
My last Newberry's story involves one of the biggest messes I've ever made. Ever. Anywhere. Newberry's was one of the last places on earth that had those wonderful grape and orange drink dispensers. The kind that perpetually mixed the sticky-sweet-fruity beverages right before your eyes. There were dual clear plastic tanks on top of a stand, with clear plastic tubing in the center of each tank...and the beverages would flow up the tubing and cascade down inside the tank...like a colorful fountain. The grape on one side, the orange on the other. Each week, the whole machine needed to be turned off, drained, washed, reassembled, filled and then turned back on. Not difficult...just time consuming. I had done it many times. This one time, I had gotten through steps one through five. The machine was cleaned and refilled...and ready to get turned back on. Almost. I had forgotten to do one little thing...and that was to put the lid back on. When I flipped the switch to turn it on...it was...like watching Old Faithful. Only instead of one spout spewing hot steaming liquid...it was two spouts, side by side, spewing orange drink and grape drink...all over the counter, the stools and the floor! It was indeed...the biggest mess ever. (But it did look kind of cool spouting up!)
My first restaurant job was at the J.J. Newberry's lunch counter in downtown Portland. I was hired as a server...for $1.90 an hour. Although my job was serving breakfast and lunch to our customers, often I had to help out on the line. (Cooking.)
Portland is known as The Rose City. Each year we celebrate our Rose Festival. There are parades, contests, a carnival, an air show, the navy ships come in...it's a big thing. Lots of people come into town and lots of people get out and participate in the celebrations. The grand floral parade used to run down 3rd Avenue...right by Newberry's. Families camped out on the street to get the best views. They came in the store to use the restrooms and to grab a bite to eat. The lunch counter (and the other two snack bars) were busy from the moment we opened the doors, until closing time.
The first parade day I worked, my job was "toast." That's it. Just toast. I made toast for hours...and someone else ran the grill. The next year, it was my turn to run the grill. Making eggs, hash browns, pancakes, French toast, frying bacon, sausage etc. (Another new person made the toast.) Naomi, the head waitress, gave me a bit of advice on how to keep up. "Never turn around. You'll be fine if you just focus on the grill and don't turn around. Just make the orders as they come up. Don't turn around." Well, the orders started coming in. Quickly. And they just didn't stop. Hours went by and I was doing okay...but I just couldn't see and end to the breakfast rush. I couldn't stand it any longer...so I finally...turned around. I wish I hadn't done that. Every one of the stools was occupied and all I could see was a sea of munching faces...and behind each stool there were people waiting for their turn to sit down...six deep! I felt my heart stop. Naomi came over to pick up an order and I looked at her in terror. "WHAT did I tell you? DON'T TURN AROUND!" She shook her head and hurried off. I don't know how I got through that day...but I did.
Another good story involved my sister Amy. She was working at the hot dog counter. They had one of those roller machines that make the best hot dogs in the world. She served hot dogs and soft drinks...and chips. That sounds pretty easy...but she worked the counter alone. Which meant that she also had to take the cash, do the stocking and cleaning on her own. Someone from my lunch counter would check on her from time to time to see if she was in need of any supplies. She'd hand over a list, usually written on a paper napkin, of what she needed and we'd send the note up the dumb waiter, to the kitchen on the 3rd floor. Jean L. would fill the order and we'd take it back over to the hot dog counter.
This one day it was extra busy. The lunch rush was so crazy, that we didn't get time to check on Amy. Finally, Naomi asked me to go see how she was doing. I headed on over and saw that she was frantically running back and forth behind the counter, filling drink cups, slapping hot dogs in their buns, taking cash...she was, as we say in the restaurant business..."in the weeds." I stepped behind the counter with her and cheerfully said, "Hey there! What can I do for you?" I swear, Amy fell on her knees, dropped her head in her hands and cried out, "Thank GOD you are here!" All of the people at her counter looked over the top to see where she went. "Load up the hot dog roller!" she yelled...still on the ground. I did. Then I helped her up...and we got that whole mob fed. I've never felt anyone was ever happier to see me...than Amy was at that moment.
My last Newberry's story involves one of the biggest messes I've ever made. Ever. Anywhere. Newberry's was one of the last places on earth that had those wonderful grape and orange drink dispensers. The kind that perpetually mixed the sticky-sweet-fruity beverages right before your eyes. There were dual clear plastic tanks on top of a stand, with clear plastic tubing in the center of each tank...and the beverages would flow up the tubing and cascade down inside the tank...like a colorful fountain. The grape on one side, the orange on the other. Each week, the whole machine needed to be turned off, drained, washed, reassembled, filled and then turned back on. Not difficult...just time consuming. I had done it many times. This one time, I had gotten through steps one through five. The machine was cleaned and refilled...and ready to get turned back on. Almost. I had forgotten to do one little thing...and that was to put the lid back on. When I flipped the switch to turn it on...it was...like watching Old Faithful. Only instead of one spout spewing hot steaming liquid...it was two spouts, side by side, spewing orange drink and grape drink...all over the counter, the stools and the floor! It was indeed...the biggest mess ever. (But it did look kind of cool spouting up!)
Monday, August 31, 2009
Each One Different - Each One Special
It's interesting to me how very different siblings can be. Even though we share the same DNA and we grew up in the same household...we are as different as we can be. I didn't notice it when we were younger...but I certainly do now. Actually, as I child, the only difference I noticed about me and my brother and sister, was that they were both skinny red heads...and I was a "plump" or "chunky" brunette. My sister Amy and I used to pretend that I was a cousin from Kentucky (where I had my own horse...as all people in Kentucky do...) who came to live with my "Uncle Fred and Aunt Lois." We also had a long running family joke about why I wasn't a skinny red head...and that was, that I was actually a Korean war orphan. I know...it was an odd joke...but it was our family's joke. That joke was so ingrained in my head, that about 15 years ago, I was training this new waitress at the Oyster Bar...and she was Korean. We were chatting as we were working and she mentioned that her family had a small farm. I pictured an older Korean couple working their land...and I asked her if they grew vegetables and then used them to make their own Kim Chee. She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "No...my parents are white...I'm a Korean war orphan." Without giving it a second thought, I blurted out, "Hey! So am I!" Then she really looked at me like I was nuts...and that was the beginning of our friendship.
Now...back to the differences between me and my siblings...
Mom was the one who pointed out to me how different each of us kids were. She said that it never was more obvious than the day President Kennedy was shot. I was in the third grade, Amy was in first and David was in fifth. The secretary went to each of the classrooms and with tears streaming down her face, she whispered something to the teachers. Our teachers told us that our president had been shot. We were told to quickly gather our things and we were all instructed to go straight home.
It was a little over a half mile walk to our house. Some of our neighborhood kids were running ahead, jumping and celebrating getting out of school early. I thought they were horrible. David, Amy and I were not a part of that. We simply made our way past the Dominican Convent, down Locust Ave...heading straight home. I don't remember that we spoke much...we were all just trying to process what had happened. I cried the whole way.
When we got home, David grabbed several of the World Book Encyclopedias. He went in his room with them, closed the door and began his research. He looked up everything he could about presidents. Who was next in line for the job? What if he were to die? How many presidents died in office? How many were assassinated? What would happen next? Amy didn't care about any of that. She was furious. She was so mad at the guy who shot our president, she was going to get a gun and shoot him herself! And I was still sobbing. All I could think about was that Caroline and John John's father was dead...and who would take care of them now? How could they grow up without their dad?
Same DNA, same environment...and yet we were as different as we could be. Each one different and each one special. The same holds true today. David still is more comfortable researching things...gathering all the information he can...especially before making any decisions. Amy sees a problem and wants to take action. Handle the situation...right now. And I operate straight from my heart.
Being aware of these differences and knowing that it is just how each of us are (for whatever reason) adds dimension to our family.
I think that when people become aware of, accept and respect the differences in those around them, they have the opportunity to accomplish great things. And to enjoy each other 's company along the way. I see this in my family...I see this in my church.
We have each been given gifts from God that make us special individuals. And when we get together and pool our resources/gifts...the possibilities are endless. That...to me...is incredible.
Now...back to the differences between me and my siblings...
Mom was the one who pointed out to me how different each of us kids were. She said that it never was more obvious than the day President Kennedy was shot. I was in the third grade, Amy was in first and David was in fifth. The secretary went to each of the classrooms and with tears streaming down her face, she whispered something to the teachers. Our teachers told us that our president had been shot. We were told to quickly gather our things and we were all instructed to go straight home.
It was a little over a half mile walk to our house. Some of our neighborhood kids were running ahead, jumping and celebrating getting out of school early. I thought they were horrible. David, Amy and I were not a part of that. We simply made our way past the Dominican Convent, down Locust Ave...heading straight home. I don't remember that we spoke much...we were all just trying to process what had happened. I cried the whole way.
When we got home, David grabbed several of the World Book Encyclopedias. He went in his room with them, closed the door and began his research. He looked up everything he could about presidents. Who was next in line for the job? What if he were to die? How many presidents died in office? How many were assassinated? What would happen next? Amy didn't care about any of that. She was furious. She was so mad at the guy who shot our president, she was going to get a gun and shoot him herself! And I was still sobbing. All I could think about was that Caroline and John John's father was dead...and who would take care of them now? How could they grow up without their dad?
Same DNA, same environment...and yet we were as different as we could be. Each one different and each one special. The same holds true today. David still is more comfortable researching things...gathering all the information he can...especially before making any decisions. Amy sees a problem and wants to take action. Handle the situation...right now. And I operate straight from my heart.
Being aware of these differences and knowing that it is just how each of us are (for whatever reason) adds dimension to our family.
I think that when people become aware of, accept and respect the differences in those around them, they have the opportunity to accomplish great things. And to enjoy each other 's company along the way. I see this in my family...I see this in my church.
We have each been given gifts from God that make us special individuals. And when we get together and pool our resources/gifts...the possibilities are endless. That...to me...is incredible.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)