PASSIONATE HOPES AND PLEASE

PASSIONATE HOPES AND PLEASE

As I was "just browsing" in a Home Goods the other day, something happened between an excited young girl and her annoyed looking mother. I can't shake their exchange from my mind.

My heart went out to the girl. She was so hopeful, expressive and passionate for the item that she wanted her mother to buy.

I could hear her sweet, sing-songy voice describing what they could do with the ten foot tall, six feet wide ornate iron arbor which had gorgeous gates and cost over $300.00! Her fantasy was beautiful!

 I smiled at the girl, who was focussed on convincing her mom, but her mother's eyes met mine, so I smiled even wider at her. 

The mother's reaction threw me. Her expression started to appear angry and she snapped something at her daughter in a soft voice, which I couldn't hear, but I recognized the tone immediately. My heart sank.

I felt like I knew that girl. In fact, the first time that I saw that arbor, I wanted it. It was the prettiest piece of outdoor decor that I had seen in ages. It had a romantic, old fashioned quality to it!

After checking the price, I knew that even though my husband could replicate it, it could cost more in supplies and time. Then, my grown-up self reminded me that currently I don't have that sort of cash and that there was really no place in our yard for it right now.

I put it in the back of my head as a possible "Some day fantasy idea." I have lots of those!

I recognized the hopeful spirit, the romantic imagination and the determined "sales pitch." I could feel her disappointment and confusion about why wasn't her mother envisioning the same idea? She was young, but not defeated, she stood her ground. I knew that I was just like her over 50 years ago.

She didn't crumble when her mother snapped at her. Instead, she said "What do you think Daddy would think about this? Should we ask him?"

The mother angrily mumbled something and quickly walked off. The girl followed her.

I was angry with a couple of things. 

I was angry with the mother's reaction. The girl was young, but not too young to be given a thoughtful explanation. Even though they didn't appear to be strapped for money, if they were, that would be an honest and best reason not to buy the arbor. It could be said nicely and not with a phrase I came to learn "We can't afford to WASTE money on THAT!" ...(implying how stupid and selfish I was)

From the "just so" (expensive/upscale) appearance of the mother, I feel she was worried more about how she looked... Is that why she snapped at the girl, because I smiled at her? Did she think I was laughing at her? Did she think the piece was so ornate that it was gaudy? Was she embarrassed that her daughter publicly wanted it?

It was the attitude of the mom that angered me. I knew it too well and hoped very much that I didn't use it often on my own kids, as it was used on me.

I recalled how my mother, 50 years ago, would be short and demeaning when I expressed my opinions, yet 10 years ago, that same mother would hear me say how pretty something was and buy it for me immediately, whether I wanted it or not!

In my case, my mother was very young, had five kids in nine years and was on a tight budget fifty years ago. Ten years ago, she lived comfortably and was extremely generous.

Although, she still decided what she should buy me. She still didn't like all of my tastes, and often would say "Oh, you like THAT better?"

I never asked her to buy anything for me as an adult, I had my own money by then, but she would show up with stuff that I didn't need or want but she wanted me to have it, and it had to be displayed when she visited!

The other thing that I was even more angry about was my reaction to the little girl and her mom.

I had expected the mother to smile back when we made eye contact, acknowledging how her daughter had a youthful, but unrealistic imagination. When she snapped at the girl, I kept walking and smiling. I was biting my tongue, for I wanted to cry for the girl when I heard that familiar tone.

I wish that I had told the girl that I thought it was the most beautiful piece and that I wished that I had a place for it. I wish I told her that maybe one day she could get one for her own home when she grew up, the same way I gently told my youngest son that he could have a dog when he grew up. 

I wish I said, as I often say to mothers who's babies are crying in the supermarket (and it always brings me near tears when I say it!) "I know that it's hard to believe, but you will really miss this one day."

I wish I also said, "Cherish these moments. Encourage her passionate confidence and hopeful spirit, girls tend to loose it in their teens and it's so difficult to gain back".

June 5th, 2016

NOVEMBER: NEWVENTURE

It's November!

I'm back in my soon to be "old home", where the radiators are hissing and there is a Hallmark Christmas Special on the TV in the other room. The thing(s) that I will miss the most about this house are the steam radiators.

I might also miss the TV programs; it's the first I've had the TV on all weekend, due to no service and there is no internet hooked up where we've been.

This weekend, my husband and I spent two nights in our "next step" home, aka: "The Cha-Cha House" (dubbed by moi, because it seems "one step forward, two steps back" has been it's nature!) or "Elm Point", as my husband calls it, because on the oldest plot plan we have of it, the odd shaped lot comes to a distinct point smack in the middle of what is now Elm St.

True to it's dance name, we had yet another set back; a clogged septic pipe on Saturday, after the big step forward of the new gas lines, furnace and hotwater heater finally were finished being installed three weeks later than we had expected.

We've started to be afraid "to breathe" each time we step forward. 

But we do. Things could be worse. In the big scheme of life, we have it pretty good. We have worked on this next step house almost every single weekend day and weeknight that we could, since we bought it last December!

It's been tough, but it's been worth it. At least that's what I hope I'll think once we are finally in there full time?!

It's all "relative", isn't it? When things get put into perspective? For instance, speaking of "relatives", my mother died almost 15 months ago. Unlike most who lose their moms to death, I found hers to be a huge relief. I wasn't sad that she had died. In fact, I spent my days working on not resenting her as much as I did at that point of my life. 

It was because I have the best siblings in the world (a point recently validated by observing other families) and because I have the most marvelous friends, that I got through the last years of my mother's life. Of course, I couldn't have survived without my husband, my sons and their wonderful wives.

None of those people need their names listed here, they all know who they are and know how much I appreciate them.

I also learned who either didn't care or was oblivious to the struggles I've been though since March of 2009. It's okay. Everyone has their own life and problems. They might not have known how until my mother died that my siblings and I (because I was, so was my husband) were "on call" 24-7. 

The few moments of relief (Yes, each time I saw there was no voice-mail or message on the answering machine, I would cheer, "YAY!") were used to catch up on our business paperwork and housework.

Our biggest time out was to take an hour and get an ice cream or sometimes visit the local reservoir. It wasn't the ocean, but it was close enough to my mom's nursing home and the view was absolutely breath-taking.

My mom died in August of 2014. Technically, I was still responsible for all of her paperwork until her last taxes were filed in the spring of 2015. This overlapped with the purchase of our next step house, so I had (truth be told: still have) piles of files and folders.

It was a good thing I kept close track of her records, because after she died, one of the physician's billing offices (a huge company) kept sending bills of the same procedure, over and over, after I paid the first one.

It was interesting how they would print them up just a bit differently, so that if a loved one was overwhelmed, it might have been paid several times. Fortunately, I am the queen of copying and cross referencing (to catch my own mistakes) so I phoned right away when the second bill showed up...a few invoices had been marked paid but not all of them. 

After pressing lots of buttons, I ended up speaking with a live rep, who took the information to "pass on" and I took her name, date, time...

When the third bill came, designed just a bit differently, I made copies of my copies. I made copies of the check (of course, always blacking out the account number& my signature) and of the bank statement of when it cleared. 

I wrote a letter, broke it all down, including the phone call and threatened to call a lawyer if we were billed again for the same procedure. I never heard from them again. This still haunts me, wondering how many grieving families are being scammed like this?

So, in perspective, the setbacks with the Cha-cha house are nothing. We should be able to breathe...relatively speaking.

Relatively speaking: I'm finally missing my mother. I don't miss the shell of her, the confused, angry and needy old woman with dementia. I miss my real mother, the one who has seemed to have been gone for years. 

I think I grew a hard shell, myself, when I had to deal with her dementia. That's why all the time years ago, that I  spent helping take care of my husband's dying mom was easier. I wasn't her child, and she had her full mind right up until the night she died, after telling each one of her children that she loved them. I hated her lymphoma, but loved her when she died.

So, here I go again, I've slipped on my life dancing shoes. I'm hoping to be able to breathe again and live each moment without resentment, guilt and fear. I'm hoping to be able to catch up, to socialize without judging or being judged, to listen and laugh and keep hope alive. 

I've had lots of practice now, and even though I'd rather do a two-step, the twist or even the hokey-pokey, I'm pretty good at the Cha-cha-cha!

Peace.

x

IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

Impossible Dream

Last night, I had the best night's sleep that I've had in months. For the first time in such a long time, I remembered one of my dreams!  I used to remember my dreams every morning, when I was younger. 

It's only half past ten in the morning and the memory is already fading. I desperately want to hold on to it. I don't want to forget it, because I don't want to forget the feeling I had in the dream.

I felt content, calm, peaceful and very hopeful in the dream. I haven't felt like that in ages.

Before I forget them, these are the pieces;

My husband and I bought a huge, old house in Lowell, MA.

It was in between other large, old houses. There was a small, narrow driveway that ran parallel to the house and the road, there were thin strips of grass on each side of the driveway.

The house was huge. The ceilings were high. There were lots of rooms. The layout was choppy, but in a good way, because it was a house with that old world charm. I was thinking that it must have been something in it's time. It needed tons of work. I was up for it!

The sun was shining into the windows; it was early morning. When I got down stairs I noticed that a fresh, cool breeze was coming in through each of the huge windows. They were opened all the way up and they all had screens.

I told my husband that I was shocked that he had left all of the downstairs windows open and unlocked all night, that I never even did that in the "safer suburban town" that we've lived in our whole life.

It was just a comment. I wasn't mad. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised!

I explored the rooms and the enclosed, entrance porches of the house. I recall noticing a very tall (maybe 10 feet? I came halfway up to it) grandfather clock made of carved wood. It was in one of the smaller entrance halls between the tall, sunny rooms and the huge, dark front door. I recall thinking how my husband would love restoring that clock. 

I turned to my left and opened a closet door, it was more than just a closet! It was more of a pantry (that needed work). I became more excited and even happier. I was so glad we bought this place.

Somehow, we ended up across the street. A woman was stuck in her yard that was flooding with water, so my husband and I helped her and her small daughter. I told the little girl that if they ever needed help, we lived "over there" and pointed at the house.

As we headed back, I noticed a boat trailer was now in parked our new driveway. I heard the group of guys who left it say to each other "Be careful, we are in immigrant country". 

I tried to run to catch up with them. I was yelling to them that they didn't need to fear immigrants, that their ancestors were also immigrants, who came to this country for a better, safer life. I was trying to yell to them that they left their boat trailer in our driveway, without asking, so they shouldn't be hypocrites.

Then I woke up.

....

I was disappointed because I wanted to return to that dream. I still felt that calm sense of contentment and that hopeful feeling that my husband and I bought a huge old place to restore and live in...even though it was only a dream.

In reality, we've been updating one of the newest houses we've ever bought. It definitely doesn't have any historic details or old world charm. It's not in a city but in a lovely, small town. It's been hard, stressful, tiring, expensive work. We've encountered so many challenges and setbacks, that we often have to try to remember "What were we thinking?"

The nice thing, though, is that in my dream I felt some feelings that have been lost to me for a long time. I hadn't even remembered that those feeling ever even existed. It's the same as how I haven't been remembering my dreams, I had forgotten that I dream at all.

I'm hoping to retrieve that sense of peace and calmness more frequently. It would be wonderful to have that feeling of contentment, while also becoming excited and grateful while I'm awake.

I remember now. It's not just an impossible dream.

September 26, 2015

"Change is in the Air. Can't You Feel it?"

"Change is in the Air. Can't You Feel it?"

I heard a guest speaker on the radio say that when I was driving home a little while ago. They were talking about how wine drinkers vary their types of wine depending upon the season. One of the hosts had just said something about how she's been into the robust, dark reds, lately.

I don't drink alcohol. I especially can't drink wine, it often makes my throat feel like it's closing up and after just a few sips it can give me a painful hangover. But, I like NPR, no matter the subject, so I listened.

The guest speaker's voice sounded so excited and hopeful, that my mind drifted away from the radio to the thought of  "change in the air". 

As everyone knows, this has been one very long, hellish winter. 

Well, "hellish" can't be right the right word, can it?

That would imply "burning hot".

Bitter, bone-chilling, exhausting, or as my word-wise daughter-in-law commented, "This snow has been 'relentless', it feels like it comes and kicks us when we are still down".

Even my snow-loving-winter friends seem a bit worn down this year. The people who used to piss me off by their positive comments about the beauty of snow, the wonders of New England's changing seasons, and "spring is right around the corner" seem to have lost their pep and seem to need a change as much as I do. 

This comes as a disappointing shock to me, the summer-forever-lover.

The generally over confident and hearty Yankee-spirit has been broken. New England is not only full of snowbanks and filthy cars, but of tired eyes with a look of despair peeking out of heads covered in hats, wrapped in layers of wool scarves.

The weather wasn't the only horrible event this winter. Too many of my friends and relatives lost their beloved pets. The flu and stomach bugs seemed violent this year.

It wasn't just ice dams, flat tires, endless driveway shoveling, not to mention roof shoveling, power outages, public transportation breaking down, snowblowers, and plows breaking down, potholes or water pipes and septic systems freezing up (twice for us, in our "Cha-cha" house!!!?) There were events that were far worse, which put the "hellish" winter into perspective...

While experiencing the same winter as we were;

There were friends who's family member had a stroke. Other friends were diagnosed with cancer. Others had major surgery. Some close relatives had a house fire, and there was a horrific tragedy to some close loved ones, who are still trying to piece life back together and live without the nightmarish memory popping up and freezing them in their tracks of their baby steps forward. Life as they knew it changed in an instant.

Knowing tomorrow is the first day of spring, I still was still cynical because I had heard the weather forecast. Even though we've had much lower temperatures over the past few months, the dew point is making the current 30 degrees fahrenheit feels much colder than it has been. The cold seems sharp and it hurts.

But then, as I drove home, learning about wine, for the first time all winter; I heard what sounded like the most genuine and enthusiastically hopeful sounding voice say,

"Change is in the Air. Can't You Feel it?"

Suddenly, I did.

3/19/15

Always Been Great at Math, But Still Doesn't Count?

Always Been Great at Math, But Still Doesn't Count?

After serving my husband and one of our customers hot coffee, this morning, I took out my cell phone and showed the customer our "before and after-so-far" photos of the renovations my husband and I have been making on our new home.

Impressed, he looked at my husband and said, "Wow, that's a lot of work! Did you have any help?"

My husband looked up at me, and before he could reply, I snapped,  "Me! I helped him."

The old man softly laughed and still looking at my husband said, "No, really? Did you do this all yourself?"

Here's the problem:

I spoke up, showing my annoyance in not being taken seriously and listed everything I did.

Everything.

I'm sure my voice had gone up to a high, desperate sounding pitch, you know, the one that could turn into tears any second, because I was in disbelief that AGAIN some (usually old) man, (but not always!) didn't acknowledge me, never mind the fact that I can work as hard or harder than a man.

I don't know if he heard me. He was still looking at my husband.

My husband nodded in agreement, saying something like "Yes, she was my help."

The customer believed him. Then, turned to me and said that he does the same sort of help when he HIRES his carpenter to renovate.

I wonder if I had just been patient enough to wait for my husband to answer, I might have been taken more seriously? Would the customer have believed him when he told him that I was his help?

I doubt it.

****

On a Saturday, a few weeks ago, we went to a big box building store, one of the two that we consider our "homes away from homes". We usually hit these places at night, during the work week. By going then, they are pretty void of customers and have a limited amount of staff on board.That's okay with us, because we know what we are there for.

Since it was a Saturday, the place was full of staff members willing to help the customers. As my husband and I were looking for a particular size of plywood, one such helper came up to us. (A man, not old, probably in his 40s) Even though we both said "No, thank you", he persisted by asking us what we were looking for.

My husband told him, and the helper asked why we needed that size. So, my husband told him about how he had some stainless steel bent for a counter and we how we needed that particular size to fit inside for a base...

The helper faced my husband and talked about how great stainless steel counters are. I spoke up, agreeing, that my husband made one ten years ago and we love it so much we want one in our new home.

The helper NEVER looked at me and continued to ask my husband questions.

I walked away. The guy didn't respect our "No, thank you" to begin with and when he ignored me, I decided he wasn't worth my time.

****

It's not only men who treat me like this. They are just more obvious.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because there were several times that I brought up certain details of importance when we bought our new home, recently.

EVERYONE either ignored or "poo-pooed" them every time I brought them up.

Then, as the deadline approached, each one of the issues that I had brought up, so much earlier in the process, came up as if they had never been mentioned before. No one seemed to believe me when told them that I had requested that info, to the point where I started to doubt myself...

...But, that's where keeping each and every piece of paperwork and saving every email gave me back my confidence to trust my instinct and my memory!

****

Over the years, even some servers at restaurants have treated me like chopped liver. They had no clue that I am usually always the one who carries the cash and leaves the tip.

One night out in particular, comes to mind. I recall it only because of how invisible and neglected I felt. My husband and I went out to a famous steak house that doesn't exist anymore with my good friend and her husband.

We were taking them out, it was our treat. So, I had all of the cash. They were tall and expensively dressed. We were more modestly dressed. We were seated in a booth, so because my husband is left handed, he went in first. He sat across from my friend, I sat across from her husband.

The server (which were called waitresses back then) immediately aimed her attention to them (mostly at the husband) . They knew what they wanted, they went there often and ordered a lot. My husband asked questions, she was very nice (almost flirty) to him. When I ordered my food, I wasn't even sure she heard me.

It was a long night, lots of drinks for the drinkers (I'm not one), lots of food for the big eaters, (I'm not one), and yet for some reason, it was my meal that didn't show up on time and I insisted everyone start eating," don't let it get cold". She forgot my coffee at dessert time. In the end, I had to ask my friend's husband to ask her for my coffee, and it then came right away, as she apologized, to him!

Then, out came the check. As she started to hand it to my friend's husband, I was the loudest that I had been the entire evening, and reached for it saying (with a huge smile) "It's our treat, tonight!"

It was the first time, I think, that the server even noticed me. Her face looked stunned. She had sucked up to the person who appeared to have money (more like spend?) and she had been using her flirtations on the wrong person...She judged the book by his leather jacket instead of treating every customer like they were important.

She lucked out. If he had paid, she would have gotten a low tip from him to begin with, because he was (probably still is) a selfish, cheap tipper. It would have been a lot of 'suck up' wasted. She was just a servant to him.

Instead, she got me, a former waitress, who knows how hard it is to serve food and she was tipped very well.

As I handed the bill and a tip (much bigger than she deserved, 25%+) to her, I looked into her worried eyes, smiled and gently said, "Thank you for a memorable evening".

*****

At 58, I've become more observant of when I speak, and whether it's acknowledged or not. Or even if it's heard at all.

I sadly think it's because I'm a woman who was brought up to be polite, respectful, to not be selfish and to always put others first.  I grew up to be the "perfect woman"; steadfast, reliable and counted on.

Just like the doormat in our sunporch.

No one really notices it, but everyone uses it.

This is not uncommon. In general, most woman are not taken seriously by men and even worse, by other women. It's 2015, and it's time to change.

Pay attention when someone speaks. Even if it's not a man. Especially if it's not a man speaking. Even if it isn't something you agree on. That's when it's most important to listen.

Those words might be the most important words you'll ever hear. At least they might be to the speaker of them.

For if you don't, she might just walk away from you, because you made her feel her feel invisible, she might decide you aren't worth her time.

2/9/2015

SPRING AHEAD FALL OUT

Spring Ahead Fall Out

While many folks were snugly snoozing, taking advantage of that precious extra hour gained from daylight savings time being over until next spring, my husband and I were up and out early on that cold but clear first Sunday of November.

We had to return a slow moving back-hoe to a local customer's shop. As my husband, who can drive anything, maneuvered that tall piece of equipment down the usually congested streets, I followed him in my car, at a safe distance, using my 4 way flashers as warning signals for any lone car that was to come up behind me. 

Without the assertive drivers and the constant flow of traffic, I felt an appreciation for the peaceful appearance of my New England town and confirmed my thought that autumn is the most beautiful season. (That beauty which comes before the beast of winter!)

The low speed started to make me antsy, so I turned on the radio to distract myself. If there ever was a time that I believed in a "meant to be" moment, that was it.

There was a talk show on (probably on NPR, one of my presets) where the guest speaker was talking about studies of feelings of grief, trauma, and how past events effected memories and healing.

He went on to describe how veterans look at their war experiences differently. With much more description and a full explanation, with examples, he said how some of the vets of the earlier wars have fond and proud memories.

He explained that memories without trauma seem to get better over the years, while the vets who went through severe trauma and some who didn't have welcoming home comings had memories that were just as bad or painful as when these events happened. (I'm generalizing his very detailed studies.)

He discussed adults who were abused as children and how they can relive the pain (which might have been temporarily buried or forgotten) by a sudden whiff of a scent, or tune of a song, where they can close their eyes and remember every detail of the room of the traumatic event. They suddenly physically and emotionally relive the feeling that they experienced many years earlier.

He pointed out that it's only just recently that psychological care and therapy has realized that just because someone who works through it and is told it wasn't their fault, or how it's over now, that these feelings are still physically real. The patient can be rational and acknowledge what well meaning people are telling them to try to help them, but they still feel whatever feeling that they experienced during their original trauma.

He pointed out how when in mourning, the shock, sadness, regrets, guilt or whatever emotion a death can bring up is normal, it needs to be felt. In most circumstances, time softens the anguish, and life can go on.

Even though being told of a death seems to feel traumatic to all at first, some cases do cause real trauma. No matter how often that person is told that they are a good daughter, son, parent, etc. that traumatized person still lives with those real feelings. Those feelings should be recognized, acknowledged and not denied. 

While listening to the speaker, I kept thinking of a dear friend. She was having a hard time with the circumstances of a death of her loved one, even though she was wonderful to that person.

I realized in trying to make her feel better, and "get over it" by explaining how we can't change the past, and to remember all that she did and how much she was loved and appreciated, I now feel like I was telling her to stop feeling her real feelings. My words were true, but I had no right to give the impression she was wrong in having those feelings. 

Which brings me to my feelings. After a whirlwind year of changes, consisting of births, deaths, divorces, weddings, engagements, new homes, selling childhood home and being the responsible adult in a great many directions, especially of finances, and paperwork, but also physical care as well, my feelings have become "sensitive".

I've experienced the biggest high I've had in years by the birth of my first grandchild. He brought back the hope that had almost completely disappeared a few years ago. I know things would be very different for me right now if he hadn't come into my life.

Very recently, I've also had the realization of who I can really count on when I need someone. In hindsight, it shouldn't be a surprise, especially since I had lost hope for quite a while. (The "OLD" me was always too hopeful, in an unrealistic way. That guaranteed my hopes would be crushed. And they were, over and over, big time!)

This week so far, though well meaning, I have been kindly told,  "You shouldn't feel like that", "Try not to feel like that", and a couple of other well meaning variations.

That's how I felt. I didn't want to feel that way, but that's how I felt. 

As I tried to explain my point of view of feelings that I didn't fully understand myself, I knew the listener wasn't hearing or understanding my words. It's normal to become defensive and/or make up excuses for others. It's common to judge, try to fix or solve the problems of others.

That's how I felt. Why can't my feelings ever count?

I'VE TRIED TO CONSIDER EVERYONE ELSES FEELINGS FOR YEARS!!!

I regretted trying to explain my feelings, because then the drama started to kick in, and childhood memories took over...The smell of supper cooking, the sound of TV on in the background and how I was cut short and angrily told "You shouldn't feel like that..."

Any feelings I have from now on, I will embrace. I'm not going to bury them anymore.

I'm springing the trap, setting them free.

When someone thoughtlessly hurts my feelings, it will be their loss. If they don't realize how I supported them in the past, it doesn't matter. That time is over. 

It's my time, now. I'm slowly giving up being the responsible adult who is invisible and overlooked.

I know one little person who smiles the moment I enter his field of vision. It melts my heart to see him, too.

11/18/2014

FLASH BACK...BABY STEPS...FORWARD

Flash Back...Baby Steps...Forward

When "something" in the air suddenly lets us know that my grandchild has filled his diaper, I have no problem cleaning him up and putting him into a nice dry one.

I know this is a temporary stage of life for me and for him. It won't last long.

While I am changing him, he babbles and smiles.  Like most humans, he seems thrilled to spend a few minutes in his "birthday suit", kicking and stretching after being freed from the snug and very efficient diaper and romper.
 
His beautiful eyes are wide with curiosity, taking in everything he sees. As they meet mine, he smiles and wiggles his arms and legs in excitement. He's about to be picked up and he can't wait!

Sometimes a comment is made by an occasional observer, usually about the odor and the mess...

Very quickly (probably much too quickly) I reply how I don't mind at all, it's so much easier and nicer than cleaning up and dealing with the same sort of mess of an elderly person.
 
A memory momentarily chokes me, my mood sinks and I feel like I can't breathe.                    

I pick up my precious grand-baby, I hold him close, kiss his smooth, round cheek. As my throat relaxes, I take a deep breath filled with the scent of a newborn, this washes away the bad memory as fast as it came.

The frustrating thing about these "flash backs" is that they happen during wonderful moments. I guess it works both ways.

The other day, I brought the baby outside for a change of scenery, but also to get some fresh air. I sat on the front step, with him sitting in my lap. Instead of looking for a sweater, I loosely wrapped him in one of his quilts, so just his arms and upper torso were out of it. That way, if he wanted to move his hands, they weren't all bound up. (He's way past the swaddling stage!)

I had assumed he would be fascinated by the many passing vehicles, but I noticed that he was staring down to our right. There was a slight, warm breeze, which was causing the day-lily leaves and the ferns to gently sway back and forth. He was mesmerized. He watched them for quite a while. I watched them as well, realizing how much beauty is right beside us, that is taken for granted!
 
Eventually, he turned his head and looked down at his quilt. His clumsy little fingers were working hard at grabbing a folded edge where the patches of colors were brightest. It kept slipping out of his fingers, because his round little body was holding down the quilt, but he kept working at it, patiently concentrating, "Practice makes perfect", I thought, then:
 
IN A FLASH

A vision of my dying mother making the repetitive motion of trying to grasp her blanket, over and over. Her old, weak fingers were shaking as the blanket kept slipping out of them, because she couldn't lift herself off of the covers. Instead of just watching her, I tried to help, but because of her terminal agitation she became uncomfortable quickly and pushed the blanket off as soon as it was on, as she quietly wept the entire time.

My grand-baby's head turned up, he seemed to be looking for me. I spoke to him and turned him towards me and stood up. I propped him up on my shoulder and carried him around the yard. He always likes being walked and I needed to hold him close after that flash back.
 
I brought my grand-baby inside and as I was rocking him, was thinking about my mother. I recalled the first time I ever saw her struggling to grasp a blanket and how when I did, it gave me a flashback of my newborn grandchild unknowingly pushing at his blanket. Thinking of him at that moment, made me less stressed.
 
That was the moment I realized that in many cases we go out the same way we came in.

A dying dementia patient and a newborn baby have similar needs. They are both helpless in their own ways: in being fed, bathed, changed, and they often can't communicate their wants.

The difference is each passing day, the dying patient slips back, until death is the ultimate relief for not only the patient, where they finally have peace, but for their loved ones. It's sad to witness the suffering from deterioration and confusion of a once strong, healthy parent. 
 
As each day progresses, so does the baby. He grows stronger and more coordinated as he moves forward into life, reminding all who see him of what life is all about, restoring hope for those who have lost it.

* * * * * * *

This is dedicated to my mother, Marie, who became a mother 58 years ago, tomorrow. Starting on that day, my life was in her hands, in which she was to raise me and then 4 more children, and she also held 8 grandchildren.

It's also dedicated to my mother's first great grandchild, Oliver, my grandchild, the sweetest part of this bitter-sweet year.

October 1, 2014