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

TWO YEARS IN TWO WISH 'N

TWO YEARS IN TWO WISH 'N

Is it a coincidence that I am writing on the 2nd anniversary of my self-proclaimed rebirth? Maybe, maybe not...? Today's date wasn't what brought me to my computer.

After spending about half an hour listing everything that has happened to me this past year, I deleted the list.

It was long, and not very interesting, even to me.

There were lots of life events that happened in our family, my personal favorite just happened about 2 weeks ago. My first grandchild was born!

His name is Oliver!  Each time I encounter him, he melts my heart and gives me those endorphins caused by unconditional love. I have learned that grandchildren cause grandparents to find hope once again.

Another milestone for me was that my mother now resides in a nursing home. Her dementia had reached an unsafe level for her physically, while an unsafe level emotionally and mentally for her children.

So many, too many, good and bad things happened over the past year; "The way life should be"....

One of the most emotionally overwhelming things for me, and for my siblings in their different ways, was spending 4 freezing cold winter months trying to clean out our childhood home. It was packed full of almost 60 years of "things and stuff".

Every single thing stunk of "Royal Blue" which is a name given to the scent (eventually it became an awful odor) of my parent's home by the grandchildren, many years ago.

Some stuff was organized, but most wasn't.  Quite a bit of it was ruined or moldy, defeating the probable reason why each thing was "saved" to begin with.

My local sister and I were on the same wavelength from the very start. We both had spent way too much time in that dark house over the past few years, trying to please our stubborn parents and take care of them. We both had no attachment to anything from that house. Once in a while we'd come across something practical, but by time we got it to our homes (on top of the many boxes of crap we brought home to sort and shred) the Royal Blue smell made us physically ill.

Our local brother had spent more time than both of us taking care of our parents, but his nose wasn't as sensitive to the scent of Royal Blue. He did acknowledge he noticed it once in a while when he brought something home. He is also at a different stage of life than my sister and I, he's the youngest, and is still attached to his childhood home "stuff".

The two siblings who live out of state, who both helped tremendously in the ways they could, were much more sentimental about the house, and the family mementoes, to a point. They each claimed a couple of objects that meant a lot to them, so we made a point to save and/or send them to/for them.

The two important life lessons I learned in this entire process of becoming responsible for one's parents is:

1. I don't want to do this to my kids.

2. My favorite saying ever, for many years, still remains:

"The best 'things' in life AREN'T 'things'!!


This brings me to why I am writing, today.

I'm sure those around me are very tired of me saying " I hate stuff". I've been trying to sort and dispose of lots of old stuff of my own that we, the children raised by 'savers' (organized hoarders?) were taught to save.

I have no problem giving stuff away to people who want it. I usually have no problem donating stuff, or even throwing away obvious (to me) trash...most of the time.

But, every once in a while, a sentimental thing tugs at my heart and I have to use common sense and talk myself into letting it, the THING, go.

I saved some of my son's clothes from when he was an infant. He's 32, now. I saved them the way I was taught; in mothballs.

Before his baby was born, I found these sweet outfits and hand washed them 3 times to try to get rid of the mothball scent. I eventually gave them to my daughter-in-law, who took them home to try to wash them in a special laundry soap they were using for the baby clothes.

Yesterday, her mother told me they couldn't get the scent out, that maybe I could bring them back to my house and hang them on my clothesline to air them out? I agreed to.

The sun came out this morning, so I grabbed the bag of clothes to gently hand wash them and then hang them on the line...But, much to my disappointment, they all had some sort of new golden mustard type stains across them? I have no idea what caused this damage, but I spent all morning trying to get rid of the stains. I just realized haven't even noticed if the mothball scent still exists!?

My husband suggested I follow my own words and just let them go, they are only things. I can afford to buy new outfits for my grandson.

He is right.

After all, the best things in life aren't things.