The Process of Progress

So much of the past two-ish years have been more manageable because everything has been a project. Job. Moving. Her. But as we get closer and closer to 100% completion on each project, it's getting harder to avoid the final project. Acceptance of change. Recognizing then and not just acknowledging now.

I still can't play the photo album option on the Apple TV...it's almost been two years and it still hurts too much to look directly at the difference. And I don't just avoid the physical representation of memories; I avoid memories completely. I try not to think about life "before". And that, folks, is messed up. Think about that for a second. Think about just NOT thinking about the past. That’s what I do because that is the only way that I can avoid the enormous amount of sadness that lodged somewhere deep down in my chest. I imagine it as a ball of compressed energy that's pinned down by my heart. Every once in a while a memory flashes past and I’ll entertain it for a second just out of exhaustion. Kind of like an emotional earthquake. Scary, but relieving. Sometimes she calls me accidentally. I pick up, say hello and she doesn't say anything. So I just listen. I think about how she's right there, but not. I let myself hurt for a few seconds. And each time I listen a little bit longer.

Me and Grief

I’ve been avoiding updating this blog for a while. Just the thought of it overwhelmed me with guilt. I wasn’t sure why. But I am now.

Let me back up a bit. When I moved out here I saw it as an act of closure; a conscious decision to move on and live life. But we all know better than that, don’t we? Nothing is that simple. Frankly, I underestimated something very important… my very needy partnership with grief. That bastard is a family member. There for life. I think I knew that, but it wasn’t until this very moment that I realized how comfortable I was with grief. How’s that for a contradictory statement. Me and grief, we had a rhythm and routine. Grief defined me and my days. People knew me as the girl with grief.  And I see now that moving was just as much a decision to move on as it was an attempt to take back some power.  I’ve given myself quite the task. So, four months of lazy naiveté later, here I am. Ready to admit that not only is relying on the world around me to tell me who I am is a fools errand, but also that doing that is not who I am. It’s definitely not the person Pam raised.

So, with that, I apologize for the length of time since my last update. I’ve been dealing with some shit. 

I’m sure you’re tired of reading, so I’ll make this short with the promise of more details next time.

From what I understand they have made some serious headway with unpacking thanks to all of the visitors. Dad may even be able to fit both cars into the garage. Mom is going to therapy (PT/OT/speech) a few times a week and continues to confirm her strong dislike for her PT…again.  We’ve discussed the possibility that she might learn to love him, but so far it’s looking questionable.  All in all, they’re doing well. Still settling in. The state I think they’ll remain in, to be honest because that’s who they are – settling in, never settling for. 

New Year, New Home.

They made it to Florida in three days. When I spoke to them during their migration they were amidst a friendly conversation with some folks at a restaurant. How surprising, my parents are making friends with strangers. To this day my mom swears she’s shy, but all evidence points to the contrary. Anyhow, it was an uneventful trip and they made it to their new abode safe and sound.

We then showed up on Christmas eve. The Christmas palm tree donned it’s usual ornaments, the A/C was set at 72 degrees and the pool awaited us. Between floating and being schooled by mom at Trivial Pursuit we aggressively unpacked. Turns out trying to combine two condominiums full of stuff is no easy task and if you can’t find something then it’s in the garage. It also seems that although mom may not be able to physically help, she can certainly direct. We tried to get as much done as we could while we were there to take some of the pressure off of Dee and my dad. DM brought his usual tech savvy and got the internet and cable up and running while I attacked the kitchen. I had no idea that one person could have so many colanders….or Cuisinarts…or adorable desert plates. That’s a lie, I’ve known my mom for 34 years. But let’s just say that Habitat for Humanity is incredibly appreciative for The Leimers coming to town. 

How is she doing though? 

In my completely subjective opinion, she seems to be doing really well. Her left leg continues to get stronger and she got some magic glasses that help her recognize the left. I don’t know the science behind them, but the way she explains it to me is that they seem to direct her eyes left. This means that she can read again, however now she has to practice focus. Nothing is every easy, folks. She and my dad are also checking out a rehab facility today, but the doctor will have to order more rehab before they can take advantage of that. Thankfully they also have a caregiver coming every weekday now, which is a HUGE help and mom says that she likes this woman. I think her words were “well, it wasn’t hate at first sight” - a two thumbs up review!

And that’s the current situation. They’re still adjusting to the new home and new life, but let’s be honest, sunshine and above freezing temperatures is quite the improvement. And yes, of course I still worry. I know they do too, but they like to tell me otherwise because I’m their kid and they’d like to believe that I believe them. Trust me, I would love to still have the luxury of being the kid who believes. Another level of adulthood - learning to recognize your parents are just people and worry just creates more worry, so you have to grow the hell up and trust to them to tell you when they’re not OK. So, new mantra, “I will not helicopter parent my own parents”, but I will totally bug the shit out of them like any good kid. 

PS - Dad changed his phone number and then didn’t bother to tell people because he seems to forget that people actually DO care about him and want to be able to hear his voice. If you need it, let me know.

Behind The Curtain.

They're moving in a little over two weeks. I just said goodbye to the house that has been home for the last 10 years. I didn't expect to be as sad. It's house number 4 after all. I didn't cry about house 1, 2 or 3, but I did for 4. I loved the first 3. House 4 is special. I got older in the first 3, but I grew up in 4.  Four has been a participant in all of this and leaving it is just as painful as it is refreshing. So goodbye number 4, thank you, but now it's time to get out of the cold and enjoy the sunshine state. The packers will pack up and move everything and my parents will take their first road trip in their new minivan.

Before they move to Florida mom will finish being a participant in the research study. She goes downtown a few times a week to RIC - the third place she stayed, although she has no memory of it. She spends an hour working with her PT, Matt (or "Festive Matt" as we call him on account of his less than present sense of humor). While he encourages her and she bitches they focus on walking, balancing and strengthening exercises. I'm not sure which bit she hates the most, but I am sure that when given a chance my mom will figure out a way to cheat. Regardless of the slightly contentious patient-doctor relationship and the periodic cheating, the study has certainly been helpful. She's stronger than before, can walk further distances and can stand on her own for longer periods of time. 

I can't pretend it's all great. There are certain realities that have to be faced. Things like her left arm, which will never work again. And the rather massive truth that she'll never be who she was before - something she herself reminds us of in times of frustration. And when she says that it feels like the curtain has been drawn, exposing the inner workings of a play we're all in. Like she's called us all out for pretending...to be ok. I'd like to be able to tell her that's not true. I wish I could say, "We're not pretending it's ok, because it is ok." And I would love to be able to cry with her and say how unfair this all is. Tell her I'm just as angry as she is and that I hate having to watch her like this. And I really want to tell her that I get jealous watching other kids with their moms or other husbands with their wives. But I can't. And I won't. She'd never let me get away with that bullshit anyway. All I can do is apologize for pushing so hard, remind her of how far she's come and pull the curtain closed again.

To Living Like a Pro

It's her second post-stroke birthday, but first post-stroke birthday she'll remember. 

A year ago she was in RIC downtown. She celebrated her birthday next to her roommate - a small Asian woman who spoke no English, vocalized her unhappiness with loud moans, giggled like a little girl and was either a nun or just happened to be part of nun squad. She wasn't the worst roommate on the floor. It could have been Frances (http://whatsgoingonwithpam.blogspot.com/2014/09/oh-frances.html)...the crafty escape artist next door to whom mom offered her assistance in hopes their success could bring us all some peace. 

I just went back and read my post from her last birthday. I still stand by what I wrote. Birthdays shouldn't be sad. They should be recognized as accomplishments and days of thanksgiving. Sure, you're hangovers have made you  begin to accept the ware and tear life has had on your liver. And yes, the elasticity of your skin is beginning to resemble well worn spandex. But for the sake of all that's holy, do any of you remember how painful it was to be a teenager? The drama. The agony. The acne. Or how horrible it was to live off of .99 cent Taco Bell tacos and Lipton instant iced tea while trying desperately not to gain the inevitable freshman 15? Think about it folks. Be glad you no longer have to worry about what you're going to do with your life because now you know it's easier to just accept the mediocrity. (I still believe in you though).

This day last year was a good reminder that birthdays are a moment to celebrate being alive. But honestly, I remember it being hard to celebrate that day. 

RIC was an amazing place. It was a place we didn't have to feel different. Our reality was everyone's reality. Life was less intimidating. Inability was the norm and ability was success. Fear was dethroned and hope promoted. "Will we be ok?" was "how do we make it ok?" And so it was much easier to be there than not, because outside inability was failure and the stark contrast of the two worlds hurt like a bitch. 

That day I recognized that she was alive, but not living. None of us were. And that was the punch in the face. My mom was a pro at living...she made it an art form. But there we were - eating, sleeping, breathing, but not living. 

A year later the space between life and living has gotten smaller. Failures are fewer and further between. And the contrast is weakening. Things continue to sag and wrinkle. The grey hairs seem to be multiplying and getting carded is a compliment these days. But if I get to the end of my life and realize that's the shit I wasted my time worrying about then she has taught me nothing. 

Happy birthday, mom. It's an honor to apprentice under one of life's greatest artists. 

A Year Later

Today marks a year. I'm looking out the same window I was looking out of when my dad called me. He tried not to cry. I think all he could say was "Barrie, it's your mother..." The only difference is that it's raining. It feels appropriate, so thank you universe. Thank you for understanding that a sunny day would be too much of a contrast to my sadness. 

I've thought a lot about what is the appropriate thing to say on this day. And then I realized that focusing on what's appropriate is the opposite of what's appropriate. I can't give you the "everything happens for a reason, because if this never happened I wouldn't know _____." That would be insincere. Of course I've learned a lot, I've found strength I never knew I had, I've felt love I never knew was there, I've made life a daily focus...you know, the things people learn and then say and you read but don't actually feel until this kind of shit happens. But that's a good thing. And I DO sincerely mean that. People wouldn't live life and take the risks they do if they felt those lessons too early.  The person you are before those lessons will always be different from the person you are after those lessons, but you need to experience both to appreciate the other.

Today, all I can really think about is how much I love my mom. How much I love being her daughter. How much I love that she did foreign country-themed weeks growing up and how much I love that she let me put hieroglyphics on the wall during "Egypt week," how much I love that she let me throw rotten fruit out the car window when I didn't get into the ballet, how much I love she got arrested for painting flowers on the neighborhood fire hydrant during a sleepover, how much I love that she dressed up in feathers and fake eyelashes with me for the Cher concert, how much I love that she drove me back and forth from Chicago to Cincinnati every weekend for a year, how much I love that she planted flowers in her friends yards in the middle of the night as a birthday surprise.... how much I love that I still have her. 

Old me loved my mom, but new me loves her more. 

A Healthy Dose of Dwelling

I don't want to spend a lot of time on this subject, because first of all, it's my dad's business and not mine, but secondly, I don't think dwelling on it is good for anyone. But who cares! Let's dwell just a little because to not dwell is to not acknowledge how gross some people are in this world and miss the opportunity for the rest of us to reassuringly think to ourselves, "at least I'm not that big of an ass. Jeez, how did you become so horrible? If I were you I'd hate myself."

As my last post alluded to, my father was treated with very little respect by his company and he chose to handle it with the same level of integrity and self respect with which he handles everything. He graciously said goodbye and walked away. I, on the other hand, totally lost my shit and wrote that thank you letter. 

He's been retired for two weeks and he's OK. He promises. I've sworn to stop nagging him about it, so I'm just going to have to take him at his word. To be honest, he actually does seem pretty OK. I think being able to focus on my mom and himself, rather than feeling as though his soul is slowly being squeezed in a vise by a bunch of spineless lemmings who probably have the combined brain cells of a half-dead starfish* that's been surviving off of biohazardous waste left behind by cruise ships is good for him. (Dwelling.) And honestly, there's something to be said for waking up every morning and NOT having to walk into a steamy cage of mutinous vultures** who wreak of rotting integrity and ruthless desperation that only rivals a medieval prisoner captured, caged and left to die in his own filth. I mean, really. It's gotta feel good to not be there. (More dwelling. It feels so good, doesn't it?)

So now you're probably thinking to yourself, "what now?" Well folks, that's an excellent question. What I/we know right now is that my mom is continuing to improve. She continues to get better at cheating during speech and occupational therapy. "This maze doesn't make any sense. This bird is too big to fit through there. He should just go this way." (Draws line around the maze to the end point.) Smooth. And she's also been getting a lot stronger. She's even started walking a little bit without assistance....I haven't seen it myself and mom refuses to tell me about it, but both dad and Dee have seen it with their own two eyes. Because of the continued progress, rehab has been extended until mid-July. We don't know if they'll keep extending, but if they do then obviously staying in Chicago is a priority. Now, let's say that they don't continue to extend the rehab which doesn't result in me throwing an enormous fit and causing a scene because not extending the rehab would be an absolute injustice....if that happens then we pack things up, give the decomposing starfish and shameless birds of prey a good wave goodbye and head for the sunshine state. 

* I have nothing against starfish and in fact I feel badly equating any creatures intelligence to that of my fathers ex-coworkers. 

** I would like to call particular attention to the vulture reference here as this animal is known to purposely defecate on it's own feet as well as projectile vomit up to 10 feet when defending themselves against predators. I know, right?