Tag: Dad

What what?

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Wait a minute! Breathe…

My thoughts don’t always jump from my brain cake to the page so easily. I have had my apple cart pushed over and all of my wares have rolled to the nearest gully. In the quiet moments of my day , my emotions hit me like a wave. I am struggling not to let them brim over and make me cry. Everyone in my life wants to know if “I’m Okay” and I am not sure how to answer that. A vase with a crack might still hold water but would you trust it on your best coffee table?

I am not young. I am not old. Whenever I was with my Dad, I felt like a little girl. I was loved. I was protected. I was safe. Now I am without him. Will I be Okay? Yes, in time. I have to fill the void in my soul with something meaningful. I just don’t know what that will be yet. It is not the fall that kills, it is the sudden stop. I was holding my own until everyone left and all of the gatherings were finished. The moment I exhaled to relax and regroup, my emotions slammed into me. I have cried a lot this past week. I sometimes forgot to eat or I didn’t feel like eating. I will be honest with you, I tracked my food very liberally. I didn’t step too far out of bounds but I did stray. The difference is the old me would still be in bed, still eating, still crying, still trying to figure out what to do next. I would be angry, mostly at myself, I am sure, but…

I don’t do that anymore. I want more from myself. I want more out of my world around me. I spent too many years agonizing about being enough. Good enough, pretty enough, happy enough. ENOUGH!!!! I have always been just what I needed. The only standards I need to live by or up to are my OWN! If you don’t like that your life is a standing pile of POO, step away from the pile. Make a new path, find a new way. Everyone’s journey has different roads. Just keep truckin’ . When I start to swirl in my own self-doubt I quietly remind myself that my Dad believed in me. I will not give in to my dark thoughts. It only takes the smallest spark of hope to accomplish BIG things.

You are beautiful. You are important. You are enough. Believe in the power of YOU!

Never Give Up On The Person You Are Meant To BE-Ever!

Journey on

House of Cards

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In the quiet of the gloaming I find myself reflecting on the moments of my day. Gloaming is the time before darkness settles in and the afternoon is filled with the soft glow of dusk.  The heat of the day is saying goodbye. The birds of song change their tune to something more soothing and mellow as if they know night is nearby.  I can feel the tension in my body begin to wane. I cherish these moments. Summer is hectic. The long days make me want to throw 40 hours into a 24 hour day. I hate when I become inpatient and try to live my life in 12 minutes.

We deserve more for ourselves. What is wrong with taking your time? This weekend, which for me began on Friday, was both crammed with activity and inactivity. Hubby and I made our annual trek to Springfield MA to visit the BIG E! As I get older I enjoy the trek across my great state less and less. The Mass Pike has never been a fun ride, ever. It is crazy long between exits and people with bad driving habits often make it unsafe. The Big E means the beginning of Autumn for me. I wait all summer for its arrival; yet, I dread the thought of going. It isn’t because I don’t have fun while I am there. It is just reality has a heavy hand. Now I have to prepare myself for shorter, cooler days with less and less outside time. Something WINTER this way comes…

I love the crispness of the air. I love being able to wear warmer snuggly clothes. I love that I can put on a hoodie and not have to wear the heavy digs of Winter. But, my mood begins to suffer. I struggle with sadness and feelings of being trapped. I grow anxious as the days get shorter and colder. I feel like a House of Cards waiting to be set astray by the gentlest of breezes. Something WINTER this way comes…  I wonder if this is how my Dad feels.

I feel melancholy since returning from my adventure on Friday. I have been fighting with myself all weekend. My Dad struggles with Dementia. He lives in a nursing home now.  I took care of my Dad by myself for nearly eight years. I am falling into the mood I adopted while taking care of him. At the end of each Summer I always felt like I was losing just a touch more of who he used to be. I would struggle with sadness, fear and anxiety. I learned to hate the dark seasons. I spent precious hours biding our time until the earliest hints of sunshine and light returned to our days freeing us. I am torn everyday. I want him to live forever but I want him to be free. I want him to remember but I know he will forget. I hate that love can’t fix everything. Happiness is a House of Cards.

 

Kathy’s Song

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She was there. My Pops had just been transferred from the hospital to enter the uncertain life as a nursing home resident. In the short span of his first week he was busted from the fifth floor to the fourth because he needed additional looking after. Which I learned really meant that my dad in his confusion would sometimes enter other patients rooms and well, wreak havoc. He didn’t mean any harm but nonetheless disturbances of any kind can have a very negative effect on the frail and/ or elderly who are just trying to have a little peace in their lives. I wasn’t happy the staff wanted to move my Pops but I understood so with minimal crabbing from me I helped the CNA move my dad to his new digs.  She was there.

Our first meeting is difficult for me to recall, not because I have memory issues but more from the level of stress I hadn’t yet sorted out. Everything that was happening to Dad and I still hadn’t sunken into my thought process. I was feeling so overwhelmed and beaten. I felt numb. She was there. Her name is Kathy. Her hubby was one of the residents at my Dad’s new “home”. She was friendly and talkative. I felt comfortable in her presence from that first moment. She showed me around the fourth floor and gave me a few pointers about the staff, the meal times, how to control the heat in Dad’s room, where to find extra linens. By reaching out to me she changed that moment of fear for me. I relaxed a little and I felt a wave of relief I was sure was never going to come.

I am sure she has no idea how much that day changed me. It changed the way I view my Dad’s living situation. It changed the way I am towards other people who have loved ones suffering from illnesses and dementia. Even though each of our battles are unique to us we are all in the same war; fighting to give our loved one the best “rest of their lives”.  My Pops was only at his first nursing home for two weeks when a bed became available closer to my home in a better environment. I jumped at the opportunity. I am not sorry that I moved Pops. We are both happier and healthier now. Kathy’s hubby has moved as well into a better living arrangement. I couldn’t be happier for them both.

Kathy and I keep in touch as much as possible, gotta love the interwebs, and today we went to lunch. I had a wonderful time. Thank you Kathy for being the light of hope I needed so badly that day. Never forget that one person can change the world. Never underestimate what you mean to someone else.

Love,

Trish  =  )

Today Was NOT That Day

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That day when you are the most uncertain about an important outcome, that day you wish would never come to fruition, that day, that one day you dread the most…  but today we were smiled upon, we were spared. As anyone who reads my blog knows I have a parent with dementia. He is my Dad; my hero, the man I love more than words can ever put a spin on. Our journey with his illness has not been easy. He and I have done this largely on our own. We have tried to always face it with laughter, love, and the occasional spat. I always have his back just like he has always had mine. Dad thinks he lives in his home town. He doesn’t know what day of the week it is. He doesn’t know current events, or what he last ate; and that is all ok with me. He knows who I AM, so to me he knows everything he needs to know and I see to the rest of it.

I have been there to see my Dad lose a child, lose his wife, lose his way to this terrible disease but never once did I fear that I would lose him, until today. For the first time in a long time I looked at my Dad as an elderly gentleman who had lived better days. I am Dad’s link to the outside world. I make it my duty to take him to all of his appointments outside of his nursing home. I am the keeper of his history. I am his advocate, his voice. I try to do my best to do what’s best for him.

Today Pops had to go to the local hospital for a procedure for some swallowing issues he has been having. Numerous questions regarding his health were directed towards me. I provided the answers they were seeking as best as I could. IVs were started. Charts were checked. I helped Pops put on his hospital gown and hairnet (he looked like an ugly lunch lady).  As the medical team rolled him away to his procedure I found myself fighting a wave of panic; the light of realization going on in my head that Pops is not immortal. Fearful thoughts raced through my head and I found myself fighting back tears.

I would like to tell you that I rallied quickly, banished those thoughts and moved on; but, that would be a lie. Instead I nervously picked my way along the hallway to a cafeteria, bought a banana, sang a chorus of Chances Are to a cashier, caught my breath and my composure. I found a bench to sit at to wait for the nurses to call me when Dad hit the Recovery Room. I managed to make it through the banana and a yogurt parfait( I went back for that) and was just purchasing a coffee when my phone rang. Seeing the number on my cell gave me a start but it was a call I had to answer. I was relieved to hear from the surgeon that things had gone well. My dad tolerated the procedure ok and he would be going to recovery soon    =  )

Live for the people in your life. Love with all of your being. No regrets. Be in the moment, make a memory. People often say to me that Dad is lucky to have me but I think I am the lucky one.

 

Brave?

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I love my Pops. Everyone who knows me knows how much I care about this man. People often say to me how strong I am or brave or what courage it takes to face his illness. I never know quite know how to respond to that. I know if the tables were turned and I was the one who was ill my Dad would be there. It is the character you build with the help of your parents that makes you the person you become. My parents had their faults, who doesn’t? They also tried very hard to instill certain values in us girls. Work hard, love with an open heart, be kind to people, listen, be understanding. Give of yourself not because it is expected of you but because want to share who you are with others. Nice counts.

My Dad never graduated high school. He was from an era in time when quitting school to seek a job to help your family was encouraged. I am sure my grandparents would have loved it if all of their children had stayed in school and jumped for their share of the American dream but dreams don’t put food on your table. My Dad has always had a strong sense of taking care of one’s own family. Do what needs to be done so they are provided for. He was a great provider. I can remember him having two part time jobs to help round out his full time job just to make ends meet. My mother was really unable to hold down a job for any significant amount of time. Her mental illness always got in her way. Crippling her ability to cope with every day duties of keeping the house and kids in line. Often my Dad had to be both parents.

My Dad never gave up on my mother and loved her devotedly until the day she died. Funny, he doesn’t remember her now. Sad for me; blessing for him? Who am I to say? I only know in my heart I am glad my mother did not live to see my Pops robbed of his memory. She nearly lost her mind after my sister passed away. I sometimes think that’s why her health declined so fast after Breny died ; she was broken. Both of my parents were clingy after her passing. My phone would ring off the hook. They would often call me to make sure I was Okay. Annoying then, but now I realize how hurt they were by her passing and how afraid they were for me and my other sister. Loss was not easy for either of them.

I deal with my Dad’s loss everyday. He is still here, yet he is not.  As the days go by I know my time being with him, laughing, living, crying and just being his kid are on the decline. He will not live forever despite my best efforts. I have become the parent to my parent. My parents taught me what to do. There is no bravery involved. Only love…and love can do anything. Love the people in your life while they are still here to share it. Dad/Trish

Once Upon a Time…

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when I still believed in magic.

It is Christmas time at my house or should I say apartment? I am very young probably between four and six years old. I am still too young to understand the nuances that come with reality and make believe. I am more than content to take “make believe” at face value and buy it all; hook, line and sinker as Gospel truth. I mean what four or five year old wouldn’t? Santa wouldn’t stand a chance without plausible deniability.

As December ticks off its days my imagination soars. If we have no fireplace how is Santa supposed to get in? Will he bring my “Kenner Give-A-Show Projector” and my baby dolls and popcorn balls? I try to be a good girl and do as I am told. At night my mother plugs in our tree, as I wait for sleep to close my weary eyes I watch the ceiling and the patterns the blinking lights make with the tree. I am happy; my tiny heart filled with joy. I am safe and loved and well cared for. My faith in the intangible magic of Christmas unshakeable.

Sometimes at night if I am restless my mother comes in and warns me that the footsteps I hear faintly above my head belong to one of Santa’s helpers sent to spy on little children. I gasp and try with my grandest of effort to be still. I am too young to see my mother’s mental illness or to know my dad works long hours and odd jobs just to put food on the table. As I look into my mother’s face I see her beauty, her eyes filled with love for us. I see my dad handsome and strong. They are everything to me and my sisters. I still don’t know how Santa got in but he always did. I got all of things I ever wanted. Clothes, boots underwear, art supplies, LPs, cameras, watches, basketballs, dolls, games, oranges, sweets, popcorn balls, silver half dollars, PJs, sleeping bags…

We had many Christmases together as a family. Some were over the top grand, others not so much. We had aunts, uncles and family friends, they were more like family than friends, who chipped in and helped my parents to make Christmas magical. As a child I never saw that part of the people in my life, I just believed everything would be OK. I was even fortunate enough to have a godmother( a fairy godmother; well, to me anyway ). Every Christmas she would bring a special gift just for me.

This is for my parents June and Roger and to everyone I could think to add : Terry, John, Veda, Fran, Charlie, Meredith, Maryann and Roni, Dolly, Mary, Edgar, Cecile, Nap, Bobby, Monica, Sophie Smith, Cleo…

I wrote this to say thank you to all of the people in my life for always being there for me even when I didn’t see.
Thanks for all the magic you enriched my life with. Love is the greatest gift.

Happiest of Holidays

One of Those Days

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It has been one of those days. Lately everyday has been one of those days. I don’t know how to get off the merry-go-round. Have you ever put something off, you know, didn’t do something or fix something simply because you held onto the silliest belief that the problem would just go away? Funny how life doesn’t work the way we want it to. My Dad will never be younger or healthier or more mindful. His yellow brick road has less turns left to it. His journey more complete than just begun. Once upon a time not so long ago he was a giant amongst men. He had a wife and children, a job that kept us all cared for. He loved to laugh and sing. In my eyes he could anything. As I sit across from him at the eye doctor I see him for the first time in a long time.

He has aged. He is still strong but is now shrunken in his frame. His eyesight betrays him and his hearing is off. His ears seem large to me but I am sure it is that silly straw cowboy hat he insists on wearing. His hands which once held me are now twisted from years of over use and arthritis. He asks me often why they ache. Maybe they are a reflection of the pain he has had in his life. I try not to think about my Dad someday being to old to be. I try to be in the moment whenever we are together. Make a new memory, forgive an old disagreement. I tell him often how much I love him. It is the one thing I fear he will forget. It would break me.

The only gift we have is TODAY. Live it, enjoy it, savor it, do something with it. Just don’t throw it away.

My Soul Music

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I have never tried to write my blog while listening to music before. I thought I would give it a try. I am listening to In Blue by The Corrs. I love this CD. It helps to put me in a better mood when the thick fog of funk rolls in. I have the sound turned down a bit so I can process my thoughts. It is true that you never forget a good lesson learned. I used to sing, listen to music in high school to help me prep for tests. Feels like home, who knew? I switched to my go to gal…Streisand. Her music gives me something no other music has ever given me, the ability to believe in myself.

Lately, ok maybe that is a bad reference for time. I have not been getting along with myself for a few years now. This rift in my being has caused me turmoil and self-loathing. One would think that I would have learned to set myself free from that bullshit already. I think I have finally realized it is part of the mystery I call me. I lost faith in myself. I got lost on my journey. I am in the deep woods surrounded by mosquitoes and other wild life with no FECKING idea how to get back to the main road… except, I know the way. I have been unwilling to “fix” my course. Listen, I was in the middle of a first class pity party. I had balloons and snacks and more snacks and more snacks, well I think you get the idea. Eventually it was time to crawl down from my perch in the tress and rejoin the world around me.

I choose my life. Every crappy, wonderful, screwed up minute. I want to be healthy. One of my mother’s last wishes for me was to be well. She knew she was fading and her time was drawing to a close. She gave me one of her best Junie hugs. “I love you, Trish. I know you will take care of Daddy but I worry you won’t look after you. Don’t become me. I can’t walk. I struggle for breath. Someone has to help me with every small thing. Do you want to end up like me? unable to live like you want?” I brushed it off at the time. Mom being dramatic with all the trappings. She died three months later. I started WWs March 3, 2007. My mom passed away June 11.2007. In that short time I lost 50 pounds. I continued to lose for her, for me until I left behind 145 pounds. Hold your applause. Yes, I lost all that weight and then I walked away.

Funny thing about grief after awhile your mind softens the sharp edges so you can move on with your life. Unfortunately, I chose to move in the wrong direction. I had my reasons; ill conceived most of them. Shortly after my Mom’s passing I began taking care of my Dad. In the beginning he only needed gentle reminders and help with his shopping. I was on course. I managed to lose 145 pounds. I was 6 pounds short of reaching lifetime goal at WWs when my Dad had a cardio-vascular accident that changed our lives. He nearly died on me. I was thrust into full time caregiver with part time hours. Where was my rock? Suddenly I felt so useless and small. Dad got better physically but his dementia…well, that is an ongoing adventure = (

I coped the only way an addict knows how. I FELL off the wagon. No, that’s a lie. I JUMPED. It has taken eight years to regain most of the weight I lost. I didn’t want to deal with all the sadness, disappointment and loneliness that comes from taking care of an ailing loved one. There is no one to blame. It is what it is. I allowed myself to fall short on purpose, fulfilling my own doom theory. Well guess what? Screw that shit. I have things I want to do. Things I need to fix. Adventures to take. People to love. I accept I will always have to fight my need to “fix” my problems with food. Food is the worst friend, ever. I can’t live without her. She won’t change so I need to learn to give her space so my soul can have peace.

The Perfect Excuse?

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Yesterday was rude awakening day for me. I took Pops out for a haircut, lunch and to the optician to pick up his new glasses. My Pops has been in an alternate living situation since right before the Christmas holidays. Yes, that is my fancy way of saying nursing home. Ok, so it is taking me a while in the acceptance department but I am working on it. I am. I promise. I say it was rude awakening day because I guess I never realized before how draining being with my pops can be. I enjoyed his company while I was with him but I felt so tired and sad after I returned him to his place. I am still working on how our relationship has changed. What part I play now versus the role I used to have.

Sometimes the people that a person works with can become like family. Over the years I have grown close to quite a few of my fellow employees. We have formed our own unique family. I would be lost without them. We help each other through some pretty large mine fields of BS. Anyone who works for their $$ knows what I am saying without having to put it to words. More importantly my framily have been there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I like to think I have provided them that same support. The flip side of that closeness however, is that one or two people that runs through the vein in everyone’s family tree; the nay sayer, the contrary Mary, that one person who makes it their personal mission to tear people down.

I have personality quirks, who doesn’t? When someone goes out of their way to sting home a point, I hold onto those biting words, turning the selfhate over and over in my mind trying to figure out why or what I did to this person to make them act this way towards me. I believe that her personal burdens of hurt, anger and disappointment run deep. Striking out at me eases her own self loathing I am guessing or perhaps it may fuel it. Either way I have been a willing target. It is my own fault. This person pretends to want closeness and friends but strikes out at people to keep them at arms length. She can be helpful as long as you are on guard for the payment she seeks. That jibe to your personality that she just can’t stomach. You’re too negative, or too funny or too cute or too smart. I have never met anyone like her and I hope someday to leave her and her pettiness behind. As I try to come to terms with what is going on with my Dad her words roll around in my head like an old album with a skip that you are sure won’t ruin the soundtrack. That skip bothers me a lot. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU CAN’T USE YOUR DAD AS AN EXCUSE ANYMORE? hurtful, uncompassionate, cutting and true.

I put my life on hold to take care of my Dad. In more than a few ways he did become my excuses. I couldn’t go away for any length of time. I had to have a cell phone for those in case moments. I lost time from my job to run errands for him and take him to appointments. I lost time with my hubby and my friends. I forgot how to be in my own life. What am I going to do now that I can’t use Dad as an excuse? I honestly have no idea. I can read a book now whenever I want. I can go to dinner and a movie with friends. I can go on long walks in the evening with my bestie. I am free to become that girl I have always wanted to be.

Truth
Truth
I am going to work on the things I want to be and the things I want for myself. Every new day opens with endless possibilities for amazing things to happen.

Pop, Dad, Old Man, mine <3

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Our relationship has once again repositioned itself. I tread unfamiliar ground. How childlike my Dad has become in such a short span of time. I was growing so weary in my role as primary caregiver. I never had any real amount of time off from my duties. Dad was ever needy. On his good days though what fun we would have. I like to believe that he looked forward to seeing me everyday. We had a routine. I would come home from work, start coffee, hit the bathroom and get ready to go out the door to Dad’s. Some days Pop even waited long enough for me to be almost done with my afternoon prep before he’d start ringing my phones. He would sometimes call every thee minutes, not absorbing enough info from the first six calls. Some days I would find it amusing, others infuriating. I could always hear the angst in his voice when he was feeling afraid or uncertain. I looked forward to the calls where he would call jovial and mischievous.

Christmas time is not easy for me. I feel alone in the world, without a connection to the family I once had. I felt even more off balance this year with my life and Dad’s being set aflutter on the winds of change. I know in my heart of hearts he is being looked after and taken care of but I miss the old goat. I thought that when the time arrived and the day passed when my phone no longer rang, I would finally know peace. Why don’t I feel that way? Why? I am sad. I am angry. I am suffering from decision remorse. I am having regrets about doing the right thing. You know they say you can’t unboil an egg. I might as well come to terms with what has happened.
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I try to go see Dad every night and help him with supper. His face lights up when I enter the room. He always thanks me for coming, like I have been away on a long voyage. I greet everyone with the warmest hello and smile I can muster. The conversation I have with Dad is generally the same every night. How is your old man? How is everyone else? How is work? When can I live with you? Why can’t I go home? Am I sleeping here tonight? How long have I been here? Do I have to sleep in the attic? Do they have a bathroom in here? I reassure him the best I can but I see the pain in his face. I feel he is nervous almost afraid. It is hard for me to cover my own misgivings about this new adventure we are on. I sing for him. I hold in my tears. I joke with him. I owe him so much. I love him. I give him what I have; me. I hope it is enough.