My mother myself

Getting old is something that happened to your grandparents not your parents. In my minds eye my parents are young and vibrant. I see my dad on our boat fishing and laughing or splitting wood for our fireplace and cussing because the wedge got stuck behind a knot. My mom is sewing our identical holiday outfits (no we weren’t triplets but she wished we were), or wading in the stream behind the cabin looking so very relaxed and happy. This is how my heart sees them.
The unfiltered picture is different. I see my dad in a body that betrayed him as Dementia took over. He became lost inside his own skin. The same happened to my grandfather, he was old. This wasn’t supposed to happened to my dad. He traveled a hard road that left us all longing for a time gone by and then wishing for time to move by more quickly. It did and my final picture is of him relaxed again, comfortable in his own skin once more as he left us behind to continue his journey. My mom always seemed to move through life with an ease and confidence that made everything look easy. While she was still in Florida we spoke often, FaceTimed frequently and held onto the illusion that it was all fine. You cannot see what lies behind someone’s eyes if you aren’t in the same room. I didn’t see the sadness hiding back there, the sense of oneness that had taken over since my dad died. She hid it well until she didn’t. I didn’t notice the body snatchers until they came, took my mom and left an older version of her behind. Damn the body snatchers.
Aging is not something we want to face. The aging of your parents is something we want to avoid. Watching them age in the flesh is sobering, scary and unfortunately totally unavoidable unless you’re completely disconnected. I am a witness to my moms aging. At times an unwilling witness others a willing participant. It’s a challenge I didn’t expect and one I feel honored to have sometimes. Age has its privilege. She can cheat at dicing ( she says if we know she is doing it it isn’t cheating), ask the same questions repeatedly ( “ I’m almost 89 I’m allowed to repeat myself”), and relinquish responsibility for everything she doesn’t feel like doing. Aging of your parent also carries with it the feeling of loss. I miss the busy vibrant person she was. I miss the knitting sessions, comparing patterns and creating our own. I miss who she was before the body snatchers came. I’m not saying we don’t have fun anymore. There are days we laugh so hard our eyes leak. We are making memories and making our days count. It’s just I didn’t think of it that way before. It just was and we were just in the moment with our unwrinkled faces and bright eyes full of the promise of days ahead.
Time is a thief. It steals the feeling of forever or rather makes us realize that forever isn’t real. Time moves forward and doesn’t allow us to stay young. Our parents become old like our grandparents did, we become our parents and the cycle of life moves forward one grey hair at a time. Getting older, getting old is said to be a privilege not everyone gets to experience. Most days I wholeheartedly agree with that. Some days I want to stop the sand from slipping out of the hourglass and just stay in the moment. I want to pause the forward motion for just a little bit. When mom says she feels old I want to turn it back or stop it but I can’t. Time moves forward. So instead, when she says she is getting old I ask her if she thinks I’m old. She always says no! Your young and feisty. Lol. So then I tell her she is not old because if she is then I am too…..

Today I spent a part of my day with my daughter. In the pre COVID days and before my mom came back to Jersey with me this was a regular event. Generally once a month or so ( leaning more towards the “ or so” ) we would have chick day. We would get our nails done, have our eyebrows waxed, enjoy an indulgent lunch and chat about everything and nothing. We have been doing chick days for as long as I can remember. There were tea parties in the yard, popcorn and movie afternoons, bike rides and picknicks and now nails, eyebrows and lunches in Philly. These days always left me feeling lighter and energized. They still do.
In this new world of caregiving and COVID I am constantly being told to remember my “self care”. People are always talking about being mindful, of remembering to do for yourself not just others. The amount of time and space being spent on the topic of self care is mind boggling. It appears to have become a trend to take a little time to smell the roses each day and all the self help gurus seem to have an opinion on how best to do it. There is lack of self help shaming put out there to the ones who do not follow the guidelines of the popular modes of care, ie the massage hour, the weekend getaway or the regular visits to the salon. If you are the primary caregiver to a family member in addition to your own nuclear family and you have a day job or two where do you fit in the self care time everyone is talking about?
I remember back in the day my mom and her neighborhood friends would get together for coffee while we all played outside. The coffeklatch, as they called it. Then there was the couple of years they all got together to go to a ceramics class once a week. We ended up with some very nice pieces from that, I still have a few. There were also those kitchen lady trips to the city or the casino, ladies only and no kids. Who knew these ladies were on the cutting edge of self care. We thought it was mom time.
I am an early riser, obscenely early if you ask my family, and this has always been my quiet time. It is the one time of the day when I am guaranteed not to be asked for or about anything ( mostly because everyone else is still sleeping). I have been doing this since my daughter was born. It is my time of day to center myself. My time to indulge my senses. My time to do whatever. Who knew that all these years I have inadvertently been practicing self care.
We all need a little time, a little space to exhale. A little wiggle room just to be without being. I think most of us take the moment without the label. The random 10 to 60 minutes spent on something other than parenting or overseeing someone else’s needs that we use use for that cup of tea, reading a chapter or two of a book , catching up on a favorite program or yes, even getting the manicure that has been put off for way to long. It’s the moment within a moment. It’s chick day. It’s a sunrise cup of coffee on the deck or an hour of spinning some of my favorite fiber. It’s the time spent not thinking. So, I guess I have been practicing self care without knowing it.
Let’s all keep taking the moments as they come to us and remember to smile when over your shared cup of tea your friend asks you if your remembering a little self care ….

It’s been a while since I have written. Not because I didn’t feel like I had anything say, but because I felt like I was drowning.
Many of us say when my parents need support I will be there. It is said without reservation. There is no hesitation. No taking a moment to think about the how of it all. We jump in. Sink or swim we vow to be there. I was sinking for a little bit . Navigating the senior pool of doctors, prescriptions, daily needs and the ever present fear of am I doing this right swimming around in my head all the time be are a rip current. I found myself trying to swim for the shore when I should have been moving along side it, moving with it to arrive at the calm place again where I could move on my own. Isn’t that what the life guards tell you to do? Move with it and you’ll come out on the other side ok .
Being your parents person is harder that it sounds. I have always been my moms go to person. We enjoy a strong relationship that runs the gambit of mother daughter to BFF. I didn’t think adding one more thing to the mix would change things much . It did. Being the person responsible for everything is emotionally challenging at best overwhelming at the worst. I struggle with this at times, who am I kidding, I struggle with this a lot of the time.
This stage of life has become a balancing act that I oftentimes feel ill equipped to shoulder. She’s my mom and there are times I want her to be my mom, then there’s the reality that most days she isn’t really up to being a mom. She needs more support. She needs to be heard when she says she is tired, that means knowing what she means by that and telling her it’s ok even when you don’t feel that way. She needs her person to be strong for her when she isn’t. That is the hardest part. The most challenging part. The part I didn’t think about before. The meds, the doctors not so hard, being her rock 24/7 now that is a challenge. That is the part we do not think about when we say “ I got you”. Seven letters. Some days they weigh a ton, others feather light but always packed with a sense of responsibility I have not felt since my daughter was born.
I am a parent to my parent or perhaps a guide for this next stage of life, I’m not really sure which these days. What I do know is some days the waters will be smooth, others a little choppy and then there are the days the rip current shows up. Those days I will try to remember to take the deep breath that clears my mind so I can move with it to come out the other side.
The struggle is real. I said “ I got you” and I meant it then as I do now. Perhaps, just maybe, I got you means I’ve got me too.

There’s a glass coffee pot in the corner hutch, it was a wedding gift to my grandparents, when I’m gone I want you to have it. I hate these conversations. It isn’t like I am not aware of the fact that one day she will not be there, I just hate it when she decides to start going through her mental check list of who she wants to have what.
When you are gone my heart will be shattered and I will not really care about who gets what. I will sit in your room drawing in your scent while trying to remember how to breath. I will experience a pain that will threaten to tear me apart. I will learn to move forward with the memory of all our days together.
Those words, when I’m gone, mean very different things to us. I know my mom is concerned with leaving behind a very tangible part of herself to those she loves. She has memories she wants us to be able to hold, to touch so that the connection doesn’t feel so hazy and muddled. I know what her intention is. It is the method I have a problem with sometimes.
I think I should start a box for her, the “ when I’m gone “ box. We can drop little stories, jokes, pictures inside. Sort of like a time capsule. It will remind us of exactly who Signy Marie was when we most need to and are most unable to. Perhaps this sounds a tad morbid to some but the thought makes me smile. Knowing that she will choose the memories she wants us to remember her by warms my heart. It will be a final gift and a long distance hug. Yes, this is me trying to take a lemon and make lemoncello.
When I’m gone. The words she needs to say and I hate to hear.

I woke up this morning and this song was running through my head. I’m not really sure why. I haven’t given this particular CSN song much thought in a very long time. I googled the lyrics to refresh them in my brain because if a song pops into your head that you haven’t listened to in years there’s gotta be a message there someplace. There is.
This song is reminding me why I am on this journey. Reminding me to keep what is important and to let the rest go. So many times we get bogged down by thoughts of regret, resentment, or fear that we miss the importance of what is right in front of us. The whys and why nots takeover and we become more concerned with what has already happened and less aware of what is happening. Dumb right.
Life is for the living, the active living of it. We are here to participate, to share, to learn from each other. I am learning a lot as I travel this stretch of the road with mom .
She is grace under fire and I am awed by her resilience. Life has thrown her lemons and cherries. Mom always tries to make lemonade out of those lemons and to remember the sweet taste of the cherries. Keeping the positive side of things in the foreground is her thing. I’m learning that from her. Learning to concentrate on the best side of the page because the bad side will take care of itself in due time. I’m teaching her about going with the flow and maximizing your can dos. So between the two of us I think we are getting a good vibe running down the road.
Im not sure how long this road is going to be. I get a hitch in my breathing if it takes her too long to answer the phone or she doesn’t yell come in when I ring the door bell. I am comfortable in the knowledge that she knows she raised me well that she isn’t just my mom but a friend, that she is well and truly loved by us all. We are glad we can share our dreams and make memories together. We are teaching each other a lot mom and me. I hope I have taught my daughter well also. Life is bumpy, sad and happy. Be sure to choose the memories that will serve you well when the curves start getting sharp or you come to the fork in the road and always remember the love. ❤️

The four words that make my mouth go a little dryer, my brain a little fuzzy, and my heart crack a little deeper. She will say this every so often. Who am I kidding, she says this a lot, like once a week lately. How am I supposed to respond to those four words? My brain says oh hell no! My heart says I understand, I support your choices. The heart is such a liar.
I know she is tired. I know there are times when she wants to throw in the towel. I know I promised to be her advocate, but at times it’s a struggle. I find myself conflicted by what I want to say, what I should, and what I truly feel. I’m walking a fine line. There’s no safety net and no rule book. In short, I am winging it without my wing man.
So those four words bounce around in my head while I try to figure out how I should deal with them. To be honest sometimes I don’t. I just take her hand and smile, or shrug and say I don’t know but it’s your choice. In the end that is what it is.
I don’t think she is asking literally what would happen if she stopped her meds. It’s more like asking if it’s ok not to want any more. Is it ok to feel like this life has been enough. It’s been a year since my dad and my sister passed. It’s been two months almost since she moved up here to make memories with us. It’s been a lot and perhaps in a way it’s enough.
She will say it again, softly like she always does. Maybe this time I will be able to do more than pat her hand. Perhaps I will be able to say the four words she wants to hear, it will be ok.
What if I stopped…I hope I am strong enough to give her the right answer.

We laughed, cried, shared funny stories. We didn’t just have a day we made a weekend of it complete with tiaras, wished for foods, special drinks and a movie mom had never seen – Harry Potter lol. It was her birthday yesterday. 88 years old. Her second one with out dad. Saturday it had been one year since dad had passed so, we pulled out all the stops to try to make it a good few days of celebrating the life and times of Mom. We pulled it off for the most part.
I have come to realize these days are really about making it count. Taking the time to hear, to see, to be in the moment. It is a sad reality that mom is tired of being here. She wants to go home. I get it. I don’t really like to hear it, but I get it. So , it is my mission to make each day its best. I want each day to be about something. Something old we share, or something new to experience or explore. We take for granted that tomorrow will arrive. The sun will rise bringing with it an explosion of color and the the tweeting of birds or squirrels chasing each other in the trees. Truth is I do not know when she will have her last morning, none of us really know when we will not rise to greet the day. I feel an advantage in knowing she doesn’t want to have too many more.
So we made this weekend all about Mom. Joked that the entire county shut down in honor of her birthday , it fell on labor day this year lol. Mom was like wow but then remembered it was a holiday. We filled the days with what she wanted, gave her a tiara to wear because a lady should not be without her tiara on special occasions, and we spent the weekend together doing what she wanted.
I value time more now. It has become more important to us not to squander our moments, not to take for granted that tomorrow will be time enough to do or say whatever. We have learned that life changes in the blink of an eye. The old saying here today gone tomorrow carries more weight.
Live stronger, hug harder, laugh more, and strive to make each day worth remembering.

A year ago today we said goodbye. We looked at your face, held your hand, and kissed you goodbye for the last time. There was a mixed bag of emotions in your room that evening. Sadness because we will never be able to share a beer, a slice of pizza or hear you say hey, can I ask you something again. Relief because you had been released from a body and mind that had betrayed you leaving behind a shell of who you once were.
Theres a hole in our lives. I’m not sure what I can do to help mom through this weekend or this month for that matter as the anniversary of my sisters passing is just a few days away also. It’s a sad month.
We will try to look on the brighter things. Mom’s birthday is Monday, Moose with be a year old on the 10th so we will have a goofy birthday party with hats for the both of them. Life goes on. We keep moving forward holding onto the memories. So, we will raise a glass for our birthday babies and celebrate their day. Then we will raise another to our loves who have moved on without us. It will be bittersweet but it is what we have.

It is September. We don’t like September anymore. I used to look forward to this month, the promise of fall and cooler temperatures. Brightly colored leaves would soon start decorating the lawn and pumpkin spice would be returning. Moms birthday is in September. It is also the month that rocked our world and nothing would ever be the same.
It will be a year this month that Dad and Marie moved on to the place where we cannot join them. A year of missing them, of still hearing their voices in the dark, of not being able to remove her name from my contacts or change mom and dad to mom. A year in the void.
I am not sure how to help Mom past this very unwanted milestone. The ache is still so fresh. This being one and moving forward as a no longer part of a duo person is a struggle. The new place seems to help. We brought memories with us and dotted the new space with them. Mom is not greeted by memories each time she enters a room. Good thing? I’m not always sure. Most days the change is good for her. New faces, new places, living in a space that is all hers and she gets to decide what goes where for the first time ever. Some days I feel the loss radiating from her. Those days are hard. Those days I am sometimes am not sure how to help her. So we put our heads together, say simultaneously what you gonna do, and laugh a little.
I guess it’s just the being there that matters. The quiet sharing of space, the dinner table banter. The knowing that we are 8 minutes away and can be there in moments to chase away the shadows or get the cup down from the too high shelf.
It’s September. It has been a year since the world changed for us in a way that we never expected, in a way that even Covid couldn’t. We are learning about life in the void. Taking steps forward and some backwards. We will raise a glass to Dad and Marie, tell them we miss them and hope they are well together. We will make Moms day special and toast her 88th. Then we will begin year two and hope to fill the void with new memories and laughter so that next year it doesn’t feel so wide.
Year one living in the void. We made it through. On to year two……

I never new that memory shopping was a thing until I asked my mom why she was holding a can of anchovies. She told me when she saw the can it reminded her of her father. He used to eat a sandwich made of hard boiled eggs with anchovies on them. The memory made her smile so she is getting the anchovies.
I asked her if she does this often, she told me sometimes. Some foods bring back good memories of her parents, of being young, early days with dad. When she holds the can of food she travels back to those moments and it makes her smile, sometimes even laugh out loud. I began to wonder about some of my own purchases, so I looked through my pantry when I got home. I found the usual suspects, flour, seasonings, pasta, but way in the back was a box of danish delight desert mix. I dug it out and found it had expired several years ago. I had forgotten it was there. I clean out the cabinet every fall. How did I miss this expired box? I don’t think I missed it. I saved it. It reminds me of a time when we would all get together at the holidays and have the special rice pudding with, you guessed it, danish delight desert poured over the top.
Memory shopping, comfort foods. I guess it is all the same thing. We feed the soul as well as the body when we cook, so why not feed the memories as we shop. I pay more attention to moms food choices when we shop together now. When I notice she is choosing something different I will ask her about it and there is always a smile and a story connected to whatever she is holding.
So memory shopping is our new thing. People look when we start to laugh in the grocery isle but I don’t care. Mom is sharing pieces of the past with me that a can on the shelf has brought back to the surface. One day when she is no longer shopping with me, I will be able to touch a can and bring back the memory of mom laughing in the grocery store holding a can of anchovies. I’m a memory shopper and it feels good.