The Rest Of The Story - It's all she wrote . . .

So Pop-Pop went back to the nursing home. First, they took his money. Second, they took his wallet. Third . . . they took his dignity. And finally, they took his smile, the color from his cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes. What are we to do?!

I understand that every day he looks at a picture we took, Pop-Pop and the kids eating ice cream at an old fashion ice cream stand. The stand owns the cows that supply the milk for the ice cream. They also have goats that you can feed. He looks at the picture and smiles. He sees himself happy and strong and loved. He doesn't say anything, just smiles. Hopefully, for that moment he can taste the butter pecan ice cream and feel the sun and wind on his face and more importantly, feel the love . . . .

. . . .that's what we do, we look at his picture and feel the love. . . . . .

The Rest Of The Story - Part II

"Pop-Pop, are you okay? Can I get you something?"
"I miss my wife."
"Let's invite her over."
"Sure." *smiles*

"Mom, would you like to come over?"
"No."
"Dad misses you."
"Then he can come back."
"To your apartment?"
"No, to the nursing home."
"He doesn't belong in a nursing home. We'll help you. We'll hire someone to help you. We'll do whatever it takes. You can come here. You can be together here. There are options. We can all work together." *pleading*
"No."
"Why???!!!"
No response.

Pop-Pop is crying. He says he's in a dilemma. "What dilemma?" I ask, "you're here, you're happy, you're healthy, you're thriving."
"I love it here. You guys are perfect. This sure is something. I'll never forget it, never, never. . . but I miss my wife. She won't come here - ever - and she won't take me back to the apartment. So I'm going back." *crying*
"TO THE NURSING HOME???"
"Yes."
"I didn't think you were crazy before, but I sure do now! You're nuts!"
"I'm sorry. Jeez, 56 years of marriage and she won't come. I thought she would come. Jeez, you guys are perfect. Really. It's a dilemma. I'm sorry."

Our hearts are broken. Pop-Pop will sacrifice his freedom, his life, for his wife. A wife who doesn't care. I didn't think I could find the words to describe how I felt - but I have words alright - unkind words, bad words. . . *crying*. . . . .to be continued . . . . . .

The Rest Of The Story - Part I

It's time to tell the rest of the story. It's a sad story. It's hard to tell the story because in an attempt to hide some ugly truths, I left facts out of the story of Pop-Pop's move here. Pop-Pop was in a nursing home. There he was very, very sad. He is a man with high intelligence, a great sense of humor and very social. His wife felt she could not (would not) take care of him. He was 2 hours away from us, so our visits were never enough. He asked to be moved out of the nursing home, said he wishes he were dead, there must be someway out. We offered many reasonable solutions, many. We faced harsh criticism at every turn. Finally, Pop-Pop asked, "Can I come and live with you?" "Yes, but what about Grammy?" "She will come and visit, maybe she'll even move up, too." (not a chance) "Are you sure you want to come?" "Yes, please, I won't be much trouble, I'll eat whatever you make, I just do whatever you do, please. But sometimes I fart." *laughter* "So does your grandson, you can sit with him at the dinner table." *more laughter* "Thank you, I promise, I won't be much trouble." "Okay, Dad. We'd love to have you."

That's when the letters and emails started. "He's a sick man. You can't do it. He's weak. I do not support this in anyway. He belongs in a nursing home. He's in the best possible place. He's got dementia. I know he says he wishes he were dead, but so does everyone else in the nursing home. He'll be at that nursing home until he dies. Blah, blah, blah . . . ."

Pop-pop thrived here. He gained 5 pounds (after losing 40 at the nursing home), got much steadier on his feet, told jokes, laughed, went to the mall, out for ice cream, church, the diner, Panera Bread . . . he did whatever we did and ate whatever we ate and only farted once at the table. Once he laughed so hard his teeth fell out. He smiled all the time. He said, "I love it here. You guys are perfect. This sure is something. I love my new computer (which he played games on). I'll never forget it, never, never. (why is there sadness in his voice?) . . . to be continued.

Read My Lips

When I was in the 3rd grade at Our Lady Of Mt. Carmel School, my class was in the Christmas play. Our class (all 45 of us!) were to sing the last 3 Christmas Carols. During one of our rehearsals Sister Superior pulled me aside and told me that during the rehearsals it was good to sing out, but on the night of the play I should just move my lips and not sing. I didn't think much of it. When I got home, my Aunt Eleanor was over and I told her and my mother what Sister Superior said. My Aunt Eleanor said, "Honey, during rehearsals you don't have to sing at all, save your voice for the night of the play. I'll be there, but I'll be all the way in the back and I want to be able to hear you. You sing out loud and clear for your Aunt Eleanor, okay?" "Okay." I was a pretty dumb kid, I had no idea that Sister Superior was dissing my voice. So, on the night of the play, I spotted Aunt Eleanor in the back of the auditorium, right under the big clock, and I sang out - loud. There was some pointing and laughter, but as I said, I was a dumb kid so I didn't know then that people were laughing at me. When I figured it out, like 5 years later, I was traumatised. It was a delayed trauma, but a trauma never the less. That's when I began to lip sync. So every once in awhile, when I open my mouth to pretend to sing in church and I hear a beautiful sound, I am confused. But, alas, the sound is coming from my daughter - she sings like an angel. I wonder if Sister Superior can read my lips................

How The House Got Heated

I was freezing last night - okay, not freezing, but cold. I needed a blanket. It was a chilly 50 something during the night and now it's a chilly 60 something during the day. Earlier this week it was a balmy 80 something - my little feetzies are cold (and confused). But it doesn't matter - nothing matters because my daughter is coming home from college this weekend (YAY!). I'm so excited, I baked a cake (if you think this will help mask the smell of a dead mole, a whole can of Lysol and an old man's medicine . . . uh - gas. It won't). Anyway, here is how it went.

I gathered all the ingredients, pre-heated the oven and greased the pan. I mixed the ingredients in perfect measurements (well, define perfect), poured them into the pan and put it in the oven. I baked it to perfection (well, define perfection) and set it on the counter to cool. Then the phone rang, my computer alerted me to an email, my husband asked me to make a call, I ate lunch, I lost my glasses, found my glasses, made lunch for Pop-Pop, took out the garbage, spruced up my daughter's room (well, define spruced up) and started to break a sweat. Boy, it must be getting warmer outside . . . . . . or maybe when I put the cake on the counter I didn't turn off the oven. Ooops. And so, this is how the house got heated.

What's That Smell?

A few days ago we smelled something funky in the hallway. I was kind of thinking it was Pop-Pop because he told me that now that he takes so much medicine and that he is getting old (getting? I say) that he has . . . uh - gas. But after a few hours it started to smell worse. I asked Pop-Pop if needed the bathroom. "No." I asked my son if he needed the bathroom. "No." I asked my husband if he needed the bathroom. "No." Then what is that smell??? After some sniffing around we determined that something must have crawled into the wall behind the closet and died. We (when I say we I mean my husband) sawed a hole in the wall. There we found a dead mole. That mole stunk so bad. I sprayed everything with Lysol. Now everything smells like dead mole and Lysol (and a little like . . . uh - gas). It's a gross combination! We can't do anything to cover up that stink. We just have to wait until the closet airs out. Here's the application. Sometimes we have stink (sin) in our life. We have to sniff out that stink, expose it, air it out and never try to cover it up. Covering it up only makes it smell worse. So, where's the stink in your life?

He's Got Wit

Boy, was I wrong - about being ready that is. I mean how does one ready themselves for the arrival of an almost 82 year old man with a little dementia, but a lot of wit. I've been told that dementia patients become very clever at fooling you into a false sense of "everything is just fine with me, but if you're having a problem maybe you should go see someone." We played tic-tac-toe at the diner while we waited for the food and Pop-Pop wants to keep score and says to my daughter, "What's your name?" She tells him and he writes down an abbreviation of her name. So I asked, "Dad," you know, as a test to assess if he indeed does not know his 16 year old granddaughter's name, "What's her name?" He gives me a concerned look and tells me if I didn't know the name of my daughter after 16 years that maybe I should write it down and put it in my pocketbook. My first instinct is to recite the names of all my children, my cousins, my grade school teachers, my neighbors, my church members and the Gettysburg Address to prove to him that my memory is indeed intact. He smiled - he knew her name but he was too tired to call it from his brain that was a bit weary from the day. He's not hiding his weakness or trying to fool anyone. He was pulling my leg in a subtle joke that showed me I need to lighten up. The subtle joke was remembered and continued 1/2 an hour later when Pop-Pop went into the room we prepared for him and he said with a 'cat that just ate the canary' grin, "Tell that 16 year girl to stay out of my room!! You got that!" Yeah, I get it, I just let a man with mild dementia make sport of me. Dang - he's good. It's the first real laughter we've heard from Pop-Pop in months, so we all laugh and relish in it - even me - I laugh until I cry. And now I'm not so scared tonight as I go to sleep with a baby monitor humming in my ear, listening for any sign of trouble from Pop-Pop from below. His breathing is slow, but strong and his dreaming is deep and calm. And all is right in the world. Amen.

Pop-Pop's Room

This is Pop-Pop's room. This is what we did to set it up. We moved the upstairs furniture downstairs and the downstairs furniture upstairs - don't even ask, just trust me when I say it's a better fit. To our home we added a bed, a dresser, a TV (btw, we had cable TV for exactly 72 hours before the kids fought over the remote and got grounded for 48 hours from the . . . the . . . evil viewing box. I watched a news program that followed the trial of a husband whose wife was "accidentally" shot in the back with a hunting arrow - yeah, the jury didn't buy it either - and an episode of Wife Swap . . . there goes 2 hours of my life that I'll never get back. . .) and soon (tomorrow) we'll add a man. We've added grab bars, lights, curtains, shades, a bookcase and a coffee pot. We washed the windows - inside and out - cleared the yard of all sticks and twigs and debris that could be tripped on. We stocked the kitchen with healthy foods and dusted off the board games. It has been a labor of love and we are ready . . . I think.

He Said, She Said

He said, "Do you want to go by yourself?" She heard, "I don't want to go with you."
She said, "That's not necessarily so." He heard, "Yes, I want to go by myself."
He said, "What time will you be back?" She heard, "I don't care if you take all day."
She said, "Why don't you want to spend time with me - waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?" He said, "Huh???"
She said, "You said you didn't want to be with me and then I said I did want to be with you and then you said stay out as long as you want and I said . . . waaaaaaaaaaaaa."

He said, "Huh??????? Whose conversation is that?" She said, "That's exactly what happened and you don't even care that you hurt my feelings - waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

He said, "Sorry, honey."

She heard that.

Coconuts

When my kids were younger we had this cat - Coconuts. He was a wild stray that was hanging around our house, scrounging through our garbage, peeing on our house (that's what un-neutered males do - male cats, that is). So I trapped him, sent him to the vet, had him neutered, and released him back in our neighborhood. I left food out for him everyday, and during the winter, we made an outdoor hut for him on our front porch. It took three seasons before we could approach Coconuts (named before he was neutered - sorry, it's the truth). When he finally let us pet him, we coaxed him into our house. He found it to be lovely and decided he would stay. He was a good pet. He purred loudly, never scratched the furniture, preferred the great outdoors to the litter box (a small, but appreciated blessing), loved the children and got along great with the 3 other cats in our home. Then one day he developed a tumor which grew in size daily. We knew he would need to have it removed. We prepared the children by telling them that he would be shaved and have an exposed wound that would look gross. We said that even though he would look horrible they needed to love and care for him. He was a good cat and deserved our love and respect. He would have ugly stitches and shaved cats were not very pretty. When I left to pick him up I reminded the children that no matter how he looked, they needed to love him. I walked through the door with Coconuts in his carrier and the children gathered around with wide-eyed terror . . . only to see a 4 inch square of fur gone and 14 neat stitches. "Gee Mom, I thought he'd look worse than that!!" they said in disappointment. So, when I tell them that they will need to help care for Pop-Pop and love him, no matter what, is it any wonder they ignore me?

Resolved - Listen More, Speak Less

For those of you who think my New Year's Resolutions are merely random thoughts (which is all of you) put into poetic form (well, actually nobody thinks that except me), here's a piece of advice from me to you from Jesus via the New King James Version of The Bible:

"But I say to you that for every idle word men may speak, they will give account of it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned." Matthew 12:36-37

Friends . . . listen more, speak less . . . .

Gravity

I had a conversation with my husband about creation and evolution and such. He said, "How do evolutionist explain gravity? I mean, you can't see it but you know it's there. If it weren't for gravity we'd all be floating around in space, weightless objects on random paths." Hmmmmm. He's right you know. It's gravity that keeps us grounded. It's gravity that weighs us down. Hmmmmmm. I have a sneaky suspicion that there is a tad bit more gravity in some places than in other places. I even think we have a "pocket" of more gravity right here in our house. You see, when I step on the scale right where it is, it reads a certain weight. But when I slide the scale over about a foot, it reads a different weight, (one I can live with . . . well, almost). So, when I said to my husband, "Ooh, ooh, does that mean I'm not really fat, and really there is just too much gravity?!!" And he responded, "Uhhh, is that a trick question?" I thought . . . smart man........

Don't Look Down

Don't look down. This is my new favorite expression. Don't look down. Keep your eyes on Jesus. Look up! My friend told me she just read that when seniors begin to look down when they walk, because they are in fear of falling, looking down becomes a bad habit. When you look down, you may prevent yourself from stumbling on a stone or a crack in the sidewalk, but you are now in danger of walking into a much bigger object that can cause harm. I love this analogy. When we look down (where Jesus ain't) we are in danger of walking into harmful situations. But if we look up (where Jesus is) we walk right into His Presence, where peace, love, mercy and justice are. My friends, I'm keeping my eyes on Jesus, I'm looking up! Don't look down.