Glass Half Full

Autumn! Michigan in autumn is a watercolor palette of crimson, orange, yellow, copper, green gold. I even like the gray down comforter of the sky. When it slides off its sky bed, a sheet of singular blue. Michigan October blue. October is a month of thinking in color. Stand under a maple tree and count the tubes of paint for the leaves. Alizarin Crimson, Scarlet Lake. Quinacridone Coral, Rose of Ultramarine. I can whisper colors to myself. For my brother, at the dinner table, saying no a hundred times: rose of ultramarine. It has sediment and an ongoing exchange of blue and pink: makes great shadows. I can close my eyes and see a tree shaped like a red wine glass, while my father wonders what this bottle of soy sauce is for, and should he put it on his salad? Add to my cheap joe's wishlist in my head as my lovely neighbor friend, wheelchair-bound, is driven to New York to live with her brother. Opera pink for her: good light fastness but may fade over time. And for me, I wonder how it is that oak leaves seem to land on tiptoe, and perhaps burnt sienna mixed with aureolin yellow for the strong spine lifted to the October sky. Or brown madder? 

Can I Get a Refund on This New Year?

New Year's Eve Day, Dad woke up and couldn't breathe. 911 called. He'd had an acute pulmonary edema. The ambulance wouldn't take him to the VA, so he went to another hospital we don't know. I had a terrible cold, so after he was squared and wired in the ER, I called my sister to take my place. I left my brother home alone, having called his companion to get him to come downstairs to go out. My neighbor was on alert, thank goodness. Dad was in the hospital until Sunday, when I went to pick him up, with my brother who hates hospitals. The doctor hadn't filled out the discharge papers, and the oxygen order hadn't been written so we had a long wait. It took 3 women to get my father in a wheelchair. Heads up for all who witness this: there is no way you can get anyone out of the car who cannot walk. When he was in the car, it dawned on me. The aide said "call the fire department to get him in the house." Another clue. Don't do this. Got home in the snowstorm to a sidewalk and parking lot not shoveled yet. It took 8 firefighters and 2 policemen to get him in the house in a blanket carry. No help during the storm. The attending physician had let him out without the new heart medication, and it took from Sunday to Thursday to get that written. Couldn't reach the VA to talk with his primary care physician. Couldn't reach the home health people. Somehow we got through the week, including an episode of delusion and panic in the middle of the night twice. And then I started getting crazy, too. Now we have 5 people who are contingent employees of the home health organization, which means the person coordinating the schedule is me. The person emptying the urinals, and supervising the walker use is me. The cafeteria was open 24/7 until I put a stop to that. No soft boiled eggs at 2:30 a.m. My sister came over Friday and I was able to go to a hotel to stop my head from spinning. But I could still hear Dad calling me. My brother is disoriented, the dog is disoriented, and we're all confused and tired. My sister took the dog because he was barking all night. I am dreaming of a vacation. A week. It will take 2 days to stop hearing voices, 2 days to sleep, and then I can have a really fun time. For now, I'm working hard to maintain my sanity.

Caregiver: Finding Your Self

Many notebooks and years later, this little book is the essence of all the late night wailing, the whinging on paper and the whistling in the dark. 9 years as caregiver. Seems unreal on one hand, and a lifetime on the other. In those years I've learned a little about life, and a lot about myself. I've written before about paddling, and understanding fully that the more you fight the river, the harder it will mess you up. I've mashed up paddling with life in published essays, but not in my head. I'm a slow learner, but once I've got my numbskull around something, I tend to hold it in awareness. I understand caregiving more now, and this is the book about what a caregiver can do to care for herself. To focus on how I feel, is this a good time for me to do that task, do I really want to eat meat and potatoes 8 nights a week? This little book is gentle and gracious, and I sincerely hope–helpful. The next one will have all the wens and wails and whinging. Stay tuned. Being un-noble is a whole lot easier. And more giggles. The Caregiver ebook is available for all digital reading devices on smashwords. While you're there, please take a moment to download the free children's book You May Already Be A Winner! to share with your favorite youngster.  It is an homage to a real Michigan man who is an inspiration for us all. And if you're not yet bored, read the interview. It was the most fun I've had in the house in a long time.

A Three Story Life: Navigation

Yesterday Dad yelled down the stairs. "I'm going out to scrape my car." Okay, I thought. What's that about? He was leaving for the dentist in half an hour. Practicing observe and let it go, I took note and moved on to other tasks. A thought drifted into focus. Maybe this reportage is about bearings. I fell a couple weeks ago. Afterward my left brain got caught up in analyzing what happened. It was a new surprising event and I mentally gnawed on it to get its flavor. I lost my bearings. Spinning out, my father calls it. What Dad was doing when he gave me his location was using me like a star in a sea of change. At first it seemed I was a sextant, but that's a tool - there are still x and y points to locate in order to use a tool for navigation. We have physical locomotion needs: how far away is the ground? How close that step? And we have psychological placement needs. Establishing behaviors that define our physiologic borders. Scott has lost sense of where his body ends and the rest of the world starts. We don't know how he feels about this. Dad knows how it feels, and although he cannot communicate it any more than Scott can, he sets his internal sextant to coordinate the points he can recognize. If I know where he is, then he feels less at sea. I become either a point on the horizon or the north star. It's an awesome role, and I will respect the assignment with humility and reverence, and think of it as an opportunity for growth. And this awareness is a marker to watch for this in other seniors, and hopefully, to remember to use it myself.

Blogs for Women Over 60

A sign on the roads in England that delighted me read Priorities Change Ahead. The first time I saw this, being the obedient first responder to orders, my brain spun. A sign is a sign is a sign! I never thought what UK highway system officials intended about driving, but what this sign meant in my life. I was only 50 then. Now, immersed in the fog of accepting that there is less time for me in the future on this planet than past, I think of that sign. We all have to change priorities in a country where age is not honored, women as elders are shoved into the first available invisible place; at a time when healthcare will be a priority while legislators decide old people (and children) don't need to keep living. Priorities change ahead. We were at a jazz festival in Detroit when a young person offered us a coupon for teeth whitening stuff. The young persons used to offer cigarettes a long time ago. Priorities change ahead. As he held out the coupon, I laughed, and said teeth whitening is number 1,741 on my list of priorities. My sister laughed. What are the other 1,740? she asked. We can't tell from search results on the internet what is a priority for women over 60. Hairstyles, fashion, sex, celebrity. My priorities as a woman over 60 are similar to most American women. 1) My health, 2) Family's health, 3) Exercise, 4) Relationships, 5) Finances, 6) Good work. Work might be volunteering, if 5) Finances are in fairly good shape, and there's time because 1) and 2) are well. I keep applying for part-time work in town and I keep not getting called. And I'm trying to give attention to signs. What is the work I would love to do in the time remaining? How can I help? In what way can I help heal the political polarity, the planet, and find deeper meaning in spiritual pursuits while maintaining optimum physical condition? These are the subjects women over 60 give priority. We can help each other find the sources for reaching our real goals. Please tell me where you find additional strength on the internet, and I'll link the sites. Let's create a community that shares and celebrates our priorities because priorities change ahead.

Grief Depression Stress and SAD

Went to my second Alzheimer's Disease Caregiver Support Group today. The first one I went to in another city was canceled and I didn't know so I showed up to an empty room. I was sort of relieved. This one in South Lyon had one attendee. We figured out it was probably because the notice in the community newsletter didn't have where or a phone number. Cherilyn Johnson of Sparrow's Nest Christian Counseling was the facilitator as a volunteer with the Alzheimer's Association. She brought bundles of literature, handouts, relevant books, and her good heart, training and sensible approach. I was blessed with her willingness to stay for just one person. I then doused her with the issues in my life, my father's and brother's as well. We live together. My dad is 83 and 1/2 (it's a joke with his sister who is "going on 92") and my little brother has Down's Syndrome and now Alzheimer's Disease as well. On any given day we share a brain. Dad and I are observers to Scott losing little bits of himself, and we're struggling with diminished skills among all of us. The dog contributes by losing his command cues randomly which I think is intentional because dogs just want to fit in. The dog is also lousy at knowing where the car keys are and making dinner when we're too tired. So today I admitted to holding back grief. To denying depression. To more stress than I can handle alone. AND to the possibility of Seasonal Affective Disorder which I have in the past thought of as a whiner's sort of disorder, so of course, I couldn't have it. But now I am ready to find support and help. Not drugs yet - I'm not good at medications. My depression is the worst December, January, February, and I can get through those months if I corral the SAD. I shared the meeting with a good friend, and she - bless her - said yes, SAD is real, and she knew how to find a full spectrum light bulb and she'd get me one. I bid on some yellow candles on eBay because yellow is a sunny color. Cherilyn suggested I try to bring the grief out where I can see and address it by journalling or creating. What does grief look like? Grief feels like a black hole: icy, gigantic, solid. If I painted it, no viewer would feel the distance and aloneness, and I'd use up all my black paint. I told my friend Geri that I am envisioning more of a thready feel; like trying to walk a great distance on cobwebs. Over a big icy black hole. My friend Beckie who we lost last year gave me solid footing in the world. And her warmth was like a yellow dwarf star. Now there's a black hole where her star used to be. My little brother's humor is dimmed, his presence like a fading light, and I grieve for him, too. When I cried today because I didn't know if anything I'm doing is the good or right thing to do, Cherilyn said "do you ever let yourself just cry?" I said no, but I'm going to right now for a while. She also said, "all you can offer your brother is joy and safety." And that's what I will take to heart and give back as best I'm able. Safety and joy.