Thoughts on Life and Death

I've been reading the book Ronni Bennett reviewed August 20th on her blog Time Goes By "Advice for Future Corpses"  "*And Those Who Love Them," by Sallie Tisdale. I really appreciate it.  I wish it had been printed before my either of my parents died.  I want my sons to read it, and my sisters, it spoke to me that much.  Her words came to me as I once again process my rocky relationship with my mom. For whatever reason I've been thinking about Mama again, a lot.

Mama died in a nursing home (my father's choice not hers or ours) over a period of about a month. My life, all of our lives, were made up of spending as much time with her a possible. My youngest sister camped out in her room a couple of nights a week. I drove from Seattle to Portland and stayed every weekend and in between as emergencies occurred. She was alert and angry; angry at Dad for violating their agreed on plan and putting her into care; angry at dying; angry at us for not taking her away and angry at still being alive. We called an attorney and we were told we probably didn't have the time to manage a change. Then I got call at work from Dad telling me she was in the hospital and to come right away she was really dying and he put her on the phone.  She asked me if "we were alright?" I told her of course we were and told her I loved her and I was getting in the car and would be there.  We'd never been alright, but I always did love her.  I didn't make it, she died 20 mintues before I got to the hospital. She'd died out of it, thrashing around and calling for her mother and our Dad.

I feel the need to say that partly from being the oldest child and the family arranger of many things, I've always been the calm one when things go haywire.  However at the funeral home and totally unlike me I bawled and then actually passed out. My brother-in-law kept me from crashing on to the floor.  I was too embarassed and surprised to even wonder what happened for awhile. I did go see a therapist when I returned home. The realilty of never working out our relationship and never having "the mother I wanted," bothered more to me than I realized. There are four of us daughters and after we began to talk I realized it wasn't just me.

Tisdale has a lot to say about that hole that remains when someone dies. Both the immediate loss and the baggage we may have been carrying. Much later Dad began having long talks with each of us alone.  About how what he'd decided affected all of us and carefully prising out answers. Over a couple of years he went on to talk about other decisions he'd made in his life wanting to know how we thought those things affected us, individually and as a family.  He apologized for some things including not keeping Mama at home. I hugged him and I hope that I can be as gracious to my own children.  At the end I think while Mama was awake she got most of what she wanted, a boatload of family and kindness.  My sister said she didn't want anyone to leave. Dad sent us all away before he died and told the staff to keep us out. You just never know.

There's a lot of useful information at the end of the book for making your own wishes known. I've had an Advanced Directive, a will and other "instruments" done some time ago.  I haven't done a POLST as I really still understand what some of those actions mean.  I know what intubation is but I don't understand what the "other measures" are exactly.  Or magical thinking on my part?

Thank you Ronni Bennett.

Change of direction

This isn't what I planned to write about this morning. I had meant to write how life keeps changing our/my plans and then I saw this on NPR.  NPR Hurricane Florence arrives.  These are changes I've not ever had to experience. I can only imagine what this woman must be feeling or thinking driven out of her home with perhaps nothing but her medicines and her little dog. These people must be suffering great grief and fear.  How can she begin again?



Photo from NPR by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

And right before this we find out that this summer the Trump administration transferred nearly $10 million away from FEMA to ICE.  To build jails for little kids! Yes I am biased, biased and angry. 


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This little piggie

The Fair is over again.  I went to watch my grandgirl Mya and her boyfriend Emerson show the pigs they raised this year in FFA and stayed for most of the day.  They worked hard and did well.  He took first place in their class and she was first runner-up behind him.  I didn't get as any photos having brought only my phone and it chose that day to have a twit.  Couldn't text or nuttin'.  These are my son Dave's photos.  I can't remember what she named her so I am just calling her Miss Piggie.

Mya and Miss Piggie pre-show.

Mya putting Miss Piggie through the drill.

Those kids all looked so cute in their FFA jackets, clean and professional.  They all put in great effort and it showed.  Most of our family showed up and we filled up half of one of the bleachers. Good show family!

Later Dave and I roamed around after getting some food. We had Hawaiian pulled pork and rice first. Mmmm.  I'd only had coffee for breakfast. Then we sat in the shade and listened to a good band on one of the smaller stages there.  Later he had a funnel cake and I had fish tacos instead of sweets. Delicious.  We regrouped to visit the Pavillion where all the creative efforts of our community are on display.  Next summer I am going to set up a project for the younger grandkids and get them entered. Not sure why I didn't think of that before.  They've been making robots, art, and building stuff on their own. I think they'd have fun. Me too.

Isabel and Adam, who turned 12 this August, became little teens at the Fair OMG. Roaming around with their paper route money and wrist bands for the rides in a little clutch of their friends. They ran up to hug me after the piggie show and disappeared. It was so much like watching my boys when they began to fledge. I'm happy to see them grow but sad to lose my little buddies.  Oh well, in Dave and Heather's home there is another crop coming up 6 and 7. They just got another foster baby at birth now and she's 6 months old. In theory temporary, ha, ha, the previous six were temporary too and they adopted all of them.

Isabel 2012 rasseling her heifer with her big sister Alandra at the Fair.  This year she stayedup late to go with another family to the evening rodeo in her new birthday boots. :-)

I left the Fair at 5pm. Five hours with a lot of walking around and I was pooped! I exited through the "in" from the parking lot (embarassing) and drove carefully home. Took a nap, got up and showered and ate some cereal and went back to bed for the night. Eek. My legs did not want to walk anywhere anymore and my brain was on snore. I am really glad I went. Next time I will bring a small pillow to sit on, those bleachers are murder.  How is it we can be overweight and yet when we sit on something hard there is no padding on those bones in our behinds?

Hope your Labor Day was good. I always honor my Grandfather and his co-workers who in 1916 were striking mill workers on the Everett, WA docks when the Everett Massacre took place. My Dad was 6 months old. That's a story for another time but it has a lot to do with who my family and I are politically.