FMF: Grasp

It's Friday. It's another five minutes of free writing with Lisa-Jo Baker.



I blinked and my baby so awaited will be a graduate before year end.  He is so determined to brave into the world and take it by storm.  He is fearless. 

He's thinks he's ready. I'm not sure.

So I try to grasp hold of a little more of him.  

more of his hugs.
more of his out of the blue chats.

more of the real smile that sneaks out when he's laughing and happy.

more of the awesome sparkle and light God put right into his soul the day he formed him in me.

more of the knowledge seeker.
more of the hunter.  

more of the big brother that loves and protects and teaches the Little's when he thinks I'm not noticing.

more of the baby boy that I could control.  and protect.  and teach.

I'm grasping for more of him.  I'm grasping to keep him close and I know I can't. 
God created him to go and do. 
And he will. 

I see him growing out of my grasp and I know this is how it is supposed to be yet it's hard because his dreams are big, and scary and dangerous. 

I want to keep him close- but since I can't I'll trust God to grasp him tightly.  His grasp is really much safer than mine, anyway.  

Happy Friday y'all!

Five Minute Friday: Wide

It's Friday. It's another five minutes of free writing with Lisa-Jo Baker.




I gotta tell you, of all the theological truths about the wideness of Jesus' love when He spread His arms on the cross, the the wideness of God's forgiveness from East to West, the wideness of God's creation when I stand at the edge of the sea, when I saw the prompt today I was bound to talk about the truth that came to mind first.

It's true people.  My mind went straight to wideness of my hips.

They didn't used to be so wide.
They have widened with time. 
And age. 
And the hormonal craziness since the hysterectomy.

Yep, if I want an object lesson for wide, I need not go to the ocean--- just a quick look down.
And like God's love and forgiveness---- I think they're here to stay.

Happy Friday y'all!

Her Son and a Song.

It was one of, if not the worst days of my life.

That Monday over a week ago when I took the day off so my sister-in-law and I could take Iris back "home" to Emeritus after 5 days in the hospital.  The day started out pretty good, big coffee and the Dr.s approval to discharge her. 
Things turned ugly early afternoon when the nurse told me she needed to get her IV back in for some fluids before we could go.

It was one stick too many.

The next 8+ hrs was spent trying to reassure her that we were not murderers.  She was not being killed.  The IV's were not poison, and the pain was not nails.

I can't imagine how desperate one feels when their mind is tricking them into believing what is not, seeing who isn't there and feeling lost and alone. 

That kind of fear drives determination and numbs physical pain.  

This frail 90 year old momma had more strength in her right arm than I had in my entire body- she was fighting for her life, so she thought, and I could hardly hold her still.

The nurse tried to calm her. I tried to calm her.  I did everything I knew to do while she continued to call out for Rex,  shaking her fist at me when I told her he wasn't there.

She begged for the son who wasn't there to take her home.

I stopped reminding her who I was when she insisted that I was not married to her Rex because he would never marry anyone like me, and demanded to see the certificate.

I cried.  I laughed.  I grieved a little more.  And I too, wished Rex was there- at the same time I was thanking God that he wasn't.

This Alzheimer's thing is still new to us. to our family.  to her sons who are desperate to fix the un-fixable and change the un-changeable and to control the un-controllable. 

It feels like Alzheimer's is winning so I wanted to protect him from the pain of seeing her this way. 
So confused.  So desperate.  So different. 

Finally after her yelling begging for help from the 10th floor through the hospital to the ER where the escape ambulance waited- we left the hospital to take her "home."

But she was not satisfied. 
Until.

Until her son walked in to the room, and said "Momma" and she knew him.  She talked to him about past and present.  And, when she started to yell, he simply repeated, "Momma, take my hand" and she did.

And then, because it's what he knows, he sang.  He sang of God's Amazing Grace, and life's trials, of trust and faith.

I sat and watched the medicine of love calm her.

The love between a momma and her son calmed her in a way the pills and even her three best daughters-in-law couldn't do that day. 

I was reminded how precious our time with her is no matter how difficult the days are.

And I learned that sometimes what she needs the most is just her son and his song.

Happy Wednesday y'all!

 

This Is The Way We Fold the...

Life with a mom with Alzheimer's is a journey.  It's different than anything I can explain.  It is one of those things that you really do have to live to understand. 

And even then, we don't always get it. 

Alzheimer's changes the dynamic of everything we consider normal. 
Eating, talking, watching TV, bathing.  Sleeping or not.

So, her being up and dressed at 3am Thursday morning wasn't surprising.  The call, letting us know she had fallen and broken her hip, that was.

Surgery was a must- but at 90 is also pretty scary. 

And, we aren't about to leave her alone so we've been happy to spend the last four days at the hospital with her.

As is common with the disease, the longer she is there, out of her normal environment, the more of the disease we see. Add intense pain from the surgery and fall, pain meds, complete strangers rotating in and out of the room- sticking and poking her, weird noises and smells- all adds up to some pretty long days and longer nights.

And I knew last night when I looked at her eyes and she wasn't there that it would be a long night. 
And it was. 
She didn't sleep. 
She worked. 
Folded sheets. 
For nearly 12 hours. 

It was amazing to watch.  "They're so heavy" she'd say. 

Every so often, she'd remind me I needed to go get quilts off the couch and make my bed, because I had been working so hard. 
She'd tell me to get something to eat out of the kitchen.

She did not know I was Robin. 
The daughter-in-law who adores her. 

And since I was apparently one of those people, she was polite when I'd tell her to leave her oxygen alone, not to pull at her IV, encourage her not to pull at her staples, or remind her again what the funny boots on her feet were.

But,  every once in a while she'd put down the sheets and look for my hand.  And I'd let her find it.  And I'd hold hers. And she'd settle for just a minute, before starting to fold again.

When asked, she told the nurses she was in her closet, putting away her laundry. "There's so much" she'd say.  

I certainly can identify with that :)  

So I folded with her. 
Sort of.
I'd hand her a towel which is easier to manage than the heavy blankets and she'd fold it and give it back to me.  I'd shake it out and hand it back.  She was content with that for about 25 folds.  She'd hold it up and ask, "isn't it beautiful"?


I watched.
And wondered. 

And sleepy as I was, treasured each fold and every minute because I know this journey isn't over and we don't know where it will lead.  Wherever that is, I'm pretty sure there will be lots of folding along the way.

We're praying for her continued healing- she is strong, and brave and doing well.
And selfishly asking for extra strength for the journey.

Happy Sunday y'all.