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Dementia and Birthdays, Disengagement and Hope

I have not posted lately. I haven’t felt like writing. I’ve felt a bit more like playing slither.io and Candy Crush. Just not engaging completely. We all have our seasons, right? We all have our moments where we sit on the porch and read through books while sipping our coffee, and we all have our seasons of just making it through.

 

This season started with a coffee mug.

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I walked through the Starbucks in a bookstore and it caught my eye. Immediately I was reminded of my mom sipping her coffee, wearing a bathrobe and slippers and making her list of things to do that day. Mom was a woman of lists and coffee. Strong, dark and extremely hot.

 

I bought the mug. It was like physically holding  on to a memory. A tangible reminder of the strength of presence this woman held.

 

Then the disengaging happened a bit. Because she is not that woman any longer. Her words no longer form sentences, her eyes are not piercing or twinkling with laughter. Her voice is not strong, sometimes filling with song. And that is terribly difficult to settle with: we have her, and yet we do not.

 

And I miss her. So there are seasons of disengaging with some of reality so that all of my reality does not suffer. The season of truly mourning the loss of my mother has not come in full force. Instead it is this long-distance endurance mourning as we watch her slowly leave us in Dementia. A mourning in moments that does not leave any healing yet.

 

There is more around me, though, than coffee mugs which hold memories.

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That is my White Rabbit about to jump through the rabbit hole. He and his friends brought us a fantastic performance, filling us with laughter and pride. Such talented kids. Such good friends.

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This brings back my engagement. Seeing these kids delighting in their talents and enjoying their moment. Fully engaged as I see his enthusiasm and joy overflow in the company of his friends. He shines when he is around people, his compassion and genuine love of people so prominent.

 

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This is a ten year old boy, sporting his “Player of the Year” hoodie. I have in the past posted birthday posts on each child’s birthday. That didn’t happen in this season of disengagement. But this boy…he celebrated with friends and ate cake and laughed heartily. Inching closer to being more man than boy, he shines with hope and enthusiasm.

A few days ago he tried out for a select team. It was 85+ degrees of Tennessee humidity, complete with mosquitos and an ant covered soccer field. The boy just hadn’t seen these temperatures or this level of activity since last summer. Wind sprints and laps. He couldn’t catch his breath and the tears were on the brink. I sent him back in.

“Finish as well as you can and you will be proud of yourself. Just don’t quit.”

He finished. He finished well and was a sweaty mess of tiredness, with just a touch more confidence. Bringing my engagement more focus as I feel the pride in seeing who he is becoming.

 

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This is a fifteen year old man-child. I am somewhat staggered that he is a year away from driving on his own, three years away from leaving for college. A blink of an eye.

We are celebrating him tonight and that means meat. Lots of meat.

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He asked for Philly Steak sandwiches, and I realize these probably bear little resemblance to those from Philadelphia. These are my Mom’s take on the sandwich, and I remember them being a rare treat. Strips of steak seared in butter with Worcestershire sauce with onions, on toasted bread with Philadelphia cream cheese. I really don’t care if they are authentic…they are authentically my Mom’s. And the boy loves them.

 

He is in that strange between land of childhood and manhood. He is young enough to laugh at utter silliness, young enough and wise enough to admit his vulnerabilities. He is old enough to feel the weight of responsibilities and the future. He is young enough to still love Tres Leche cake for his birthday.

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He is becoming his own. And I am humbled and thankful for the man who glimpses at us through the laughter and the silliness, through the shyness and uncertainty. Glimpses of confidence and easy humor. Glimpses of strength and wisdom. Pulling me back in to engagement.

 

I’m going to go head out to the porch to read. I’ve had my moment of feeling the impact of Mom’s Dementia. We have to take these moments…to allow ourselves the space to reel a little and then for the moments of hope and encouragement and life to pull us back.  The weight of our sorrow can sometimes blind us. We need to allow space for sorrow, but not allow it dominion. These moments of White Rabbits and soccer hoodies, of boys becoming men (and I haven’t forgotten the little Princess…her day is coming and I’ll be back to writing blog posts for her), these bring us back to life.

“ . . some moment happens in your life that you say yes right up to the roots of your hair, that makes it worth having been born just to have happen. laughing with somebody till the tears run down your cheeks. waking up to the first snow. being in bed with somebody you love… whether you thank God for such a moment or thank your lucky stars, it is a moment that is trying to open up your whole life. If you turn your back on such a moment and hurry along to business as usual, it may lose you the ball game. if you throw your arms around such a moment and hug it like crazy, it may save your soul.” – Buechner

 

 

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Don’t Blink.

The season is done. We have travelled together from Nashville to Chicago, Notre Dame University, and Atlanta. We have washed piles of sweaty clothes and gear. Cheered until we were hoarse and poured over video of the games.

 

Hockey season is long. We start to feel it a little by the fifth month in, and yet after the last game we are always sorry the season is done. This year was one of our best, even though we didn’t win every game. Even though it was tough. Especially this last weekend.

 

We played three teams a division above us, and they beat us three games in a row. Then Sunday morning at the consolation game, it came together and we walked away from the last game of the season with a win.

 

What is the point of all of this? What is the point of the cheering and the raised blood pressure as we watch these kids skate like mad, take and give some major hits, shoot every chance they get and make some amazing saves? At the end of the day, what is the point beyond some bragging rights?

 

Oh, there are so many points. Especially as a homeschool family, there is so much value in sports, or arts, or drama, or music. We get to sit in the stands and watch our kids go out and give their all for something they love. Whatever that something is. For us, right now, it is hockey for the eldest. We get to watch as he takes instruction from someone else, as he learns things we cannot teach him. We get to watch as he bonds with a team and recognizes the responsibilities of being part of something beyond just himself.

 

We get to cheer him on.

We get to sit and watch our kids do something they love, and we get to stop the busyness of life and just watch. Just focus and watch our kids. Look at them and realize how incredibly wonderful it is to be a parent. The kids are working and sweating and learning lessons like responsibility and discipline and perseverance. The coach is taking over the moment for us and teaching and guiding.

 

We get to just watch. There are not enough moments where we get to do this. Our kids notice. It is important.

 

Even when they are losing.

We lost a lot this weekend. Three of the four games. And here is a second point to the worth of these activities. We need to learn how to lose and not have the world fall apart. We need to learn how to lose and get back up the next morning and try again. Our kids need to learn this. Three times the boys showed up, played hard…and lost. Then Sunday morning they showed up…and won.

 

I know. It’s just a game. Just a play. Just an art piece. Just a performance.

 

Nah. It’s life. I’m thankful for coaches who guide our kids, who make them work hard and yell at them when they are slacking or encourage them when they are trying. I’m thankful for groups of parents who come together and cheer and encourage and delight in our kids.

 

That’s what it comes down to. Zach isn’t going to make a career of hockey. This is a moment. We’ll blink and these days will be over.

 

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There is a Light that Heals

Sitting down with my good cup of coffee this morning, held in a mug which holds memories along with caffeine, I began to read. The world opened before me in the form of Facebook posts and Twitter comments. Instagram photos and news headlines.

Fear. Anger. Outrage. Concern.

A few with encouraging words, with hope of things deeper.

I have not written here in months. There are things I would like to write about, yet they do not seem to come together clearly yet. So I wait. More thoughts about Mom and the toll of Dementia. More thoughts about homeschool and the joys and challenges of that life. More thoughts about kids and faith and creativity and wonder….but they all seem overshadowed now.

In the past I have daily posted poems as we have moved through the Lenten Season. I have fasted from Facebook and other things, sharing the reasons and the results.

This year, Lent has seem swept aside by all the noise and debate and discussion of politics. There is so much there to parse and think about. I have no desire to add my voice to that debate, unless you want to sit with me over a cup of coffee and talk at length. There is not much I could say in 140 characters or a Facebook post that would clarify a candidate or a policy. Plus there are so many already saying so much, I just don’t want to add to the mix.

Instead…can I encourage you?

I needed it this morning. I turned to Malcolm Guite  who faithfully leads us through the seasons of the Church with poetry and insights. I needed this this morning. I needed to be reminded of the rhythm and the truth of a reality beyond politics. Don’t get me wrong…I understand the importance and participate in the responsibility of our elections.

Today though, I needed to be reminded “There is a light that heals, and, where it falls, transfigures and redeems the darkest stain into translucent colour.”

Possibly you needed a reminder as well.  If you click the link you can hear Malcolm read the poem as well.

Through the Gate

Begin the song exactly where you are

For where you are contains where you have been

And holds the vision of your final sphere

 

And do not fear the memory of sin;

There is a light that heals, and, where it falls,

Transfigures and redeems the darkest stain

 

Into translucent colour. Loose the veils

And draw the curtains back, unbar the doors,

Of that dread threshold where your spirit fails,

 

The hopeless gate that holds in all the  fears

That haunt your shadowed city, fling it wide

And open to the light that finds and fares

 

Through the dark pathways  where you run and  hide,

through all the alleys of your riddled heart,

As pierced and open as His wounded side.

 

Open the map to Him and make a start,

And down the dizzy spirals, through the dark

His light will go before you, let Him chart

 

And name and heal. Expose the hidden ache

To him, the stinging fires and smoke that blind

Your judgement, carry you away, the mirk

 

And muted gloom in which you cannot find

The love that you once thought worth dying for.

Call Him to all you cannot call to mind

 

He comes to harrow Hell and now to your

Well guarded fortress let His love descend.

The icy ego at your frozen core

 

Can hear His call at last. Will you respond?

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The power of the Sugar Cookie…again.

This will be the third time I have posted this article. The repeated ritual of making cookies each Christmas season brings all these thoughts back to mind. I love the ritual, and I love that my children enjoy the ritual. Funny how something as simple as a cookie can carry so many memories, for each of us.

My mother was able to make a home come alive in the holidays; the decorations were all well thought out and brought a sense of elegance and delight. Our meals were lavish at Thanksgiving and Christmas and we lingered over them. We learned conversation and story and the joy of being a large family. We learned that the seasons stood out and were different.

Sometimes, though, it was the more simple things that brought everything to life. Like sugar cookies.

Here are my thoughts last year, continuing to try to stir us to thinking about Advent as it will begin in just a week. Hoping these thoughts will help to inspire us to do something to make this Christmas, this Advent, stand out. Also aware that as we move through these seasons there is that ache for those who are not whole in our midst. For minds which no longer take in the wonder around us, or for those who have passed away. Balancing that ache with the wonder of the season can be difficult…sometimes, though, the simple things that we do to make the season stand out will provide comfort and delight when we need it most.

The Power of the Sugar Cookie.

The box arrived yesterday, stacked with a few boxes from Amazon. This box was different, though, and it stood out. The address was hand-written, and the contents were able to evoke memories and emotions, a power the other boxes could not muster.

Even Chip the dog noticed. He kept walking over and sniffing the box, waiting for me to take it upstairs and open to see what was inside.

Little tiny stars that brought back so many memories. This year my dad, with the help of a long-time family friend who stays with mom during the day sometimes, sent out mom’s famous Christmas cookies. The recipe actually goes back to her mom, and possibly beyond that, although I’m not sure. Grandma was a great cook, and Christmas was filled with cookies and candies and fudge and divinity and, yes fruit cake. No, you are not allowed to make fruit cake jokes around me. Her fruitcake was made painstakingly…cutting each candied fruit to the same size and spending a full day in the kitchen working away. The result was a cake that even as a kid I enjoyed, but especially with a special warm lemon sauce poured over.

This year, though, it’s the cookies that bring back the memories. These do not quite compare to the cookies of my childhood, but they still carry in their little flour and sugar forms all the memories of Christmas. Christmas was not Christmas without the sugar cookies. We made hundreds. Literally. I mean, hundreds….500, 600, 700 cookies. We would watch them be made, help decorate with icing and red hots and sprinkles, then load them all up on plates with Saran Wrap and walk the neighborhood, delivering these cookies to all the neighbors. And the teachers. And the Sunday School teachers. And friends. And then we would munch on them happily for days.

It has been a lifetime, it seems, since we made those cookies. Dad has pictures somewhere, lots of pictures, of the kitchen filled with cookies.

Now, a little box came and let me know that it’s Christmas time.

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The cookies are not quite the same. They still taste great, but the decorations are simple when they used to be detailed. The activity was more of a distraction to keep a mind occupied that tends to be overwhelmed by how much it cannot figure out…constantly questioning and being frustrated. Still, there was a hesitation when I opened the box, a moment of not wanting to eat these cookies, because, well…what if they are the last ones?

I’m wired that way. I have books from favorite authors where I refuse to read the last chapter because I always want there to be something I have not read from them. I admit, though, it would be pretty silly to leave a sugar cookie uneaten, and I’m not sure I have that much discipline anyway.

Mom’s mind is a little more gone than it was last year. It is a little more difficult to keep her on the phone when I call and I feel the distance acutely this time of year. Mom used to always tell me that the house seemed to love Christmas time, that it came alive as we decorated and brought that wonder in that only belongs to this time of year. She made Christmas a magical time, a time of excitement and wonder and delicious tastes as well sounds and sights. All of these efforts were not wasted, and now at 42 a little sugar cookie can evoke a whole avalanche of memories and feelings and emotions.

So, as I get flustered trying to get it “all” done this season, this little box of cookies stopped me. I’ve got laundry that needs to be folded and dishes that need to be done, and floors that need to be mopped. I have a lot of ‘duties’ to do….but there will be sugar cookies made this weekend. A lot of them. Steve does a great job of getting the house decorated and pulling out all the stockings and candles and garlands and lights. The house twinkles with a special kind of wonder, and in the midst of a world that is so full of sorrow and fear and tragedy…I hope memories are being made for my kids.

More than that, though, I hope that a foundation of wonder is being formed. That is part of the heritage of my mom. There is an importance to the wonder and to the beauty. It is not merely decoration. It is a statement that these things matter and that it is important to feed our souls with beauty…with music and with images…and even with sugar cookies sometimes.

Thanks, Mom and Dad….

Grandmadriveway