Category Archives: Memories

May 30, 2012 · 7:09 pm

The dirty neck incident

When I was in third grade, my teacher was Mrs. French. She was a bit younger and flashier than most of the other teachers at my elementary school. She was very tan, with a classic 80’s perm. She liked to wear gold jewelry. She seemed to treat the boys nicer than the girls. In addition to her flashy dress, she also could show flashes of anger.

I remember turning as red as a tomato in the face over what I call the “dirty neck incident.” I’m not sure if it was really part of the curriculum to lift the collars of students and look for dirt, but as we were getting ready to go to recess or lunch one day, we were all lined up so Mrs. French could do her inspection. Now, I was the fairly typical kid in that I didn’t jump for joy when it was time to take a bath, but once I was surrounded by bubbles via the pretty pink Mr. Bubbles bottle, and had my toys and soap crayons to play with, I was fine. Also, my mom is a bit of a clean freak. So I doubt that it looked like coal had been rubbed on my neck. Still, Mrs. French wrinkled her nose and said, “You need to wash your neck better.”

I mumbled something about washing my neck last night when I got a bath and slunk away from her grip. I’m sure other kids got cited as “dirty” as well, but I don’t remember. By the time I got home, I was almost in tears and told Mom about the incident. I think she was most upset that her cleaning skills would be called into question. I remember my mom scrubbing my neck that night until it turned as red as my face earlier that day.

Dad, who had plenty of run-ins with mean teachers via the nuns who used to hit his knuckles with a ruler, had a different mindset. “Why is the teacher worried about their necks? Isn’t she supposed to be teaching the kids reading and writing and arithmetic?” I had to side with Dad on this one. Sure, good hygiene is important, but since Dad did manual labor all of his life, a clean neck was not a top priority for earning a living.

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May 29, 2012 · 6:25 pm

Wanted for shoplifting

I’ve written previously about how my Dad’s “burrito incident” was a big sign to Mom and I that Dad was having mental issues. But many decades before that, Mom and I were accused of shoplifting at a local grocery store we frequented.

Mom and I would do the shopping, then Dad would handle the check-out process. For whatever reason, Mom didn’t want to go through the line with Dad, so sometimes we would wait outside for him. I guess she didn’t want to wait in the car because she was afraid of carjackers. Anyways, when it was raining, we would linger inside the store, usually in the front waiting area. If the checkout line was unusually long, Mom and I would wander over to look at the greeting cards. I liked showing Mom the pretty cards or the funny ones. It was just how we passed the time away. Other than getting a few fingerprints on cards that we weren’t buying (and Mom’s OCD made sure everyone’s hands were clean at all times) I can’t see how we were doing any harm.

I guess a new manager came on board and became suspicious of a middle-aged mom and her 10-year-old daughter. One fateful night, when we met up with Dad just outside the store, an employee followed us out and asked if we were all together. They wanted to know why we were hanging out in the card aisle. We were all surprised by the interrogation but Mom is forever the peacemaker and tried to smooth things over. Dad was none too happy about his family being accused of thievery.

He went back to the store that week and told the manager we weren’t going to shop at that store ever again. The manager didn’t seem too concerned, which ticked Dad off, as we had been regular shoppers there for years.

I can still remember the humiliation of that incident, and how I felt the same sickening lurch when I heard about Dad stealing the burritos. I also felt the same strong instinct to defend the family reputation, to prove that we were honest people.

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May 28, 2012 · 5:00 pm

A visit to the cemetery

With it being Memorial Day, I remember how my family used to visit the
local cemetery in our town. We didn’t know anyone buried there, it was just a quiet place for us to walk and reflect. Dad loved the history of cemeteries, and would look for the oldest graves, or would seek out those who had been casualties of war. He would spin a yarn about how they may have been lost, which battle of World War II or Vietnam they might have met their end in, etc. Of course, we didn’t know the real stories, but as a child, it didn’t matter to me. Dad was well-versed on war history, so he was able to make his stories convincing.

Mom, being the sentimental type, would mourn over the tiniest graves, those belonging to newborns or small children who had probably perished from disease or accident. These would make me sad as well, because it was hard for me to understand someone so young could die.

Every day of my dad’s final hospital stay in Albuquerque, I would pass by a cemetery. I found it morbidly ironic, throwing a fleeting glance over at the weathered stones, thinking that my dad could be joining their ranks at any moment. I never had time to take a stroll through the cemetery, as by day’s end, spending several hours by my father’s bedside while trying to console my mom, I was emotionally spent and just wanted to retreat to my hotel room.

But when I visit most towns, especially one with a deep and rich history, like Savannah, I make a point of visiting the cemetery. It’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea, but there is something very peaceful and spiritual about visiting a land filled with the dead.

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May 27, 2012 · 4:47 pm

Putting Dad out of his misery?

There is a New York magazine article by Michael Wolff that I first saw thanks to Eva’s blog. In the lengthy piece, Wolff talks about his mother’s decline in health, both physically and mentally. He talks about the physical, emotional and financial toll it takes on him and his siblings. He laments how modern technology has extended people’s lives in terms of years but not necessarily in terms of quality of life, and how we as a society are turning a blind eye to this brewing epidemic until it touches our family directly. He makes some good points, though some readers may be put-off by the fact that he and his family apparently have plenty of financial resources to provide the best around-the-clock care possible for their ailing mother. Wolff’s piece also seems more focused on his woes versus his mother, who seems to be a fascinating person experiencing a tragic ending to her life.

Ultimately though, Wolff ponders whether families should be able to decide when it is time for an ailing family member to die a death with dignity, versus lingering for years with a disease like Alzheimer’s. Call it what you will: euthanasia, death panels, etc. It’s obviously a very controversial issue.

My dad holding me as a baby. Such a happy photo.

I can understand both sides of the debate. I don’t feel that the last year of my dad’s life had much value. He wasn’t in a terrible state of pain or suffering the entire time, but between the medications and the dementia, he seemed incapable of feeling any kind of emotion. He was wearing diapers and living with strangers. The dad I knew would have hated the idea of it. But would he have preferred I slip him some medication that could have ended his suffering? Dad had a fear of death. Even if it were legal, and I had Dad’s best wishes (and his written approval) it still would be a heartwrenching decision to make. Having participated in two (quite legal) euthanasias this year for beloved pets, I’ve experienced firsthand how having the power to decide life or death comes with its own special pain. Ending one’s suffering does not eliminate or lessen the pain and grief that comes with losing a loved one.

There are no easy answers. We can try our best to ensure our loved ones die with dignity, but ultimately, how much control do we really have?

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May 26, 2012 · 4:46 pm

Is it starting all over again?

My mom called the other night in a frantic state, saying her electricity had been turned off. I tried to calm her down and find out why. Apparently, some billing snafu, according to my mom. She claims she had paid the bill and had spoken to the power company earlier in the week and they said that she was right, and that she actually had a $5 credit. She thought all was well, but then she came home from running errands and boom, there was a note on the door saying her power had been cut off. She called the power company and paid the bill over the phone (that was supposedly already paid) but they told her they could not turn her electricity back on until the next day. Mom was beside herself, worrying about the stuff in the refrigerator and having to sit alone in the dark all night.

“Sometimes I just wish I was gone already,” my mom lamented. Now, my mom is certainly prone to histrionics. Admittedly, as I was just finishing up a 12-hour work day, I was both concerned and annoyed. I tried to calm her down, and suggested she stay in a hotel for the night and see if a friend could take her perishable goods to keep overnight. She was still upset when she hung up the phone abruptly. The next night I found out everything turned out well. She stayed in a hotel, had a friend put her food in his freezer, and her power was back on.

But still, I have to wonder, is it starting all over again?

With Dad, there were such small signs when his dementia began, they were easy to overlook. He had more trouble making the right change at the store, or wouldn’t complete all of the chores Mom would give to him. Dad wasn’t the type of guy to make lists for himself. He was not the highly organized machine that my mom is. Mom is obsessive-compulsive about making lists, keeping track of the bills and keeping detailed records of everything.

Of course now, I’m on high alert for any symptoms of dementia with Mom. As I’ve mentioned before, Mom has always been a bit eccentric, repeating herself frequently and talking about a dozen things at once. She’s been like that for as long as I can remember. But this bill snafu has me wondering if Mom is starting to lose control over her mind. Is it just a side effect of the stress and grief stemming from my father’s death? Or was she actually right and the utility company messed up?

Just like it was with my father, there is an uneasiness that I feel in my heart again, a voice whispering in the back of my mind. I hope, I so hope I’m wrong.

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May 25, 2012 · 5:10 pm

Reminders of Dad

Holidays are always tough for those who have recently lost a loved one. My dad was not big on holidays, so it should in theory be easier for me, because there weren’t a lot of sentimental memories tied to holidays spent with my dad.

But Hallmark and company make sure to capitalize on every holiday, including Father’s Day. Every time I go to the grocery store, I’m bombarded by the Father’s Day display and the cards with boats and tools and sports on them. It made me wince, which surprised me, because the commercialization of holidays annoys me. It just made me think that this year, I won’t have to struggle with picking out a Father’s Day card. It was always a pain, because Dad was not a fisherman, or a mechanic or a sports guy. He was just Dad. I usually ended up picking out some nature scene, and all I did was sign it. I never wrote a meaningful message in any card I sent Dad. I regret that now, but at the time, it would have seemed awkward because we did not have a close-knit relationship.

Maybe I will still buy Dad a card this year, and write the message I should have written all of those years ago when he was alive and dementia-free.

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May 24, 2012 · 4:26 pm

Is that a lot of money?

I’ve mentioned before that my mom did have a stroke of luck and won a $100,000 on a scratch-off lottery ticket. Sadly, the winnings came after my dad was already fairly well-advanced in his dementia. We are very grateful for the extra funds that helped pay for his last year of care, however.

But when Mom showed Dad the winning ticket, and told him that she had won a $100,000, she says Dad looked at her with a wide-eye, child’s like innocence and asked, “Is that a lot of money?”

Mom answered, “To us it is.”

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May 23, 2012 · 2:20 pm

Dad’s fate decided by bureaucracy

Medicare and the rest of the government regulations that impact elderly care in this country didn’t give my father dementia, but they certainly played a major role in deciding how the end of his life played out. My Demented Mom posted a good blog entry about how U.S. senators are finally investigating the misuse of antipsychotics in the elderly that are in institutionalized care. It’s about time. I’ve written about the subject multiple times, about how Dad resembled a zombie and how indifferent the ER staff were about possible drug interactions. Sadly, most who have dealt with dementia in their families have these stories to tell.

I’m still reading this book I’ve written about before, a collection of end-of-life essays. I just finished one that really struck home hard, about a sweet lady named Margaret who had a stroke and went through rehab as approved by Medicare. Unfortunately, she just couldn’t make progress during the short rehabilitation period, though she did try. But after her rehab allotment time was up, Medicare forbid any further treatments, because she was not a good candidate for improvement. So she never was able to return home, and instead declined rapidly in the nursing home, despite her loving family trying to visit her as much as they could. (Like my family, they didn’t have the funds to hire 24-7 care for her at home.) What had once been a delightful, talented woman who loved to paint became the typical defeated nursing home patient, parked in a wheelchair with head drooping, alive in physical form only.

And one could argue that bureaucratic rules led to her early demise. Government regulations stole her dignity, and ultimately, her life.

I feel the same way about my father. He also had rehab a couple of times, for the allotted days that were covered by Medicare. But if he had been approved for a longer period of time, maybe he could have gained enough physical strength back to return home, where Mom could have set up home care. Instead, time was up, Dad couldn’t navigate stairs, and away he was whisked to a facility over an hour’s drive from my mom.

Now, I’m the practical sort and I know that programs have to have funding limits. I’m not a fan of tax increases. And yes, families shouldn’t be given false hope by their loved ones undergoing treatments that are futile. I don’t have the solutions, but at least the conversation is beginning.

But the elderly deserve to be treated better at the end of their lives. So many of them fought for freedom, worked hard to support their families, sacrificed in ways we will never know … we can’t continue to discard them like a broken-down car, a heap of junk pushed off to the side of the road that we try to avert our eyes from as we hurry on with our busy lives.

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May 22, 2012 · 3:50 pm

Ruining dessert for my parents

I had a bit of a struggle as a child learning to go to the bathroom on my own. I remember I had one of those musical training toilets which sat in the hallway next to the bathroom in our apartment and how proud Mom was when I finally “tinkled” on my own and in the right spot. Dad tried to keep his distance from any toilet training duties. (Who could blame him!)

It was the “other” kind of bathroom visit, shall we say, that I just couldn’t handle on my own. I guess I lacked the coordination to wipe properly (or maybe I just found it icky!) I was about three or four at the time, so I guess I should give myself a break.

Mom would make a nice Saturday night supper and we would all enjoy it. I had pretty good manners at the table and was never trouble in that sense.

But then dessert would come. I would wolf mine down and then asked to be excused … yes, you can guess where to.

Mom could count it down on the clock how long it would take. “Mommy! I need you!” Funny, how I never asked for Dad in those situations. I’m sure he was relieved.

So Mom would help me out in the bathroom. A common thing a mother does for her child.

But Mom says it happened every time we had chocolate pudding!

Now I know why Dad stuck to vanilla-flavored desserts.

(To Mom’s credit, she tried to keep a good sense of humor while being a bathroom assistant for me as a child and for Dad as he became child-like with dementia.)

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May 21, 2012 · 3:27 pm

It’s the little things that matter the most

The Memories Project has made me realize that it’s all of the small memories, the everyday happenings, that often have the most meaning in one’s life. I was reminded of this again last night when I was talking to my mom. She’s still lamenting that she will never get to sleep next to Dad again, and snuggle up to his warm body. Memories are so important, but recalling a particular Christmas or summer vacation can’t give my mom what she needs most right now, which is simple companionship, the warmth of another living human being.

It’s a good life lesson. As a society, we spend so much time and effort trying to catch all of these special moments, the birthdays, anniversaries and family vacations. We take photos, videos, blog about them, post stories on Facebook and updates on Twitter. And that’s not a bad thing. What I hear from other bloggers and what I’ve experienced myself is that we are missing vital pieces of our family’s story, whether it’s a photograph that has no date or names on the back of it, or a letter that’s missing a page. With all of the electronic archiving that goes on in our lives now, I’m guessing it will be virtually impossible to lose record of those big moments in your life.

I tried hard over the last year of my father’s life to remember the details of each awkward, cryptic conversation I had with him, because I feared each one might be the last. But now, what’s important to me is the memory of holding my Dad’s hand at the care center and later at the hospital, and feeling him squeeze back. No words were necessary to convey the feelings and emotions being exchanged.

Those smaller moments that you don’t feel are worth recording right now? That may be exactly what you end up missing down the road. So try to appreciate both the ordinary and special moments with your loved ones.

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