Category Archives: Memories

As world events send shockwaves on a daily basis, it becomes imperative that we find some respite in our daily lives. This is especially true for caregivers, who face both external and internal challenges and may not have an adequate support system.

I turn to nature when feeling overwhelmed. It’s free, it’s right outside my door and it’s a simple way to try to center myself in the moment when my brain reels, feeling like a runaway train of thoughts.

Whether you live in the city or country, there are natural wonders to be discovered and appreciated. For example, when I travel to New Mexico, in a region that has both mountain and desert elements, I love the unique flowering plants I see there along with the bluest skies, free of the pollution that mars the city skies I’m more used to seeing. In Atlanta, I live in a city known for its canopy of trees. I’m lucky to live in a neighborhood with many gardeners who offer beautiful displays of blooms almost all year long.

During a typical work day, a 5 to 10 minute dog walk may be my only respite from all of the craziness. I make a point to seek the vibrant blooms, to watch the squirrels scamper up the trees, a butterfly flutter by my hand. Now that the weather has cooled off and the mosquitoes are leaving, I sit in a cozy nook I made for myself in the yard, where I can look upon the memorial area I’ve created for loved ones and watch the activity at the busy bird feeder. I find these moments grounding and rewarding.

It is my hope that no matter your circumstance, you are able to carve out these moments of respite. They are even more valuable in these times of turmoil.

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This week, musician Trini Lopez died. I immediately thought about my mother and how saying Trini’s name helped her in her recovery from a grueling cancer surgery.

I was familiar with many of my mother’s favorite musicians, which included Elvis and country legends like Hank Williams and Willie Nelson. But I had never heard of Trini Lopez until my mother became ill and required emergency surgery. Her mental state had taken a decline due to a delayed diagnosis, and she faced recovering from general anesthesia while being bedridden, trying to regain her physical strength.

Mom’s mental state bounced back pretty quickly, but there was one name she couldn’t remember to save her life, and it was an important one: her surgeon, Dr. Lopez. After many false starts, Mom came up with an unusual way to prompt her memory, by connecting the doctor with Trini Lopez, whose music she enjoyed as a young adult. When Dr. Lopez would make his rounds and Mom would be trying hard to remember his name, I would say, “Trini” as the clue and then Mom would say, “Lopez!” I’m sure the doctor thought we were a little, ahem, eccentric, but it worked every time.

It was one of the more lighthearted moments during Mom’s lengthy recovery period. I bought her a Trini Lopez CD when she returned home and she loved to play it. So it was fitting that when she died, that beloved Trini Lopez album was playing.  I touch upon this in one of my essays in The Reluctant Caregiver.

I’ll always have fond memories of Trini Lopez for the joy that he brought my mother and the memory aid he provided in the hospital.

This week, I had to say goodbye to Nod, my 15-year-old cat. He was such a sweet and affectionate cat, a total lap magnet. He also was one of those old soul creatures who carried an air of wisdom and deep understanding. We had an amazing bond and his absence is being painfully felt everywhere I turn.

Still, he had as good of a death as one can have. When he stopped eating over the weekend, he let me know that it was time to leave.  (He’d had a chronic GI issue over the last couple of years and fought to live as long as he could.) I made sure to spend as much quality time with him as possible until the mobile veterinarian came to the home to perform the euthanasia. Nod always ran from the doctor, who has been paying visits a lot lately to treat my dog’s ear infection. But this time, he stayed in his pet bed and locked eyes with the veterinarian as she stepped into the living room. He knew she was there for him and he didn’t flinch. He was at peace, and that did offer me some comfort.

My other cat, Rosalie, was not particularly close to Nod. They had more of a sibling rivalry relationship. She initially left the room as the veterinarian set up her equipment, but then she came back in and intently observed the procedure from a safe spot. As soon as the veterinarian checked his vitals and nodded to me that he was gone, Rosalie got up, stretched and left the room. She knew that Nod was no longer with us.

I’m always floored by just how much animals understand. We don’t give them nearly enough credit. And we could learn something from them about how they approach death.

Farewell to my sweet friend Nod, who I know will be waiting for me at the Rainbow Bridge.