July 4, 2012 · 6:29 pm

Sparklers on the patio

One 4th of July, our family had our own modest fireworks display. While usually it would be the kid that would be begging the parents for bottle rockets and sparklers to set off, I was a fearful kid. So it was Mom that thought it would be fun to shoot off some fireworks on the 4th of July. I remember the shack that housed the fireworks for sale. It was a sensory overload with the explosion of bright colors and the names of the various fireworks, which might as well have been written in a foreign language.

Of course, Mom being Mom, she chose the most low-key fireworks available.

After dinner, Mom, Dad and I gathered on our patio, which was a tiny slab of concrete surrounded by a wooden fence. Dad soon departed, as Mom didn’t want him smoking around the other explosives. Dad slunk off to the carport area, his other prime smoking area.

We got a couple of things that were supposed to twirl around on the ground, but they turned out to be duds.

I do remember the sparklers, which I held as far away from me as possible, afraid that I was going to set myself on fire. I remember the soft hiss the sparklers made, and how they lit up our faces.

Then the fun was over, and all was dark again. Later, we all gathered again on the patio, to look into the sky and see the professional fireworks display that was taking place a few miles away. The thudding pops were followed by a rain of color exploding in the sky. We stood together as a family, in awe and glee over the spirited display.

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July 3, 2012 · 7:25 pm

Fear and fascination of fireworks

My parents made the mistake of taking me to a fireworks display when I was about two and I bawled my head off the whole time. As I got older, my love of loud noises didn’t grow, but my fascination with the colorful light display in the sky was enough to make me forget about the noise that accompanied them.

Most years, we attended the local fireworks event that suburban towns have, usually in a park or in the athletic field of the high school. It was a semi-professional affair. There was a lot of waiting around, and then finally, the crowd’s necks turned towards the sky. There were plenty of duds which earned groans from the crowd. My favorite part was the ending, where it seemed the fireworks crew threw up whatever was remaining, creating an interesting and unpredictable mix of colors and patterns.

When I was very young, Dad would put me on top of his shoulders so I could be that much closer to the sky. Then I had my fear of heights and loud noises to contend with!

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July 2, 2012 · 9:02 pm

Doing what’s right for your parents

When my dad became ill, Mom was the one making the big health decisions. I didn’t always agree with her, but it also removed me from some of the guilt I might have otherwise felt. I also didn’t understand how complicated the red tape can get when you have a loved one working their way through the healthcare system. Dementia adds another layer of difficulty.

But now, Mom is the one sick. And eventually, and it’s looking like it may be sooner than later, it will be my turn to manage her care.

I can’t help but compare the two situations. Mom is threatening to skip the colonoscopy. I can’t say I blame her, but I also know that Mom would have made the decision for Dad to have the colonoscopy, even if he had protested. She always said she wanted to give him every chance possible to live.

I always thought Mom was forever the optimist, but now that she’s ill, reality has taken over.

As a realist myself, one would assume I would be relieved. But I miss my mom’s hope, even if it is futile.

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July 1, 2012 · 7:40 pm

Tired of being poked and prodded

My mom is sadly getting a taste of what Dad went through over the last year or so of his life. Mom is dreading the colonoscopy, saying that reading the prep directions gives her the “heebie-jeebies.” She says it reminds of her of the various tests Dad went through and how he was “poked and prodded” so much. Dad somehow was fortunate enough to avoid the dreaded colonoscopy, but we did beg him to go through the prostate exams that his doctor recommended after Dad started having prostate issues. He flat-out refused.

Mom seems to be leaning that way herself. Dad had many hospital visits and tests over the last year of his life, and since he lived in a nursing home that final year, he became used to (or at least didn’t fight) being handled by strangers. Mom still has most of her mind, though as she grows physically weaker, I see some of the same mental signs that I saw in my Dad.

But for Mom, it’s an unnerving situation. And because the symptoms seemed to come on so suddenly, she had no time to prepare for a loss of independence, as she was just dumped with a jarring thud into this world of being sick.

Because there are so many elderly that are ill, there’s not a lot of time for hand-holding or encouragement. She received a brief visit from the doctor, who ordered the colonoscopy, handed her a bunch of paperwork and sent her on her way. This is where we really need community health services to grow and fill in the gap. My mom is going to call a local group tomorrow to see if they can assist her.

It’s yet another reason to never take a moment for granted, because none of us know when illness will strike.

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June 30, 2012 · 7:30 pm

Dad’s love affair with hot dogs

I was talking to my mom today, and she said how she didn’t want to read the Food section of the newspaper, as it was all about hot dogs, and she didn’t think she would ever eat another one of those again. She then mentioned how Dad and I loved her chili dogs when I was growing up.

It is indeed true. I’ve always been a fan of burgers more than hot dogs, but around the 4th of July, Mom would decide it was time for hot dogs. According to Dad, his diet when he was a young immigrant in New York City consisted of hot dogs and coffee. Apparently, Dad did not lose his love affair with the American staple when he moved to the West Coast.

I remember the vivid colors of the meal. The yellow mustard, the red ketchup, the green pickle relish and the green onions and the bowl of orange-tinted shredded cheese. I think I liked the toppings more than the hot dog itself!

There was a giant bowl of potato chips (the rippled kind, usually sour cream and onion flavored).

It was one of those fun weekend/holiday meals that was always a hit. Simple food, simple people, simply a good family memory.

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June 29, 2012 · 7:12 pm

The good old days (not quite)

So my mom is still feeling terrible and her colonoscopy is schedule for 2 weeks from now. (Friday the 13th!) Anyways, we were talking about the prep for the test, which involves enemas (and drinking a lot of nasty-tasting stuff.) I reminded her that she had given me enemas when I was a little kid.

She remembered the story. I was three or four. She said I had not had a bowel movement in a few days. (It was actually more like a week. I remember with dread as each day passed and nothing came out. I was too little to be able to tell time or read a calendar, but I remember begging my mom to give me another day or two.) My tummy hurt really bad and finally I gave in.

Maybe if Mom and Dad had bought me an enema stuffed toy it would have made the experience more fun. Photo: http://kookykitsch.com/

Dad was given the exciting duty of going and buying the Fleet enema. I remember the green and white box it came in. I remember being in the bathroom and freaking out a bit. Finally, Mom got the dirty business done and I was ushered immediately to the toilet. I don’t remember that part clearly but Mom pronounced it a beautiful specimen, ha.

She ended her memory of that story by saying those were the good old days, and she didn’t know if they would ever return. Since she’s feeling so poorly, I didn’t mention that for me, as a constipated child getting an enema, it was definitely not a warm and fuzzy moment.

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June 28, 2012 · 8:45 pm

Bathtub races

I was too young to remember this specific memory but I do clearly remember a plastic baby-blue bathtub. Why not pink? Well, my parents did think I was going to be a boy for awhile! I remember how smooth it was, and how it smelled faintly of soap. It was one of those portable tubs designed for infants. As I got a bit older, my mom would delight me by pushing me around the apartment in the bathtub (without water of course). I would squeal with glee as we went around and around the small rooms.

My mom’s back howled in protest however. So Dad was brought in to be my captain for these bathtub races. He could push harder and faster so it became quite the thrill ride for me.

My parents told me that story so many times that I can almost see it in my mind, my damp shock of hair fluttering in the breeze as Dad whipped me around the living room. The sense of flying, while still on the ground. The unabashed glee and innocent giggles that only a baby or small child can display.

If only we could tap into some of that wide-eyed wonder and simple joy of being alive once we become adults.

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June 27, 2012 · 7:22 pm

How life turns on a dime

With my dad, Alzheimer’s disease moved slowly but surely. Tell-tale signs here and there, and then one day, boom, it hits you. Dad had dementia and there’s no turning back.

With my mom, it seemed so sudden, though probably her health issues had been creeping up on her for some time. Her issues are primarily physical, while Dad’s were mainly mental. So health-wise, they are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but for me, the stress is identical.

I feel like I’ve been dropped back into that video game world, where your character is supposed to navigate around the bad guys and tense situations. Even sleep is troubled with stressful visions. I spent almost all of 2011 in this state. It is not a healthy state to be in, but I must be there for my mom, just like I tried to be there for my dad.

Yet again, there’s that gnawing feeling, that I should be with my mom right now, and accompany her to her appointment with the specialist tomorrow. (For the record, Mom soundly rejected that idea. She’s not gone yet!) Still, the tension of living with a parent who inches ever closer to Death becomes a shadow that fills every crevice of your life.

I only have one more shot at doing this right. I already regret not spending enough time with Dad while he was alive. I feel like I’m walking the same road with Mom right now, but until we get a proper diagnosis, I feel we are in this terrible limbo.

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June 26, 2012 · 8:11 pm

The scorching steering wheel

As one would expect, it is hot here in Atlanta, GA where I live. Going outside is like walking into an oven … that’s on! The humidity feels suffocating, and everyone shuffles about in a daze, bathed in a pool of sweat. It’s bad enough entering the subway that’s so cash-strapped they can’t afford to turn on the air conditioning and instead set up a couple of industrial fans which just blow the hot air around. I definitely can’t imagine entering a car that didn’t have AC while enduring a Georgia summer.

And maybe that’s because I have flashbacks to some brutally hot summers growing up in Southern California. I remember plenty of triple digit days growing up, and we never had a car that had AC. At most of the apartment complexes we lived at, we had a shaded carport. In the summer, it was Dad’s job to go downstairs and “prep the car” for Mom and me, which meant rolling all of the windows down and trying to let all of the built-up heat escape. Dad did his best, but I still remember how hard it was to catch my breath the first couple of minutes I was in the car.

While we were out and about, Dad would search vainly for a shaded parking spot, but alas, we often came up empty. That’s where the rags came in. Dad kept a pair of rags under his seat so that he would be able to hold on to the steering wheel after the car had been setting in the sun too long! I can still see and hear my dad exclaim (sometimes with a four-letter word) as he gingerly touched the steering wheel. You would have thought it had shocked him! Still, I believed him when he said how hot it was, because I had to avoid touching the vinyl back seat cover for fear of melting into it.

As I got older, I became more and more mortified that someone would notice our old jalopy puttering down the road, with the driver steering a wheel covered in rags.

In hindsight, those were the good old days.

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June 25, 2012 · 7:56 pm

Dad’s favorite sweater

If I’m reunited with Dad again in another life, I fully expect him to be wearing his navy blue sweater with the red and white overlapping diamonds. It might as well have been Dad’s weekend uniform during the winter. In the summertime, he had a stable of short-sleeved shirts, always with a pocket where he kept his smokes. But for some reason, that sweater stands out in my mind more than anything else he wore.

The famous sweater, as much of a Christmas staple in our house as our tiny fake Christmas tree.

It’s probably because he wore it for holidays and “special” outings. The sweater itself was nothing special. It probably came right off the rack at Kmart and was made in China by illegal labor. It was thin, but those Southern California winters weren’t exactly brutal, ha. Dad’s smoking habit stubbornly clung to the threads of that sweater, no matter how religiously Mom washed it.

I wouldn’t be surprised if that old sweater, probably mended by Mom a dozen times over the years, still exists. It may still be hanging in their closet, or tucked away in a dresser drawer, never to be worn by its original owner again.

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