We are learning to cry easily, blow noses loudly, to lean on past memories and new realities, to sing hymns often, and count blessings every single day.
The joyful motherload of holidays that occur at year-end began with a bang.
Well, maybe more of a slip-bang, as two weeks before Thanksgiving my 92-year-old mother fell and broke her femur badly. The impact was significant, ominous, and in some ways weirdly welcome.
My siblings and I had been trying our best to move my parents to a higher level of care at the retirement village, but were meeting with firm resistance. Our sweet, smart, spunky mama’s memory had grown limited to about 30 seconds on most days, and even our brilliant, godly father was showing signs that logic and memory were failing this man who had faithfully held his wife together for years after the onset of dementia.
Just how DO you keep a strong woman with no memory from standing up on a broken leg? Railings, call buttons, watchfulness and motion detectors could not keep this good woman from trying, and two weeks before Christmas, Mom moved to Memory Care, where the battle to keep her safe continues unabated—and not always successfully, though she is now gathering strength and moves surprisingly well with a walker.
Less than a month after Mom’s move to Memory Care, my confident, independent father moved out of their townhome where Mom and Dad lived for ten years and into the room next door to his wife. As I write, he is still adjusting to his new surroundings, grieving the loss of his independence, and trying to find people willing to play Rummikub or spring him out the front door.
Giant milestones, and all of us are weary and grieving.
Yet woven through grief and loss are some gorgeous, golden threads of grace. In the transition we’ve had some precious times with all three of my siblings, who came to help from three different countries. We all overlapped for a couple of glorious days, including my Dad‘s 91st birthday. On that day stories were recounted, laughter rang, and a lifetime of songs were “rendered” in three-part harmony, including some very bad Swedish and Urdu numbers. Not sure if our children were amazed or appalled. These wonderful people brought their own, unique version of love, wisdom and gifting to Oregon and I truly feel the burden of this hard season has been equally shared.
It’s a journey, this living with less than full comprehension—and I’m not just talking about my parents! We are learning to adapt, to find joy, to stop relying on logic, to be okay with some days just being beastly hard, to believe in prayer, to cry easily, blow noses loudly, to lean on past memories and new realities, to sing hymns often and count blessings every single day.
As with parenting, the days are long, but the years will be all too short.
It’s a weird little gift, this sweet and last chapter. Love your people well now! And write down your instructions for your kids (and maybe also yourself) now while you’re able.
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