No Food... Fear... And Empty Space

My brain is trying to find words that encapsulate an emptiness and experience that hover in the shadows way beyond description. But I know that words tumbling outward help me get through the inward battle where my fearful child self is fighting off the demons that keep tearing away fragments of the woman my mother was. Piece by piece they have torn her away from herself, away from her children, husband, friends, grandchildren... And losing her in little parts seems the most cruel form of life punishment there is. Here I am for a few short days, trying to allow my stepdad some much needed "breathing room" time. And while I feed, clothe, wash, calm, clean up accidents, I find myself in that "nothing" zone. I can't feel anything, not joy, sorrow. Not even that familiar feeling of "numb". It's a place more than any emotions or lack of emotions and I find myself wondering if this is normal. I feel like I am just an empty locust shell with all the stuff that makes me real-- gone. Missing.

Mom keeps getting upset because she thinks the refrigerator is empty. She is in fearful panick that there will be no food for her next meal. That there isn't going to be enough for dinner, let alone tomorrow and the next day and what is she going to feed us all? Around and around I follow through her loop. And we go look inside the fridge to find reassurance and we create a plan B together, working on problem solving the imaginary emergency her thoughts have created that feel more real to her than reality around her. We've talked about how maybe it stems from her brain being triggered and taken back to other times when she was so worried about lack and never knowing from where answers would come. A cleansing on a cellular level. But pure hell for her to be trapped inside of. A part of her realizes she's caught in a warped thought pattern, and tears stream out of her eyes. 

I keep thinking that what I can take from my current interaction with her is--- a sense of peaceful knowing that everything always somehow manages to work out in this life. Bills get paid. Food is provided. Clothes keep us warm. Jobs find us. We never end up completely alone. And even when we think we are at our darkest hour, some little or big thing happens to turn it all around. All of that is who my mom used to be: a woman who even in her struggles and conflicts found a way around, under and through. So in her anxiety, confusion and angst, she's pushing me towards embracing a deeper attitude of trusting that everything will always be all right.

Maybe I have to be in the empty space for awhile, a space where I can see this disease as an objective observer. Maybe in that place, I am able to rise above the hurt and harm and see a bigger picture. But man do I ever miss feeling alive and vibrant.

I'm angry at Dementia/Alzheimer's for taking away her shine and for tarnishing my own light.... Or maybe? Like the food in the fridge, the shine and light are there, just unseen right now.

Meeting Mom For the First Time

In about a week I finally get to go see mom. I was so afraid of facing the experience, seeing how she has changed, I was waking up in the mornings trembling from head to toe. I felt like I was choking, literally, thinking about whether or not I have the personal strength right now to see her. Not a day goes by that I don't miss everything about my mom. I can't find her friendship, love and understanding among any other faces, no other smiles and no other arms. Middle-aged woman totally lost without being able to reach out to the one person who always knew me very best.

The past several weeks, my stepdad has been literally walking me through his daily journey. He sends pictures of him feeding her, her having a good day, feeding herself. He gives updates and anecdotes, stories and strategies. He has been more than amazing -- there isn't a word to describe his heroism in keeping my mother out of a nursing facility and in her own environment.

When I told him my son and I are coming, his response was, "you'll get to meet the woman your mother is." I am still blown away by his comment. He has made an incredible observation. One I believe we all need to take a look at more closely. He watches how doctors and nurses and those who have charge over dementia and Alzheimer's people - focus so much attention on what that person has LOST. They measure what CAN'T be done any more, what CAN'T be remembered. What CAN'T be completed. My stepdad has shown me the beauty found in meeting my mother every day exactly where she is. He meets her with newness and meets her all over again for the first time. His focus is on what she CAN do. And together they are magnificently helping my selfish ass out of the fearful trembling and the inability to face what lies ahead for my own self.

What more powerful lesson can there be? Are any of us the same each day? Are any of us really totally predictable or robotically programmed? Every single one of us rises each day a different person. We have to be. Life constantly changes our shape.

Instead of dreading my visit, I am opening myself up to meeting my new mom. Right where she is. Who she is--- now.

But I Wasn't Ready

But I Wasn’t Ready

This one sentence has been replaying over and over again in my mind. The Des Moines community recently lost a couple of beautiful women to cancer, two women who deserved much better than to go out in such agony. And sitting here this morning thinking about them, the words swirl; “but I wasn’t ready”. They both passed any way despite my not getting there one more time to see either of them.

Thinking back over tragedies, losses endured, losses facing me now; “but I wasn’t ready” is the only thing that seems to remain intact like a worn out vinyl record losing it's ability to make a sound.

I was never ready for divorce or for empty nest. Never ready to be swept off my feet “in love”. Never quite on my toes and ready to hear the news, “he needs surgery and may never see again” or “your mom has suffered a severe stroke” or “your dad is in the hospital, probably dying” or “your grandma was calling your name right before she passed on”. My mind and heart have never been ready for “come to Maui and learn” or “would you like to house sit and spend time at the beach?” or “let me buy you a plane ticket so you can come see your mom”. No matter what the circumstance, even when I try to prepare for what lies ahead, what is coming around the corner, I am never quite expecting what presents itself, both bad and good.

And now, knowing my mom is on such strong medication, knowing her condition is deteriorating to the point I can no longer keep running away from the emotion that it all brings to the surface, I find the mantra in my head spinning out of control again. But I wasn’t ready.

There is a helplessness in life that teaches us we are never in control of anything. We spend a lifetime trying to convince ourselves and others that we are. But simply? We are never really prepared enough or brave enough or weak enough or strong enough or able enough to cling and hang onto anything. We never have enough foresight to say all the right things, feel all the perfect ways there are to feel, experience anything deeply enough or widely enough. And that helplessness can either sink us or free us somehow. Or maybe, a little bit of both all at the same time.

I am realizing how often I spend my precious time worrying about what is going to blind-side me next. Or planning and strategizing for “the perfect life” that I want to be creator of. But day after day I utter the words “but I wasn’t ready”.

I’m feeling rather small in the shadow of my mom’s disease and my stepdad’s brave journey as her caretaker. As my mother shrinks, so do I… and I am not ready. I don’t know how to deal with all of this and I have had no words for months now because I simply can’t find my own footing any more. No matter how you try to mentally prepare, how much outer armor you try to construct, how much you guard your heart against any more brokenness, nothing prepares you to lose someone like you mother, your best friend, the part of you that will always remain buried in your DNA and cellular memory. And yet here I am now, being forced to face the kind of life shattering loss, the kind that feels like it has destroyed my inner compass and made me shout a never ending “BUT I AM NOT READY”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My beautiful niece reached out to me in the midst of my tears last night and sent the following words and I hope she doesn’t mind my sharing them. I truly know I am not alone in the shrinking… I know others are going through, have gone through or will go through similar. So it is with the intent to share her view of strength to offer something soothing, pass forward her gift to me in a feeble attempt of me wanting to make some ripple wave outward from enormous amounts of “weakness” and “vulnerability”.

My niece’s words that launched words (finally) in me this morning:

“People misunderstand and mis-describe what strength is.

I think 98% of strength is showing up to stand with/sit beside the people we love, even if we’re a weeping mess, who hasn’t showered in 4 days, wearing sweats and a t-shirt from 1994 because it’s the last clean thing in the closet. Strength is rolling on the grass and yowling in agony because you know that’s the last best thing you can do to keep your sanity. Visible emotion isn’t weakness. Tears aren’t weakness. Pain isn’t weakness. Exhaustion isn’t weakness. Self-care isn’t weakness. Our patriarchal society tells you lies about your strength – but it’s not gonna break you because you are strong in ways it is blind to. You always have been and you always will be.”

***this coming from a young woman who lost her mother years ago to breast cancer and who has been my pillar of strength for a very long time

I don’t think I can ever offer a comforting sentence again of “stay strong”. I think rather than that sentiment I will forever just sit quietly or offer a tissue or humbly whisper, “I know you weren’t ready. We never are.”

 

 

 

 

 

I'm 50 Years Old and Miss My Mom

I remember when it REALLY hit me that my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s disease had changed her and there was no going “back” to “once was”.  My aunt had snapped a photograph at my wedding, and in that picture, I couldn’t help seeing. I could no longer deny that life would never be the same and that I had lost Grandma Rose. From that point on, I remember thinking, “I lose her over and over again” as she weaved in and out of being partially who she had been in her healthier years. I would get glimpses of her, only to lose her again a few hours later, a day later, maybe even minutes later. I kept busy then. With a farm, with animals, with my son, with my husband and family. I dove into life and ran as fast and far emotionally as I possibly could, visiting grandma daily, checking on her, helping her, but able to keep some sort of emotional distance or disconnect to what was happening in front of my face. My very last image of her is horrific. I had gone to visit her, turned the corner to her room, and saw nurses holding her down while another tried to force feed her. I am pretty sure things have changed a lot since then. I believe at that time, it was required to try to make the residents in the nursing home eat, even when they didn’t want to or couldn’t. Hearing her choking and seeing the way she was acting like a trapped wild animal instead of the woman who had been almost like a mother my entire life, sent me running even more. Only this time, out of the nursing facility’s door, into my car and as far as I could manage to get away. I didn’t let her know I had been there. I didn’t say “hello”. And sadly and regretfully, I didn’t tell her one more “good-bye”. She died within the next two days. And it all haunts even now, years later.

Fast forward to the other day. I received a photograph of my mother. And I’ve been crying off and on since. Because even though she still looks beautiful, still looks like “mom” in most ways, I recognized a similar expression on her face and in her eyes. That look that seems hollow now instead of a look saying, “I’m alive and mom”. And her smile seemed rehearsed or overly forced as if I could feel the confusion and disorientation hidden behind it. And that image knocked me to my knees. Again.

Difficult situations happen that we have to kick into “fight or flight” mode in order to handle. I’ve come to realize that over the years and I respect it. I’m thankful for the innate ability to cope and deal by the choice of “fleeing”. But sometimes what you are running from comes crashing down around you and you can’t help LIVING it. Feeling every ounce of EXTREME emotion that oozes out of your pours and down your cheeks in the tears from your eyes. The kind of emotion that you feel is powerful enough to shatter the heart, to send it racing, to bend and twist and re-shape it somehow. And no matter how far you’ve been running or how fast or how long, you come face to face with the hurt.

What I’m learning now, I think, is that it’s all good. Even the darkest of dark is GOOD. Because it somehow elevates energy. It carries us into a new direction, either without or within. It stretches us. It changes us. It sets our course and becomes part of the wind that guides our sail. And in turn, somehow, it adds to the collective whole. It alters the total consciousness of a giant world, one tear drop at a time. And pushes my children and grandchildren forward, and hopefully further than I’ve been able to go. So in turn the ripple effect builds a better future for who and what lies ahead.

It’s all bigger than me. Bigger than my fears and my discomfort. Even though during the times of crying, I feel and wallow in “it’s all about me and how this all affects me”.

I’m allowing myself space and time for awhile to just FEEL. To allow the pain to enter in and take hold and teach me what I’m supposed to learn…. Or maybe not what I’m supposed to learn, but rather what I CAN learn if I keep my heart and mind open.

Losing my mother over and over again. Added onto a lifetime of loss. It’s time for Grief to be recognized for what it has become; one of my greatest friends and one of my amazing teachers.

I miss my mom.

You Are Me and I Am You, Songs My Mom Sang

"He handed the phone over to your mom. We said 'hello' and we both just talked about how much we love each other and how wonderful we are (every time I say something loving to her she claims it's ME who is that way!). Then she said something that changed the conversation: 'Oh I can't tell who I am and who you are.'  And you know Rhonda, at that moment I couldn't tell either.  I have had the flu all week or I would have jumped in the car and driven over to hold her. Of course she was weeping. And I began to weep also. It was a deeply moving moment where reality shifted for me and our one-ness was the reality. The feeling has stayed with me." ~a beautiful (gift) email from my mom's co-worker and friend, Lori (and it says in one paragraph all that needs said, but of course I can't stop here!!!)

Mom has always had a way of making you re-connect with the concept that we are all connected... and not just tied together because of being human, but a real part of each other. And in her current state without all the walls we build while traveling through life, she recognizes we are so much more. You are me and I am you. What I do to you, I do to me. How I feel about you is how I feel about me. Wouldn't the world change drastically if we all had that understanding?

I was reminded the other evening of how powerful my mom was during a time in my life when abuse that trickles down from a parent with alcoholism is a constant factor. Her songs she sang taught me that there is a beauty in everything, especially in love, that rises above anything else and holds us together when it feels like we're falling apart. The memory flood gates have opened this week as I remember songs, one by one, silly little nonsense songs, goofy songs that she HAD to have changed the words of, songs of inspiration, songs about rising above pain, songs that remind you to not take anything for granted. The list keeps going on and on. And over the years, those songs somehow reach out and find me again, this time with adult ears and a heart that has been knocked around a bit, but grows stronger and wiser with age.

Value the gift of TODAY.
Value our connection to ourselves, to each other and to this planet.
Value the sound tracks of your own life.
And value the memories that consciously or unconsciously motivate and captivate and propel us forward.

Make more memories that matter.

I just saw the newest version of Cinderella with my granddaughter last night who visited with me throughout the movie, asking questions about the plot, then connecting them with life in general. The movie was great... but the memory made is so much greater. In the words of the main characters:

"Have courage and be kind."

I can still hear mom singing this one, in fact, I woke up today with it spinning in my brain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra-VH1FAPZY

Gravity Love

I'm pretty positive love and gravity are made out of the same stuff.

I've always wondered how gravity can pull so hard that planets stay aligned and even the lightest and heaviest objects fall into it. Yet here we are, able to stand and move and not be flattened by it. And no one can really truly tell you what it is. How it works. Of what it's made.

Kind of like love.

Maybe the best love is that which gently holds you in place. Supports you but lets you feel the freedom of movement. Lifted, while held into its form. Invisible but always right there. Large enough to flow outward into the farthest reaches of space, but so close it goes into your nostrils and fills your cells with what it is. It can be identified, but it can never seem to be properly explained. It can be experienced, but not duplicated.

Thinking about how my mom's gravity will always pull me in and push me out all at the same time. Holding near. Letting go.

Gravity Love.

Prosperity Has Been Here All Along

No secret. I've preached about how poverty stricken my childhood and my parents' adulthoods were. Often times at the end of the summer, I would find myself in a panic over whether or not I would have shoes for my summer-hardened, stained bare feet. I've spent a lot of energy focusing on the sense of what was missing or what was lacking or what was wrong.

Then comes along a "smack me in the face with a board" eureka moment. And suddenly I realize poverty is an attitude. Prosperity, too, is an attitude. But not only an attitude. It is a spiritual RITE or "RIGHT".

From the book "The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity" by Catherine Ponder:

"Obviously, you cannot be very happy if you are poor, and you need not be poor. It is a sin. Poverty is a form of hell caused by man's blindness to God's unlimited good for him. Poverty is a dirty, uncomfortable, degrading experience. Poverty is actually a form of disease and in its acute phases, it seems to be a form of insanity."

In my quest for healing the past or for mending conceptual "hurts", part of my journey has led me to a deeper understanding of the energy of "money". Or, a deeper understanding of what it is to have enough, to have PLENTY, to have an excess, to have around you what you feel inside you. Abundance. Wealth.

I've had monetary wealth and along with it the tortured restlessness, insatiable empty space in my soul, a never ending need for collecting more stuff to stuff down an ache. And I've had moments where I've been so hungry I felt faint, so challenged I couldn't afford necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap. And in THOSE moments, I've learned the beauty of being eternally grateful for the tiny, taken-for-granteds that surround us and swirl in and out every day.

I'm beginning to see what goes out and what comes in. How what the internal dialogue of negative energy does. It acts like the end of the magnet that repels. It invisibly draws into itself that which is being focused upon. Example: I've seen my granddaughter get all moody and grouchy because when in a group of three girls, once in awhile she gets "left out" (according to her internal observation). She fights back tears, crosses her arms, whines, pouts, stomps a foot when her other two buddies say, "no we want to go over here!". And the more she acts grumpy, the more they distance themselves. And so it is with the valuables. If we stay concentrated on the "wrongs", the "shoulds", the "lacks", the "impoverishment", there isn't room for anything else to enter in. It's as if an invisible force field is created to block the endless positives from flooding in.

So another story re-write. I am reminded through a friend's eyes of what we were surrounded by as kids. Trees. Pastures. Animals. Ponds. Endless skies. Butterflies. Friends. Connections. All of a sudden through his eyes, I realized the bigger picture. I "got it". I saw how prosperity had always been mine. Even during the dark times and the trials and the struggles. In the bigger picture, all those hardships created the perfect back drop for where I am today, for what I can offer into the world. And it has taught me how to do something so simple yet complex --- change how I THINK. And in response, limitless possibilities begin opening up and I see life through a much clearer lens.

"There is gold dust in the air for me...." ~an un-named salesman

Thank you, mom, for the things I didn't see that you were able to give, even when there was no money. Things that really made me rich -- prayers, laughter, hugs.