Granddaughter

Eva came to visit in November around the Veterans' Day holiday. One of the things we did that weekend was visit Mom. Eva, Daniel, and I lived with Mom and Dad for a year and a half from early 1985 to the fall of 1986. Eva was in first grade at Humboldt school for the one school year. During that time, my kids and my parents really bonded. There was something special between them ever after. Mom lights up when she sees Eva, even to this day despite her brain being a bit fuzzier than it used to be. Mom also got to visit Eva a couple of times in Nashville, the last time when Mu'min was born. She thought Mu'min was such a sweetie. It's always wonderful to be there to see them visit with one another...

It's really strange how a person can notice coincidences (or whatever word it is that would describe this...) about the most mundane things, and you really wonder if it matters or if you're just making something out of nothing, but...

I've been reading a book lately called "Charlotte", about the acclaimed actress Charlotte Charke ne Cibber, an 18th century London actress of certain renown. During a period of her career, she worked with Henry Fielding, who at that time was writing many satiric plays, many of which she starred in. Fielding later went on to write "Tom Jones", of which there is a character I discovered today, when Googling my mother's name, named Harriet Fitzpatrick. Harriet is my mother's first or Christian name. Fitzpatrick was her maiden surname.

I found it a bit strange to find out that while reading this book at this moment, and also thinking about my mother and the holidays coming up, that I find out her namesake is a character created by a real-life character in the very book I am reading.

Strange, indeed.

Background

She knew that he was not willing to fork over $20,000 for her education and she didn't ask, afterall, he had given her a good life. He had bought her a nice house only 8 miles from the beach. She had nice things even if she didn't have independence, her smile faded and she steeled herself, stomping out the hope that had been there and biting back tears of sadness and rage. She saw, flashing before her mind, another 20 years of washing dishes, ironing clothes and cleaning hash marks out of toilets. She bit back the tears, steadied her hand and replied, "Yes honey, that might be nice"

An amazing story about another mother, as told by the daughter; the end has yet to be written.

Pink Peppermints

'Uncle Mark Miller' brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his 'generous purpose' horse. He is a nice old man and gave me a handful of pink peppermints. Peppermints always seem to me such a religious sort of candy -- I suppose because when I was a little girl Grandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, 'Is that the odor of sanctity?' I didn't like to eat Uncle Mark's peppermints because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty nails and other things from among them before he gave them to me. But I wouldn't hurt his dear old feelings for anything, so I carefully sowed them along the road at intervals. When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a little rebukingly, 'Ye shouldn't a'et all them candies to onct, Miss Phil. You'll likely have the stummick-ache.'

- from Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of the Island

The 'pink peppermint', or the English mint as it's sometimes called, is actually flavored with wintergreen. It was a favorite of mine and it seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth now.

I will forever associate them with my Grandpa Fitzpatrick (Mom's father, who she dearly loved...), and how he fed them to me...along with whisker rubs and sloppy kisses, calling me his 'little girl'...

"I'm so tired of gray worsted and sensible things. Of course I can't have a tree, an' I don't suppose I really want it; but I'd like somethin' all pretty an' sparkly an'--an' silly, you know. An' there's another thing I want--ice cream. An' I want to make myself sick eatin' it, too,--if I want to; an' I want little pink-an'-white sugar pep'mints hung in bags. Samuel, can't you see how pretty a bag o' pink pep'mints 'd be on that green tree? An'--dearie me!" broke off the little old woman breathlessly, falling back in her chair.

Ella was the first to speak. "It's too bad, of course, but never mind. Mother'll see the joke of it just as we do. You know she never seems to care what we give her. Old people don't have many wants, I fancy."

Frank stirred suddenly and walked the length of the room. Then he wheeled about.

"Do you know," he said, a little unsteadily, "I believe that's a mistake?"

"A mistake? What's a mistake?"

"The notion that old people don't have any--wants. See here. They're having a party down there--a party, and they must have got it up themselves. Such being the case, of course they had what they wanted for entertainment--and they aren't drinking tea or knitting socks. They're dancing jigs and eating pink peppermints and ice cream! Their eyes are like stars, and Mother's cheeks are like a girl's; and if you think I'm going to offer those spry young things a brown neckerchief and a pair of bed-slippers you're much mistaken--because I'm not!"

- From Eleanor H. Porter's When Father & Mother Rebelled

I found this link today on a Canadian site I will try. I am abound and determined to track them down...

I like that last quote quite a bit. I have always firmly believed that just because our bodies get infirm doesn't mean we suddenly don't want or need to have fun or have love. I plan on getting up to mischief as much as possible the older I get!

An Old Man & His Mouse

A story, about an old man, and his mouse...

Respect

PBS will be showing this month a program called "Thou Shalt Honor". They have shown it before, but are repeating it plus having a national town hall meeting on the subject of our elders, because it's the 40th anniversary of the signing of the Older Americans Act.

Bringing Death Back Home

Even as we face our mothers' mortalities, we face our own.

I was reading about the home funerals movement tonight, and it made me think about how ever since my Dad passed away, and I was involved in helping with his 'arrangements' for the funeral, it has made me rethink everything I ever assumed about the end of life and how it is handled. I've spent a good deal of time researching what the laws are on how bodies can be handled, what are the legal methods of disposal of a body, and what rights I have as an individual to have a say in how my body is disposed of when I die.

I've taken steps to have my body used, then disposed of, in what I feel is the best way possible. I want to share anything useful of my former 'house' before it rots and is no more, by donating anything that can be reused for others whether that is an organ or tissue or whatever. I want to spare unnecessary and wasteful expense by having my body either donated for a medical student to dissect, or if nothing else, cremated. Now, after reading the article on home funerals, I'm thinking how nice it would be if people had a chance to really meet and say goodbye to me, to have a chance to heal, to be 'up close and personal' with my old body, macabre as you might think that sounds.

Personally, I find it comforting to have the chance to be near someone I love after they leave their body. I watched as my own father died, the life going out of his body even before the last breath was drawn, and I could easily see he was long gone, to where, no one knows, because once you are 'there', you don't come back to tell anyone. Anyone that says otherwise is just guessing, don't let them fool you. Some hope for the best, prepare for the worst, while others ignore it. Whatever you believe, it's just that - a belief, and not a fact. Time will definitely tell...

Death

Mom and I have often talked about death. We've talked about the process, the event itself, and what happens afterwards. We both feel the same way, that is, we both admit we do not know what happens. We can have hopes, beliefs, even faith of what will happen, but we do not know. Both of us are also not scared of death, but don't like the thought of a possible painful path up to it. We both hope for either an easy path, a quick path, or the strength to see whatever through...

Same here

Delphine, we've had the same thing happen with Aunt Harriet, our Mom. I've had many close calls, near misses, sorta misses, and all out misses and horrific messes! It definitely makes it nearly impossible to take someone out who is that incontinent. When a person gets so physically weak that they are entirely dependent on you to lift them, clean them, etc., you need to have more than person, or a mechanical lift, or at the very least training and a back brace. We are not doing our mothers or ourselves any favors by pretending we can continue life as we've known it. Things are not only changing, they HAVE changed. It's hard to face, but it's the truth...

Why

Betty emailed Sharon and I today...

Written by me in 3rd person for Mom:

I called Betty last night at 5:30 and told her to come and pick me up. She asked me why. Told her I wanted to get the hell out of here. They are trying to tell me to wear these diapers. I don't have a bladder problem. And they want me to drink this medicine stuff and I won't be experimented on.

She told me they were eating supper and would come later.

I waited...but she didn't come.

I have no one. This is no way to live.

Why does God let me keep living?

I want to just sleep away - let me sleep away, Lord...please.

Betty went on to say that "I called the nurse's station last night; she did not eat breakfast, only the desert for dinner, no supper. Her meds? She is suppose to have 3 of the serqoul a day. They got 2 in her on Sunday, 2 in her on Monday and none in her on Tuesday.

"Why Lord - I ask myself the same question? Why..."

I responded, saying...

It is most definitely becoming painful to see Mom this way. She is very sad inside, and it's finally coming out more and more to the outside. It's like visiting a ghost when we see her on our bi-weekly visits...

Checking Out

Death passages are like childbirth. Everyone gets a "due date," and it's utter hogwash. When a woman begins to go into labor, she has no idea whether she's going to have a baby in an hour, or the next week. No one knows how it's going to take. However, in childbirth, the medical profession is allowed to intervene... they speed things up, they schedule cesareans, they don't let the mom or baby suffer if they can help it.

In death, perversely, the doctors let you suffer because their hands are tied. By ours law and by our guilt, by our ignorance and our religious hangovers, we are making suffering a pillar of terminal disease care.

Susie Bright, her own mother recently dieing, Susie Bright talks about one of our biggest disgraces in our country - how we are allowing those in pain and/or dying no alternatives but to what can only be labeled as a cruel, long, and painful death. And it will be our turn soon enough, so all of us should be rather concerned, don't you think?