Move It or Lose It

I've been thinking a lot about aging lately. And to put a punctuation mark on this thought process, I tweaked my back yesterday. I wasn't doing anything particularly strenuous. I was playing tennis (doubles) as I do every Monday morning. One minute I'm running around the court, the next, walking kinda hurts and I desperately want to walk hunched over.

I pushed through the discomfort and made it through my day. But, honestly, I was kinda pissed. Although I'm not exactly "in shape," I feel like I exercise more than the average American. (Of course I'm fully aware of the fact that the average American is pathetic in movement goals when compared to the rest of the world.) Nevertheless, my slowly aging body betrayed me yesterday. I'll be fine, but it certainly was a warning shot over the bow of my creaking ship.

So as I was laying on the massage therapist's table today, I thought about the articles I read and videos I watched yesterday. Yesterday was the 75th Anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. There was a march in which survivors gathered at the wall in the prison camp - the same wall where countless people were executed by the Nazis. They gathered at this wall and then marched, arm-in-arm, away from the camp. They did this as a remembrance of the atrocities that happened so long ago and also as a warning to all countries today - do NOT let this happen again.

Don't worry, this isn't a political post, although I will ask people not to vote for or re-elect those whose hate-filled rhetoric emboldens those that want to divide us and segregate us and drive out those that are different. Don't do that. That's not political. That's merely humane.

Nevertheless, I thought about the concentration camp survivors who are now in their 80s and 90s. They suffered so much physical and mental trauma when imprisoned by the Nazis. They were starved and beaten and tortured and yet, somehow, many were able to show up at Auschwitz and march. Honestly, I can't believe they survived this long. It's a testament to the strength of the human spirit. I'm humbled by what they've been through and how they keep going.

Then I thought about my 88 year-old Mom. Seven years ago, when we moved my parents in with us due to failing health and other circumstances, Mom was the healthier parent. Although she was legally blind, she walked unaided and moved around pretty well.

Today, Mom uses a walker and struggles to even move across her tiny apartment. She has a permanently dislocated shoulder, an unstable knee that should be replaced but can't be (because of her age) and macular degeneration. She's a shadow of herself.

I've long thought that one of the reasons that Mom stayed in relatively good shape was because she did everything for my Dad - she cooked, she did laundry, she looked after him. Once Dad passed away, she lost her purpose. Is losing your purpose a major blow to self-preservation?

But I also couldn't help but wonder if Mom's deterioration is a result of taking away her independence and virtually forcing her to rely on help for nearly every task. I know that she's in assisted living because she definitely needs help. But do these circumstances for her and so many other elderly actually hurt more than help? And how can we make sure our parents are safe, but also promote independence and continued movement and self-care?

The other day, I was at Mom's and walked down the hall past the Friday morning exercise class. On Fridays, Ron runs the class. Ron seems like a very fit man, likely in his late 60s or early 70s who wants everyone to move more, no matter their age. That's great and Mom did try Ron's class...once. At that class, a few minutes in, Ron told everyone to sit down on the floor. (Mom didn't, thank God.) Everyone looked at him and asked: "How do we get up from the floor?" Ron hadn't really thought of that. Last Friday, Ron was energetically instructing people to kick their legs diagonally across their bodies. He casually said "don't fall down" and nearly instantly, I heard a crash. Someone had fallen down. I guess the person was OK, but I kinda think Ron needs to be supervised. Mom refuses to return to his class...thank God.

In any case, I realize that I've raised more questions than I've made suggestions or supplied answers. This should not be surprising as I mostly have no idea what I'm doing.

But I do think that the old adage "Move It or Lose It" has some merit. Whatever keeps us going, we need to get up and move, especially when we don't feel like it. Sure, we might tweak our backs or our knees or some other strange malady my befall us, but I guess we're still better off taking the risk.

Kleenex and Perspective

I promised myself I'd start writing again. Not because I'm great. Just because I think writing is good for me. Also, I'm quite certain that nobody else is reading this. I originally started this blog to vent about my parents living with us. That was hard. If you look back six or seven years, you'll see I was struggling...a lot. And, see, that's when I often do my best writing - when I feel strongly about something...when I'm not great.

So, I'm back...I hope. We'll see.

Anyway, today's post is about illness and appreciation. The past two weeks, my husband and I have both been battling the mother of all head colds. (Hey, why isn't it the father of all head colds? Why throw mothers under the bus?) In any case, we've both visited doctors twice and we are both on antibiotics. We've gone through BOXES of Kleenex. It's not pretty. We've barely been able to rise above our feeling crappiness to talk to each other. It's like we're in the same house but not really.

Nevertheless, it occurred to me - we basically have colds. Fine, we have upper respiratory and sinus infections, but they're both just enhanced versions of a cold. And we feel lousy. And early on in the onset of this "illness" I thought about the people that I know battling cancer. (Yes, I went to a dark place.) And I thought about the fact that I was being a complete baby and I will recover. I can't imagine how my friends and acquaintances are able to be the shining optimistic versions of themselves with a life-threatening disease. I'm not sure I could be that strong. Then again, I guess you be what you have to be when you have to be it.

In any case, if you or someone you know is battling cancer - wow. I'm in awe. Wishing you or them strength and hope and love.

I Hate Goodbyes

I hate when things end. I hate goodbyes. 

When my job involved setting up for trade shows, I LOVED the getting ready, the preparation, the loading of product into displays. I LOVED making it “wow-worthy.” But I HATED when it ended – the tear-down, the packing up. It felt so very sad and final.

I love anticipation, but do not love the ending of things – good books, great TV series….great movies. (Except for “Into Great Silence.” That snooze-fest couldn’t end soon enough, in my opinion.) 

I really hate the end of the year. I hate the random listing and ranking of accomplishments and exploits, simply because of a calendar date. I especially hate thinking of those we lost. Nothing could be sadder. 

Goodbyes are hard for me and as we wrap up another annual visit by my kids – an especially good one, in my opinion - this image popped into my head. Having them home is like holding a handful of sand. While they enjoy their time with their friends and us, the sands fall through my fingers. I can’t stop the sand from falling any more than I can stop them from heading back home to Los Angeles. Yes, I said ‘home’ because that IS their home. They will always be from Tosa, but they are fully Californians. 

People often say to me: “Oh, that must be so hard to have your kids far away.” My answer is usually: Yes, it’s hard, but I’m grateful that they’re near each other and they’re happy. That’s all I ever care about – that they’re happy. 

So as we start another year, and our kids’ visit ends tomorrow, I’m feeling a tad reflective and melancholy. Maybe it’s because I’ve reached the age where I’m too aware of the passage of time. Maybe because caring for my Mom makes me realize that time is slipping through my fingers. Maybe it's because parenting adult children is a weird mix of holding on and letting go and leaning in and leaving space and trying not to step on toes. Mostly, it’s because I hate goodbyes. I love my life, but this ending of one thing and the starting of another is a challenge for me. I’m honestly not very good at it.

I share a lot with y’all – no doubt too much. (Sorry.) For some reason, I felt very compelled to share my complicated feelings this morning. While they’re still home for another day, I wanted to say all of this before they’re gone. I think most of you, especially if you’re parents, will understand. 

Thanks for reading. Happy New Year. 🥂🎉❤️

35 Years

Some people long for a life that is simple and planned
Tied with a ribbon
Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land
To follow what's written
But I'd follow you to the great unknown
Off to a world we call our own

- Tightrope from “The Greatest Showman”

35 years. Wow. That’s the age of a full-grown adult. A lot can happen in 35 years. A lot DID happen in 35 years. 

35 years ago, I married my best friend. I know. That’s so cliché. Everybody says that. For us, it’s really true. I recently found a pack of letters from our engagement. I’ll tell you this: If somebody would marry me after receiving one of those letters, it’s a miracle. Boy, was I whiny and dramatic!

Nevertheless, we married. We had a blast at our wedding. I moved to Milwaukee and we started our life. Along the way, a lot happened. 

Here’s a list, in no particular order, of just some of our life events:

Set mousetraps.

Had babies.

Survived cancer.

Survived cancer again.

Had more babies.

Moved my parents in with us.

Sent kids to school.

Bought a house.

Sold a house. 

Bought another house.

Sold another house.

Got a job.

Parented a disabled child.

Traveled…a lot.

Sat in grandstands for sports.

Sat in theaters for concerts.

Got promoted.

Changed jobs.

Held our son’s hand while he passed away.

Held my Dad’s hand while he passed away.

Drove carpool.

Cried through graduations.

Laughed at mishaps.

Argued over small things.

Yelled at the kids.

Yelled at each other.

Waved goodbye as our kids moved across the country.

Filled our basement with crap.

Cleaned the basement.

Gained weight.

Lost weight.

Gained weight again.

Sat through 150 recitals.

Quit jobs.

Lost parents.

Made new friends.

Reconnected with old friends.

If you asked me what the secret to a long marriage is, I guess I’d tell you it’s what’s written inside my original wedding ring – love and respect. Love when someone needs you and you feel helpless. Love when you run out of things to talk about because what haven’t you covered in 35 years of dinner table conversations? Love, when you see their best qualities reflected in your children. 

Respect because you know that this person is willing to do whatever is possible to put your relationship first…forever. Respect because sometimes you can’t muster up the 50/50 effort and you need them to be the 80 or 90%. Respect because even when you disagree, you try really hard to understand each other’s viewpoint just because it matters. 

Life is so much more than a Hallmark movie. It’s boring and glorious and messy and hilarious and tedious and infuriating and terrifying and heartbreaking and puzzling and ugly and so very beautiful. It’s the richer and the poorer. It’s the sickness and the health, but I’ll be honest, the sickness is what throws you for a loop and proves your mettle. But, like actual metal, it strengthens you. And it doesn’t have to be sickness. It can be parenting, financial struggles, job loss, differing opinions, anxiety, stress….it all adds up and challenges every part of you. But if you believe in your relationship and trust it, it’s SO worthwhile.

Look, I’ll be honest – I got lucky. I got VERY lucky. Somehow, this patient, kind, smart, unselfish human chose me. If that ever happens to you, don’t overthink it. Jump in. I mean, definitely talk about all of it – the goals, the expectations, the hopes, the dreams, the fears – but then LEAP.

Happy 35th, Tom. ILY, Forever. XXOO

The Struggle Bus is Real

I’ve been struggling lately as Mom’s caregiver. (Full disclosure, I’m not REALLY her caregiver. I see her weekdays only, usually less than an hour.) I’ve been impatient, frustrated, petulant…angry. She’s diminishing, before my very eyes. There seems to be less of her than before. But it’s not just her stature, it’s her mind. She used to be sharp as a tack. Now, she seems confused, which irritates me and also makes me feel bad. 

She can’t help it. Her body is failing her, much like her vision already did. 

You know how they talk about the circle of life? She’s heading back down the other way. As I’ve explained to people, she’s a version of 11 year-old me. I didn’t like 11 year-old me. I was self-absorbed and constantly wishing that I’d be diagnosed with something so that everyone would pay attention to me. VERY immature. Mom’s a nicer version of that. I’m finding it hard to be a mother to my mother. I’m not very good at it.

She complains of dizziness and lightheadedness. So I take her to the doctor. They poke, they prod, they question, they test. Then they say they can do no more and want to send her to the emergency room. Suddenly, she perks up and says: “Oh gosh, no. That seems like too much.” If I felt that it would be a worthwhile trip, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I know we’ll spend hours with more testing and poking and prodding…to no avail. 

I don’t NOT believe her complaints. It’s just that I think that they’re vague and borne of boredom and isolation, two things she can solve but wishes not to. She gets overwhelmed by “plans.” So then the plans are canceled and she sits and thinks about how shitty she feels. It's a vicious circle.

I bring her audiobooks which she ignores…for weeks. I return the books and then, two days later, she says, as if I’ve long denied her: “There is something I’d like. Can you get me a book to listen to?” I quietly say “sure” and then hang up the phone and SCREAM at it. It’s a rage I haven’t felt in years…against my elderly mother. How cruel am I? Very, apparently.

What I should do is listen patiently to her and empathize. What I do instead is tell her that I’m concerned because if she can’t live without full-time help, we’ll have to move her to a nursing home. That scares her. I didn’t mean to do that, but honestly, it’s true. 

We get a letter saying that four falls is too many and she has to sign a contract saying that she’ll keep her walker by her side more often…which she already does. 

We’re in this precarious place. It’s not really living. It’s applying band-aids to the gushing wound of aging. 

I try to remind myself to be gentler, kinder…but I can never seem to get there. I have friends who would do anything to be with their mothers again, and here I am, complaining about mine. 

When I get to be 87, I’ll surely reap what I sow and then my regrets will be oh, so bitter. 

Be Not Afraid

If you pass through raging waters in the sea, you shall not drown
If you walk amid the burning flames, you shall not be harmed
If you stand before the power of hell and death is at your side, know that
I am with you through it all

Before Tom and I first became pregnant, we talked a lot about having a baby. We talked about the money. We talked about who would care for the child while we worked. We talked about how wonderful it would be to become parents. What we never talked about was what we would do if the worst thing happened. It never occurred to us. I did hear about bad things happening – in pregnancy or life – but not to us. When your pregnancy is going along swimmingly, you have this blissful ignorance that you’re beyond the reach of grief and tragedy. You have to remember, this was before the internet. Anything we needed to know about pregnancy was only available in books or by asking friends, family and physicians. 

When our first child, Andrew, was born severely developmentally disabled, I remembered thinking: “This is a nightmare. I’m living every parent’s nightmare.” (For those who haven't known me very long, you can read Andrew’s story here. If you want to see photos of Andrew through the years, you can watch this video.) When I look back on that time, 32 years ago, I was so young and so naive. I had so little life experience to put this tragedy in perspective.  Honestly, I’m not even sure I could have put it in perspective. How do you wrap your head around the fact that a perfectly normal pregnancy resulted in a child who was profoundly disabled? 

(Interesting side note: I was recently told by a doctor, that if that pregnancy had happened today, physicians likely would have seen, via ultrasound, the Vesa Previa that caused Andrew’s problems. In other words, they could have prevented everything that went wrong. But if that happened, I’m not sure we would have had our second son Dan and that seems unfathomable today.)

I remember being sad…and sometimes angry. I will admit, I got REALLY angry. I remember going to Mayfair Mall and seeing young women, a LOT younger than me, with healthy children. I remember asking God: “Why do THEY get to be parents when they are still children themselves?” But you quickly realize that anger toward something unfixable is wasted energy. In any case, along with the grief that came from knowing that our child was so horribly disabled, came a strange sense of peace. Perhaps it was simply resignation. 

Yes, I was sad and angry, but I was never afraid. I’m not sure why. One reason might be because I was young and pretty unaware. I had no idea the depth of this calamity. I guess I wasn’t afraid because family surrounded us and enveloped us in love. I wasn’t afraid because the staff at St. Joe’s Hospital did everything to walk us through the nightmare in a gentle, caring way. I also wasn’t afraid because I had Tom. I wasn’t alone. We were a team and we were inseparable. 

As we approach our 35^thwedding anniversary, I think back to momentous events in our life and realize that I made it through the bad parts because I was the luckiest girl in the world. I made it through because my husband became my rock when I was a pile of mush. When I was weak, he was strong. THAT’S how I made it through. That is why today, when I go to weddings and the vows are being recited, I always wish I could shout out: “PAY ATTENTION TO THE SICKNESS PART! SHIT HAPPENS. MAKE SURE YOU’RE THERE FOR EACH OTHER DURING THE WORST.” Of course, I never do. But I think it and I wish and pray that the couple will love each other no matter what. 

Nevertheless, Andrew is forever a part of our family’s story. I know that religious people have told us: “God chose you to be Andrew’s parents.” I don’t know if that’s really true. (Can you tell I’m having a bit of a faith crisis lately?) I feel like Andrew did more for us than we did for him. Perhaps I appreciated parenthood a lot more because of him. Perhaps I understood a little more about the fragility of life because of him. Perhaps because of the fact that, in his quiet, gentle way, he touched so many lives, I received a broader understanding of how all of our lives are intertwined. For that, I’m very, very grateful. 

Now that I’ve matured, I’ve unfortunately seen tragedies. I’ve known parents who have lost their kids to accidents or suicide. I’ve seen families live through the horror of cancer and other illnesses. Who’s to say which tragedy is the worst? Ours was just one story among many.

32 years ago, on November 18, 1986, our first child was born. It was a tragedy. But tucked inside that tragedy was beauty that is born out of grief and love. Happy birthday, Andrew. We love you. 

How Motherhood Defined Me

Fold my heart up small
Or break it into pieces
Find somewhere and keep it there
Take it when you go

- Jonathan Coulton "When You Go"

Is it any coincidence that bleeding hearts are in full bloom around Mother's Day? To me, bleeding hearts always seemed like nature's perfect metaphor to explain the joy and heartbreak of motherhood. 

The moment that I held my baby sister, I knew that I wanted to become a mother. I was a naïve and selfish 12-1/2 year old and suddenly, in that moment, I was forever changed.

But helping out with my baby sister was a very saccharine and unrealistic view of motherhood. I was able to dress her, feed her, take her on walks and show her off. (Sounds like playing with a doll, right?) I never dealt with nighttime feedings, illnesses or overwhelming exhaustion. I was well-prepared to love a baby, but woefully unprepared to deal with my own.

The birth of my own motherhood was less a bundle of rainbows and cuddles than a giant storm cloud filled with unexpected bursts of painful lightning and downpours. Our first child was born severely developmentally-disabled. Nevertheless, as you do with all storms, you weather them and you do, eventually, find the rainbows. I was forever changed by Andrew’s birth and existence in this world. Throughout his 20 years, his life would teach me that every life touches others, no matter how fragile and/or broken.

Dan came along 11 months later and taught me that there was still hope. But sometimes, in that hope, you realize that, as the saying goes: “Motherhood is the hardest job in the world.” I thought back to helping out with my sister. Where was the constant joy and excitement? Oh yeah, it’s buried inside my sleep-deprived self. Eventually, we figured out how to parent. Honestly, who sends people home with a human with no instruction manual? For God’s sake, you get more information when you buy a new bike!

When Maria came along, our little princess, I was beyond the moon with excitement. And, with a bit of experience under my belt, I learned to go with the flow and not sweat the small stuff. There was joy and energy in our house and a LOT to do. Just because there’s a new human in the house, doesn’t mean the others take care of themselves.

Oh yeah, and I had a full-time job.

I was born and raised in the 60s and 70s. By the time I went to college, we were constantly given strong messages of female empowerment and “having it all.” I’ll even go so far as to say that not wanting to have it all would have been frowned upon. I wanted it all, but at what cost? Eventually, I decided to abandon my career for family. My brain was on overload and I was doing no one – my kids or my employer – any favors for keeping up the charade of being “well-focused.”

Here’s the big problem with becoming a stay-at-home mom. In the age of empowerment, having it all and “leaning in,” it doesn’t make for great cocktail party introductions. How do I answer the question: “What do you do?” Some days, who knows?

Once I stayed home to become a homemaker, I had high expectations of myself. I was no June Cleaver, but I felt a step above Carol Brady. (There was no Alice living in our house.) I wasn’t much of a cook, didn’t sew and wasn’t very good at volunteering for committees. What’s that old adage – “Fake it till you make it?” That’s a good way to explain how I muddled through motherhood.

Although I was a stay-at-home mom, I didn’t want that to define me. I wasn’t ready to go back to work, but felt like I was more than the mom in the carpool lane. Sometimes I’d ask myself: “What the hell am I?”

Years went by, effort was put forth, children were educated and eventually fully raised to adulthood.

And just when I was ready to figure out who I was without kids, my parents moved in. Suddenly, I was mothering my parents.

Mind. Blown.

My life has been a strange series of small events – some beautiful, some heartbreaking, many boring as hell. I’ve sat through recitals, doctors appointments, teacher conferences, kids’ sporting events and graduations. I’ve held onto my son, my dad and my dog as they passed away. I’ve comforted my children, my husband and my mom as they dealt with transitions. All in all, I sometimes feel like I’ve seen a little bit of everything…and handled it all clumsily.

Motherhood did define me and change me. I put 23 years of energy into it and although I’m still a mother, it’s time for me to figure out who I am. My kids have happily completed college and moved 3,000 miles away to follow their dreams. I couldn't be more excited for them. 

Yet, here I am today, once again, asking myself: “What the hell am I?”

I’m a wife, a stay-at-home daughter, an empty nester, a mother, a sister, an aunt, a friend, a tennis player, a beer drinker, a sports fan, a book and movie lover, a foodie, a cynic, a writer, a mediocre cook, a couch surfer, a poor sleeper, a laundress, an awkward conversationalist….a really odd human being who keeps trying to figure it all out.

I will never be more proud of anything in my life than I am of being a mother. But the time has come to try out a few new things. Stay tuned.

(Originally posted 5/9/15)