Change

Change is good, people say. Change can also be bad, sad, distressing. Change can even, I suppose, be neutral.

I've known people who adapt easily - they see change as a challenge to be met, a goal to be attained, an element of life to be embraced. I'm not one of those people. I can adapt, but I have to do it in my own time, in my own way. For example, I can release objects that I've acquired or held dear, but I usually have to live with the idea for a while. It's almost as if I have to begin to think about letting go, and then my brain begins to slowly cut the connection until, one day, I can release that object to go on to its next habitation, wherever that might be.

The past 17 months have brought more change to my life than I can process very easily. Physically, my new hip prevents me from doing some of the things I've taken for granted most of my life. I can't sit cross-legged on the floor for more than a few minutes without feeling distinct discomfort. Previously, I could sit until my leg fell asleep, and then I'd complain about the annoyance. Now I have to get my body into a more comfortable position, quit what I was doing while sitting in the floor, and try to quell the frustration that I feel. Not a big deal, but I'm not adapting well.

On a more emotional level, I'm experiencing the almost daily change in how my life is ordered, and the ebb and flow of Jim's physical and mental limitations.

Today, with the help of my son, my step-son, and my brother-in-law, I completed moving from my and Jim's well-loved home into the new house that Jim will never share with me. That was hard, really hard. Jim loved that house; and, because he loved it so, I came to love it, too. Every corner held a memory. Rooms we had painted together, window coverings we had hung together, bathrooms we had remodeled together, plants we had nurtured to maturity, additions Jim had made while I "supervised" and served as his "gofer." The back yard we enjoyed when weather permitted, and, most poignantly, the deck where we exchanged our vows of love, celebrating our wedding with friends and family. Today, as the last of the lawn furniture, the potted plants, the papers, books, and Jim's clothing were removed, as I bade this well-loved home goodbye, I felt a deep sense of loss and sorrow. Jim's clothes are packed to be donated to the Vietnam Veterans of America, and I like to think that he is providing for those less fortunate than we have been. But I held onto a shirt that he particularly loved, as well as the navy blue blazer he wore when we were married. I can't let those go just yet. Maybe I'll never be able to. Change is hard.

Today, as I sat with Jim, helping him eat, his face suddenly became blank and his eyes were far away. When I asked if he was okay, if he hurt anywhere, if he didn't feel well, he said only, "My mind is gone. I can't remember." I asked what he was trying to remember, and he said, "Me. You." Fighting back tears for the second time today, I got out my iPad and showed him pictures of us, our wedding, our friends, our children, our grandchildren. I talked about that beautiful, special day, our joy, our love, our life together. He smiled and said, "I love you." He finished lunch, and almost immediately fell asleep in his chair. The aides wheeled him away to put him in bed for a nap, and I came back to this home that Jim will never see. Change is sad.

Today is the one-year anniversary of Jim being admitted to the memory care home. A year ago, I still harbored secret hopes that one day he would come home, that it couldn't be the home we loved and fell in love, where the stairs and the opportunities for him to come to harm were obstacles that we couldn't overcome, but that we would make a new home, in a new place, together. Even then, when he was more aware of where he was, when he was angry with me, when he would yell and rail against life and against me, even then, even then... I hoped. Wherever Jim and I could be together, that would be home. Together, we could weather that change.

Today, I know that home exists in two-hour increments, two or three times a day, when I drive to be with Jim, to help him with his meals, to hold his hand, to sit with him and talk about things we've done, when I edit my day's activities to not mention the cat he doesn't know I have, the house he doesn't know I bought, the move he doesn't know I made. For two hours at a time - sometimes only an hour, sometimes a little more - for that time I am home, for that time I am content, I am almost happy. Home is where my heart is, and my heart is with Jim.

That will never change.

Milestones

Tomorrow, my Sweetheart comes home for good! I am so excited to have him here with me that I can hardly stand it. We will begin reordering our lives to match our "new normal." Some things we both hope we can resume: reading the paper together in the mornings while we drink our coffee; discussing events of the day; watching our favorite t.v. shows; enjoying our deck in the afternoons - the warm weather is arriving just in time!

Some things will be different for us. There will be new regimens of medications, learning to navigate safely around each other and the house, piecing together the events of the past several weeks so they begin to make some sense for Jim, more doctor's appointments (for both of us), physical therapy, learning to shop with wheelchair and cane - the list goes on!

One of our biggest challenges will be Jim's level of awareness regarding his - and my -limitations. I'm trusting that coming home will provide the comfort and security he needs to not only settle his mind (he still has occasional hallucinations), but also to help him regain his mobility and use of his right hand. I told him that I don't care how long he plays Solitaire on his computer, since I firmly believe using the mouse will be positive in healing it. Fortunately, his therapist agrees with me!

It will be seven weeks on Friday since our lives changed so drastically. We've had the love and support of so many people, that it humbles me and makes me even more aware of how blessed we are. We've both come a long way, but Jim's journey has been longer and more arduous. Given the fears that I had in the early days following his strokes, I'm just so very thankful to know that he'll be home in fewer than 12 hours! I do ask that you, my family, friends, and casual readers, keep us both in your good thoughts and prayers as we begin this new chapter.

My Sweetheart is coming home!

Bittersweet

It seems that so many of life’s blessings are mixed, filled with both joy and sorrow, gain and loss. Tonight feels that way to me.

I’m excited that early tomorrow afternoon, Ben will arrive at the door of the rehab center, ready to take me home to return to a life briefly interrupted by the events of the past two weeks. I’m elated that I’ve improved enough to be considered able to be home, taking care of my own needs. I’m also a little nervous about not having the safety net of a team of dedicated professionals who are as close as a small grey button, should I need assistance.

I walk quite well with both walker and cane, and although the walker feels more secure, I’m gradually transitioning to the cane except when I’m out among people. The walker gives me more protection and provides a greater visibility in crowded places. I can take a shower by myself, as long as I use a shower chair, I can manage all of my personal care, and I’ll have a tray attachment on my walker for carrying coffee and food from kitchen to dining area. It all sounds so mundane, but it feels so enormous to be able to do these things after hip replacement surgery less than two weeks ago.

Why, then, is there sorrow? Well, I will leave behind a group of wonderful people here at Marquis Care at Vermont Hills. They have helped and encouraged me, they’ve cheered my achievements, listened to my fears and worries, provided shoulders to cry on – quite literally on a couple of occasions – asked always about Jim, provided comic relief, and have, in just a few short days, become like another family. Julie, Lynette, Nicole, LaShaunda, JoAnna, Angela, Cheryl, Angelica, Debbie, Lisa – all names that recall faces and kindnesses I will never forget. Although I have jokingly referred to this place as “The Old Folks’ Home,” it truly has been a place of rest and refreshment for me, as well as a place of rehabilitation. It fits none of the stereotypes of nursing homes, being instead a place where people care – and it shows.

And the greater sorrow for me will be returning home without Jim. He has been discharged from hospital and is undertaking his own rehabilitation at a place much closer to our home. A place where I will be able to visit more often, and a place that will help him recover and return to our interrupted life.

I’m optimistic that he won’t be there long, but each day apart is its own kind of sorrow. I miss him and I know he misses me. He has come from a far place to where he is today, and there is still much work to be done. He has some trouble with words and he’s undertaking the job of retraining his right hand. But my Jim is a man who has never shirked hard work, and there’s no reason to think this time will be different. I’m so thankful that the man I married last summer knows who I am, who our children, grandchildren and friends are; I’m thankful that he can carry on a conversation; and that the weakness in his right side isn’t major or permanent. Things could have been so much worse.

But when I sit on the deck tomorrow afternoon – and that’s in my definite plans – I will feel incomplete. My joy at being home will be tainted by longing for my Jim to be with me. But soon, very soon, he will join me on the deck, we’ll admire our glorious red rhododendrons, our azaleas, fuschias, vine maples – all the beauty that our beloved home offers us. And we will resume our interrupted life together.

Going Home

My week in Champaign is coming to a close. In just a few short hours I'll be on a plane heading west, and these days with my Illinois family will be just a memory.

We've had a great time: we've played, laughed, talked, reminisced, and have made lots of new memories. I never know just how long it will be till we're all together again, so leaving is always hard, even as I look forward to being back home with my dear ones in Oregon.

Jason and Lisa have made me feel at home - as they always do - and although I know they'll be glad to reclaim their sofa and their privacy, I know that they will miss our time together. I am so blessed.

My grandsons are all strong, intelligent, healthy - and gorgeous, I might add! - and I will miss their silliness and their hugs and kisses. The two older boys are back in school next week, so their days will soon be too full for missing me, but I know that all three boys have good memories of our time together.

Andrew (11-1/2), David (7-1/2), and Matthew (4) are boys that any grandparent would be proud to claim. I'm so thankful that I can call them mine.

And so, I am homeward bound. Leaving ones I love to return to ones I love. I'll see you on the West Coast!

We're havin' a heat wave...

Here in the land of slugs and moss, we're still usually having rain this time of year. Frequently we're still even having the occasional fire in the woodstove! But not this year. This year we're having warm - dare I say "hot"? - weather. Not hot like in South Florida or other parts of the south and northeast, but still... Mid-80s is pretty darned hot for us in May!

Of course, hot weather has some advantages. Such as yesterday's barbecue at Ben & Briana's, with Christina, Ada, Julie and Erich - and Addison, of course! It was a gorgeous day, spent mostly outside admiring their garden, watching the kids play, and complaining about the heat. But what else can you do about the weather?

We finally got the deck furniture out today. Well, Jim got it out while I played inside on the computer. Later this afternoon we'll sit out there with glasses of wine, enjoying our yard that we love so well. Our new honeysuckle vines are twining around our newly-installed arbor, and the star jasmine has exploded with growth and lots of buds that hold the promise of sweet smells in a few weeks.

The maple trees we planted 3-1/2 years ago are now providing enough shade that we don't hide from the afternoon sun any longer. And our ducks will swoop in later to enthrall us with the simple fact of their return.

As a teen in Florida, I loved the summer. It meant beaches, shorts, long and lazy days. As a young mother I was less thrilled with it, but can still conjure up the smell of sun-drenched little boys, all sweaty and puppy dog-like in their odor and behavior. And now - dare I confess? - I have occasional flashbacks to what summer in Miami was like and there's an elemental longing for hot afternoons, cold drinks, and then retreating inside to the airconditioned house.

Here, we don't have a/c - seems a little wasteful to us for these few days or weeks of heat. And, here, too, I know that these hot days will be quickly followed by drizzly rain, and then before I've had a chance to get a really nice tan, it will be fall!

So, here's to summer: However long it lasts, however hot it gets, it's a lazy time of year and I'm enjoying it so far!

Ask me again, though, in August when we start edging toward 100 degrees. I will likely be singing the praises of rain and snow by then!