More pandemic conversations

 More phone calls.   More random conversations.

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Some random summer day:

Mom has been withdrawing from life again - refusing to go to meals…

Thinking that she’s done here.

Today seems slightly different.

Commenting about the beautiful day…

Wondering about the temperature outside…

Soon she’s singing “Living for Jesus… a life that is true…”

Then more rambling.

Then suddenly she asks, “So do you have anything to say?”

Hmmm…  Could this be a chance to help her adjust her focus?

Naw, she probably won’t be able to hear what I’m saying, let along comprehend.

I say something about her being perkier today.  She seems to understand the words at least. So I dare to reference her song selection.  LIVING for Jesus… I throw out a couple little ideas - like that it’s nice to see her focusing on living - instead of dying.

It takes a minute and a couple repeats, but she seems to get it.

I tell her that I understand her desire to be done here and move to heaven… but remind her that the timing is not up to her.  And that maybe God is asking her to LIVE while she’s still here.

We had talked previously about how an “obsession with death” can be upsetting to the staff and to the other residents. I suggest that maybe she can still serve them and minister to them by choosing to focus on life and living.  And maybe participate once in awhile when they try to get her to join in on group activities.

I remind her of a bunch of the things that she has always been good at.  How she’s always been a people person and quick to give a smile and word of encouragement and to show interest in people.  I reassure her a couple times that I can understand her recent withdrawal from people, but speculate that maybe she’s not done yet.

She seems to get it!

Suddenly she excuses herself to go outside on the deck for awhile.  

But first… “I love you and I appreciate your exhortation.  I’m gonna’ give it some thought.”

…

She called me later to report that she had gone to dinner and it was nice.

Memories - not always good

There were more phone calls... every day through the summer.

She had lots of good days…  and lots of opportunities to offer her sweet smile and words of encouragement.  We had lots of amazing conversations.

I discovered that IF I could ask the right questions, sometimes memories would come flooding back.  She really enjoyed reliving the memories and would bring such conversations up again the next few days.

One of those conversations was pretty intense, catching me off-guard. We were talking about the old days - and she described some really difficult times.  Events after which she would come home and sob.  She started into that thought by saying something about remembering the first time she returned to the little white house and didn’t know of anything she had to apologize for.  Wow!

What?  She had never told me these things before, but somehow I was not really surprised.  Maybe because I immediately recognized the feeling.  The vague guilt.  The assumption that this must be my fault.  I asked if she remembered if it ever got better.  “Not much,” she said.

I got a little emotional and a bit angry about how people have power to hurt other people so badly.  Got choked up so that I couldn’t say anything for a bit…  and she kept talking.  I continued to listen for maybe another hour.  Once she ran out of things to say - or the energy to say them - we hung up.  I crumpled into my chair and cried for another half hour.

I wish there were a way to accept only the good traits from our ancestors and reject the nasty ones.  It just breaks my heart to think of ever causing that kind of fear and consternation in the hearts of the people I love.  That’s why I work pretty dang hard to rid myself of those negative tendencies… as I learn about them.

When I know better, I do better.

I hope.

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But so many good memories, too.

Looking back, I'm pretty sure she would want to focus on the good ones.

Like visits from her great-grandkids...

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Many of these conversations were gathered for the writing of my book, Journey of a Decade.

Pandemic on hospice

Wrapping up the month of May, which has always been "Mom month" to me because of Mother's Day and our shared birthdays, I'm taking time to look back on a few more memories - including her last birthday.

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March 2020

As the pandemic hit I quickly realized that I was going to need to get creative about helping my mom from a distance - and that phone conversations would become even more necessary than before.

There were some interesting conversations. She knows about the restriction on visitors… “because there is a nasty flu out there and we don’t wanna’ let it get in here.”

Most of the time she remembers. She asked if I had heard about the queen. Someone who works for the queen has the bad flu…  And something about her leaving because of it.

I googled it.  Sure enough; someone on the queen’s staff has tested positive so the queen left for Windsor Castle early this year…

So yes, Mom knows some it… some of the time.

Today, she said, “I kinda’ wonder how this will affect my transition to heaven."

Whoa. Yah. I responded with sympathy and mumbled something about not worrying about it because it is out of our control.

She quickly agreed…  that there’s no point in worrying about it.  This feels like a big deal because she has her “plan” to have family members gathered around her bed in her last days.  I don’t have the heart to tell her that might not be possible.  At the moment she seems to not be terribly disturbed by any of it.  So there’s that.

April & May

That whole scenario of dying alone and not able to have a funeral service… one of the new realities… I wonder how it will play out.

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Technology has been so helpful to so many of us during quarantine.  To be able to meet on-screen has been precious.  I love that I can help my daughters and spend time with my grandkids online.  Like being the one to listen to my third-grade grand-daughter’s reading lesson…  Like being interrupted by a video call from a goofy little four-year-old!!

I thought my mom might appreciate hearing about such technological adventures and hoped she’d be able to comprehend.  She was clear enough today that I was able to describe all this remote working cyber fun to her.  She was delighted!  She kept saying, “Well, isn’t that something?!?”  And talking about how educational it is… and that she wished she had learned how to use computers when she was a lot younger.   Not bad for a 91-year-old great-grandma.

May 18 - her last birthday...

The wonderful staff at Timberline helped me work out a little cyber birthday party for her.

Amazon delivered her gifts there.

Vicky collected them and put them in gift bags.

Mel connected us via FaceTime.

Mom was tickled that we could see each other and talk while she was opening her gifts.

I was happy that she was able to see and recognize the kids in the family photo on her new coffee mug.

And she modeled her new kimono so I could see that it fit just fine.

Thanks, Mel!

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Some of these remembered conversations were gathered for my book, Journey of a Decade.

Birthday parties

I’ve been thinking back to some of my Mom's birthdays - particularly the ones when we pulled off a party.  She did love parties - probably because she loved people!  In her early days she was the one planning the party and doing most of the cooking.  In recent years she wasn’t able to make the food but she still loved to organize the event.

There was the one for her 80th…  Our house was filled to overflowing with nearly a hundred dear friends and neighbors and relatives.  So much talking and laughing and singing.  She always wanted singing.

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Then a few years later, another overflow crowd descended on the lobby at Hannah Wolfe Retirement Residence where she was living by that time.  The other residents graciously joined in on the fun.

When her 90th came along, she had just moved into her new place at Timberline Lodge - NOT large enough to handle 80 or 100 of her closest friends and family.  The staff agreed that they could fit in maybe 30 guests so we cut the guest list WAY down.

Because there were dozens of other who wanted to celebrate with her, I decided to declare the entire month of May as Betty Month - by orchestrating visits and phone calls throughout the month.  

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Wishing we could do more, I reminded myself of lessons I had learned while living on the road.  I had stumbled upon a practice that feels like wisdom.*

When our time in a certain spot was nearly done and it was obvious we would not have time to do everything we wanted to, I had a choice.  I could be bummed and focus on the sadness about all we couldn’t do.  Or I could figure out what we COULD do.  I tried to think ahead to when we would look back on this place and time.  What would I wish I had done? 

I had tried to implement some of that wisdom in my mom’s situation.  She had already planned and pre-planned and re-planned her funeral.  I had been asking myself those questions I learned on the road.  When she’s gone, what will I wish I had done with her and for her?  What things can I do now that I will later be thankful I did?

Her 90th provided a good opportunity to get creative.  Since we couldn’t have a huge party with everybody she would liked to have seen, I really wanted to find more things I COULD do.

Was there any way to incorporate some of the good things that happen at funeral times, celebrating the memories of a lifetime.  How much better to do it while she is still here to listen in and to be part of it.  

I COULD do a photo book… so I did.  

Fifty pages, 271 photos, and millions of memories.  

And I could get it to her by May 1 so that she could share it with her Betty Month visitors.  

And she did.  

She got to narrate the photos from her entire life over and over again with her guests.

What a month it was!

People came to visit her throughout the month.

Others called her to chat for awhile.

The “small” party was a success.  The staff and several friends helped to make it lovely and very special.  Wedding pictures and other favorites graced the food table and every available spot.  ‘Twas a wonderful day of visiting with dear ones.

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By the time Mom died two years later, such festive gatherings were restricted because of COVID.  I am SO glad we were able to celebrate her life while she could be there to enjoy it. 

We did what we could when we could. 

Mother's Day remembering

I remember Mother's Day.

I remember testimonials in church about mothers and grandmothers.

I remember feeling grateful for my mom.

I remember my first Mother's Day as a mom, but I also remember the Mother's Day when I thought I would be a mom but was instead grieving the unexpected end of a much-wanted pregnancy.

I remember Mother's Day sermons I couldn't live up to.  I remember feeling like a failure as a mom, not measuring up to somebody's standards.

I remember not being able to be with my mom for her last Mother's Day here - because of COVID quarantines.

I remember Mother's Days that were extremely painful for dear friends. 

I think of those who are not feeling "happy" on this day.  The ache of empty arms, the memories of an "iffy" mother or of things that ended badly or things that will never be, the hurt, the betrayal, the abandonment, the grief, the fear, the confusion.

I think of those who had wonderful moms who were taken too soon and are so terribly missed. I think of those who can barely breathe on this day because of pain and loss.

I wish I could make it better, but I don't know how.

All I know to do is to pause and remember... and care.

What if I'm wrong?

For a long time I’ve been thinking about that question:  What if I’m wrong?  I try to ponder that possibility now and then because I think it is so important and it requires a little humility.

When I’m feeling a little cocky and wondering why other people can’t understand…

Seems like a good time to ask that question.

When I notice that I’m angry about some injustice…

That might be a good time to pause and ask again.

When I hear friends spewing some ridiculous dogma…

Okay; I admit I really want to ask THEM that question: What if you’re wrong?

But maybe it’s not my place to ask them or maybe it’s not the right time.

Then again, maybe it is.

In the meantime I will continue to ask myself: What if I’m wrong?

Asking myself questions

and 

Remembering Rachel Held Evans

June 8, 1981 to May 4, 2019

Rachel Held Evans was one of the first bloggers I ever read. Her words gave me hope in really difficult weeks and months.  Rachel dared to ask that question:   What if I’m wrong?  In fact that might be where I picked it up.

What a delight to watch and listen and read as Rachel wrote more and more stuff. 

I began to think of her as a little sister, but with big-sister wisdom, helping me figure out things that life threw at me. It was like I was growing along with her - or maybe a little behind her.

When I found ourselves suddenly outside the walls of religion and trying to figure out what I really believed, it was obvious that lots of things were man-made and less than noble.  With other things, it took a little longer to sort out those that were really true and worth clinging to. Rachel’s words and generous wisdom were invaluable during that process. 

Then suddenly, on this date three years ago, at age 37, she was gone.

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Rachel's dear friend and fellow writer, Sarah Bessey, posted some great words and memories today and a wonderful photo.  Here are a few of her lines about Rachel:

Who kept the faith,

Who needed the Church enough to speak truth,

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Who gave permission to a generation,

Who made origami out of hate mail,

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Who was wickedly smart and hilarious,

Who always chose integrity and courage over making a profit or being palatable to the gatekeepers,

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Who pulled up more chairs to the Table and scooted over to make room,

Who made us laugh and made us think,

Who was bold and courageous and kind,

Who would not be budged from her conviction that this Gospel is Good News for everyone,

Who moved to the margins because she knew this is the centre of God’s Story…

I am so grateful to have found Rachel’s words when I may have needed them most… and to continue to learn from them even while grieving over her being gone too soon.

I hope to follow her example to chose integrity and courage, to speak truth, to pull up more chairs at the Table, and scoot over to make room.

And may I always be willing to ask myself that question:  What if I’m wrong?