Yuletide Musings

Today the snow has been falling and I cannot help but remember where I would be on any other year at this time. For the last 10 years, I have spent the week before Christmas at my Gram’s house. All of my fondest Holiday memories glow in my mind with her presence. Each year during my weeklong visit; she would share her Christmas stories with me. Gram had a story about everything and as each day drifts by since her passing I fret that I wont remember all of her tales. In these stories, our family is contained. Traditions, stories (gin) and memories make up the fabric of the Shullaws. Even without her physical presence, I hope to honor her and do the same things we have always done to carry on our family traditions. I want to share some of the stories that I remember her telling me each year.

When my Mom and Uncle were small, she and Grandpa would put together gifts and wrap presents (last minute of course because Gram was SUCH a procrastinator).  As they wrapped, they would open and drink an entire bottle of wine. Throughout the night, they would get drunker and drunker and they would laugh and carry on and have good time.  She always told me this story on the drive to my Parent’s house spoke of this time with such a warmth and fondness of the relationship she and Grandpa shared.

Grandma would sometimes speak of her Grandma and Grandpa Fitchen. She was very close to her Grandma. Her Grandpa Fitchen was a relatively wealthy but very thrifty man. He wouldn’t let her take a bath at his house due to the cost of heating the water for the tub (he was one of the few at the time who had running water). Once, he took Gram and her cousin shopping to buy them something for Christmas. The cousins wanted plaster Santa’s. He told them to pick out the one they wanted and Gram picked one where Santa had a wooden pipe (probably because her Dad smoked a pipe). When the cashier checked the price Gram’s was much more expensive then her cousin’s and Grandpa Fitchen was not pleased. But she convinced him to buy it for her anyways. I still have that Santa and his wooden pipe.

Grandma and her Mother had a relationship that had its ups and downs. But she always said what a giving and kind person her mother was to those in need. Gram’s parents were farmers and had little money of their own. But on Christmas, they would bring a basket of food to those who were disadvantaged. Gram told a story that when she was a young girl she and her mother went to a home of a poor family. The poor family consisted of a few children and a father because the mother had recently died. Gram and her Mom brought the basket the food into the kitchen of these disadvantaged people and saw that the kitchen was terribly dirty. Gram said that when she lifted a cup off of the shelf the only space that was clean was under the ring where the cup had been resting. My Gram and her mother cleaned the entire kitchen that Christmas Eve and did their best to make a nice Christmas for that family.

A more recent memory I have heard was they year that Grandpa added diamonds to Gram’s engagement ring and it was a complete surprise to her. When Grandpa was planning to propose he bought her the engagement ring and the jeweler had other diamonds that matched the stone in the ring. Grandpa didn’t have the money to buy them all at that time, but the jeweler said he would save the stones for Grandpa to use later. Sure enough many, many years later Grandpa went back to that same jeweler and used the matching stones to add to her engagement ring. Before he had them added on he told her that he was going to get the engagement ring’s stone checked at the jewelers. On Christmas day, he surprised her with the ring with all the new diamonds. She was flabbergasted and remembered it as one of her most precious Christmas gifts.

Having a person like Grandma to share our Christmas with was a gift. None of us will forget her perfectly wrapped chocolate fudge that was presented to each male of the family. It seemed to be a transition into manhood or an acceptance into the Shullaw clan.  We will not forget how she examined and fussed over each gift she or anyone else received taking a near lifetime to scrutinize it. I can just remember her happily sitting on the couch, her feet inches from touching the floor because she was so short. She sat watching attentively while each of us opened our gifts getting such joy out of the experience. Her patience when stirring the gravy was something to behold. That hot tedious process of stirring something that starts as a sludge that she could morph into a delicious outcome of smooth, creamy gravy.

Each Christmas, a part of me will always ache to have Gram with me with her sparkling dark eyes, her belly laugh and her kind smile. I hope I can find comfort in carrying on some of her traditions of joy, kindness and wonder each and every year. I miss you Gram and hope even though our family is apart you are with us all this Christmas. 

My Grandmothers Eulogy

Gram's Eulogy

I believe in life there are certain people that find each other because they are our kindred spirits. Some people find this person in their spouse, or in a best friend but I found this companion in my Grandmother (or Gram as I called her). We shared a special bond that I have with no one else. She has been my person, my lap to crawl up in and the one that loved me more then anyone else. She has always been the person who saw into my heart and my soul and understood my true nature. I have been truly blessed to know my Grandma.

A few months ago, before my Gram got sick I made my list of the 10 things I loved about her. I shared this with her via e-mail, but she didn’t say much about it.  I wondered if she truly liked it. A week or two later, I went to her house and found a copy of the list I had written in almost every room of her home. One on the refrigerator, one next to her bed, two in the computer room, one on the chair in the basement and one next to her paper under the cryptiquote. Some copies were crinkled and well read. I assumed this meant she truly liked it. I feel it was some sort of divine intervention that I created that list and shared it with her before she became ill. There was not anything left unsaid between us and she knew exactly how special she was to me. I would like to share my list with you now.

1. Everything tastes good at Grandma’s house (especially the Special K cookies, red hot apples, fudge and her chicken crepes).  Literally, everything this woman made was delicious!
2. Grandma enjoyed the outdoors more than anyone else I know. She would sit for hours during the winter observing (and cringing) at the geese landing on the icy pond, during the summer she would watch “Jenny Wren” tending to her babies or she would take a special affinity toward a lonely praying mantis. It was amazing to witness someone with such an appreciation for God’s creation.
3. I love the way Gram and I shared the same eclectic taste. We can walk into a store and we will both hone in on the kitschiest, most off beat item that only we find irresistible.
4. When I came to my Grandma’s house I always felt like I was home.
5. Grandma never hesitated to tell it like it was. Such an honest open person is rare to find. There is no one else I would rather back me up when dealing with a:
1. Car Salesmen
2. Ex-boyfriend
3. Terrible co-worker

            She always knows the perfect thing to say to get her point across.

6. I love the way my Grandma and I could talk for hours and hours while sharing a delicious cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. There is no one I would rather be snowed in with more than my Gram.
7. Grandma and I share the same love for art and especially painting. We spent hours painting quietly in the basement.  Even when we hated the end result we didn’t really care, the process of painting together was far more important than the product.  I can look at everything I have created and can remember the fun we had together.
8. I admired the way Gram was our family’s historian. Every one of her hundreds and hundreds of antiques has a story and Grandma can tell every one of them. Her fantastic memory makes it possible for our family’s history to be passed down from generation to generation.
9. I try to emulate my Grandma’s persistence, grace and strength. She never gave up, or complained and she kept herself going everyday even if it was hard to do so. 
10.  I love that my Grandma was my Best Friend.

 Gram and I have been separated into our different worlds and saying good-bye was tremendously difficult. But even now in grief, I try to remind myself that I am blessed. I was given a person who was tremendously special. I know in my heart that I appreciated her for as long as she was in my life. Nothing was left unsaid, I have thanked God for her everyday because she molded me into the person I am. I have been blessed. I hope that today you can think of your own top ten reasons my Grandma was special to you. I also encourage you tell your own special kindred spirit how much you love them today and to be thankful to whatever higher power you believe in for the human blessings in our lives.

Lois F. Shullaw, 89, of Washington, passed away at 11:05 a.m. Sunday, October 25, 2009 at her home surrounded by her family. 
She was born October 17, 1920 in Washburn, Illinois to Ernest J. Becker and Esther A. Fitschen Becker. Lois married John Robert Shullaw in Washburn on October 26, 1947. She graduated from Brown's Business College in 1939 and worked at Byerly Music Company and Mace Advertising. She was a member of Our Savior Lutheran Church in Washington. She was a member of the Tuesday Morning Golf League and the Friday Chippers Golf League at Hillcrest Golf Center. Lois also enjoyed playing bridge at the Five Points Center in Washington.

She was preceded in death by her husband. 

Lois is survived by one son, J. Robert (Lara) Shullaw of Houston TX, and one daughter Mrs. Jeanne K. (Mark) Heiser of Channahon IL. She also has three grandchildren; Danielle Mari (Tim) Filas of Delaware OH., Mandi Mari Heiser of Elmhurst IL, and Derek J. (Tessa) Heiser of Milwaukee WI. 

Memorial services will be at 11 a.m. Wednesday, October 28 at the Mason White Funeral Home in Washington. The Rev. Thomas Heren will officiate. There will be no visitation. Cremation will be accorded. 

Memorials may be made to the charity of your choice. 

Online condolences may be made at www.masonfuneralhomes.com 

Into the Mystic

Gram has slipped into a near vegetative state. She only awakens when she is moved to turn her with an excruciating moan. I had expected that she would at some point get to a comatose state but her groaning in such agony is beyond what I could have ever imagined. We are controlling the pain the best we can with medicine but the slightest movement causes her terrible suffering. For weeks, I felt she held on during her decline because she had some sort of unfinished business or mental demons to battle. But now I feel she is desperately trying to leave this world, but her locomotive heart still continues to beat. I think her soul is trapped inside a decaying vessel. No matter how strong the will, sometimes the body can betray the soul.

I constantly hope that she can pass away from the pain swiftly and peacefully. I have always imagined the transition like a favorite song of mine by Van Morrison Into the Mystic lyrics. I imagine there is some sort of cue; a sound she will hear or a voice of a loved one that summons her to come. She will not be afraid as she follows the noise. Then her spirit leaves her old body and enters the body she had when she was young. She is magnificently released and her body and soul are free and happy. I visualize her like the pictures of her when she was in her 20’s; with her beautiful shinny dark hair, red lipstick gorgeous heels and her head tilted back belly laughing. I hope it feels like she is going home safe, warm, exciting and joyous…don’t look back Grandma just go.

                         

Fed Up

I am fed up. Fed up with this constant mottled misery, fed up with the vigil, fed up with everyone around me fed up with God and his cruel time plan. I’m tired of being bored, sick of nurses who don’t know what the hell they are doing, finished with this drafty house, this town. I can’t stand painful memories anymore. I am so done with being tired and worn out. I am sick of looking in the mirror not recognizing the hag I see; seeing bags, wrinkles and grey hair that I have never had before. Fed up with Xanax nightmares. 

No more do I want to put on the happy show with my penitence being the pounding headache behind my eyes. I am sick of this lump that constantly resides in my throat. I’m tired of over-reacting. I’m weary of listening to people complain with an understanding look on my face. I am fed up with never being able to articulate how frustrated I am without hearing, “You think that’s’ bad…” This moodiness end eggshell walking seems to be too much. No more can I hear “She’s working through something, don’t take it personal” as an excuse to be unkind.  I am fed up with my soul being split in two, struggling to find my place in two distinct worlds, one with new life and one with old. 

It feels like I am making smack!

Last weekend, we noticed that had Grandma proceeded to decline more rapidly than before. The nurses told my Mother and I to get the family together because the she believed it was becoming close to the end. So some of the family gathered together to prepare and say our final good-byes. We rushed in to hold her hand and comfort her in her final moments. Gram often seemed to be talking to her dead parents, friends and to God. We could feel how close she was to death and my family members and I poured our hearts out to her.

However, each time she would rally and wandered away from “the white light”. Often she even says to the spirits she converses with, “I’m not going… but maybe tomorrow” I honestly think at times she is trying to negotiate with God!   Over the last week, we have thought it was close to the end at least three times.  We are at a loss on how to help her move on. Her quality of life is terrible. She hasn’t eaten in a week and is often agitated, confused and totally miserable.  Is she is holding on for some purpose? I have gone through a plethora of reasons she may be holding on. Is it because she is so used to fighting she doesn’t know how to let go? Or is it because she has unfinished business? Is she battling personal demands?  Is she trying to teach me something?

I have learned a variety of skills and life lessons over the past 2 and half months. I know how to entertain myself without leaving the house for 7 days. I know what patience and tenacity really means. I can sleep soundly on a tiny rollaway bed with two 15-pound cats. I have mastered medical procedures I NEVER expected to do. Daily I make Gram’s medicine, which consists of morphine and Lorazapam. I first need to grind up the pill between two spoons. Then I add the few milligrams of morphine to the spoon and mix it together. Lastly, I add a little water mix it again and then suck it up in a medicine dropper. Sometimes when I am making her dose at midnight and the house is dark, I am exhausted and in my grubby pajamas I look around and think this feels like I am making smack! Good God! As you can see Dear Readers, I have gained many skills from this adventure.

The Poor Old Lady, she is miserable and so not the Gram that I know and love. She seems like a shell of the person I know so dearly. My hope is that she and all the rest of us in this house find some peace. I pray she finds what she needs and has the courage to let go and move on.

Such a long long time to be gone, and a short time to be there

As the daylight in our autumn days dwindles so does my Grandmothers time on this earth. Day by day, I feel her letting go and the person who I have known is slipping slowly away. Her once clear sharp mind is slowly becoming more clouded. We are blessed because her spirits are up and confused as she often is, she is typically happy.

 Together my family searches for acceptance and understanding in this situation. Gram and I talk about death daily and what we expect she will find. I once asked her Who do you want to take you to heaven? I expected she would say her husband (my Grandfather who passed away 7 years ago) or her Mother and Father. But she said, “I want to see you there. I want you to come with me but I know you cannot”. Part of me wants to go with her because I cannot imagine I how I will live the rest of my long life (God willing) without her in it. She has been my person, my lap to crawl up in and the one that loves me more then anyone else. She has always been the person who saw into my heart and my soul and understood my true nature. A world without my person seems hard to imagine.

Even during this nearly three month process, I would get down and upset and often wanted to call my Grandma about this very situation. This sick person didn’t seem like my real Grandma! My Grandma would know exactly what to say when I had tried so hard but nothing seemed to be right, and when people didn’t like what I had said, written or done, or when I would get so frustrated then terribly angry at myself for being frustrated. She would make me feel good again; she would slowly evaluate the situation and then reassure me that I was doing the right thing. But that part of my Grandma has already moved on and the support I so desperately want is not available to me anymore.

Crawling up in my bed at her house after a trying day is often lonely. I will never regret making the choice to be with Gram during this time (despite my incessant complaining), but dealing with the solitariness of the day to day is often more trying then the actual care giving. All day you give your entire self to another person and at the end of the day feel completely alone. I often find myself wishing I could simply get a hug before I go to sleep, just a little hug to make me feel a little less sad. Networking systems like Facebook and writing this Blog make me feel a little better because I feel like those that love and care about me know what is occurring in my life. Virtual hugs so to speak.

I know both Gram and I will get through this. Soon we will be separating into our different worlds and saying good-bye for what seems like eternity. But tonight when it seems tough and lonely, I try to remind myself that I am blessed. I was given a person who was tremendously special. I know in my heart that I appreciated her for as long as she was in my life. Nothing has been left unsaid, I have thanked God for her nearly everyday of my life and she molded me into the person I am. I have been blessed. 

It's not my fault it runs in the family!

Grandma and I have had a calmer week. She is beginning to slow down. There has been lots of sleeping and significantly less eating.  It has been a real struggle to keep her blood sugar up. When it gets low from the meager amount of food she is eating she gets terribly ill. Sometimes it feels like I am so busy caring for her I may never get it all done and other times I am so bored I think I might set myself on fire.  At least she seems a little more content with the state of her world and much more at peace with my presence. For that I am truly grateful.

By Tuesday, it seemed that we have come to a better understanding of one another.  I realized that she thinks of me as the “Kid”. When I make a suggestion, no matter how reasonable, she will never accept it because she does not trust my 20-something judgment. She still wants to be in control of our Grandmother/Grand-daughter relationship. And that's okay! Now, I call my Mom or my Uncle or a Nurse and have them make my suggestion (pretending it’s there own) when talking to her because she trusts them and allows them to take control. I also have come to realize that she could only go through the stages of acceptance on her own time. Denial or not I had to be patient.

We had a conversation on Wednesday I know I will never forget. That evening before bed, she was brushing her teeth. The she told me a story of Grampy Becker. My Great-Grandfather who in his lifetime saw horse and buggies, covered wagons, the model T, and men walk on the moon. Crazy. Anyway, she was laughing because he only brushed his teeth once a week on Sundays before church (and the man had ALL of his own teeth). Gram dearly loved Grampy and thought highly of him. I lamented to Gram that I had no memories of Grampy and that I hoped when I die and move on to heaven (or whatever the heck I go after this life) I hope I could get to know him. Then she said with tears in her eyes, “When you get to heaven we will all be a family again”.  It was the first time she had brought up heaven to me. Millimeter by millimeter she was coming closer to acceptance.

I have been doing my best to keep my oversensitive, uber-controlling, high-strung self in check. I have been trying to give her more choices and control of her life. It seems simple and pointless but she likes to be the one to lock the doors in her house at night, she wants to decide when her hair gets washed and exactly how much soap we use to bath her.  It can be frustrating because when I am simply trying to get through the chaos each day keeping her safe, happy and healthy. These little things I rarely consider. But I have been trying really hard to remember these aspects of her life.  They are not trivial they are the few choices she has and I need to honor them (even though the time she told me I used too much soap I thought I would kill her). 

Sunday evening she was upset before bed. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I’m not ready to die”. I nodded at her. Then she said, “I just want God to tell me when I am going to die”.   I was at a loss of what to say so I mumbled something like “Do you wanna pray or something”? She started to say our dinner prayer but then I gently suggested that perhaps the Lord’s Prayer was a better bedtime choice. So together we said it:

Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done,

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen.

As we said the prayer, one phrase seemed to be the answer. Thy will be done. I reminded her that sometimes we have to give up some of our control to a higher power. Whether we live or die is not our choice. She nodded her head and seemed to take some comfort in that. I think that Sunday night she realized she is not going to get better and back on her feet again. I also think she came to accept it.

Today she spoke of wanting to be with her family until she gets “too sick”. She said when she gets “sick” she said she would “just let go”. I reminded her that even when she "let’s go" she wont be without family because my Grandpa (her husband) and Grampy (Gram’s father) will be waiting for her. I hope she finds comfort in the fact that she will not be alone. I think loosing control over your life must be extraordinarily hard to deal with, but I hope in the end it brings her some peace. 

The Great Divide

            The last 5 days have been extraordinarily difficult for Grandma and myself. I do will not get into details about what happened because I think enough of her dignity has been compromised during this situation already. But I will say we have been through hell and back. At 3:30am on Sunday morning, I remember lying in her bed holding her hand praying to God to give us the strength to get through the night. The experience made me question my competence, her quality of life and whether or not I can actually do this without loosing my mind.

            It has become clear that the staff from our Hospice does not have any experience with colon cancer and the complications that it entails. This it exceedingly frustrating and makes me feel completely helpless. I am realizing that our Hospice has provided a very nice pastor, a social worker who is a great listener, a CNA and nurses who work so very hard to make Gram comfortable but they provided no one who knows how to address HER specific medical needs. I am tired of training nurses on what to do, and even more tired of these medical procedures not being done correctly.  If not for the help of one nurse that we met in the hospital we would have been lost. She came on her own time to assist us and make sure everything was okay. For her, I am forever grateful.

            In the afternoon, I watch Gram shift constantly in her chair becoming more and more uncomfortable. She never complains but I will walk into her room and see her teetering at the end of her chair. She will be folded over to the point where I am afraid she will fall off. She says she is simply trying to get comfortable, but comfort never seems to come.  I ask her if she would like some painkillers and she always refuses, only taking something when a nurse insists. She chooses to sit in pain and it is increasingly difficult to watch.

            Recently, I have noticed a change in my relationship with my Grandmother. She is sometimes short with me and can even be unkind. Yesterday, she refused to eat and in the evening we had a bout of serious hypoglycemia. It was a very scary situation. Some days these things break my little heart and someday it makes me furious. It’s hard to do everything you can and it never seems like it is right or enough. But I am starting to realize why she is doing this. First off, I think she is searching for some control. It must be so hard depending on others for your every need. But I also believe she is trying to distance herself from me and from the people she loves. It started in the hospital when I noticed her distancing herself from her friends. I think by creating this divide she is making the transition to the other side easier for herself and for those that love her.

            Sometimes I get a glimpse of my old Gram. I see the real her in the evening when I am getting her ready for bed. I apply her face creams her body lotion so she doesn’t get dry skin. She says, “I could purr when you do that”.  She seems lucid and peaceful and happy that I am near. We talk and she looks into my eyes and that make me forget that she is sick. I live for that time and I tell myself that she does too. 

Umm boom bah day

September 15th, 2009

Gram’s Status:

Mood: Unsure and upset

Pain Level: Sore tailbone from sitting so much

Appetite: Very little appetite-she doesn't want to eat.

 Mobility: Walked up ad down the driveway 2 times.          

Pressure pushing down on me

Pressing down on you no man ask for

Under pressure - that burns a building down

         Today was my first day back on my own with Gram in more than 2 weeks. The radio alarm clock was blaring the song “Under Pressure” when I woke up today.  David Bowie perfectly described the experience of the day. I had forgotten all the many things that need to be remembered, accomplished and smoothed over in a mere 24 hours. The day began with the Hospice nurse showing up 2 and half hours late. We woke up early to be ready for her arrival and waited and waited and waited. When I finally called the nurse had variety of excuses. Number 1: “I didn’t know I had a set time today”. The note she left that said 9:00 wasn’t definite I suppose. Number 2: Something had come up that caused her to be delayed. Really? Was this “something” in the middle of nowhere where there are no phones, telegrams to carrier pigeons that could relay the message that she would not arrive in the morning but the afternoon? Hmm. When she finally arrived she still needed basic training to perform some of the medical procedures that need to be done daily.

Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor

These are the days it never rains but it pours

         I muddled though the rest of the day. Poor Gram had to continually remind me to do the simplest things. I felt so afraid I would mess something up it made me an idiot. I kept chanting in my head “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this”. By the late afternoon I wasn’t sure I could do a damn thing right.

Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking

Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

         During the day, one thing after another began to fall apart. I was sweating and shaking but trying to keep a calm and joyful attitude.  I could feel her questioning stare and I knew she was wondering; Can this KID really do this? Gram asked me if everything was okay? I  answered with a big plastered on smile and said, “EVERYTHING IS JUST FINE”.

This is our last dance

This is ourselves

Under pressure

Under pressure

       At night, I laid awake praying the same prayer my Uncle and Mother had prayed in the weeks earlier, “Dear God, Please don’t let me screw anything up tomorrow.” Thoughts of all the things that I needed to do and remember rushed through my head and I felt like a nervous wreck. As the night progressed, I continued to get up to check on Gram every thirty minutes. After many hours, I began to wonder what am I so worried about? If she becomes uncomfortable she will call for me. If she passes away in her sleep peacefully that would be the best gift she could receive. Everything that I am doing is coming from a place of love even if I don’t do everything right. Beating myself up and worrying wont make me do a better job, it will just make me bat-shit-crazy and that will definitely NOT help Gram. So I am doing my best to make this “last dance” the best it can be for the both of us. However, I still hope I don’t screw up tomorrow.

             

Now back to my cake...

            Today was a rough day at work. Three alarm drills took place a Tornado Drill, Fire Drill and Intruder Alert (this one upsets me every year). Which is difficult for a class of typically functioning 3-5 year olds; now imagine it in a class full of children with autism. Not fun or pretty even when you are prepared. So I came home and decided to bake a flourless chocolate cake to bring to Grandma’s this weekend. Why baking makes me feel better- I will never know.  I had everything for the recipe except for the eggs. So off to the store I went. Driving in the Chicago suburbs rush hour is never fun, surrounded by semis, angry commuters and soccer mom’s late for practice. As I drove down the two-lane road, a semi was close on my right side and continually drove up next to me then backed off. He had no turn signal on nor did he motion that he wanted to get over. I had no room to let him in so I continued forth to the store with visions of a beautiful cake in my future. Soon, I saw a construction traffic arrow pointing for all cars to get into the left lane. Unfortunately, because of the traffic and the fact that I drive a tiny car I could not see this sign until I was practically on top of it and the semi was merging in right behind me. Then I heard him yell “ You F****** C*** and saw him flicking me off as he turned into the gas station to fill up. I was obviously upset.

            I tried to ignore it. I went to the store got my eggs and was still fuming when I left. On my way home, I hit every green light and took this as a sign. I saw my filthy mouthed friend still pumping at the gas station. I pulled over, got out of my car and marched over towards him.

            He was probably in his 40’s about 200 pounds with a very large gold eagle necklace around his neck. When I reached him I said “Hi, I am the F****** C***”. He looked mad and began to make another inappropriate comment. I interrupted this statement and informed him that I was a pre-school teacher who taught a class for children with autism not a B**** or a C***. As I said those words he flinched and looked towards the ground. Then he started kicking imaginary rocks with his mouth firmly shut. After that, I explained to him that I was only going to the store to get eggs to bake a chocolate cake for my Grandma who is very sick. I informed him that I, along with most people are making it the best they can and no one deserves to be spoken to like that. Then I said the statement that upset him the most, I told him that he should be absolutely ashamed of himself and that he hurt my feelings. As I lectured, many men pumping gas into their cars began to walk towards me to make sure this trucker man would not swing a punch at me (the 20 something angry blonde). By the time I finished, their mouths were open and one man was walking away chuckling. 

            In the end, the trucker man looked me in the eyes and said, “I am so sorry. That was uncalled for and all the blame was on me. Please forgive me Miss.”  Mission accomplished. Now back to my cake. 

Paints, cookies and hot chocolate-the only bright spot in a terrible season.

September 6, 2009

Gram’s Status: WONDERFUL!

Mood: Peaceful

Pain Level: No complaints

Appetite: She ate 2 pieces of toast for breakfast and a half of a sandwich for lunch.

 Mobility: She walked to the end of the driveway and back and has been sitting out on her porch a few hours each day.

            Once the corn is about 3 inches tall I begin to dread winter. Phrases like “Before you know it the farmers will be plowing the fields and the snow will start to fall” escape my lips around June. I got this negative outlook and dread of winter from my mother; she has always said the same thing. I get depressed at the sheer thought of winter approaching. I know that fall has yet to begin, but winter seems to rush in so quickly. I’m not ready. The bitter cold, people all bundled up and rushing around where they need to go. It is defiantly the loneliest time of the year. You may not see your friends or neighbors for weeks because people don’t want to go out in the fringed temperature. I hate it scraping my car, itchy sweaters and that ache of being alone when the world is all covered in white.

            The bright spot in my winter is the week I spend with my Grandma at Christmas. It is my favorite week of the year. I have been going to her house at Christmas time since I was 16. The time I have spent at her house has molded me into the person I am today.

            A typical day when I am at her house starts with us waking at about 11am. We stagger out of bed and drink coffee and look out the window to watch and cringe at the geese landing on the frozen lake (it is absolutely painful to see them land and skid about 100 feet while feverishly flapping their wings to help them stop).  At some point, we get cleaned up and dressed. Some days, we set up our canvases and paint in the basement. Every year, we paint something different, abstracts, still life or landscapes.  I don’t always love the piece I create, but I do love the memories that come out of them. I love to watch Gram paint so slowly and carefully every stroke adding depth to her picture.

            Other days, we will bake our holiday sweets. Grandma taught me how to bake during my weeks at her home. We typically make pies, fudge and hundreds of Christmas cookies. Even though I have her recipes, and have made them many times, my cookies and pies never taste as good as when she makes them. Her slow careful hand and attention to detail make her the best baker in our family. Unfortunately, this fabulous baking ability typically causes me to gain 5 pounds while staying at her house for the week. In the afternoon, we may take naps, or she will do her cryptaquote (word puzzle) or we will read our books. Sometimes, we will play Mexican train or a card game which Gram typically wins (she is far better at cards than I will ever be).

            The evening is my favorite time of day with her. The house is dark except for her illuminated Christmas decorations. We sit in the living room and share stories of our lives while we drink my homemade hot chocolate. It always is so comfortable and cozy. Around midnight we finally relent and crawl into bed.

            One year in particular, we were expecting a lot of snow the week that I left for her house. My parent’s were worried that I would get to her home and we would be stuck there. Everyone tried to talk me out of going but I could not stand the thought of my Gram alone on Christmas! I could imagine no one else I would rather be snowed in with than my Gram, so off I went. Despite the snow, I made it to her home and we made it back to my parent’s house for the holiday.           

            Two years ago, I went to her house the week after Christmas for New Year’s Eve. We made a feast with crab legs and champagne and watched the ball drop. On News Year’s Day, we painted and watched football and drank leftover champagne.  It is still the best New Year’s I can remember.

            Although it is only September, I have had the holidays on my mind today. I hope that Gram and I get a few days like the ones we share at Christmas. That special time just between the two of us holds so many memories for me. I hope we have the time to paint, eat and talk like we always have done. I am so lucky to have had 10 years of these memories, but I hope to make just a few more.

This is NOT my typically Blog entry!

 This is disclaimer for all those reading my blog for the first time. THIS IS NOT A TYPICAL ENTRY! This is just a story that was so funny that I had to share it. I hope you can laugh at it as much as I have :)

            I remember during my childhood my Grandfather always said, “College is the best time of your life, so enjoy it”. I took this advice to heart; I studied hard and graduated Magna Cum Laude and was the president of 3 organizations at my college. However, my weekends were filled with parties, concerts and “my boys” (my very best college friends). I left college with friends I know I will have for life. My friend Dain is the most honest, loyal and levelheaded person I know. I don’t know anyone else who will call me out when I am not being the best person I can be. There are few eligible strait men in the world that will go with you to a farmer’s market and truly enjoy it!

            My friend “Schmian” (who’s name has been changed for confidentialities sake) and I met on our first day at college. We were in the same orientation group and we bonded over our mutual love for Alkaline Trio (a Chicago band), our hate of torturous team building games and a shared sarcastic sense of humor.  “Schmian” and I have shared many good times together but he does have a very troublesome flaw; his bizarre sleep walking episodes.

            “Schmian” came to visit Peoria a few weeks ago from Chicago. The evening started innocently enough, Dain and I walked to the bar from his apartment to meet up with “Schmian” at a local pub.  Since college, I rarely drink more than a glass or two of wine nor do I go to many bars. I am the kind of girl that belongs to book clubs, running groups and I have a deep love the farmer’s market. A party girl I am not. I hate feeling being hung over and I dread crowded places. But on this evening I was feeling reminiscent. I had few martinis, the boys had a few beers and many college tales were shared. We met new friends in the pub and I decided to buy a round of shots for all of my old and new friends. When the 7 shots I ordered finally arrived, only the three of us remained at our table. We all took one shot but 4 still remained. Being the tree-hugging, frugal, environmentalist that I am I could simply not waste 4 shots. So I drank 3 and made “Schmian” drink the last one. The rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I could have blamed the poor choices that soon followed that night on the stress that I have been under for the last month. However, I honestly believe my drinking such a gratuitous amount was purely done out of stupidity. I was being an idiot.

            At some point, I found myself dancing on a stage to George Michael (in my defense I do dearly love George Michael) at a gar bar. I realized I was without my friends, but was in fact surrounded by hundreds of 40-year-old men yelling “YOU GO GIRL”! Soon after that I came to my senses, I hailed a cab and took it the two blocks back to Dain’s apartment where I met up with Dain and “Schmian”. We stayed up late laughing about what a crazy night it had been and then fell asleep. Dain slept on the floor, “Schmian” on a couch and I (the princess that I am slept on the blow up bed).

            A few hours into the night, I awoke on my air mattress to the feeling of something dripping. I laid there for a moment trying to figure out what it was. Was it leak in the roof? Had I knocked over a glass of water? Unfortunately, all these guesses were wrong. I realized it was “Schmian” peeing on my head! Horrified, I jumped up and started to scream!  When the boys awoke they were angry with me for making such a ruckus and said I was being too over dramatic and my response was “HE JUST PEED ON MY HEAD!” Soon after that, I took a shower that lasted around 2 hours. Periodically, Dain would knock gingerly on the door to ask if I was okay and I would respond with “I’m FINE and LEAVE ME ALONE!” After my very long shower, I was coherent enough to go home.

            A few hours later, I received an apologetic phone call from “Schmian” for his sleepwalking mistake. He felt so terrible he offered to single handedly move me out of my apartment (I am moving at the end of the month) and presented his indentured servertrey for life. I figure sharing this story for the entire Internet world to see makes us even. I realize now that despite “Schmian’s” accident we are all still friends and although I am slightly traumatized I love them dearly. And on the bright side, the following day my hair was the shiniest it had ever been.

With a big bowl of red hot apples....

August 29, 2009

Gram’s Status:

Mood: Happy-Slept until 11am!

Pain Level: No complaints

Appetite: Okay. She ate a piece of cinnamon bread (her favorite) orange juice and coffee this morning. For a lunch (very late-did not eat lunch till 4pm) she had mashed potatoes, noodles and tomato sauce.

 Mobility: Tried walking without the walker and did fine.          

           What do you tell someone when they can’t admit that they are going to die? I ask myself this question daily. Gram has yet to truly accept her prognosis. She has been told what she is facing, but a few minutes after she has been told she does not seem to want to remember the conversation. I sometimes wonder if we should play along with my Gram’s personal mental sham and support in the irrational thoughts of an endless life or if we should be honest in hopes that she will live simply for today. We continue to say the same neutral statement “Let’s just take it one day at a time” but that sometimes seems impossible for her to do. The fight to hang on and battle through each and every day even though it has not been easy for a very long time. My mom and I used to joke that she would probably out live us all purely though her cussedness. I fear when she comes to grip with what she is up against she will quit fighting. Is there some sort of in middle ground between all out war and surrender?

                  I find that she sometimes convinces me that she may fight and beat stage 4 cancer because she is such a force to be reckoned with. I start to imagine Christmas, Easter and her coming to visit me in my new Chicago apartment. I see my Mom, Gram and I sitting on my couch drinking coffee and looking out over the city from the 26^th floor enjoying the view. She would love that.  Then I stop, I am brought back to reality when I hear her rattling cough or look carefully at the grey color of her face and the far away look in her eyes.

            It’s not to say that I don’t want her to fight, I just want to find some peace and comfort too. I hope for her to make peace with her Maker and with the world. I don’t want her to ever have regrets or things left unsaid. I want her to enjoy each moment and live simply for the day. It breaks my heart to think of her last moments being fitful, fighting and bitter. The Hospice nurses say this is a journey and some people don’t find acceptance until their very last moment, but everyone finds it. I find comfort in this and I pray it is true.

            When people hear that someone has lived 88 years they typically say “What a long life! She is so lucky”. I completely agree with this, I know every day young people and children die at the very beginning of life and it is a heartbreaking tragedy. I completely realize that there is no comparison between a tragic death and the death of an elderly person, but it is still painful.  Despite her many years on this earth, I know that she feels that she isn’t finished yet. She has golf outings scheduled until October, places to go and people to see. She has knitted sweaters, hats, booties and blankets for great-grandchildren that are yet to be conceived. She makes recommendations for colors in my wedding and I don’t even have a boyfriend!

            We all want this special time to bring Grandma (and all of those that love her) comfort and acceptance. I hope she gets to do most of the things she truly enjoys and is surrounded by those that love her deeply. I hope this is not the end of her journey but merely a stage with far more to come after she leaves this earth (I hope she believes that too). I imagine that someday when it is my turn to leave the world, she is waiting for me with a smile and a big bowl of red-hot apples.

Date: August 27th 2009

Gram’s Status: Happy to be home...

Mood: Content

Appetite: Ate 3 meals today :)

Mobility: She walked all from her bedroom to the living room 3 times. 

Our first day home has been very pleasant and happy. Grandma got up at her typical late morning hour of 9:00am. She walked out to her favorite chair in the living room and drank a few mugs of black coffee and ate a piece of cinnamon toast. She quietly looked out the window and watched the birds eat their fill of birdseed and corn. Soon a CNA, (nurse’s assistant) arrived from Hospice. She helped Gram get cleaned up and dressed. Then Gram came out to sit in the living room and chat for a while then she took a little snooze in her favorite place in her own house.

            She ate a late lunch of homemade chicken-noodle soup, tapioca and saltines. Then my Mom, Gram and I went to sit on the deck and look at the lake, appreciate Gram’s beautiful flowers and watch the hummingbird drink from the feeder.  After an hour, we went back inside and Gram got back into her chair. I came in and sat on the floor next to her and put my head in her lap and she ran her fingers through my hair (this is most likely my favorite place to be in the whole world). Before long, I had some competition from George (her very fat cat) who did his best to squeeze his way between Gram and I. I finally relented and moved away from my fierce competitor.  Soon, Ollie (my cat) came and sat in my lap. Gram and I laughed at the situation, both of us holding out respective cats doting on them as if they were our babies. I know there is some joke to be made about “old cat ladies” but I think both of us would gladly accept this title regardless of the stigma.

  Now I sit on the deck, drinking a gin and tonic and writing and Gram sits eating her specially made dinner so lovingly prepared by my mother. My Mom made my Gram’s favorite “sick food” that my Great-Grandmother cooked for Gram as a girl, mashed potatoes, spaghetti, and tomato juice (yes, I really mean tomato juice) poured over the top.  I hope heals with the same medicinal purposes that it had when she was a girl.  It has been a very nice day.