The New Normal

September....  Back to School time... An invigorating crispness in the morning air, leaves beginning to turn color and drop, satisfyingly crunchy underfoot.  Newly cut hair and freshly sharpened pencils.  Lunch boxes unsullied by the stink of half-eaten sandwiches.  Children flipping open the covers of brand new crayon boxes nad pressing their noses against the cool flat tips, inhaling deply the smell that, even as adults, transports us to Septembers so far in our past they seem another lifetime.


For parents, some Septembers are more dramatic than others.  There is always that sense of beginning, but some years simultaneously signal an end.  Kindergarten for example.  The very first day of school.  Such excitement!  Such anticipation!  Breakfast eaten hurriedly so there is time for photos and last minute outfit adjustments.  Parents' smiles and optimism hiding their secret dread of turning their children loose to a world where other adults will hold sway over their thinking and judgment.  Where they will be subjected to fickle friendships and owies with no Mom to kiss and make better.

I remember vividly the first day of my older daughter's kindergarten year.  I thought about the day so often with a mixture of excitement and dread, but nothing prepared me for the real thing.  "C'mon!  Finish your cheerios!  We can''t be late!"  The short walk over to school, her hand feeling suddenly oh-so-small in mine that I tightened my grip just a little.  The charged energy around the school yard as we entered the "big kid" world of teachers and books and new friendships.  The principal greeting everyone.  A few familiar faces.  And then, at last, the classroom.  Parents and siblings stood off to the side watching as the teacher introduced herself to the children and laid down a few ground rules.  Sarah looked small and angelic in her seat way in the back of the class.  I was in love with this moment.  But then the teacher's attention turned to us, breaking the spell.  "Thank you parents, brothers and sisters.  See you after school."  We shuffled out, our younger daughter in Dan's arms, all smiles and waves on the outside.   But inside was a different story.  Something major was changing.  I felt like I was outside my body, watching it happen.  Why wasn't I happy anymore?

New Studies Show Estrogen linked to Mothers' patience for teenage angst............ Warning: Some material may be unsuitable for pre-menopausal mothers

At 2:00 in the morning I have my most profound revelations.

Last night (or rather early this morning) I had an epiphany that could change the way we view menopause and mothering.  I fell asleep at the usual time, book on my chest, glasses askew on my face.  Shortly thereafter I came to the surface just enough to stash my book and glasses, turn off the light and adjust my pillow.   Ahhh....  But then, instead of sinking into REM sleep per usual, I was wide awake like someone had just screamed "FIRE!!"  And what was the first thing that popped into my mind?  My daughter.  My 18 year old, red-headed daughter, who is finishing high school (by the skin of her teeth) and figuring out what next year will bring.  Who has made some choices this year that, on paper sounded fine, grand even.  But in reality did not pan out as promised and have me really concerned.

So I lose sleep. But instead of merely fretting and worrying, I am angry.  Angry because at age 54, I am definitely ready for this to end.  After 23 years of nurturing, soothing, worrying, loving, commiserating, adjusting, psycholigizing, praying, hoping, crying, laughing...  I'm just about out of steam!  I still love my kids dearly.  Still want for them all the things I ever have.  Still rejoice when they are successful and happy and share the times that are disappointing.  But the difference is, when a problem arises that I know will need dissecting, counseling, working through, and loads of patience on my part, what I really want to say is, "GET OVER IT!" I just don't know how many more of these episodes I have left in me.   

Dad's Hands

I just spent a weekend with my parents.  My father has dementia related to his Parkinsons and the disease has progressed to the point where his words don't really make much sense any more.  There are rarely full sentences and never two sentences in a row that go together.  Conversation is non-existent because meaningful exchange is not possible.  The type of dementia he has eats away at his brain, leaving the equivalent of holes, robbing him of his ability to string coherent thoughts together.  That's the best lay explanation I can come up with.

However there are occasional moments of lucidity when he is grasping for words - when he is desperately trying to express something.  At one such point I said, "Dad, is it frustrating to want to say something and not be able to find the words?"  He looked at me with his eyes wide open and clear and said, "YES!"  He was there with me just for a moment. And then he returned to unrelated words, strange hallucinations, anxiety and mood swings.

Towards the end of my visit, as I was leaving in fact, I knelt down in front of his wheelchair, laid my hands over his which were crossed on his lap, and looked in his eyes.  "Dad, I'm leaving now.  I'm going back to Seattle to be with Dan, Sarah and Julia.  I love you, Dad.  I have enjoyed our visit and I'll miss you - but I'll be back...  I love you, Dad."  He looked at me hard as if he was trying to follow, trying to grasp the meaning of my words, trying to find this familiar place that is becoming more and more distant for him as his illness progresses.  He didn't say anything.  Just looked at me.  But I could see that he wanted to say something.  Wanted to participate in this exchange.

When was the last time I had a conversation with my Dad?  I can't remember.  This disease has been slowly taking his mind and I can't remember when we last spoke without the illness getting in the way.  There was a time in the kitchen, about a year and a half ago, during breakfast, before his meds kicked in, when we talked sweetly, and I reminded him that the reason he forgets and feels confused is because of the Parkinsons.  "Oh really?" he said.  "That's what it is?"  But what about the political sparring we used to do?  What about the long conversations we'd have about life and nature and my kids and growing older?  Once when I was in Canada on vacation on our boat, we talked for so long that I went over my long distance minutes.  I thought my husband was going to have a fit, but I didn't care.  I knew this was precious time.  But I didn't know just how precious.

Marion

5:30 a.m.  Just returned from the airport, dropping Dan off for a trip back east.  Yesterday at noon, Dan's mother, my mother-in-law, my children's beloved grandmother died.  She was 93 years old, but two days before she died had her nightly rum and lime, and this time last year she was in Scandinavia, judging and attending a dog show.  Marion Hopkins was the grande dame of the Irish Water Spaniel breeders and she, literally, wrote the book on the breed.  She was also the Grande Dame of everything she touched.  She was the most modern old-fashioned woman I know.  She held to the old ways (spare the rod, spoil the child and that sort of thing), but was very forward thinking when it came to politics, women's rights, and "just getting on with life."  The stories are stuff of legend and she has been -and will remain - iconic in our lives and our minds.

It's so hard to think about Dan arriving at her house - where she has lived since he was in high school - and her not being there.  It will feel as though she just went out to the store.  Everything will be as she left it.  93 years old and still living in her own house!  She was living proof that age is just a number.  Her steps and her life will echo through the house.  Her chair, her bed, her notes by the telephone - all signs of a life lived to the last moment.

It is little comfort, though, when well-meaning friends say "well - 93 - that's a good, long life."  Yes, it's true, but that doesn't help with the loss.  Doesn't take away the sorrow and the giant hole that her death has created in our existence.  Never to hear her voice.  Never to see her twinkling eyes.  Never to sit at her table and enjoy a meal with her (minding our manners the entire time....)!

When a person dies, the world changes - for a time.  I drove home from work yesterday after hearing the news.  It was early afternoon, and people were going about their business, walking, running, sipping coffee in to-go cups.  Life was continuing for all, but I felt a shade removed from it and wondered how someone this important to me could have passed from this world and still everyone out there was carrying on as though nothing had changed.  When I got home, Julia, my 18-year-old who has been struggling with death and issues surrounding it, her eyes red-rimmed and slightly wet, said, "I'm okay.  At first I felt numb, but then I forced myself to feel it.  And I noticed that everything is still happening.  People are still doing things and life is continuing.  But Grandma is gone and that's what is different."  Yes.  That's it.  Life does continue, both here and beyond in a way that we will not know until it's our turn. 

Sarah came home last night as well. A friend covered her shift so she could mourn and be with us.  It's good to know that my daughters have friends to care for them.  We all went to Dan's brother's apartment, raised a glass of rum and lime to Marion, Mom, Grandma - and toasted a great woman - strong, elegant, formidable - I only hope that my daughters are even a little bit like her as they grow older.  Keep her as a standard and reach for it, girls!  All will be well.

Chasing the Sun

When the sun set tonight I had an urge to run toward the horizon and peek over the edge to see where it had gone. 

As it sets and disappears from my sight, somewhere someone is turning toward the east and watching it come up over a hill and begin its journey across that sky.  I think of the book "A Little Prince" whose illustrations always show the main character, standing on the planet which is not much bigger than he is, and which he could walk around if he chose.  And I find myself wishing I could do that, too.  Chase the sun around the earth.  Watch it shine on other surfaces.  Until I end up back here.  And then let it go.

It's a crazy feeling to think that the reason the sun is sinking beneath the horizon, is actually that we are moving up and away from the sun.  The sun is staying perfectly still.  We are riding backwards on a giant ferris wheel.

All is calm, all is bright.

Yes, Christmas IS over.  I have been baffled as to why I feel it so acutely this year.  Why am I crying so much, grieving so much?  What is it?  Normally, I am relieved when all the madness has passed.  I love the post-Christmas time. 

I was pondering this, baffled and weepy, when it struck me.  This was the last Christmas when both my daughters will be living at home.  This time next year, Sarah will be living in her own apartment and Julia will have moved out to attend college.  Instead of waking up with them in the house, they will be coming home for Christmas - possibly sometime late morning!  Oh...  maybe they will come home for Christmas eve and spend the night.  But they might not.  It will be their choice.  I hope they will choose to be with us on Christmas Eve but I can no longer hang on to that expectation - especially for Sarah.

Here's the tricky part.  Accepting whatever it is they decide.  Not being disappointed.  Not taking it as a personal affront to the years I spent creating a sense of holiday in the house.  Not interpreting it as a rejection, but celebrating it as a graduation to a different phase of our family life.

On Christmas Day, I looked out the window of the boat and saw our neighbor's adult children walking down the dock towards their boat, arms laden with packages and smiles lighting up their faces.  That's nice, I thought.  I can get used to that.  Imagine the joy of hearing the knock on the door and knowing "they're here!"  Especially if their lives are productive and happy and independent.  Yes - that will be good.  Dan & I will spend the morning preparing a lovely brunch.  Gifts will have been wrapped - not in secret - but out in the open the night before.  It will be good.  It will....

To tell the truth, the last few years in the house, I found myself decorating the tree by myself, quite sad that the kids had better things to do and absolutely zero interest in oohing and aahhhing over the cherished ornaments.  It was winding down already, but I was holding on to it for dear life.  Especially as I knew the house sale was inevitable.

This year I asked, "does anyone want to bake Christmas cookies?"  (Both girls are trying to avoid wheat and both are working on maintaining a healthy weight - especially during the holidays.)  "Nah," came the reply.  I was not disappointed.  Not at all.  I was relieved.

I think I am going to like this.  I think I've been waiting for it for a long time.  A holiday where we are adults and we enjoy each other as such.  When the grandchildren come, I may steal them away for a  bit to resurrect some of the fun.  But for now - this is just fine.

Hold that thought.

The Ghost of Christmas Past... and Christmas yet to come...

Christmas is over.  Well, not completely over.  The day is over but the feeling lingers...   For me,  Christmas happens more fully once the day itself has passed.  Once the pressure has lifted and the work is done.  Then comes the real holiday -- a time to reflect and relax and enjoy the fruits of all the planning and hard work.  If only we could do more of that ahead of the holiday so that the anticipation could be more joyful and holy and sweet.  I have been working on that for a while now, and try to remember each year to savor the pre-Christmas as much as the post.

When the kids were little, I struggled so with this holiday which consists largely of mercantile madness.  I felt so underneath all the lists and the self-imposed intensity and the need to buy for everyone the perfect gift.

The bitter irony is that we women have taken a beautiful time of year and turned it into a frenzy.  We women created this insanity. I mean, really, do you see men freaking out about lists and home-made jam and what to buy nieces and nephews they never see and whose names they don't even remember?  I confess that in years past, I secretly strove for a picture perfect Edwardian Christmas with the smell of delicious foods and mulled cider wafting through the house, my children dressed in lovely clothes, stringing garlands of popcorn and cranberries for the tree (we actually did that one year), delivering hand-made gifts to neighbors and friends (yes - we've made homemade marmalade and cookies), our gingerbread house made from scratch sitting proudly on the dining table (done it -- more than once).  But, unlike the Edwardian days, we don't have servants to help, we work part- or full-time jobs and we are blinking exhausted from just the normal wear and tear of our lives.  However, most women I know push Christmas and push it hard and we drive our men and everyone else crazy with it all.


What if we didn't do it?  What if we just let it happen and unfold on its own?