After 25 Years, I am choosing me

 Twenty Five years ago today my mom took her last breath. Her cancer and Emphysema ridden body gave out. At age 53 she was 12 years into her second marriage, had four adult children, had been a grandparent for 13 years and miraculously, she was sober for 20 years. She had lived many lives at this point. It was her time to move onto her final role, a memory. 

A friend also has her moms 25 year deathiversary coming up next month.  She suggested we do something special to honor these women.  My mind raced…what could I do to honor the woman who gave me life?  I talk to her often, I tell stories of her to my husband and son, whom she never met. I often think of what she would say about current family happenings. She always had impactful insights and her opinion mattered. This woman sacrificed her time, her finances, her career aspirations and herself for us kids. She never got the chance to choose herself as she was always in survival mode.  She was constantly navigating a turbulent sea with a partially inflated life vest.  The only selfish thing she did was become sober.  Her only self care practice was to not drink and take everyday one day at a time.  Even her selfish act was a form of survival.  

Today, I decided, I am going to choose me. This is her last gift and lesson for me.  If I want to do more than just survive this precious life, I need to take care of me, inside and out.  Mentally & Physically.  Boundaries will need to be set and some broken. Goals and dreams will be part of my daily vocabulary.  I am a parent, spouse, sibling, friend and so many other countless roles.  I have responsibilities and obligations which will still be met. It took 25 years for this lesson to finally absorb and I couldn’t be more appreciative.  

As always, I love and miss you, mom…and thank you for still parenting me from wherever you are.

I hear you. 

Signed,

Babykins   

One Day of Memories

 

Social media has a fun addicting feature (like what isn’t addicting about social media anyway) that you can see memories on that date.  It’s bittersweet seeing how much my son has grown, the pets that are no longer here and even the people that are gone.  Personally, I have been taking this chance to delete many memories off social media because I don’t need to be reminded that they occurred.  The scars are
thick on my heart and that is sufficient.  Most of the photos were carefully edited and chosen to be posted and don’t tell the whole story.  For some reason today I looked on this date in my sent folder, in my email.  Now that was a raw moment. 

Two years ago, today I wrote to a dear friend that Palliative Care called me from the hospital.  My dad was in the hospital going through additional blood transfusion and other complications to his Kidney cancer. The Dr reviewed my dad’s health history with me, all that I knew too well already.  Again, the reminder of the past.  He had the job of telling me that there was nothing else the medical community could do for him.  He then told me that I needed to come into the hospital with just one of my siblings (Covid protocol was NO visitors at all) and have a meeting with my dad to convince him that there was nothing else to be done and find out what my dad wanted the end of his life to look like.  If my dad didn’t make a choice, his fate would be to die in a hospital alone.  His actual choice to make would be to go to a Hospice center where we couldn’t be with him (Covid rules) or go home to his apartment and have us kids assist as his hospice agents and the actual hospice team visiting 1x a day.  We set up a time for the following day to have the talk.    

Soon after the call with PC (Palliative Care), my dad called me and was extremely sad.  He said, “It’s the end of the line for me” and I could hear him crying.  Alone.  I told him we can create how that ending will look like and that I would be coming into the hospital the next day.  At this point no visitors were allowed in the hospital so he was surprised I was coming in.  Hanging up from that call was one of the hardest things I have done.  Just simply saying goodbye knowing he was going to sit and think in that hospital isolated from all of us for 24 hours.  When it was my mom’s end of life, also in that same hospital, she shut down and wouldn’t talk to us kids at all.  If anyone else visited her she would tell them her fears, her guilt for leaving us kids.  But to us she was silent.  I was able to say goodbye to her, but she didn’t say goodbye to me.  I think in some ways, I am still waiting to hear it.  Enter in Abandonment issues for life.  (sigh).

A few hours after that call with my dad, he received a call from his insurance company letting him know they approved him to go to the UW for a 2^nd Opinion on his inoperable kidney cancer. This gave my dad hope.  We knew the logistics were not on his side.  An initial consultation would be weeks out, then if they felt a surgeon would even take his case, it would be even more weeks.  At this point he was receiving blood transfusions almost daily.  He was losing more blood than the hospital was giving.  Again, since we were in Covid world, the blood banks were strapped, strained and depleting.  The PC team didn’t think it was acceptable to keep giving him blood when it was in short supply. 

For the rest of that day, I also had to work, be a parent to a struggling college student hours away, a wife, a dog mom, a sister and friend. I am pretty sure I failed in some of those roles.  But being the healthcare point person for an aging parent doesn’t have boundaries and doesn’t discriminate.  It is the world we live in now that people are living longer.

I posted a photo 2 years ago on this day.  It is the photo of my son in the 5^th grade and my dad.  It was after a brutal football game and my son was clearly defeated and my dad is telling him that he did well.  My dad always loved watching his games from 1^st grade flag football through college.  My dad supported him.  It is that feeling I try to harness in my memories.  Maybe social media memories aren’t so bad. 

THE last week of February

I couldn’t put my finger on how emotional I have been this week.  Was it hormones?  Was it stress? 

Looking at the calendar.... OH....Last week of February. Urgh.  THAT week.  22 years ago, from Monday to Friday at 2:22PM, I sat vigil next to my mom’s hospital bed.  I slept on a single cot, next to my sister, spooning every night.  I shouldn’t say slept, it was more of a drifting in and out.  We took turns watching the clock to make sure at the top of every 4^th hour we would ring the nurse and ask for the medication that kept mom “comfortable”.  Hmmppff. Comfortable.  If you call watching her thrash around, moan, not be able to speak and then go still in slumber, sure, she was comfortable.  After the doctors visited every morning for their rounds, I would head to my In-Laws house to shower and get back to the hospital. 

During the day different visitors would stop by.  I couldn’t look them in the eye.  They looked at me, knowing, my mom would be gone soon. They had so much pain for me.  If I looked at them, I would see it and then I would be trying to comfort them.  So instead, I just avoided their eyes.  We would leave the room so they could visit with my mom and say their goodbyes.  At the time I didn’t realize she talked to most of them.  She spoke of her pain of knowing she was leaving four kids behind.  She had guilt.  When we were in the room, she said almost nothing.  She shut us out.  Closed door.  It took years later for me to grasp that she didn’t lock me out because she wanted to hurt me, but she wanted to protect me.  Her guilt was decades deep.  Her drinking.  Her smoking.  It was all catching up to her, that week.  I have resentment that the final days I had with my mom were filled with silence and not the messages I needed to hear.  The stories, platitudes, teaching moments and direction she had already given me over 23 years would need to carry me on for the rest of my life. 

A family friend who was also a Bereavement counselor stopped by to see my mom and say goodbye.  She told me it was important for my mom to hear me say that it was OK for her to go, to pass on.  So, that is what I did.  I told mom so many times that it was ok to let go and be still.  When she took her final breath, I was next to her.  There was relief that she wasn’t in pain anymore.  That she wasn’t struggling to breathe.  She wouldn’t be tied to an Oxygen supply ever again.  Yet, she wouldn’t be in that new relief state with me.  She was gone.  I get glimpse of that new mom in my dreams and I know I will see her again someday.

 So why am I so emotional this week?  I can’t find the words to tell anyone, even my dear sweet Joe who feels my quietness and wants to make everything better.  It is like I am replicating moms silence that week.  I don’t ever want to make anyone feel the way I did during her final week.  Hence…. This entry.

Bye Bye Birdie

Another time in my life when I wished so very badly you were here to talk.  As you have probably seen and felt, my baby went away to college almost 4 weeks ago.  I haven’t seen him.  He went early for football and quickly adapted and is loving his new chapter of life.  My chapter, seems to be stuck with a major writer’s block. I know I was child #4 for you, and the last to leave the house, so maybe it wasn’t different for you when I left. Since you aren’t here, I rely on my second mom, Wendy, to give me tid bits of historical data.  She said you cried when I went to college.  Why don’t I remember that?  I am guessing because you waited for me to be gone.  Was it really that much of a different time in life, that moms didn’t project the way we do today?  Your era truly was so much stronger than the one I live in today.  I find myself sulking and telling others how much I am missing him.  Seriously, my son is alive and well, I am not trying to act like he is dead. Did you have these conversations with your sisters and friends?  Did you sleep in my bed like I sneak into his room and do?

After years of being so involved with his school, sports and social life my next chapter is waiting for me to turn the page.  I am reluctant.  But why?  Putting my son before myself was easy and natural. Putting me first feels like I am walking naked in public.  I feel exposed.  It was much easier to hide behind my son.  It has been coming for a while, this independent son chapter.  It must be why I have migrated towards pets and offer them my unconditional love.  I have even started to dog walk/sit for a service and get paid to do it.  Mom, I created an Instagram account for Rex (@rexguerin), I am not even kidding.  Again, it is easier to hide behind someone else. 

I will explore the new time on my hands with open arms.  I will try to stay away from HGTV, or I may find myself in a financial situation (HA). I can’t just turn on a light switch and start focusing on me, but I will try.  I will start with Health; physical, mental and spiritually.  I swear mom, I will. 

What would you say, if you were here?  I can envision you sitting in your crazy (excuse the non-PC term) indian style and pulling me next to you.  I would then lay my head in your lap and you would brush my hair away from my face.  You would comb through my hair with your fingers and get rid of any tangles that exist.  Your finger tip would trace my nose, lips and chin.  My eyes would be closed, but I would still feel your gaze as if you were refueling my body with energy.  You would tell me that letting go never gets easy, but if done, I would be able to SEE and enjoy the moment.  Thanks, mom, for being here, even if it wasn’t physically.

The Loud Chair

How can an empty chair scream so loud? How is it able to kick me in the gut then shove me to the ground without making a move?  

It plays a melancholy melody over and over. I can't turn the volume down.  The smell is of sweet sugar, angel cake with pink frosting. 

Birthdays are supposed to be special. For some it is a rite of passage, and for others it is a burden. For me, my birthday is special to one person, my mom. As I grew up, the gifts I received from her were probably more for herself than for me. I still have the personalized plated photo album (yes, there was a time we actually printed hard copy photos and put them in books), with "16 Hugs" on it. It wasn't just about me turning 16, it was her way of encouraging me to catalog the memories. Maybe she wanted to see those memories too.  I envision her peeking through the albums after I went away to college. 

Today, I avoid my birthday. Not because of the continual tick of time beating on my collagen. Not because I want to be younger than I am. I loathe it because it makes the empty chair the biggest elephant in my room. It is her chair. Yet, it is empty. On this day, the chair trips me, or chants so loud I can't hear myself think. That chair rips my heart out all day long. 

Even if every person I know reached out to me today sending me birthday wishes, I would still feel, see, hear and smell that empty chair. When I get the birthday wishes, it is like a compliment I cannot accept. This day isn't MY day. Today belongs to her, my mom, the one who brought me into this world. I even erased my birthday on Facebook just to reduce the attention. 

Ironically, I do have her chair. It was the very chair she sat in while she got ready for work, going out or at time she just sat on, in her room, in her space. The bench chair is a simple wood legged, avocado green seat with a partial rolled back. Years back my now ex-husband had it reupholstered because the seat was ripped to shreds. He chose the new pattern, light colored floral with long skirt all around the seat. This chair sits in my bedroom. I often grab the legs of the chair and rest my head in the cushion. I can smell her Final Net hairspray mixed with cigarette smoke. I can hear her light Music in the background (some Englebert Humperdinck, Charlie Pride or George Straight. I can feel her use her fingers to comb through my hair and sometimes wipe away my tears.

I love that chair. Yet with it being empty, I resent that chair sometimes.  

I need to redo that chair and make it back to its original look. Maybe she will visit more if she sees her chair back to her original state. 

I do appreciate the people in my life, even more so that they take the time to reach out to me.

I pray the emptiness lessens more over time, because to have an empty chair that speaks so loudly is gut-wrenching. Until then, I will smile when people say “Happy Birthday”, but inside I cringe and hold my breath, waiting for the day to be over. 

I got to put my head out the window today.

I got to put my head out the window today.  Not too far, thanks to those safety windows that seem to be standard in all cars these days.  You wouldn’t think I know too much about cars, but I do.  See, when I am sitting in my lawn and cars go screaming by, I see the back seat with the kids screaming and the lucky dogs hanging their heads up. It seems 13 years ago when I saw those dogs; they were hanging out a little more than today. Anyway, today I got to put my head out the window and it was heaven.

I knew when we pulled into the parking lot that it was going to be one of THOSE visits.  There may be a butt to smell or a kitty to make fun of in their crates being carried by their human.  But no amount of butts would be enough to make me forget where we were.  This is the place they stick their fingers in my booty and make liquid come out.  It HURTS.  I will say it does feel better after it is done, but just thinking about it makes me back my booty into a corner.  The smells are a bit of heaven and hell.  I can smell all those other dogs that were here.  I can smell their sickness.  I can smell their anxiety.  There always seems to be a twinge of human anxiety too.  Not sure what they are worked up about, it is us that get the fingers in the booty. 

Todays visit was different from the beginning.  Mom was eager to get me out of the backseat, yet I could smell fear on her.  I didn’t want to get out of the car because of that fear. What did she know?  I wanted NO part of it.  She actually scooped me up and put me down on the parking lot.  Wow mom, I didn’t think you had it in you. 

I will say, I like this new human that seems to always be here when I am.  She looks at me with the kindest eyes and lets me sniff her and lick her a bit.  She tastes good. A little like all the other dogs, but overall I can taste the niceness.  She makes me feel better about being here.  She wants to see in my mouth.  I cant stand anyone looking in my mouth.  I don’t let her.  I hope she isn’t mad.  She doesn’t smell mad, she seems to have a little of that fear smell my mom does today.  Another human comes into the room.  I know what this means. This is the ultimate tag team. I know I can’t win against both of these humans, so I finally just let them look.  Why is she shining that light in my mouth.  WOW, it is so bright and warm.  She must like what she sees because she asks MY human to look too.  I feel like a Picasso on a wall.  Everyone wants to look at me.  Fabulous. Wait.  Fear.  Sadness.  What is wrong with my momma human.  She is almost frozen with her fear.  I was good, momma, I swear.  I didn’t do anything wrong.  Maybe she knows about the cat toy I found and attacked.  That toy had it coming, it was all smelly like dirt.  Not sure why that kitten gets all glassy eyed with that toy, it isn’t normal.  So, I helped out and took care of that toy, it will never be seen again.  I helped!

My mom is leaving me here.  Why?  A field trip without momma tagging along?  She is sad.  I need to be near her, she is sad.  But instead I go along with this new human, to a room with so many kennels.  Why are the other bootys and kitties in these cages.  They don’t smell good.  Sickness.   I don’t like it here.  I want to go back home to my comfy beds and that human that is always smiling at me.  I don’t seem to hear her anymore, she really should talk louder.  But I smell her.  I feel her always touching me.  She massages my neck and back all the time.  Oh how I wish I was with her right now.  I am sleepy now. 

Cold.  I am so cold.  I can barely open my eyes.  Lifting up up up.  Wait, why are they lifting me up.  I would like to just sleep here.  Ah, my Humans!  Why do they look so sad?  If I get to go back home with them, I will go along with this, I will even try to stand up.  I can’t really feel my legs though.  Urgh, did THAT just happen?  My poo just fell out, I think.  I am so embarrassed.  I purposely don’t do that near my humans.  I even try to use the neighbor’s yard when I do have to go, just so it isn’t near us.  It can stay here, with the sickness, I don’t even care at this point.  I just want to go home.  Still so sleepy.

Here we are, all comfy on my bed.  I still can’t get up though.  My mouth, dang, that hurts. What did that sickness place do to me as I slept?  It hurts to breathe.  Thank you human for putting a little water in my mouth, that is nice.  But it hurts.  A lot.  My legs, I can’t move them.  Actually, I can’t really move anything other than my head a little. My humans keep looking at me with sadness.   I wish they could make this pain go away.  My human is so sad.  She keeps leaking from her eyes.  I would usually lick them for her but I can’t move.  Come on other human, help her.  I can’t, so you should! Ah my young human is here.  I would like to lay next to him and cuddle.  He has grown so much.  There was a time I could outrun him, now look at him.  This is nice; he is curled next to me and sharing my bed. I see his mouth moving.  He is another one that really needs to speak up. I miss his smell and his smiles.  I am happy.  He isn’t happy though.  More sadness.  All these humans are so sad. 

 I must have fallen asleep there for a minute. I swear I just saw that cat that used to live in our house a few years ago.  Why was he calling me? My strong human was carrying me to the car and I just fell asleep for a minute.  He has dropped to his knees, don’t drop me!   OK, back to the house we go.  Look at this, my breathing slowed down a bit.  I feel all tingly.  Oh momma human, she is curled up next to me. I like this.  Maybe she won’t be as sad anymore if we keep cuddling.  There is that cat again, he keeps calling me.  I have a bone to pick with him anyway. He had that sickness smell for a long time then he just left and didn’t come home.  He made my momma human cry, A LOT.  She wouldn’t stop for days.  I am going to tell him how unbearable it was for the rest of us.  I need to tell him how a new kitty came to live at our house.  This little grey thing is a pistol.  She is always chasing my tail or running up to me and patting her paws at me.  Super annoying.  Yeah, I think I need to tell that old cat what he did here. 

Back to my humans.  They are so sad.  I think it is probably best if I just hold my breath a little bit and maybe I can fall asleep again.  Let’s try it.  BOOM.  Oh no, I just made momma human really upset.  I want to lick her but I can’t move.  I am getting pretty sleepy though. I may not even have to hold my breath, I can just fall asleep.  Yeah, I am tired; I think it is time to sleep.  When I wake up I hope my humans are happy again and I can move.  Maybe I can put my head out the car window again!

Wishy Washy, Flip Flop

16 years ago this week, I sat vigil by my mom’s hospital bedside.  We were told the end was near, that they could only keep her comfortable, extreme measures couldn’t help her, not even a miracle. I waited, hoped, dreading what was going to come.  The Bereavement minister who actually knew my mom for years, told us we needed to tell her it was OK for her to go.  She needed to hear from us, despite being coherent, that we supported her and that we were letting her go.  She needed to know we would be “ok” without her.  So, that is what I did, I told her it was OK to go.  Over and Over.  All-week-long.  Every morning after the Doctors made their rounds, I would head to my In-laws to shower and get cleaned up before returning back to the hospital.  In the shower I would cry, scream and sometimes vomit.  I wasn’t “OK” with her leaving.  I didn’t want to be alone, abandoned.  I begged God-My Higher Power-whoever to please let her come back to us, to continue to be our rock and glue.  But yet, when I returned to the hospital, I begged God-My Higher Power-whoever to take her, to ease her pain, to make it all over and done with.

Some may say this is mixed messages.  For me, it is the constant battle between my heart and my head.  That internal war produces feelings that change continually.  I was always fortunate enough to have a mom who said, “Feelings aren’t right or wrong, they just are.”  I always used my feelings as a guide in my decisions.  Depending on the minute, hour, day or week I am following my heart or my head.  This isn’t a Change of Heart, or Changing of my mind. This is a result of that constant battle.  There is no such thing as contradiction. It is all depending on what is winning the war at that moment.

Today I see this divergence within me in all aspects of my life.  With my son, there are morning drives to school (15-20 minute commute) that I can’t wait to push him out the car door when we arrive because we are at such odds with each others.  Then 30 seconds later, I pull over to send him a text because I don’t want our last moments to be arguing.  As we all know…you never know if something may happen.  Heart won.

A few months back, my job was eliminated.  Initially, my heart screamed in pain, but then my head took over.  I was able to scour, network and land a new job within the 7 weeks.  Being that I carry the health benefits for all of us, I couldn’t let my sadness; devastation and resentment get in the way of providing for my family. Head won.

It is common for people to look back at their education and career choices and wonder if they made the right decisions.  The best part of this reflection is realizing how much work-life we still have ahead of us, and it isn’t too late to upgrade, change or enhance your skills.  My head is telling me to get my Masters Degree and keep building upon my professional career in the corporate healthcare arena.  My heart is saying do something you are passionate about like Massage.  This battle has yet to be determined. 

The analogy of “glass half full or half empty” isn’t about positive attitude; it is a result of this heart VS head issue.  Depending on the clash, my head is feeling guilty or my heart if heavy.    In the last few years I have been told by friends and family that I flip-flop on my decisions and they can’t seem to keep up.  Please know I am not doing this to confuse you, it is just me, being caught in the moment of my heart and my head.  I don’t expect you to keep you with me, just support me.