ellenspictures

Category: Reflections

  • It hasn’t been a cheery week. To look at it another way, loss is a thing, change is a thing, and this is all a part of living.

    It hasn’t been a cheery week. To look at it another way, loss is a thing, change is a thing, and this is all a part of living.

    The transformations marked by events push our thoughts and contemplation into the mode that we, as humans, find difficult to face – our own mortality – loss and grief – and all that comes with. Some if this is anticipating future loss – what that would be like for us – and until we face these, we really don’t know.

    The uncertainty that these changes in our relationships introduce is what we have a difficult time facing. We must deal with the stress, distress, growth cycle as we go through the mental processing to get through the emotions without becoming chronically depressed and bogged down.

    Someone dear passes away suddenly. Someone else dear has a major illness which causes a major change in their lives. The collisions of trying to plan life milestone happy occasions around the changes in an important family relationship impacting everything else. Losing a beloved pet.

    Facing holidays when the normal is not there any more.

    Trying to resolve and adjust to long term events that have caused everything to undergo change. Let’s face it, if we lived under the assumption that the joyous time of winter holidays (or summer if you live down under), would always be the fun observation of traditions long held – we literally are living in some sort of fantasy land.

    What we have done is try to create new experiences. Invite people to come together to celebrate in groups where people either do not know one another or are not all related. Try to bring joy to others who would potentially be going through the holiday alone. It is not that we couldn’t celebrate our holiday all by ourselves, it is that holidays are meant to be shared.

    Family

    As for family changes, those are always ongoing. That is life. Your perception is not their perception. Their priorities are often very different and may not include you in them. As I have learned, being an “only”, without siblings, the distant nature of my relationship to others in my family constellation is often influenced by things that I do not understand. These may be unintended and likely are.

    I reflect on happy times when we were included in family gatherings. Thinking back, I wonder if that was more because my mom or grandmother had the catalytic relationship with everyone else? Once they have departed, those relationship links eroded and have taken effort to maintain. I have tried to form these or re-form them. It just seems that there is no desire and it takes two to make a relationship. These are not just a given.

    It’s not just the holidays

    Communication is difficult. De-prioritized, I think. “I’m zoomed out” “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to you earlier” (earlier was possibly months ago). Short replies designed to cool the conversation. No reply at all. Try calling. No answer. Leave a message. No reply. Some have more manners than others. Some at least say, “I’m busy, I’ll get back to you” Some never do after that. What is the message? You do not rank up on the list of people that they wish to interact with on a regular basis.

    And it seems that there is a circle and my immediate family of three adults and a grandchild are not in it. As I get older, I think, “why do I continue to try?” Nobody cares, and I guess I should abandon caring. It will never be known to me whether I caused something to break, or if it, like lots of things, just deteriorates on its own and fades away.

    The artist and musician, Neil Young, has written so much about this. I think he has studied this since he was quite early in his career. What aging does to individuals and families is all a part of life, but because there are parts of this that are very unpleasant, we move through those until we get through them, at times on tiptoes, sometimes tripping and falling, sometimes through thick snow in heavy boots until the cold darkness passes. Whichever situation comes along, much of this is mental and emotional and there is no instruction manual for how to do this. I have also learned that the dynamic of age, and individual event dynamics, the people involved and such, for those it changes how we deal with getting through losses and recovering back to some sort of equilibrium.

    Families in the ideal, should support one another through these times. A lot of the time you hear the bad stories where this doesn’t happen. In my family, I suspect we are average. Maybe about a 4.5 on the scale of 1-10.

    Back to communication issues – it’s true that this is the number one problem with humans. They do not do communication well.

    The question is whether I should continue to try to reach out, or should I just stop trying and see what happens.

    Thanksgiving was one of the “try and see” times, and a few people did reach out – I actually did not intentionally not reach out, it was that I was flat-out working to prepare for guests so that we could give them a wonderful experience – as much as we could.

    So, it leaves me with a conundrum. Major decisions to make. Some of this does affect my day to day and it is very important that I do keep connections and do keep trying to communicate with certain of these people who are my family. Others, not so much, I guess. I love them. They are my family. I must face the reality that the feelings are not mutual. That’s it.

  • Pandemic Version 20.22? Entering Year Three…

    Pandemic Version 20.22? Entering Year Three…

    Favorite old phrase from a Neil Young song title… “Here we are in the years…”

    2022 kicked us off with one of us having a moderate case of COVID-19, Omicron Variant presumably. The rest of us were either mildly affected briefly, then asymptomatic. Some of us got tested and that is how we determined that we actually had the virus – else, our symptoms would not have driven us to be tested. That was the vaccination effect – according to our doctors, that is what the vaccinations do for us. Our moderate case likely would have been more severe, and could have become a hospital case, without the help of the vaccination immunity boosts.

    We didn’t lose our taste or smell, thank goodness, and our lungs were not impacted. The rest of it was headache, cough, sore throat, fevers and chills, and brain fog – then the residual tiredness that you hear about, that comes on suddenly and says “whoa, stop and rest…”

    The asymptomatic of us never lost energy, had fevers or chills, or were impacted any more than having a sinus headache and itchy eyes for one day, then a bit of stuffiness – but at the same time we had a high pollen count alert, due to the warm weather – so, who knows? We had both.

    It’s difficult now to say how to approach this. We continue to mask-up, avoid large crowds, don’t eat out unless it’s outside… We go outdoors and that is our haven. I find going into stores extremely stressful. I come out and am relieved to be out of there. People are weird and rude and it’s just a strange experience. Some without masks look defiantly at those of us that wear them. But, it’s hard to tell.

    We have the attitude that we will still do what we can, because we believe that we could get infected again. It’s like I feel about the flu – even if you had your shots, you may still get some variant that wasn’t in the shot. Vaccines for COVID-19 are different, but the main thing is to keep your immunity up as much as possible.

    If you think about it, it’s grim – but, there are those of us who try not to lose hope…

    We haven’t seen some our family for going on three years. One of us has parents, still living, that are advancing into their eighties. We have missed birthdays and will miss a wedding. My mother-in-law is very sad and breaks out tearily, but tries not to upset us, but this actually does bring on the emotions that are being kept inside.

    All sorts of prickly emotions happen these days. Adapting since early 2020 has meant more isolation, and less socialization, which really plays with how you interact with people. It’s very tough on some of us.

    We hear news that gives us glimmers of hope for what may be opening in six months – but that, we know, is really too far away to make plans – we now know that something could emerge in a short period of time that could change everything.

    Coping is Hoping

    What we now do is try to anticipate hopeful times. There are countries where this virus variant is just now arriving and spreading. Let’s say that we were third, maybe fourth in line… that leaves many countries at risk, and the virus will ravage their unvaccinated, and leave behind the vaccinated and those who would never get the virus or not know that they have had it – even though science says that most everyone will.

    We have to cope and anticipate what we have to do differently with every wave that comes along. We believe that this will be versioned and each version will require a slightly different surfboard to ride the waves – hopefully, we can still do that without falling off.

    Hope for 2022?

    • That our coping mechanisms will be refined.
    • That we will have better structures and rules to deal with this that can lend us the ability to travel confidently again.
    • That we will be able to travel to see family and friends more.
    • That we will be able to understand how better to bring fun into our lives, rather than the doldrums of work and everyday routines.
    • Anticipation of every visit from our grandchild, or friends who are brave enough to venture out and socialize with us.

    By this writing, we are still here. We hope to be here. I have health on my agenda. I swim every day that the weather permits. I try to eat healthy and do other things with my time towards health – because it’s up to me to do that.

    -Hope Never Vanishes

    January 24, 2022

  • Every time I have that memory…

    Every time I have that memory…

    It was a long time ago, now. Sixteen years. It was the grimmest of grim. We held on to hope when there was very little to hold onto. Every single day, and the days between those, every visit from each of the doctors pushed us up and down the emotional roller coasters.

    Now I understand that people who are relatively balanced don’t freak out. Well, some do. The actual mechanics of surviving tough times involves breaking the experience down into edible chunks – the brain can only process so much at once – that’s how we roll. Here in 2021, we have to do this to try to adapt and keep adapting to the uncertainty that we have going on at this moment. If we think about the macro, it’s just too much.

    That was what it was like in 2005, in Rob’s final days with us. We couldn’t think about the macro too much – the micro was changing every day with unexpected tribulations popping up at every turn. In the nearly six weeks in the hospital we had changing prognoses, surgeries to face, prayers for recovery, when recovery wasn’t coming, listening to theories and hearing the words, “we’re in uncharted territory…”

    What were we supposed to say? Give up? I’m not a “give-up” kind of girl – wasn’t then, and am not now. I wanted them to give everything to helping Rob survive the situation that can only be described as a huge medical debacle. But, we don’t give up on 17 year-old kids – not mine, at least. I was in that mindset the whole time.

    Maybe the doctors went around the corner and shrugged their shoulders, but at least they didn’t do that in front of me. You see a lot when you’re practically living in the hospital with someone. You begin to adapt to the milieu. I was trying to make the best of things for Rob – get him what he wanted – what he needed – and be his mama-tiger advocate – always.

    We had endured having to move all our stuff out of his room when he went off to surgery – because they needed his bed – my response was “where are we going to put his things? all the things that have been keeping him sustained for the last month?” The answer came back, “We’re sorry, we don’t have an answer for you… You will have to move them out…” I said, “He’s going into surgery! Our house is an hour away! You expect me to do this NOW? What can you be thinking?” The people were acting like I was becoming violent or something because I didn’t just say, “OK, thanks…” It was maddening to think that they had so little empathy for a patient – even financially, they had made lots of bucks off of his stay – that was my cynical thinking at the time… He was an “insured” patient…

    Finally, the charge nurse and the nurse manager came in and said we could store his things in their store room – possibly they could get me a bed at the Ronald McDonald House, if there was room… So, that is what I did… I was so shattered by then, I could hardly tell what time of day it was. That’s what happens when your child has surgery that takes hours long – and you come out and it’s the middle of the night. You don’t know where they will take him or where you will find him next… It’s very unsettling for families.

    I tried to be nice – and mostly was – but I also got very frustrated at the chaos at times. I mean, how could they possibly keep making screwed-up mistakes? Grrrrrrrr.

    Maybe they weren’t but, my baby just wasn’t getting any better… C’mon…

    He survived that surgery, and eventually was put back into a regular room. Little did we know this would be temporary. Time sequences become confusing in memory.

    In trying to balance the days and nights, sharing the only bed in his room, by trading off, it was each time, when leaving – agonizing. Returning, each time, there was the re-entry and orientation to what the latest situation was – trying to get information was sometimes like pulling teeth. If only, the iPhone had been invented then… Handy recording could have helped.

    Rob was moved to a “step-down” which was actually a “step-down” from the ICU. More like a critical care unit. For the last days of his life, he was there. It was a large room, and visitors were permitted. His friends came to visit a couple of days before he died, but we didn’t know that he was close to his final day – he was just sleepy and non-responsive. That should have told us something.

    One night, as I was leaving to hand off to his dad, Rob said to me while I was hugging him to say good-bye, “Mom, I want you to be with me when I die.” It took my breath away. My reaction was saying, “You’re not dying… sweetie… you’re going to be okay once we get through this…”

    He was less in the present, and visiting the path to the future, as we did not understand, but I now know. I remember washing his hair – helping him shower – and he was barely awake – so weak at that point. He had not really eaten much food in days. They had begun to give him TPN (which is nutrition via IV). In fact in retrospect, the sequence of events that happened over the next few days led to his event horizon.

    That was a term he described once to me while he was looking at the string of pulmonary function test results graphed together… This was ahead of his being approved for the transplant. He said back then, “I’m getting close to zero – that’s when I end.” That one got me. He was a very analytical guy – but insightful and emotional – just like me.

    This time of year I cannot help but revisit the memories of the past – those days leading up to his final day and the end of his earthly journey. I try not to feel badly. That’s hard because, I’m human, and I’m his mom, and we are selfish as humans – we miss our loved ones when they go – and if it is our babies or our big kids – that especially hurts…

    So that wish was his command. I was with him when he passed on, holding his hand, lying across him in his final hospital bed in the ICU. It broke my heart. The drive home was the longest drive – I was alone – I drove the route the last time from his hospital room back to the last place he lived. Sometimes, I wonder how I did that – how did I muster the strength in the wee hours to make that last journey, when just a few hours before, I was driving like the wind to get down to the hospital where he had been taken to the ICU and placed on life support…

    I didn’t get to see him that day, conscious, or where he would be able to respond and say goodbye. I found him ready to leave. Systems on idle. Ready to shut down for the big sleep for the journey to his next place in the universe.

    Dragonflies

    I often think when I see the dragonflies that visit me, “why dragonflies?” Because of their beautiful furious short lives, maybe? Because they are ferocious, yet gorgeous? Because they are friendly to me? Who knows? But dragonflies tell me that he is okay – he is still okay – and will always be okay.