If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them!

If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them!

Have you heard the old saying, “If you can’t beat them, join them?” I have come to the conclusion this is the path I need to take with my ninety-two year old mother. Instead of trying to be logical with her I have to love her and care for her just the way she is and trust me, logic has not been a part of her life for a long time now.

This might sound easy but it isn't. You always think of your parents as being strong and healthy. They are the ones who protect you when you are too young to protect yourself. They teach you more than any school teacher ever could and they have high expectations for you no matter what the rest of the world thinks of you. When the day comes for you to realize you are a helpful stranger to them it nearly breaks your heart.

Earlier today I was trying to reason with my mother who was determined she was going to put on her shoes and go visit her mother. She was fretting because she hasn't seen her mother for a long time and “She’ll be worried about me now. I’m going home.”

I tried to tell her the weather is terrible, the vehicle is not running, and she could get sick going outside in the cold wet weather. She didn't care about any of that. Finally, I asked my mother where grandmother lives now. She said, “You know, up there.”

“Up where?” I asked.

“Up the road in that other house. “ She spoke to me with a blank expression on her face as if I should know this already.

I responded, “Grandmother is not home. She had a doctor’s appointment and was going to the supermarket after she got of the doctor’s office.” Telling her grandmother has been deceased for the last thirty-one years would only upset her. She would cry and feel the pain of losing grandmother all over again and it would serve no purpose so I went along with her belief in going to visit her mother.

Yesterday she didn't want to go the restroom even when it was obvious she needed to go. She insisted she had just been in there and was ready to physically battle anyone who attempted to help her up or clean her up. Those are the moments that make it hard to go along with her and it bothers me to force her to do what has to be done but I can’t leave her lying there soiled.

My friend often helps me with my mother and she was here. She hadn't seen that side of my mother before. I leaned over my mother, placed my arm under her armpit and raised her to her feet. At that point she looked at me and said, “I’m going to the bathroom. You don’t need to go.” Then she looked at my friend and said, “You can go with me.” The ladies walked off into the bathroom reminding me of a cowboy riding off into the sunset.

Sometimes it is not easy to love someone with dementia but you can’t forget who they were long before they were forgetful and angry. You have to remember the laughs, the times they encouraged and supported you, and the times they dried your tears. I have learned I have to love the woman my mother is now and leave the woman she once buried in my memories.

Those times when I reach for my mother’s hand and she pushes me away, I have to remember I am no longer the daughter she remembers for her daughter is still a young woman. In her eyes I am the older helpful stranger and when she doesn't like something I say or do she reminds me, “I know my daughter is paying you well to be here with me. I’m going to tell her how you've acted today! She’ll fire your ass!”

She needs my love, my care, and my patience, and I must admit; I need the laughs she brings me that many others might not understand.

© Dianna Doles Petry

If You Were

If You Were

If you were a scent,

You would be the sweet, sweet aroma,

I think of when I think of Heaven.

If you were the light,

You would shine through darkened skies,

Chase away the rain and the thunder.

If you were the moon,

Casting light upon the water,

I would count stars every night.

If you were music,

You would play to the beat of my soul,

Never to be heard by a human ear.

I’m standing on the edge of a dream,

Where I can hear you whisper to me,

You seem so happy and so strong,

You walked hand in hand with me all along.

If you were a scent,

You would float upon a breeze,

But you’re laughing with the angels in Heaven.

© Dianna Doles Petry

1/22/2015

Confusion

I have allowed my blog to rest unattended over the last few months but that is going to change. I am going to keep it active and will start with this post. I hope you enjoy it.

Confusion

She’s getting up when the sun goes down,

Her days and nights all turned around,

She talks about people only she can see,

Her mind stays lost in a fog of history.

Years ago she dyed her hair black,

Trying to get a youthful appearance back,

I wonder if she ever tried taillight red,

Or if she thought about the days ahead.

She’s fading fast like the spots on her eyes,

Her speech doesn't make sense but she still tries,

The cold fingers of January reach into her heart,

Little by little her memories are torn apart.

Like Hitchcock’s birds, her thoughts fly away,

She’s a bride dressed in yellow on a hot July day,

Paintings of moments lived out through the ages,

End up as blank stares from nearly vacant pages.

Now the sun is coming up and she’s ready to sleep,

She may be laughing or she might weep,

Give me the strength Lord, to see this through,

Let me show her love and kindness in everything I do.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Moments of a Life

This is a writing I penned in 2009 but want to share tonight. I think you will be able to relate to it.

Moments of a Life

This year got off to a rough start and the road has continued to be a bumpy one. I celebrated my birthday on the second day of the year and in the days after I had to acknowledge that I have lived for half a century now. A lot of learning has taken place in those fifty years and every step I took along the way has molded the woman I have become. Some call it life experience, some call it childhood, and some call it “training” a human being to be an adult. I've been thinking about a few of those life lessons today. I do this every time I hear of a death that touches my life in some way.

Our parents, our grandparents, our guardians, even our extended family has a hand in helping to teach us what is expected from us as we grow and become adults. In my childhood home manners were not an option, they were expected. We were taught to say “Please” and “Thank You” from the very first day we came home after our birth. We were taught by example; our parents used manners and we did too because it came right along with learning to talk. They wanted us to think of others and as my mother always told us, “Teaching starts in the home.”

We learned to say “Good morning” and “Good night” without realizing it was a way for our parents to keep track of us and either know that we were in a room with them or that it was safe for them to talk about adult subjects because we had gone to bed for the night.

Some of our hardest lessons came in the form of dealing with sibling rivalry and aggression. There were moments when my brother and I would have been fist fighting in the blink of an eye if we could have gotten away with it. One roll of the eyes could give either one of us that familiar sensation that this had happened before, in fact, maybe it was happening all the time. “MOM! He’s looking at me funny again!”

My mother’s solution to the problem was to make both of us sit down on opposite ends of the room until we could act like a brother and sister “should act.” We didn't know how to do that at the time, but by having to be perfectly quiet and sit still without moving we learned to pick and choose our battles.

Transitions in life teach us to always strive for more, to always improve ourselves, to strive for personal growth. We learn social skills and empathy. We seek wisdom and we reek of responsibility. The lessons are even deeper for a female because as she ages she is expected to become a caretaker to everyone she loves and cares about.

In the same respect, we learned about grief and how families mourn for loved ones who have passed from this life. When I was a young child, “wakes” or “viewings” were held in the family home of the deceased. Friends and relatives came to view the body and often carried in a pie, a can of coffee, or even a casserole dish for the family to serve to anyone in the house as needed. Many stories were told about the life of the departed and while the immediate family was grieving, very often laughter would be heard as people who had not seen each other in a very long time reconnected.

These wakes did not end at any particular time of the evening. It was not unusual for people to actually fall asleep in chairs set up throughout the house. A couple of relatives, usually a father and uncle, or sometimes brothers, stayed awake all night in the room where the viewing took place. Through the years, many stories evolved from the wakes and most of the stories were so funny you could not help but laugh. I learned not to fear death and from an early age I understood that we are all going to pass from this life at some point in time, we just never know when.

The hardest part of losing a loved one is the private soul searching we do as we wade through every memory, every event, and every decision we have made during life. Conflicts and disagreements swirl in our mind as if they are dancing with our soul. We tend to replay difficult conversations as if they were filmed for public viewing. We allow our minds to roam to the negative moments in the life we shared with someone else and we swim in a sea of regret. We fail to understand that every spat we had, every fear we felt, every laugh we shared and every kindness we offered were the moments of a life that helped us to form a bond, to share a connection, to be complete human beings.

There will never be a world or a relationship that is totally free of all problems. Parents do not always agree with their children. Siblings often battle between themselves and those battles often produce achievers in our society.

We all need to be a bit more kind if we can but not to the point of becoming a doormat. We can be more open-minded but not follow anyone along blindly like rats following the Pied Piper. We can become more accepting of one another and most of all, we can show gratitude for the time we were blessed to have someone in our life. Grieving is a moment in a life that is unavoidable but as long as we are alive we can keep the memory of our loved one alive.

Moments of a life: birth, reaching, grasping, desiring, achieving, setting goals, falling, loving, hating, playfulness, sulking, humility, creativity, passion, denial, adventure, acceptance, and finally, the natural end to life; death. It is not that final moment when we die that is most important, instead, it is all of the moments of a life that lead to that point.

Tonight as I gaze into the sky, I will appreciate the fact that I am a very small piece of a puzzle in the grand scheme of things. I will experience many moments in this life including new life and the loss of other lives. I am blessed, however, to be a part of the magic that surrounds me. Just this once, I will pause long enough to feel my heart beat. I will stand and say a few words to the people I miss so much and tomorrow I will live my life in the fullest way I possibly can. I know they would want that for me.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Rusted

I am sharing this poem written by my son, Chris, because so many women think men don't feel the pain and sorrow of lost love. Let me tell you, women hold far more power over a man than they might realize. It is only a man's world when he is happy and motivated to strive to make it a better world for the people he loves.

Rusted

Rusty hearts, they can’t beat

Dried up dust, is all they bleed

You thought I had a smile, but it’s just a crack in my skin

Thought you were happy when we were two, now I’m back to one again

 I’m just a wound

Peel back my scab and tear it loose

Take the neck of my love to a tree

And tie the noose

Kick the ground from beneath me and watch me fall

Push me off the hill and I’ll tumble like a ball

Take my eyes; I don’t want them so much anymore

Don’t want to see some beauty when it’s ugly in the core

Rusty lungs, they can’t breath

Dried up dust, is all they need

You thought I had a hope, but it’s just a crack in my skin

Thought you were the one when we were two, now I’m back to one again

I can’t take the thought

I fear I’ll feel that way again

Every time I say it’s my last time

In the flame called love, I’ll jump again and again

I’m just an accident

A train off the broken track

A bad car wreck with one survivor

And a sadly shattered back

I’m rusty again

Learning to live

It’s not been long

I’m rusted again

A rusty chain, pulled apart by its ends

Rusted, rusted again

© Chris Petry 2014

Aging Ungracefully

 

Life hasn’t been the same for her,

For many long years,
Her once contagious laughter,
Now dances with her fears.

Seems like the days drag along,

While the years keep rushing by,
I hold her hand and brush her hair,
Sit alone when I need to cry.

 I don’t how she fights to live,

Or what she dreams of when she sleeps,
Not sure if she enjoys the warmth of the sun,
I just know she’s not mine to keep.

My little gray haired mother,

Still beautiful by the light of the moon,
Time with her is always well spent,
Youth escapes all of us too soon!

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #3

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #3

 

I wanted everything to be perfect,

In the house where you were born,

Placed your bassinet by a window,

So you would feel the sun each morn.

 

I watched you grow into a young boy,

Soaring high on your swing set,

Climbing trees to save a baby bird,

Your imagination is growing yet.

 

One day you were Batman,

The next a cowboy head to toe,

I thought you’d be young forever,

Where did all the good times go?

 

I’m sure I seemed old-fashioned,

And how I loved to tease each guest,

I hope I wasn’t too embarrassing,

I tried so hard to give my best.

 

I still love to hear your cheerful voice,

I love to hear you when you sing,

Each moment with you is a memory I keep,

We don’t know what tomorrow may bring.

 

My child I loved to stroked your hair,

Tried to ease your worried brow,

If I could go back and hold you close again,

I would do it here and now.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #2

 

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #2

Often, when I close my eyes at night,

My thoughts drift off to a beautiful sight,

When I was a child in my mother’s care,

And I sat quietly as she brushed my hair.

 

I learned to pray; “Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

I was unaware of the events in her years,

Or how often I brought my mother to tears.

 

I didn’t see flaws, I loved her embrace,

I was always pleased to see her smiling face,

She lives in her own little world these days,

I’ve become her mother in many ways.

 

She asks for her own mother in her ninetieth year,

I feel on my cheek the hot sting of a tear,

I wipe it away without a care,

As I bend to brush back her now silver hair.

 

Her heartaches were many, her blessings were few,

Now her voice falters when talking to you,

To me she’s the woman with arms holding me tight,

Rocking me to sleep at the end of the night.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #1

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #1

Neglected now is the little tricycle,

Little toy soldiers buried in disarray,

Long forgotten are the story books,

Dust gathers instead of children today.

 

Many times I prayed by night,

To keep you healthy day by day,

I mopped floors while you slept,

Until the day you moved away.

 

Neglected now are the little ribbons,

Dolls and teapots meant to teach,

Long forgotten is the swing set,

Daily hugs well out of my reach.

 

Many times I would kiss you,

Look at you and gently sigh,

Exhausted and sometimes struggling,

Yet content and knew just why.

 

Neglected now are the movies,

All the music you danced to then,

How I would love to hold you close,

And brush your unruly hair again.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Precious Peaceful Moments

Relaxed as a baby in her mother’s arms,

I close my eyes,

Kick off my shoes,

And hum a few lullabies.

Sprawled in my wooden swing,

Away from the chores and routine,

I can sit and ponder life at leisure,

Slowing the pace of this well-worn machine.

Feeling the still cool earth against my feet,

I think about feeding songbirds,

Happy moments long gone,

Like my father’s soothing words.

Music lingers in with a breeze,

Quickly chasing away my forming tears,

The hum of a lawnmower in the distance,

Is a reminder of the passing years.

Wasn’t it only yesterday,

I plucked flowers and played games?

My life was filled so many people then,

I couldn’t possibly remember all the names.

I breathe deeply and relax again,

While I convince myself I am not old,

I can still dazzle and create joy,

Still offer shelter when the night is cold.

There are never enough of these moments,

Never enough time to find what we seek,

I keep my eyes closed for a while,

Content to swing without taking a peek.

© Dianna Doles Petry