Aunt Gwen

This is my aunt, Margaret Gwendolyn Buchanan Ethridge. She is my mother's older sister. I have written a few stories about her on the blog because she is my favorite aunt. She lived close by when I was growing up so I saw her often. In many ways she was my second mother.

 She has been in a nursing home for 9 years suffering from Alzheimer's. I really lost her years ago because she had forgotten who I was.  I  visited her every time I went to Florida. The last few times I visited she had become almost unrecognizable and we all knew she wouldn't live much longer. We were told on Thursday of this week she would probably die in the next few days or even hours. She has forgotten how to swallow and weighs about 79lbs. My sister went to see her and said her breathing was very labored and expected her to pass away that day but so far she hasn't. Of course we are sad, but I also feel a sense of relief she won't be in distress anymore.

The Aunt Gwen I knew was always cheerful, kind, beautiful with a gorgeous laugh which made me feel loved, accepted and happy. I'm sure there were other sides to her I didn't know about and, frankly, don't want to know because I want my memories of her to stay pristine, not sullied with tales of woe. Maybe that's selfish of me but she will be gone soon and I don't need to know the sorrowful, gloomy parts. Her illness and what it did to her has been enough. Parts of her childhood were bleak, but she escaped from her previous life. What I knew of her life seemed idyllic, and I want it to stay that way. I do remember the last time she recognized me before she went to the nursing home. She took my face in her hands, kissed me, and told me how beautiful I was and how much she loved me. Then she told me she couldn't remember my name but she knew who I was. I could tell from the look in her eyes that she did.

Aunt Gwen was the one that introduced tuna noodle casserole to our family. She would often invite me over for dinner when she fixed it because she knew it was my favorite food. On one visit I put my face too close to the hot dish when it came out of the oven to get a good sniff of all its cheesiness, and burnt my lip on the dish. I remember her being concerned about me, not laughing at me, and treating the burn with aloe vera. Later, of course, it became a funny story about me and my love for tuna noodle casserole and I was teased about it but when it happened she cared for me lovingly.

I only caught Aunt Gwen in one lie. I was staying with her for a few days when my mom was out of town. I was hungry and asked her for something to eat. She explained we didn't have time because we had to go pick up my sister from school, and I would have to eat later. Then she ran back inside to get her purse and keys. When she returned I noticed a strong scent of peanut butter. It made me even hungrier.  I asked her why she smelled of peanut butter and she told me it was a new perfume. I believed her for a few years then realized she must have grabbed a spoonful of peanut butter, but didn't want me to know since she had just told me I had to wait. It was another incident that became part of our family funny stories, and I would often tease her about perfumes that smell like peanut butter.

We joined a health club together and exercised several times a week. I told her about my first experience trying alcohol and she told me about trying margaritas for the first time. She loved it but was so embarrassed when she got home and looked into a mirror and she had salt on her nose which had probably been there all evening. I loved spending that time with her.

Aunt Gwen's house was a safe refuge at various times in my life. It was there that I learned about John Kennedy's assassination. My mother and sister were there too and it felt comforting for all of us to be together. Another time I was walking to school past her house when a bully from my class crossed over to where I was to rub his hand between my legs. Several of his friends were watching and it was a great joke to them. With my heart pounding I ran into Aunt Gwen's house to get away from them. She listened as I told her about what happened and told me I had to tell my teacher when I got to school. Then she drove me the rest of the way to school in order to avoid them but I think they ran away when they saw me go into her house.

Aunt Gwen's daughters were my role models as I grew up. They used to let me hang out with them while they got ready for dates. And when the dates brought them home I would sneak a peek of them out on the porch that I could see from their living room window. Thus I learned about kissing and making out from them too. Aunt Gwen's husband, Uncle Gene, was also someone I loved dearly. He always seemed happy to see me when I came over. He used to pull splinters out of my hands and when he removed it he would then rub it into my hair because he said it wouldn't come back if he did that. After he died and she found out she had Alzheimer's she would talk to him as if he were there and set a place for him at the dining table. They always seemed like a happy couple who really enjoyed each other. I don't know of any troubles they had, and I want that to stay that way as well.  Ignorance is bliss.

We just got the news that Aunt Gwen is gone now. She died this afternoon. I'm sure there are more memories that will comfort me in this time of grief and sadness. And I will be comforted too by the fact that she is now at peace.

a memoir about someone I love

 

By the time she was 13 she was a beauty, appearing older than she was and having experienced much more of life than someone twice her age. When she was in her 70’s she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and was having difficulty with the common tasks of daily living, yet her long-term memories were still intact and vivid. She spent an afternoon relating some of the events of her life. A few were happy memories, though tinged with the realities of a young life spent in abject poverty and paucity. Others were tragic and horrible. It was a sign of her disease, I believe, that enabled her to discuss both pleasant reminiscences and heartbreaking vile memories with the same light-hearted tone. Remembering the past no longer brought her pain or pleasure. She just seemed to need to unburden herself before she became unable to recall anything and was lost to us as well as to herself.

 

When she was 13 she worked as a waitress at a local diner in Johnson City, Tennessee. Many of its patrons were truck drivers who stopped to eat and rest and refuel before continuing their cross-country journeys. One of the handsome diners was especially taken with the allure of the young waitress. He often traveled that way on this truck route and would stop in whenever he passed. They talked and flirted, and she was thrilled by his attention. He eventually asked her to marry him and go with him to his home in Florida. She readily agreed. He was 35 years old, handsome and most importantly, it was an adventure that could take her away from the hardships of her life. I asked her about the twenty-two year age difference and she just grinned sheepishly and said, “Well, he thought I was actually 16.” 

Soon after they were married the two of them left her old home in Cuba Landing, Tennessee, to travel to Florida. Her family stood by to see them off. My mother, years later, wondered why the family wasn’t concerned that an older man was taking her away. She only remembers feeling relief that her sister had an exciting chance to escape from the misery of their life there in the hills of Tennessee. Most of the rest of the brothers and sisters and their mother eventually fled to Florida as well.  I often wonder what my life would’ve been like if my mother had not followed my aunt.

 Soon after moving to Florida they had two daughters. Aunt Gwen tells of not being able to breastfeed and my Uncle Gene sewing nipples from pieces of leather to attach to bottles to feed the babies. They were married for over 50 years and to me always seemed like a happy couple. After Uncle Gene died and Aunt Gwen began to become more forgetful she would often talk to him as if he were there and set a place for him at the breakfast table.

I saw Aunt Gwen recently. She is in a nursing home in Florida. I helped feed her lunch, she has forgotten how to eat and must be reminded to open her mouth, close her mouth and then to swallow. They say soon she will probably forget how to even do those things.  She is mostly nonverbal though she does attempt to talk but the jumbled mumbling resembles a sentence that cannot be understood. She smiled a few times. And she looked at our faces with a troubled look like she was trying to remember who we were. When I left her room I kissed her and told her I love her. She uttered the one word  I could understand, which was “yeah.” So I will hold on to that and believe she knows I love her and am comforted that her 'yeah' was her way of saying she loves me too. 

 I wish her peace.

never look away

She never looks away from truth and beauty.

  it is a formidable struggle for her.

  too tenacious and dauntless to hide.

Truth holds reign in her heart

We are her loyal subjects.

we follow her wisdom

 which plagues her steps

delicate, tender and exposed

she holds the secrets and 

we wait for them to be revealed.

small victories

I finished a knitted hat today. I know that doesn't seem like much. A veteran knitter like my daughter-in-law would have finished it in an hour. It took me almost 8 months.  And this hat is full of multiple errors and goofs. But the thing is it is seen a lot of family drama. I started this hat in May when I went to Florida to help take care of my parents. It has seen illness, it has seen death, it has seen the crumbling of lives and then watched them be rebuilt. This little cap has been through my diagnosis, surgeries and treatments. It has been through all the tragedies and crisis our family has lived through this summer and fall.  It is a symbol of the strength of our family, and the weaknesses too. I think often of what we have lost but I want to find the blessings and gifts that loss can give. I am still looking...

Update:  not a bad week after returning to chemo on Monday. Some rough days but better days too. And so we go on...

Mom

companions

One of my companions during this journey has been fear. I have come to know him quite well. I know his smell. Its vaguely the smell of burnt coffee mixed with a sweet perfume. I know the taste of fear. It is metal. It collects in the back of your throat, lump-style, and feels like it might choke you.  Fear pops up randomly sometimes. Other times it is when you receive news that should scare you. Fear doesn't miss the opportunity to make sure you know he is there. I have read, discussed, cried, begged, shouted and swore about how to get rid of this unpleasant companion.  The last article said I should bring light into the situation to offset the darkness of fear. The method it suggested for bringing light in was to do something to fix the problem that is causing you fear. The treatment I am going through is what I'm doing, but its pretty scary itself so it doesn't bring much light in.  But there are other forms of light. Yesterday I spent hours on the phone with a DNA consultant that is doing genetic research on my form of cancer. I was wrecked after the conversation and fear offered to come sit with me and keep me company. I let him for awhile until the rainbow man appeared and filled my house with rainbows.  And then the crocodile woman came snapping at my pain and bringing me comfort. Fear started easing toward the front door. And there are others who show up with laughter and such caring that fear begins to gag from all the love and has to take a break.  I know he'll be back but everyday I find new ways to keep him at bay. And if I can't then I rant and rave and cry and that brings some relief and fear backs away a little. I am not by nature a positive person but by the time this is over you may not even recognize me. Or at least maybe fear will be a little less likely to want to hang with me.

everyone loves Raymond

I am home again. I went to Florida for my mother's memorial service. I spent a week there enjoying Quality time with my favorite (and only) sister. Loads of tears and laughter, sadness and grief and just being together.

My flight home was a nightmare. It is usually a one and half hour flight. This time fog prevented us from landing and we were diverted to an alternative airport and ended up spending six hours on the plane. But obviously I survived without going into a panic and screaming at anyone.

Today I was determined to write but a refrain kept playing in my head saying how much I don't want to live this life I have now. Finally, I was able to talk back to that negative voice and say this is the life I have now and I am determined to make the best of it and enjoy life as much as I can. There are things to be grateful for...

ok Denise, not profound or humorous as something you could write but.. I did write 3+ sentences  ...it is a start.

It is what it is...

Yes my life is still topsy-turvy, surreal almost. Since this summer my father has moved into an assisted living facility. Sometimes he loves it and sometimes he is confused and frustrated. My mother will pass any time now...probably today or tomorrow. Wise Owl is away again, and we hope daily she will return with the strength and beauty that we know are inside her. And if all this wasn't enough cancer has now fallen into my lap. It is not an easy cancer, treatable but not curable and I have just started chemo treatments. I haven't been able to do what I usually do for others, like go to Florida to be with my family, to spend more time with Wise Owl, not being able to work...I am feeling useless and irrelevant. Not sure who I am. But there has been so much love extended too. My husband is amazing, my family is loving and friends have provided food and support in many different ways. So as life tends to be, it is a mixed bag. Sometimes I have dreams of running away to Bali but that being a nonsensical fantasy I will trudge on following the only path I have at the moment...

chemo wigs and other fun

Everyone home from the hospital and we are trying to find a rhythm to our lives. We have home health assistants, hospice nurses, social workers, physical therapists, occupational therapists, etc that we must schedule and open our house to as they make their mandatory visits. Often we are tired and exhausted but every once in awhile there are moments of mercy and grace that swoop in unexpected and refreshing. We are grateful for these moments.

A family dinner recently was spent in laughter as we talked about our day and remembered funny stories from the past.  The good feelings hovered in the air around us and we felt hope...at least for a bit...at least there was that.

Transitions

warning: there may be extreme expressions of emotions and sentimentality that some may find offensive.  For those who are or know my family you will understand I hope.

I take Dramamine when I fly. So when I arrived I was just a bit groggy. My flight arrived on time, my bag appeared in a timely manner and good friends drove me to my mother's house to pick up her car and head for the hospital. My mother was coming home that day. I drove there with no problems, got the room number from my sister, left the car in valet parking and hurried inside. The room was missing though. I walked up and down the hall in my Dramamine fog but there was no such number. I finally went to the nurses' station and found there was no such room number in that hospital. I felt irritated and confused until it hit me...I had driven to the wrong hospital. Both my parents were in the hospital...less than a mile apart from each other, on their 61st wedding anniversary, no less. Dad was in because he had become suddenly weaker, leaving him unable to walk, even with the walker he uses to support himself. My mother, who has been battling cancer for awhile was admitted to the cancer hospital due to pain. The oncologist did not bring good news and palliative care to reduce pain and alleviate discomfort has begun.  Since I was in the same hospital as my dad I ran up to the physical rehab unit for a quick visit with him. He was greatly amused that I had driven to the wrong hospital. He seemed happy to see me though disappointed that what he thought was a bag of popcorn was actually just my purse.  My father's dementia has worsened and even more so when out of his normal routine.  Finally arriving at my mom's hospital room I was struck by how small and frail she looked. But once she smiled and I held her in a long deep embrace I felt better. The hospice nurse was there, they were discussing assisted living facilities so that my parents could be together in a home that provided my mom the help she will need to care for my dad. She has been his primary caregiver for many years. She has Herculean strength and a stubborn constitution that has served her well. But this latest cancer pain was taking its toll and she would not be able to care for him as she always has.  My sister lives with them and helps as much as she can but she must work so we have to find some solutions. The entire prospect is overwhelming and discouraging. My sister shut down after I arrived and let the fear wash over her in waves, leaving her quiet and withdrawn.  The fear and despair is almost palpable at times.  I want to be the one that brings peace and calm to the situation but what can I do?

After bringing my mother home she wanted to visit dad as it was their anniversary and insisted on taking herself.  She came home in tears, overly tired and exhausted. It had been one of his difficult days and nothing she did or said could please him.  This journey...this transition will be a perilous adventure for all of us. A friend talked to me before i left about how to handle it all without being engulfed by the emotions. She suggested I hold the space...be there but don't try to 'fix' everything. I am practicing holding the space, pausing, responding not just reacting and, most of all I am practicing breathing and trying to be in the moment.

Later my sister, my mom and I enjoyed a pleasant evening talking and laughing and just being with each other. It was a gift that I will cherish. I have always loved my family but times like these make you realize even more about each of them and yourself.  My sister is a beautiful, generous, tender-hearted soul. My mother loving, lion-hearted and brave.  Despite the difficulties ahead I love being with them.  I am grateful I have the time to be here to help if I can.

I will spend the summer here and we will see...

kaleidoscope

broken, smoldering, pleading yet

sometimes a flame of crimson...blazing,

bright and fierce...too hot to touch...

we cower in terror

 for she who comforts also burns

spinning in tiny circles, floating above

in a perplexed and weary refrain

the edges blur into a cacophony

of pain and despair

Grey, smoldering ashes with

tiny sparks of fire that flare and fade

into bleak and somber quiet. 

in the quiet she dreams

a muddled  kaleidoscope

of all she was and wants to be

snowmen ride on swans

and demons haunt her sleep

soft skin, gentle scent of 

something akin to life and love

rising in the night to pacify

the fretful fears of the weak and helpless.

unyielding embrace of solace hold me now

over a year...

It is been over a year since our world fell apart during that humid and frightening summer. Many things have changed and we still struggle but let's just say it is better in many ways.  She does the things she has to but without the joy and happiness and peace I would wish for her.  I see her as always divided, pulled in many directions.  I don't think she can grow in that scenario.  And then there is me...always offering advice and counsel, wanted or not. Do I push too hard...out of fear?  The path she so tentatively travels on now seems fraught with danger and disaster.  But it is her path. And who am I to try and deter her from it.  But I have seen things ... that I feel I must save her from...

But most of all there is Tiny Owl...the wisest of us all...but still vulnerable despite her brave front. What does she need from me?  I know she needs her and to know she loves her more than any other but she doesn't feel that yet. How could she? And is she expected to pay for the sins of the past by enduring more pain?

So I have had severe flashbacks to the horrors of last summer, so has Tiny Owl. I guess it is inevitable as it has been a year and we inhabit the same spots we did before. Each one wrapped with a memory as painful as a knife slid into the heart.  I will always feel shame and regret for some of my reactions. I can only justify them by knowing I was clamoring to save her life...but does the end justify the means? Sometimes, I was gentle, understanding, accommodating while other times the emotions took over and I said and did things that I can't fix.

But there was a bittersweet memory that floated in one night  for which I am grateful.  It was just the two of us, not sure where Tiny Owl was that night. She wasn't like herself at all yet but had a sweetness that touched me deeply.  She was still rushing about trying to find refuge from the deluge inside her but her actions were different this night. We played silly board games and laughed together. She painted my nails. She stood outside the shower to make sure I wouldn't fall (Mom-om) and held me when I climbed on a stool to take a picture.  When I fell asleep she painted my toenails, paint everywhere but it didn't matter.  She was reaching out to me in the only way she could that night.  I grasp for the good as often as I can and can only hope for the future.  I search for balance in how to approach her with my fears...balance, something that doesn't come easy for me. But in my tilted, skewed way I will offer what I can...

holga, holga

“A man is but the product of his thoughts what he thinks, he becomes.”  Gandhi

Fading...

"Hey you, out there in the cold

Getting lonely, getting old

Can you feel me?

Hey you, standing in the aisles

With itchy feet and fading smiles

Can you feel me?

Hey you, don't help them to bury the light

Don't give in without a fight.”  -Pink Floyd

Comfort

“comfort was allowed to come to them rare, welcome, unsought: a gift like joy.”                                                                                                                                     ~Ursula K. LeGuin

to Paul...

Us

“I must learn to love the fool in me the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries” - Theodore Isaac Rubin

“I don't know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes- it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, 'well, if I'd known better I'd have done better,' that's all. So you say to people who you think you may have injured, 'I'm sorry,' and then you say to yourself, 'I'm sorry.' If we all hold on to the mistake, we can't see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can't see what we're capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one's own self...The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don't have that we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach.”  Maya Angelou

Throughout the last few months we have had tumultuous upheavals that strain and crack   relationships. I often feel the burden of failure and disappointment.  We both realize a rift is there...we want and need it to heal. How?  Yes, laughter and memories... But something more, I feel, is needed to rebuild the trust. I think our relationship will change, it can never really go back to the way it was because we are different now, on a new path.  My wish is that the transformation will be a strong one and eventually lead us back to joy and hope. But there is always love!

together

 “And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world it is best to hold hands and stick together.”   ~Robert Fulghum

fear

Nothing in life is to be feared.  It is only to be understood.  ~Marie Curie

slippery slopes and other stories

Our dance has moved from a slow, careful waltz to a manic tango. The music sometimes louder than our thoughts. Our steps awkward and graceless. But we move on...The fish market was closed so we instead visited dark places with demons and exorcists shuffling around us. They finally let us sleep until the sun rose and we again entered the shadows by a different path. This time Dr. Happy led us through a maze of obstacles that ended in an explosion of water and ice and shards of anger that cut deeply. And still the gambol of confusion led us back to where we started, under the full moon with chimes pealing and sparks flying. We sat for five days on the edge of our seats, in a fog of cigarette smoke while our pillar of strength leaned into a flurry of cleaning, as if to wash away the goblins of panic and fear that surrounded us all.  And then she came home again...broken, lost, but ours to love and care for until the healing takes place. Each day is a new challenge...yet we dance on...

do it...

If you don't write it, what will you do with it? Writing it shapes it and makes it real. It gives you some control instead of none. Writing is a defense, you know. It is the truth and a lie, but it is real. Do it!  ~Cafe Selavy

Surreal is the feeling I've had for a few weeks now.  I've watched her descend into the lowest depths of hell that I have ever seen this close. As I watch I feel I am an observer, floating above, watching it all unfold and unravel and feeling helpless to save her or myself. It starts so slowly, just a few signs that I denied were signs of the deluge that followed. "Whatever, clever." Then it starts to become more obvious that it is getting worse and something must be done. Metaphors, lyrics, drawings  became our accepted form of communication, categorizing, analyzing, making lists, trying to make sense, trying to forestall the inevitable crash. The usual platitudes and advice are given but I still felt a storm brewing...a storm that would shake precarious foundations."Put the lime in the coconut"


She left early on a Sunday evening and she stopped before she left, looking deeply in my eyes and I felt a shiver, somehow knowing this was it...the storm clouds so dark and ominous that nothing could stop it. "Check yourself before you wreck yourself." The week before the storm was a swirling dervish of activity and thoughts, so fast, so harried, we both felt dizzy and spent. Our defenses down when the storm hit, no provisions, no preparations had been made....the hatches not battened.  Suddenly everything was hurtled into space and we watched in horror.  Disney figurines, Dumbo with big listening ears,comforting Pooh with his honey and love for us all, handicapped parking spaces, Mickey and Minnie bound in a dance of intimacy and anger...holding it all close, too close to breathe...but if she moved fast enough then maybe she could out run the pain and the fear. "Walked down my back like a duck." She felt as if she was a ghost, a tiny dancing spirit saved her and brought her back. But bringing her back only left her alone and naked in the storm.  Tears of rain fell and she succumbed  to the demons within her and the aliens circling her head. They led her through locked doors and the key was turned, the key was turned.  She was lost, lost to me, lost to herself, broken, undone...and with nothing left in me I went home to the tiny dancing spirit who held me up with her dark 'wise owl' eyes.  Her journey more difficult than mine - she wandered in the sun, sending smoke signals and pleas for help. Those around her became family and she heard their stories and held their pain. LaVern and Shirley sang for her. Tim in his blue blanket sang and laughed and then cried. Clinton in his yellow shirt looked like a duck. But no one held her pain and she suffered and r-u-n-o-f-t further from reality. Churches, people walking, police cars, God, spirits , racing thoughts, cigarette butts, technology and electricity combined in a jumble of Mad Hatter-like madness. And so we drank tea and and tried to find our way back home. "Yep-er Buddy".  And as the sun  began to set the anticipation of sleeping sent her into a confused, incoherent torrent of words and repetitive movements. But mostly she was afraid. "Wired but tired." The fear would grow as the sky darkened, fear of death, fear of failure, fear of falling, of not being enough, of too much information until one night all of the fears combined into one disoriented mass of raw emotion and flung itself about in her mind and body until 12 hours later she expressed her truth and then felt calm, emptied, hungry, and finally sleepy. 11 hours of sleep and now we sit on a wobbly slope of normality. "What is normal?"  We take each moment as it comes, grateful for what we have, cautiously anticipating the future, stepping forward, stepping backward in a shaky waltz of love and fear.  And so it goes...