Archive | October, 2012

The magical world of grieving through a 3 year old’s eyes.

23 Oct

My last remaining grandparent has been fighting a good fight these last few years. Worsening dementia and the loss of my grandfather over two years ago had put her on a downward spiral. Of course, she’s a feisty little thing, and refused to go down with out a fight. She’s been under the care of hospice for over 6 months now, always keeping the caregivers on their toes.
Sunday afternoon I received a text from my mother. For the second time in over two weeks, hospice felt that it was her time and she’d be passing shortly.
Sadly, this whole scenario had almost become old hat. We’ve gotten similar texts or calls where hospice had felt that she was going down hill and it wouldn’t be long. Of course, each time we responded believing it would the this time.
Emberly and I had gone to the park Saturday with some cousins, and had a great time. Since I knew it would be difficult to get Emberly to leave willingly, I had to come up with an errand. We were going to go to the flower store across the street from Gma’s assisted living facility.
We pulled up shortly after 12 and the shop was closed. A little upset we weren’t going to be taking flowers to Gma or seeing the koi pond at the flower shop, we were still determined to visit and have a joyous afternoon.
As per the usual, Gma was laying in bed sleeping. She awoke quite easily though, but told us she was feeling lousy. This was not the usual with her. She always put on a brave face and most likely didn’t remember how she was doing. Still, we had an enjoyable visit even with answering the same question 4 times. God love dementia.
When I left Sunday to be by her side, Emberly was a little concerned that she didn’t get to go with me, but playing and nap time overran her desire to steal Gma’s candy that day. She was in bed when I finally came home. The next morning, Emberly was up earlier than usual, in greater spirits than normal. It was a very welcomed surprise. Luckily it was too early for her to remember why I was gone the afternoon before, so I did not have to deal with the dreaded questions.

Yesterday was rough. My sister and I went in to town to take our mother a much needed caffeine fix since my mother spent the night with Gma. We had planned for a short visit followed by picking up lunch for our hubbies on our way back to work. Upon our arrival, we were greeted with Father giving Gma her last rights. Apparently it was serious this time. From 11:30 on, the hospice nurse was positive that it would happen very shortly.  Minutes turned in to hours, which led to B picking Embers up from daycare and doing the nightly routine, having conversations well beyond her years yet not over her head of which I would soon be learning. After a few hour battle with horrid congestion, Gma finally took her last peaceful breath at 8:30 last night.

Everyone was in bed when I was finally able to return home after helping hospice tend to Gma’s body, and the funeral taking to prepare her for the next step. So, it wasn’t until this morning, after I had long been cried out, that B told me of his conversation with Emberly last night.

“Where’s mom?”

-She’s visiting Gma.

“I wanna visit Gma. Can I go?”

-No sweetie. Gma isn’t feeling very well.

“Well, I could give her a hug and a kiss. That would help.”

-That’s very nice of you, but Gma’s really sick honey. You can’t go over right now. Gma’s on her way to heaven to be with Hoss and Jackson.

“Oh, well, I could pick her up and carry her to Hoss and Jackson. I can help her!”

-That’s very nice of you honey, but we can’t carry Gma to where she is going.

I’m so glad that she and B were able to have that amazing conversation…and glad that I wasn’t the one stuck with those questions. I just wish I could face death with the same naive misunderstanding. At least I have her to make things brighter.

A few weeks ago, while taking my mother out to dinner, I pointed to the TV in the restaurant showing stock puppy footage. Emberly asked when we could get another doggy. I told her not until after the baby comes.

“Well, so, after the baby, can we have a puppy in your tummy?!”

Um, no. We’re not going to do that. Although, sometimes I wish the world were as magical as they perceive it to be.
RIP Gma. I hope to drink a glass of wine every night until I’m 89. You are an amazing woman and inspiration. We love you and will miss you deeply.

People survive having preschool aged children?

19 Oct

I mean, I know they must other wise none of us would be here and they wouldn’t have elementary, middle, high school and college. But, I need to know their secrets!

How is it possible that a face like this

can spend the entire first hour of the morning doing nothing but whining, crying and screaming, in turn making me cry and yell? It makes no sense. Thank god we get these moments of adorableness or I’m not sure any of us would be surviving.
It’s mornings like the one from Monday that I just described that really make me question whether or not I’m cut out for this whole parenting thing. Which, really, I should probably figure this shit out since we’re nearing the arrival of #2 and it seems as 75% of my blog posts are about how tough parenting is.
Occasionally, a brilliant blogger will post about some of their miniscule trials and tribulations with their children and I’ll get a fleeting moment of contentment knowing I’m not alone. The remaining 360 days of the year leave me wondering who the hell thought it was a good idea to let me parent.
I feel like more and more, my patience’s Low Fuel light has been on for longer than allowed. When I am able to fill up my tank, thinking I’m good to go for the next 347 miles, the surge of fresh fuel seems to burn out as quickly as the flame of a lighter run through the washing machine. I fantasize about how happy and breezy my life would/will be if I quit my second job, but truth is, I’m only slightly less maniacal dealing with the whining on the days I don’t have call. Maybe I can still blame it on PTSD from the on-call phone. Once that obnoxious ring is completely out of my life, maybe the tin-y sounds from¬† mindless commercials won’t trigger a sense of impending phone call doom.

Until we can test that theory, anyone have suggestions on keeping my sanity while limiting, if not eliminating, the whining of a 3-2/3 year old? 4 gets better, right? Just an FYI, alcohol removed wine doesn’t seem to help…stupid pregnancy and fetal-alcohol syndrome awareness. How long does your patience tank stay at a happy level? Do I need to check my hose for a leak? (hehe, you know there’s an inappropriate joke in there. You’re welcome.)