How happy I am to report that my daughter Kate and granddaughter Maren are healing and moving towards full recovery after their recent surgeries. What a difference almost two weeks makes!
Kate went to church with us on Sunday and is enjoying her soft liquids diet, and Maren is now wearing a boot, wiggling her toes, and doing homework from home. Both are grateful to be on this side of surgery.
When we decided to move back to St Paul from Madison, WI, we listed the features we wanted in a house, including a front porch, a fireplace, and a two-car garage. The house we bought didn't include any of those things, but it met our main criteria: location, location, location. We wanted to live near our daughter and her family--as in walking distance near.
How good it has been to be so close by in these last couple weeks. When a snowstorm was predicted, we knew we could walk to their house, if driving didn't seem reasonable. If plans changed, we could be there in a matter of minutes, and if we forgot something, we could retrieve it without a problem. Mainly, we could just be there at the right time for the amount of time we were needed and then go home.
This is a good, even powerful, stage of life--to be healthy ourselves and capable of responding to family needs--without calling a boss to take time off of work and without an elaborate process to change plans and appointments. One day I came home to meet with a spiritual direction client while Bruce remained at Kate's house and then I returned after the session --no fuss, no problem, no big expenditure of time. Yes, we are so fortunate.
We are also fortunate because our help was desired and appreciated. Sometimes it is a challenge to know what to do, how much to do, and when to do it. I don't want to be in the way or to overstep appropriate boundaries. We let Kate and Mike know we were available and willing to do whatever was needed, and they were clear with their requests. When we offered to do something specific, they replied honestly if that would be helpful or not. We wanted them to know that they are in charge, and we are at their service. We are on their team.
Although Maren can not yet return to school or Kate to work, some things have returned to a kind of normal. I have finally started working on my memoir again after too long of an absence. We even did some last-minute entertaining, inviting friends over for cheese and crackers and catch-up time. I paid bills and changed the bed and ironed shirts. I made my list of tasks to do this week, but have left plenty of response-time space--to do what our beloved family may need.
I recognize what a privileged life I lead--a life of fullness; a life of opportunities for growth and connection.
Thanks be to God!
An Invitation
What kinds of caretaking challenges and opportunities have you had? I would love to know.
An ah ha moment. As I was driving to Minnesota last week, I realized why I was not so eager to pack up and head west this time. True, it was minus something degrees and was doomed to stay that way the whole time I was there, but that was not the reason, at least not entirely. One of my intentions for the new year is to spend more time with my father, more casual and normal time, more one on one time, and this would be the first of those times in the new year. I enjoy being with Dad, so why had I lingered at home that morning and why had I taken my time packing for the three days in the apartment?
Ah ha! When my mother was dying of colon cancer, I spent a week every month with her and then longer when she was closer to death. I would leave our country sanctuary in Ohio and fly to Minneapolis on a Sunday morning and then return home on Friday evening. The decision to be with her at those times was intentional, knowing that each month I would more than likely see changes in her, but I was never sure what they might be and what might be required of me. How much less of her would there be and how much closer would we be to saying goodbye?
Ah ha! My intention to spend time with Dad on my own every month feels like that time with Mom and reminds me of the inch by inch grieving I did all those months, leading to the power punch grieving when she died. The difference is that Dad is in good health and doing well. Obviously, at 89 his death could happen at any time--this is no time to be an ostrich daughter-- but there is no current diagnosis driving my decision.
Ah ha! There were two tasks Mom always wanted me to do during my stays with her: clean the refrigerator and straighten the linen closet. "Your father doesn't know how to fold the towels." And along with having lunch with him, what was I planning to do during this visit? Clean the refrigerator and straighten the linen closet! The heart remembers more than we can imagine and just the thought of those tasks brought me back to those days, doing things that Mom could no longer do for herself, but remained important symbols of her role as Mrs Clean.
Both of those tasks were ways of saying, "Mom, don't worry. Your house will be cared for. Dad will be cared for." Straightening the linen closet, especially was almost a ritual. Refolding and smoothing and stacking. Piles of pink for the guest bathroom. Piles of pale blue for the master bathroom. I was stunned to see so many pink towels frayed and worn, but Mom was married to a certain shade of pink to match the wallpaper in that bathroom, and she couldn't find the right shade of pink in replacement towels. I made an executive decision and eliminated a towel or two every time I came. Not only were there stacks of those towels, enough for a girls' locker room, but Mom no longer opened that closet door.
And now for the blue towels. My sister bought Dad some fresh, thick white towels for his birthday this summer, thinking they would replace the worn, faded, and frayed light blue towels Mom favored in their bathroom. Mom has been dead for almost 10 years now, and he has used the same towels. Guess what we found on the floor of the linen closet? The white towels still in the box, just as Amy had given him. We chuckled and tsk-tsked and set about refolding and smoothing and stacking, but also eliminating the worst of the blue towels.
Later in the day my sister and I bought new blue towels. We didn't look at the price. We didn't even test for thickness or softness. Nope, we swarmed through the linen department like Goldilocks. This one's too grey. This one's too green. This one's too bright. This one's too dull. This one, this blue, is just right, close to what Dad expects to see when he opens the linen closet.
Ah ha! How much there is to learn about being in a different role in life--the daughter of an elderly parent. The daughter of an only parent. The daughter still missing her mother. The daughter seeing her father still missing his wife. Sometimes it is the simple things, the every day tasks, such as folding towels, that reminds us of how life changes and how life stays the same.
How happy I am to report that my daughter Kate and granddaughter Maren are healing and moving towards full recovery after their recent surgeries. What a difference almost two weeks makes! 
