Friday, August 16, 2013

The Dry Drunk Syndrome and Motivation

Recently I was speaking with a counselor type person who compared overeating and thoughts about weight to that of a "dry drunk". If you're not familiar with the concept, a "dry drunk" is an alocholic who is not drinking. Now I know I'm not the first person to hear how overeating is related to addictions--think "Overeaters Annonymous"--but this dry drunk analogy really gave me pause.

 Why does an alcoholic stop drinking? Initially, it is probably because there is a threat associated with continued drinking. Stop drinking because the court ordered you to mandatory testing after that DUI. Stop drinking because the spouse said "I'm leaving you if you don't..." Stop drinking because the job performance has suffered and you're on probation. So the alcoholic stops drinking, but resentment grows. The alcoholic doesn't have the problem...those around the alcoholic do. "The judge doesn't realize it was just a one time shot at a party. I don't usually drive after I've had a few". "She is just uptight. She'll see that I can do this!" "Stupid boss. I he had to live with what I have to live with he would have a couple at lunch too!"

 Realistically, what is likely to happen to this dry drunk? The motivation to stop is strong and present. There are pretty significant consequences for continuing the past behaviors. But without ownership and a mind shift toward personal benefit and change in habit and lifestyle, the dry drunk is oh so likely to become a wet drunk once again. It's just a matter to time.

 And so it goes with overeating and not exercising. I can't count how many different weight loss methods and programs I have done over the years. I'm a lifetime member of Weight Watchers and have been since 1988. Yet I weigh more now than I did when I started that program for the first time! Some of the programs were effective; some weren't. My success in the programs often depended on my motivation and how long that motivation would last. I would hear all the things about lifestyle changes; not being on a diet; and how our relationship to food is a factor in continued "success". I would often begin the program with an almost religious fervor and stick to the "rules" like a fanatic. I would be rewarded with a lower number on the scale, a smaller size of clothing, compliments from those around me. But eventually the high would end. I would stop journaling. I wouldn't keep an appointment with the weight loss center. I would be the queen of excuses.

Case in point--two years ago I lost nearly fifty pounds. Then my mom was diagnosed with cancer, my daughter placed my grandson for adoption (I had guardianship and was caring for him) and I was going through some significant struggles in my relationship with the Dude. I maintained the loss through some of the initial pieces of this, and then I went to Ireland for two weeks. I never returned to the program that had been so helpful. As Mom's cancer progressed, food became her enemy. She was losing weight at incredible speed, and food was everywhere around her house all in an effort to entice her to eat. As she lost, I gained. Chalk it up to the stress. Chalk it up to comfort food. Chalk it up to whatever I wanted to say--I gained the fifty pounds and then some!

So now I find myself journaling, exercising, and enjoying the support of the Dude. Nearly 20 pounds down, I'm seeing "success". On what piece am I now focusing? This is a toughie. I'm trying to focus my thoughts away from resentment and frustration and anger with myself. Resentment--"Why wasn't I blessed with the genes my sister inherited that makes her tall and thin instead of short and fat?" Frustration--"My thin clothes aren't fitting again!" Anger--"I look awful. I can't believe I can't keep off the weight. IT JUST ISN'T FAIR!"

As a therapist I've preached the power of cognitive or rational emotive therapy for years. Thoughts impact feelings and behaviors. Feelings impact thoughts and behaviors. Behaviors impact feelings and thoughts. Change the thoughts and the other pieces will fall into place. Have I practiced what I preach in this area of my life? Not so much. Clearly there is work to do. But that's my new focus.  

Monday, May 13, 2013

Holding On and Letting Go

So as not to be accused of plagiarism, I want to be very up front and say the inspiration AND title for this post came from a sermon series by Philip Gulley (check out philipgulley.org).  It's one of those resources that has been helping me through the grieving process.

Yesterday was a difficult day. It was Mother's Day...and while it was never a huge celebration for us, I always took flowers to Mom. We usually went out to eat. And of course, she wasn't here for even this small type of celebration. Yup...it was a difficult day. It didn't help that it was COLD here in central Indiana and the plans we had made to keep my mind off the day were based on being outside. Being the wimp that I am, and not having a winter coat with me, the Dude and I opted to change the plans. This left me alone with more of my memories and thoughts.

I'm realizing grief is really a process of holding on and letting go. It's sorting through things...and consciously deciding what stays and what goes. When we cleaned out the house, we had to think about who wanted to keep what; what would be of use to someone else not present for the cleaning process; what could go to Goodwill; and what would find its way into the trash. Fortunately my sister and I agreed on how to split the things. We had promised Mom we WOULD NOT FIGHT and we didn't. We are holding on to each other. This is a good thing.

The Dude and I have been looking at houses together. We are looking toward the future. We are working on logistics...as my job involves travel throughout the state and the ability to work a good amount from home, I do not have to remain where I am. I bought my current residence while going through a divorce. My house has four bedrooms and is located within the school system my daughters had attended for most of their educations. Both daughters live quite some distance from me now. There is no need to hold on to this house.

On the other hand, moving from here will be letting go of a life I had with my mom. She moved here to help me during and after my divorce. I spent many evenings with her having dinner and walking the trail in her neighborhood. We would often go shopping together. Her house is for sale and while I want it to sell, I fear letting go as if somehow this will sever me from her even more.

The intangibles are much more difficult to determine what stays and what goes. I want to let go of the memories of her final week; of watching her struggle; of the entire year of cancer. I want to hold on to the memories of meals shared; of special occasions; of vacations and card games. I want to hold on to "DeKockisms"...the things that seem so normal in our family but for others. (Brown sugar on rice comes to mind...) Unfortunately, that first list of memories seems dominant in my brain right now. It's work to wade through those and come to the happier memories.

If I had a pat answer to the things with which I struggle, I would gladly share them. I tell myself to hold on to the good memories of Mom; my relationships with my sister, aunts, cousins and friends; the job I love; the Dude; my pets. I tell myself to let go of the house; the things; and above all, the negative memories and the tears.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. It's a day late, but I love you just the same.


Monday, April 22, 2013

Clean Sweep

Pro basketball playoffs have begun. I'll be honest--I'm not much of a fan. I claim to be a Pacers fan, but only because I live in Indianapolis. Truth be told, since Reggie Miller retired, there hasn't been much to cheer about when it comes to the Pacers. So maybe that makes me a fair weather fan, but to be honest, there is just more in the world on which I want to ponder. 

Back in the almost glory days of the Pacers (when Reggie reigned supreme) there were years in the playoffs when the team did quite well. Never quite well enough to win a championship, but well enough to "sweep" the other team early in the series. This meant that the team would take the minimum number of games required to win the series all at once. (Forgive me if you are a sports fan and think this is like saying the ABC's.) 

These past few weeks have been full of hunting down paperwork, dealing with different banks and investment firms, chatting with the Treasury department, meeting with realtors and trying to make decisions. This past weekend, my sister flew in and my aunt and uncle came down and we packed up and cleaned out my mother's home. Please understand--my mother was a very clean person. She took housekeeping to an art form. Of course, she was not able to do this so much over the past year as the cancer made its deadly progression through her body. But furniture was divvied up, a truck was rented for Aunt Helen and Uncle Max to take things back to Hebron (I now only have two tables in my home instead of three. At the moment I have to china cabinets, but one of those will be leaving by the end of the week) and the trash bin is full. A carload plus went to Goodwill. Once things were out of the house, my sister and aunt attacked the house to make it shine. Both bathrooms were scrubbed, mirrors were shined, cabinets were wiped clean, and floors were done. We all agreed that window cleaning was none of the current company's forte, and this should be hired out. 

My sister and I have agreed upon a realtor and I am meeting with her tomorrow to sign paperwork and officially get the house listed. We hear it is a buyer's market, so we are hoping this house sells quickly. I would like to have all the pieces of her estate decided and settled. I would like to move ahead. I would like to make a clean sweep of getting things done. 

Rarely do clean sweeps happen in pro basketball. Even less do clean sweeps happen in real life and in relationships. I was happy that Aunt Helen decided she wanted the table and china cabinet. I have had no use for them for years, but did not want to get rid of them because they belonged to my grandparents. Aunt Helen made the connection (seemingly obvious) that these were her mother's. Thank heaven she was able to restore them to Hebron. Donna and I had a moment in the house when things felt surreal. I told her that it felt like Mom could come back in at any moment. Donna said that at least we had the house clean for her. Of course, the down side is that Mom would have no clothes as they have all made it to Goodwill. Donna's answer for that was equally appropriate for Mom--"We would just have to go shopping!"

I do not want to sweep the memories of my mother out of my life. I do not want to sweep my long distance relationship with my sister out of my life. I fear selling Mom's house but at the same time cannot wait for it to sell. Maybe the clean sweep is not so much to be desired.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Mid Life Crisis or Second Journey?

To tell you the truth, many of my ideas are not original. I read a lot, picking up pieces of this and that, filing them away, and then they come back out during opportune and inopportune times. I think the title of this post came from a book by Susan Howatch...and she was quoting someone else. Whereever this came from, I'm smack dab in the middle of trying to understand if I am having a "mid life crisis" (or what that even is, for crying out loud!) or at the start of a second journey.

Here is how I understand the good old fashioned "mid-life crisis". Usually a man hits his mid 40's or so, has a little extra money he didn't have as a younger man...and he gets a little itchy to do something he has not done before. At best, the cliche is to buy a little red sports car--most likely a convertible. At worst, the man trades in his first love for a trophy wife. And in between are all kinds of different behaviors--maybe changing physical appearance or taking up a new hobby. I'm not quite certain how this mid-life crisis behavior manifests itself in women. I suppose they can do similar things--after all--red sports car convertibles are FUN!! (Don't you think I would look really good in a red convertible? How many tickets do you think I would incur?)

But the "second journey" seems to be a different animal all together. There seems to be more of a sense of purpose. It's a change in focus. It's a chance to do something that the individual has not yet undertaken. There is less cliche and more risk. And now I find myself at a decision point. Am I having a mid-life crisis or do I have the courage to embark on a second journey?

All my early goals in life have been fulfilled--in one way or another. Sure there have been bumps along the road and things I did not plan. When I was in high school my goal was to go to college. When I got to college my goal was to graduate and get a job. Then the goal was grad school and job. Followed by marriage and having children. From there the plans were a little more murky...I assumed I would make the happily ever after stage eventually. I pictured myself with home, husband and grandchildren. My mom was a great example...and added caretaker to her many job titles. She took care of my dad and then her dad. She moved to Greenfield to help me during my divorce. So after the divorce and some really hands on grandparenting, I found myself in the role of caretaker for my mom. But that job is now done. 

Don't get me wrong. In all my current states and situations, I am truly blessed. I have a nice roof over my head, a job I love with a ton of benefits, a great man to love and explore life with, my dogs and some great great relationships. But there is this little niggling piece of discontent inside me. I now have the ability to make some changes and I want to do so...I think. 

There is talk of moving. There is talk of going back to school. There is talk of travel. And I have initiated all of these conversations. I've been told it is not wise to make any major decisions at this stage in life. Grief can cloud clear decision making. Yet I think I must listen to that niggle deep inside and begin to make some change. Hopefully I will be able to focus better, take a deep breath, and commit to a new plan; a new goal. Don't be surprised to read in this blog that I am doing something different. On the other hand...who knows? There may be a convertible out there somewhere with my name on it. 


Wednesday, April 3, 2013

The Big Let Down

It's been almost four weeks since Mom left this world. It's been ten days since we officially said goodbye with two memorial services; one here near where I live and one in the hometown. Planning these services was tricky. My sister and I had no idea how many people would come to a service here in the Indianapolis area, and no idea how many people from Hebron would be able to make it. Add to that impossible to predict weather, and we were just up in the air.

The first service was officiated by the hospice chaplain. He was able to share some of her joys and fears she expressed as she neared the end of her life. The service was well attended, with the funeral home staff bringing in more and more chairs. One request Mom had made of me was to sing the Hymn of Promise. During an earlier hospitalization, again on too many drugs and confused, Mom was insisting she was able to see the future. She said everyone told her what a wonderful job I did in singing. No pressure there, right? So when the time came, I took a deep breath and sang. The tears did not come until after I sang. Truthfully, that ranks right up there with one of the most difficult things I have ever done.

After that service, the family went back to Mom's house. My Amity UMC family brought enough food to feed the DeKock army. Not only did my Ohio cousins come, so did their spouses and part of their kids. My daughters had not seen these distant cousins since they had been children playing at the Indiana Dunes. It was the kind of party my mother would have enjoyed.

The service in Hebron was wonderful as well. Again, Mom would have enjoyed it. The Hebron UMC ladies prepared a wonderful lunch. Pastor Kathie offered me the opportunity to sing again, but she read from my earlier blog postings. I've never heard these words read aloud before. It was a humbling experience, to be sure. And the tears flowed. There was no way I could have sung a note.

Having not been in Hebron for awhile, the entire experience has a sense of the surreal. I was able to visit with friends I have not seen in years. I was able to chat with a former teacher--Phyllis Franzman. Mrs. Franzman, or Foo Foo as we called her, taught me how to write in a clear manner. As I put these feelings to paper (or screen) this has been such a great blessing and relief for me.

And then I came home. My sister and her family have returned to their lives. My sister and I are dealing with the estate and bureaucracies inherent in this process. I was craving normalcy, and wanted to jump back into work. My work family has been everything I expected--loving, nurturing and caring. And while I am there or talking with a family, life is normal. When I leave the office or head back to the far Eastside from wherever I might have been, I have the urge to call Mom and tell her when I will be there. I have the urge to call to tell her what has been going on. When I come across something I know would interest her, I sometimes forget I can't just tell her. And then the realization hits me again. I cannot tell Mom about the latest adoption. I cannot tell Mom what I would like to be doing this summer. I am seeing cards for Mother's Day displayed now. I won't be buying her a Mother's Day card. I will have to pay respects another way. Instead of flowers for her patio, I will have to buy flowers for her grave.

I guess the bottom line is simply that I miss her. I miss her smile, bright blue eyes and wit. I miss knowing that she has my back. I fear wasting my inheritance, but I fear I will not be the woman she raised me to be. I miss her encouragement. But I try to keep living normal. I carry a piece of her with me in my heart. I hope she has influenced you as well.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Nouns, Verbs and Emptiness

Grammar 101:  A noun is a person, place or thing. This is in contrast to verbs, which are action words. I'm in the middle of grieving, which is a verb. And the nouns are making it harder. Take for example the noun "mother". Of course, that's the noun I am grieving. But there are triggers of less significant nouns that intensify the grief. (Grief in this case is also a noun, which just makes the English language that much more interesting.)

The biggest of these triggers is the house. I love my mom's house. It is a small brick ranch, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. (Although, to say the third bedroom is a bedroom is a bit of a stretch. By real estate standards with closet and egress, it is a bedroom. It has never been used as a bedroom. It is the office.) Mom bought the house when I was going through my divorce. She gave up her life in the town she had lived for more than 70 years, including her friends, her sister, and her church, to be near to me and my teenage daughters. I appreciated it more than I ever thought. After all, I had spent years foolishly thinking my mother lived the perfect distance of 150 miles away from me. I could see her when convenient for both of us but didn't have to listen to all the momisms on a regular basis. However, when I needed her I needed her. I had friends, and they were great, but they were not my mom. There is nothing like a mom when your heart is breaking.

But back to the house. Mom settled in and made it her own. She added upgrades over the time she was there, sometimes saying she did not know why she was doing it. The upgrades made the house more beautiful. Mom always liked nice things. The house in which I was raised was built at the turn of the last century, and she was easily frustrated with its idiosyncrasies. There were big things....only one bathroom, no garage, no separate family room and an upstairs that was impossible to heat. The basement was an old fashioned cellar. When my parents moved from that house after I was graduating from college, I grieved the loss of that house. When my girls hear about their father planning to move from the house in which they were raised, a get it. I understand. A house is more than house--it is often a sense of security. When my mom left the "new" Hebron house to move here, it did not bother me nearly as much as the original house.

So now my sister and I are faced with cleaning and selling the house in which my mom spent her last seven years and in which she died. Mom knew this would be her last home, and so she kept the sentimentality of it to a minimum. She had been through the jewelry, the pictures, the clothes and given many of them away. She let me know what things she wanted me to have and what things my sister was to get. Mom left my sister and I with strict instructions to NOT FIGHT over the distribution of her assets. Her will was clear. The big things are to be split in half. To this point, my sister and I have honored that and I see no reason why we won't continue to do so.

My sister left for her home in Colorado on Tuesday morning. When I went over Monday afternoon, the grief hit me in a wave. I saw the truck with Mom's things and the realization that she was gone was overwhelming. The house is still nice, but Mom is not there. Her things are there. Some furniture remains. My sister and I will be dividing more of the things next month. We have been in touch with a realtor who will assist in selling the house. When that happens I will no longer be able to walk in at will, and give my mother my standard greeting "Hey mom" and kiss. I will be reminded yet again that she is not with me.

A dear friend is coming over tomorrow afternoon to help me look through some of the papers necessary  for the estate. I'll take some of the things with me that my sister and I have already agreed upon that are now mine. Hopefully I will not cry the entire afternoon away. I will continue to miss my mom. I will need to focus on keeping my house as my home, and let it be my sense of security.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Photographs and Memories (and the Rise of the Hoosiers...)

"Photographs and memories; Christmas cards you sent to me; And all that I have are these to remember you by".  Bonus points if you can name the singer/songwriter...

This is a bittersweet weekend. Last night was spent with my sister, brother-in-law, niece, nephew and significant dude. As the Hurryin' Hoosiers (a number one seed, I might add) played in the NCAA tourney on television, we sat around the table and ate a meal prepared by my wonderful ASC angel co-workers. (After all, that is what people do in times of grief. Eat. And share food. And do...)  The Hoosiers did win last night. The president of the United States has picked them to win the tourney. To say my dad was a huge IU fan would be an understatement. Every March he would eat, breathe and live IU basketball. He died before Bobby Knight was fired and I think it is a positive thing he missed the shenanigans that ensued. I also think he would be very excited about this team, Coach Crean, and the team's prospects this year.

After the meal, we started poring over scrapbooks. And going through papers. We found some interesting things--in addition to Mom's college diploma we found her transcript. Remember when I said she was competitive? And that she valued education? There was never a semester she was not on the Dean's List. Her GPA? 3.91.  Not too shabby for someone who had not been in school since 1950. 

There was controversy over some pictures from the past--as in just who is that baby? Is that Mom? Or is that one of her sisters? And if it is not Mom, why would she have a baby picture of one of her sisters? We think it's Mom. It's on the collage that will go to the memorial service today. That's our story and we're sticking to it.  

The pictures are funny things. Mom was very definite in her dislikes, as well as her likes. She went to Europe without a camera. Her theory was that pictures of castles and the like would not change--they have been there for hundreds of years. If you want a picture of a particular place, buy a postcard. She did concede at one point that if the pictures had familiar people in them, they were ok. Oddly enough, we found a scrapbook with pictures of her in Europe!  One with a sign pointing to the washroom. Important in any language. 

For someone who did not like pictures, she has many scrapbooks and boxes of pictures. Some were easily identifiable, others were not. Another photo that made the collage was a picture of Mom holding up an "Ironing Table".  There were not any Christmas decorations in the photo, so we don't know what the occasion happened to be to warrant a new "Ironing Table", but she was an ironer. I can recall her ironing my dad's underwear that she had hung on the line. The phrase "no-iron" attached to clothing simply did not apply. Mom ironed. She always ironed her sheets...making laundry day a bit more challenging. 

Not only are there are pictures of Mom throughout her life doing various things, there are the pictures of my sister and I throughout out lifespan. It's funny to see the various hair styles and degrees of pudginess. Some people in the pictures are no longer in the family...the ex for example. 

My nephew is a rock climber. Ice wall climber. Adventurer...(crazy, but that's only my opinion, and not a clinical one. That's the aunt who prefers to keep feet on the ground.) At one point my niece pointed out a picture of a long ago birthday, and said "That's Eric's first climbing rope!" Now there is a photo hanging on Mom's wall of Eric sitting on top of a Teton. He is literally in the clouds. Funny how we have documentation of that particular "first". 

New memories are being built. Life will go on without Mom. But I'm grateful to have the photographs and the random card from her to remind me of my heritage. To quote the singer/songwriter from above..."I got a name...I got a song...and I carry it with me and I sing it loud...if it gets me nowhere, I'll go there proud."  The end of this great song is "moving ahead so life don't pass me by". I'm moving ahead. I may be kicking and screaming, but I am moving ahead. I will say good-bye to my mom this weekend...good-bye for now. Really--it's more of a "see you around". 

Thanks, Jim Croce, for great lyrics. 

I'll see you all around. 

Friday, March 15, 2013

Kairos Won--(Was there really any doubt?)

Yesterday I posted on Facebook that I was getting a real lesson in God's time. And today that lesson is complete. I'm writing this in my own home--as opposed to Mom's--and I've cried buckets of tears today. As you have guess from the tone, Mom died this morning. Officially the time of death was 9:50 a.m. This was the moment for which I have been waiting and waiting. Yet I have been dreading it beyond measure.

The ancient Greeks had two words that we have since translated as "time". (Or so I have been taught...) The most familiar of the two is "chronos" from which we get words such as chronology and chronological. This assumes time can be measured, and measure we do. We have timelines and clocks. We have calendars. We mark the progress of time with rites of passage such as birthdays, graduations, and weddings. We also mark the progress of time with photos and lines drawn on a wall.  Sadly enough, we also mark the progress of times with funerals. 

As I understand it, the point of a funeral is to say goodbye to the loved one and to celebrate and honor their life. There is a poem or song about "The Dash"--the things that happen in between the date of birth and the date of death on the tombstone. These are all the things that make a life...the lessons learned, the journeys traveled, the family raised. All of this can be placed on a time line. So my mom's chronology includes her date of birth...January 9, 1933. It includes working in her father' store from the age of 14, getting married, divorced, then married again, having two daughters, working in various Hebron, Indiana businesses, and having grandchildren. It includes travel, and college, and moves. In between the big markers were thousands of little ones...meals eaten, books read, walks taken. There were golf games and card games. There was joy and there was heartache. 

Ultimately, I believe "chronos" is a gift from God, given as part of the life we are to live here on earth. But then there is "Kairos". I am less clear on Kairos, as I have never been a philosopher. But according to the ever reliable (said tongue in cheek) Wikipedia,"in the New Testament, kairos means 'the appointed time in the purpose of God', the time when God acts. Merriam-Webster defines it as a time when conditions are right for the accomplishment of a crucial action : the opportune and decisive moment. In general, it's my understanding that Kairos has to do about quality rather than number. And this, is the greatest gift of all. 

God's time is not ours. He is infinite, timeless and eternal. Yet He is concerned about each and every one of us. He is the creator and sustainer of life. And not only this life...the life eternal for us. And so today, God acted. He took His daughter home--He healed her through death. A mystery, yes. Preposterous to some, but my hope and faith tell me otherwise. Today my Mom entered into eternity...she is with her parents, husband and sister who have gone before her, and with Jesus. John Newton said it so well in the hymn Amazing Grace:  "When we've been there 10,000 years/Bright shining as the sun/We've no less days to sing God's praise/ Than when we've first begun..."

In the chronos days to come, I hope to be aware of the Kairos--the quality of being with family and friends. The joy of being held and of holding on. And I pray that for you as well. Look for Kairos--and love deeply.








 Some Kairos with her favorite people...

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Sisters and the Rights of Succession

I hear Great Britain is thinking of changing their laws of succession to the throne...meaning that no matter the gender of the child the Duchess of Cambridge is carrying, this child will be next in line to the throne after Prince William. (And in no way, shape, or form should Prince William be considered the "baby daddy".  Can you imagine? How tacky would that be? How tacky is it that we use that term so frequently nowadays anyway? Another rant for another blog, I suppose.) Considering that Queen Elizabeth just celebrated her Jubilee, it seems the Brits are ok with a female monarch.

The DeKocks have been run by a female monarch since the patriarch of our branch of the family died in 1999. (Give or take a year...) That person has been my mom, Mary. She has marshaled the estate trust, oversaw the sale of Grandpa's home to her younger sister, and planned family reunions. She maintained a spreadsheet of phone numbers and email addresses and opined on everything related to the various nieces, nephews and greats of all connectedness. In short, she was the go to person for all things DeKock.

In the beginning, the were four DeKock sisters; Martha, Mary, Kathryn and Helen. Martha spent most of her adult life in Ohio and died in the 1990's, even before Grandpa DeKock. This left Mary as the de facto eldest daughter. Martha had three children, one daughter and two sons. Mom kept in touch with her niece and nephew and endeavored to make certain they were treated fairly. She asked their opinion regarding the sale of the family home. Mom enjoyed their visits. The last visit was in the spring of 2012 as Mom was finishing her radiation treatments. Mom always described her sister Martha as "the athletic one". It seems Martha had the dubious position of trying to keep the younger sisters somewhat in line, and this was met with mixed results.

Mom and Kathryn were the closest in age, and as they occupied the middle positions in the family, it seems they were the closest. They both married young, but Kathryn had the jump on having children. Kathryn had three boys in quick succession, and the Searle family moved to Utah. Eventually, a daughter would be added to this mix, my cousin Julie. We bookend the last year of the baby boomer generation with my birthday in January and hers in December. Mom and Kathryn look alike, sound alike and act alike. It gives my cousins and my sister and I something to laugh about.

And then there is Helen, named after her mother.  Apparently, this was her mother's mother's name as well, and Helen was called Baby Helen for quite some time. I appreciate my Aunt Helen because she was the baby of the family, and we family babies know we are special. Helen has two children, one male and one female.  My cousin Alan is very close to Mom, as is his wife.

Kathryn and Helen were here last week. At times Mom recognized them. She got just as angry at Kathryn as she did with me as we were trying to care for her in a way she did not like. It was fun to watch the sisters together. They were all together in Florida at the start of the year. This was also entertaining. No one seems to understand a sisterhood like those in the sisterhood.

Which brings me to now. My sister and I are unique in that of the cousins, we are the only sole sister group. (Not "soul sister"--keep your singing to yourself--and we will do the same :-)  All our cousins have brother/sister combinations. So Donna and I are left to carry on the tradition of being DeKock sisters...albeit a generation removed. I'm thankful beyond measure that she is my sister. Although we are seven (and a half) years apart, we share the same mom, the same upbringing. And although we are as different as night and day, no one loves me like she does, and no one loves her like I do. No one understands a sisterhood like those in the sisterhood.

Will Kathryn or Donna take over the reigns of matriarch? I don't really know. I know both of these women are very special; strong, determined and loving. I look at both and see my mom. And I know I have been blessed beyond measure to be a DeKock and to be Donna's sister.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

On Faith and Dying

This is one of those really difficult posts to write... not because Mom has passed away, but because she has not. A week ago I was certain the end was only days away. But she is still here. I'm grateful she's here...I'm grateful for every moment I have with her because I realize they are few, and will continue to dwindle.

It's been a truly difficult week. While I was sleeping on the couch, just feet away, Mom was able to pull herself out of the hospital bed. I did not hear her efforts...until I heard the sickening thud on the hardwood floor. Mom was turned around so that her head was where her feet at been, knees drawn up and total confusion on her face. Of course, panic, not clear headedness set in. I roused my sister who left her husband sleeping. Between us we turned her around and lifted her in bed. Did we LOWER the hospital bed? No. Did we think to rouse the brother-in-law? Of course not. We did call hospice, and made certain no injury had occurred. So the next day, the nurse came out. He was impressed that Mom was able to have actually bent the rail of the hospital bed. After conferring with the physician, it was decided we should use her port and give her medications continuously.

Not a bad idea, we all think. Until the medication is going and the nurse is gone and Mom decides she is GOING HOME. Not only was she not home in her own mind, we were holding her back from getting home. If you think you are being held hostage, you might try to hit your captors too. And so it was.

After talking with the nurse who assured us she would become more calm as the medication went through her system. The nurse also said that people often die as they live...those who are very active in life have an active dying process. It is harder for them to let go.

In the midst of this, I had a total meltdown. I cried and cried. I was afraid to go home, even though there were several people there with Mom at her house. I was not present when my dad died, and while it's not an "active" regret, it's a regret nonetheless. (It's 18 years later and I still remember that.) As my sister tried to reason with me, I did recognize the difference between rational thought and total irrationality. I do understand that when my mom finally releases herself into the hands of her creator, there is a good chance I will be asleep. I may be present in her house, but not with her as it happens. Perhaps she will be asleep also, and just slip away.

This has really led me to question God. I know Mom wants to see her parents, sister and husband. I know she wants to see Jesus. She has fought the cancer for a long time. Why has God allowed her to continue to inhabit this body? Why the fall? Why the lashing out at those she loves? When will this end?

The answer came to me from the significant dude, and whether it is true or not, it makes sense to me. He simply said "Maybe God doesn't want to bring her into heaven kicking and screaming."  Hmmm. I argued with this. What about ending her suffering? What about the fall? Doesn't God care even about the sparrow that falls and know the number of hairs on our heads? The dude pointed out that she is leaving this body behind. We are assured she will have a new body that is whole and complete and has no flaws or illness. The pain that she is in is controlled by a cocktail of pain relievers and anxiety reducers. God is still working on her soul. He is also working on my soul, and on those of everyone around her.

I do not like change. It is a constant in life. It is a constant in the workplace. It is a constant among friends, churches, communities...but most of us do not like it. We accept it because we must.  Most people with whom I speak regarding adoption voice fear of the unknown in the process, as well as not being able to control the process. And so it is with the change from life to death. We do not know what is on the other side of the veil because we have not seen nor experienced it for ourselves. We cannot control the process of dying. We have been told by people who have had near death experiences what they encountered. We have heard the scientific rationale for those experiences. We have thousands of years of religious teachings. And from those religious teachings, we have the Bible. And that is where I must rest my questions. I have encountered the living Christ and believe in Him wholeheartedly. I have recited the Apostle's Creed (and while not found in the Bible, based on Biblical tenants and the experience of early saints) and I believe in the things it says. I believe that like the thief on the cross, I will be in "paradise"--or alongside God--when I die. And for my mother, I believe that she will be a part of the "communion of saints" and will be with her mother, father, sister and husband. More importantly, I believe she will be with God--in the form of the Trinity....Father/Son/Holy Spirit. And I believe that she will go willingly...she will let go of this life, this body, all the things that attach her to this world...and enter into the presence of her Creator. There will be a party for her...with a sign over her that reads "Love".

Until then, I will continue to pray. I will continue to pray I can let her go with confidence...even when my tears blind me. I will continue to pray with the father who brings his son to Jesus for healing in the Gospel of Mark..."Lord I believe, help my unbelief."

Thursday, March 7, 2013

A Mom Tribute

When doing social histories as part of the home study process, I have the opportunity to ask people to describe their parents and tell me what values they learned from them. Since I adopted my children 18 years ago, I can't remember what I said. I've been thinking about that one a great deal lately and now seems to be as good of a time as any to give that answer again.

Let's see...to throw out some adjectives that describe my mom...I would have to say she is strong, opinionated, determined, competitive, generous, loving, thrifty and hard working. When I say strong, she has always been physically strong and even more emotionally and morally strong. As for the physical strength, a year ago she was hiking in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona. That she had an undiagnosed and unknown of lung tumor did not deter her. She walked the trail in her neighborhood daily. She had gym membership that was more than a card--she actually used the thing. As for morally, Mom always seemed to know the right thing to do and encouraged me to do the same. Not that she was always successful, but she very much wanted my sister and I to learn from her mistakes. Mom lived as a widow for 18 years. She admitted to times of loneliness, but was adamant that it was better to be alone than to find someone "less than" and be unhappy. 

Opinionated. Oh, Lord, is she opinionated. She comes by this naturally. The family calls it the DeKock gene, and when all the DeKock sisters are together nothing is sacred. Those women don't beat around the bush. Not that all the sisters agree on things, and share the same opinions. But they do feel the need to share them. 

Determined. Mom is and always has been a goal setter. Get things done! This ties into the hard working piece as well. Mom enjoyed recreation time--she played golf, cards, walked, shopped and read books, but never until the house was clean and the check book balanced. After my Dad passed away, Mom decided it was time to go back to school and she earned an associate's degree. Once the degree was earned, she was done. Goal reached. No need for a bachelor's.

Competitive. Not necessarily is she competitive in sports, but she was very competitive in things in which she could excel. I remember when she had to take a CPR class for work. She aced the test, and was impressed with herself that she could do this. When she went back to school, she was on the Dean's list. She wanted to make better grades than those around her. She loved to play cards, and she loved to win. I remember her talking about playing the game Hearts with her grandmother. The object in this game is to NOT get the Queen of Spades...the Mariah. Mom says her grandmother would never play the Mariah on her as Mom was her "favorite". Mom taught me how to play Hearts, and I somehow don't recall her being quite so kind with me. She never hesitated to play the winning card. Recently Mom, my sister and myself taught the significant dude to play Euchre. We agreed we would play an open hand as a teaching hand. Wouldn't you know, I was the dealer and Mom was to my left. I dealt her a loaner hand...did we count that hand even if it was a teaching, open hand? Do you really have to ask? Of course we did. I'm not even going to discuss who won the entire game.

Generous. Now this flies in the face of her thriftiness, but Mom was always generous with her time, abilities and money. This is part of this opinionated piece...sometimes the gifts had strings in that you had to hear her opinion about the need for the gift, but it was always given. The Hebron Music Boosters used to do annual cake walks as fund raisers. As my sister and I were eight years apart in school, this meant 16 straight years of baking cakes for the band. She was a gracious host to her women's circle at church. She wanted to make certain the grandchildren and great-grandchildren had gifts at the designated times, (birthdays, Christmas and graduation) but she also had just because gifts. 

Loving. My dad was a very quiet, non-demonstrative man who seldom said "I love you" until he got sick with ALS. But Mom has always been the typical nurturing mother, quick to show love with words, hugs, gifts and food. When reason I am so sad about losing her is that I know I will be losing my biggest advocate and best friend.

Thrifty. As a child of the Depression, she was thrifty. She was into reduce and reuse long before it was fashionable. Going out to eat was not always fun, because heaven help you if you ordered an iced tea, glass of pop, or alcohol. Do you know how much those cost? Do you know what the mark-up is on those? Water. Drink water. It's free. It does not matter if you get free refills. Water. 

Hard working. My grandparents were also hard working, with Grandma having designated days to do specific chores. Her daughters were expected to help with these. My grandfather ran a store. Mom states it was expected from the age of 14 each daughter would help in the store. Mom worked at the local school, bank and telephone company before she retired. She was in the bank during two robberies. She now laughs she left the bank because they would not give her a .25 per hour raise. That was when she went to the telephone company. As if these things were not enough, Mom took her own housekeeping chores very seriously. Saturday mornings were work mornings at our house. The kitchen floor would be scrubbed, the bathroom scrubbed and the rest of the house dusted and vacuumed. She would wash walls and baseboards with great regularity. Windows were also cleaned, and the lawn (with the help of my dad) was kept tidy.

As the baby of the family, I have to say I am less opinionated and forthright than my Mom and my sister. In writing this, I've decided that's not quite a true statement. I am every bit as opinionated as my Mom and sister, but probably less forthright. In general my personality tends to be more relaxed. As a professional social worker, I've learned when to employ a bit of tact. (Not to say Mom is not tactful, but sometimes that DeKock gene just springs out.) I'm not as hard working. My walls and baseboards do not get scrubbed unless I am painting or moving. I'm certainly not as thrifty--I gladly get whatever I want to drink when we go out. 

But I like to think I have inherited her generosity and loving spirit. I hope I have nurtured my children well. Mom was a strong proponent of higher education, and I have a love of reading, learning and an earned Master's degree. I try to do the right thing in terms of my family and community. 

I am proud to be the daughter of Mary Elizabeth Stiles.


(At the Channel Marker restaurant in Syracuse, Indiana on Lake Wawasee.  One of the rare times she broke down and ordered wine in a restaurant--but she had to have ice in it.) 

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

My family is one who celebrates birthdays...especially those of that are somehow "important". Of course, that means the usual big deal ones of youth...16, 18, 21 etc. And then the decade celebrations--30, 40, 50...(and speaking of, I am taking suggestions for next January 11!) So when my grandfather--Mom's dad--hit 90, the DeKocks celebrated. I remember it because it was two months before my wedding. We had a great dinner at a restaurant in Valpo and took lots of pictures. For the first time in many, many years, all of my grandfather's grandchildren were there. Grandpa had four daughters, who between them had eleven children. Five years later we had a hog roast in the backyard of his house.

So despite Mom's cancer, her 80th birthday was an event to celebrate. She had gone to Florida for the month of January to try to escape the wonderful Indiana cold. She and her sisters rented a house and went about basking in the sun. My sister and I and our significant dudes (husband and "boy"friend-ugh) were there as well. We went to a lovely seafood restaurant and celebrated the family matriarch.

Well imagine my surprise when last week Mom started asking where everyone was. This came after she tottered out of her bedroom, sans walker causing my sister, brother-in-law and I to come running, smiling and happy. She came to sit on the couch, and enjoyed looking around. The chaplain from hospice appeared soon after, and Mom enjoyed talking with him. She told the chaplain I had taken her money and ran away to Ireland last year. I reminded her I ran back home. Throughout the conversation, Mom seemed to be enjoying the company of others, including standing to look outside in the back yard and waving animatedly to Helen. As she looked around, she noted "this is better than what we had for Dad!" I wasn't certain if that was the hog roast year or the restaurant year, but she decided this party was definitely the bomb.

Eventually she made it back to her room and took a nice long nap. My sister and brother-in-law were on duty and I went home. Apparently I missed the party of the century. She was up at midnight, having the time of her life. She was even singing Happy Birthday to herself. For years Mom has had us convinced she can't carry a tune in a bucket. However, Bill says she actually had a great voice. 

Today Mom's celebrations all seem to be pretty internal. Her breathing is more shallow. She has said very little to us...and at times has not recognized us. The celebrations here on earth will be lacking without her, but the ones in which she will partake will soon eclipse the one she had by herself and those with my grandfather.

Party on Mom!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Distinctive Parallels...Infancy and Old Age

So I know this is not a new or unique thought, but a year ago at this time I was caring for my grandson who was not yet a year old. During this illness with my mother I have been struck by the number of similarities between infancy and old age.

For example, newborn babies often have their days and nights confused. It takes concerted work to convince the newborn that night is night and day is day. The nice thing about babies is they can be cuddled and placed in a swing, bouncy seat or crib. If worse comes to worse, the baby can be placed in a car seat and taken on a ride in the car. Some elderly or dying people also can have their days and nights confused. Ever since Mom has been diagnosed with cancer, she has wanted to shower at earlier and earlier hours. When she was relatively stable and steady on her feet, this was not a problem. It became a problem early this morning (3:30 a.m. to be exact...and is that this morning or last night?) when Mom frantically began taking off her clothing and wanted a shower. With a great deal of convincing and tugging on her walker, I managed to get her back to bed. She then decided it was time for breakfast. Mean daughter that I was, I refused to let her out of bed to teeter into the kitchen. For all my efforts, she asked in a cry..."Why are you punishing me?" How do you explain to someone with a disease inhibiting her thought process that I am trying to keep her safe?

Of course, what advice to people give new moms for this situation? Yes, that's it. "Sleep when the baby sleeps". So it is with Mom. My advice for hospice caregivers is to "Sleep when the patient sleeps". Yesterday, I was taking my own advice. Mom was asleep on the couch, and I was asleep in a very comfy blue chair. Unfortunately, the next thing I knew there was a tug on my foot, and there she was. Mom was on her knees at the base of the footstool, trying to wake me up. Fortunately, the couch is low to the ground so she did not fall. It was, however, a shock to my system!

Then there is core strength...you know...your abdominal muscles. Babies develop these and then are able to do such things as roll over, sit up, and eventually pull themselves up to walk. I remember so clearly when my little guy grandson was learning to roll over. We had gone to Florida for Thanksgiving and traveled by car with my mom. Of course, this was pre-cancer diagnosis days. At any rate, after being in the car seat all day, Little Guy would love to stretch and practice throwing his legs over to one side. And he was such as mimic! Mom would lie on the bed beside him and hold her legs in the air. Little Guy would look at her and put his legs in the air. Mom and I would joke and talk about "doing abs". I certainly hadn't anticipated that memory coming back to me as I was lifting Mom's legs into the bed because she didn't have the strength to do it herself.

When babies learn to walk, their balance is not great. Falls are anticipated and encouraged. We all know that every baby will fall in his quest to walk. It takes confidence to walk. Babies come equipped with a padded tushy and are low to the ground. A fall is not devastating. Contrast that with the frail elderly person. A fall for someone who is compromised because of age or illness is potentially beyond devastating. There is often no padding anywhere. And there is no confidence. The skill of walking employed for 80 years or so, is no more. Both babies and elders can use walkers...and in the case of Little Guy and Mom it has often been the same walker. Both have the distinction of pulling this walker down on top of them. Little Guy was easier to soothe.

Let's not forget negotiating the odd. Children see what they want and will bargain with their parents to get what they think they want or need. When my children were in elementary school, Pokemon cards were introduced for the first time. Beanie Babies were the fad. Now we have gone through the crazy bands and trashies. How is a parent supposed to know what these things are for--much less how many to get? Yesterday I found myself bargaining with my mom for tissues. She wanted ten of them. I asked her why she needed them. The answer was "just give me five. I'll just take five". I still don't know what for what she wanted them.

So I will close with the similarities in communication. For me, this is the saddest of all, and as I write Mom is losing her ability to communicate with us. Babies are able to learn to make their needs known. Eventually, the develop speech. In the beginning stages of speech, it is usually only the parents who understand what the precious little one is saying. Gradually, the child is able to learn to speak clearly and develop a greater vocabulary. As Mom has declined, I have had a more difficult time in understanding what she is saying. But it is more clear to me than to others. She has retreated into herself, something the hospice folks assure me is quite normal.

To summarize, the biggest difference is that the strides the infant makes are eagerly anticipated.  They are wanted. They are often tracked with amazing attention to detail. They mean the child is on his way to a full and glorious life. For the elderly and dying, the declines are more often dreaded. They are not seen as a celebration of what is to come...they are seen as the completion of a life already lived. Yet I hold to my faith, which tells me these declines are the indicators of a coming birth...the birth into the next life. In this life, there will be no more tears. Her body will be whole, as will her spirit. And I will miss her...but one day I will be reunited with her as well.

Friday, March 1, 2013

What goes up, Must come down...(Thankfully)

In a previous lifetime, back when I did child therapy, I was a certified trainer for the Crisis Prevention Institute. There was this wonderful section about behavior escalation that talked about the losing rational thought. I thought I understood this very well, especially in working with kids.

So now the same principals apply, but I don't see the same predictability. The hospice nurse says that although Mom's medical record doesn't say the cancer has metastasized to her brain, he says the behavior and other symptoms seem to be classic indicators that indeed, this is what has happened. Damn cancer. (Sorry, I had to throw that aside in there...) This is new to me. I can recognize some of her anxiety triggers, and have taken steps to limit them, but I just can't always get to them.

Today's incident had Mom not being able to find anyone. By anyone, she meant my dad. Just for the record, my dad has been gone since 1995. It's 2013. While math is not my strong suit, I can tell you that   means my father has been away from this earth for 18 years. When your mother is demanding you call your father, and your father's residence is definitely not a local number, you have a bit of a problem.

Eventually I decided to face the problem head on. I did not utilize the CPI official "supportive stance", but I did kneel in front of my mother, looked her in the eye, and said "Dad is dead". My fiercely independent mother who has taken up golf, bought two cars, sold a home and bought a home, spent 10 winters in Arizona, and traveled extensively all in the past 18 years that my father has been gone, looked at me with tears in her eyes and said she did not know this. It seemed to help ease her agitation, but only somewhat. Then again, who am I to say if telling this truth was what did it? Thanks to the wonders of modern pharmacology, something else might have been working on the agitation easing.

There are certain natural laws...such as gravity. Throw an object in the air, it will come back down to earth. Soar into the sky in an airplane and jump out...well...let's just pray you have a working parachute attached to your body. (And that you know how to use it.) The good news about emotions that rise to a frenzied, fever pitch is that they must also come down. So after my mother has yelled at me to find my dad and begged me to do something to help her find her mind, she has taken up residence on the couch and is sleeping soundly. She is calm. And while I am not, I know that I will be. My emotions went up, but they will come back down. And the battle with cancer continues.




Sunday, February 24, 2013

Chester was a Wild Horse--Remembering Repetition

When I was a pre-schooler, I very clearly remember the "I Can Read" book about Chester, the Wild Horse.  I loved that story and pretty much learned to read just by learning it by rote. Forty-five years late, I can still tell you that the beginning of the story is "Chester was a wild horse. He lived out west with the other wild horses."  How many times did my mother have to read me that story? Countless, I'm certain. She can still recite those opening lines as well. So as she struggles with the exhaustion born of the cancer and the mild confusion that comes from her dosage of pain killers and anti-anxiety medication, she easily becomes confused by recalling such mundane details as the day of the week. My response has been consistent--today is Sunday. Today I went to church because today is Sunday. Today there was no mail delivery because today is Sunday. Today is Sunday. Tomorrow her hospice nurse will be here because he always comes on Monday, the day after Sunday. Tomorrow I will be going to work in the morning, because I always go to work on Monday morning. I will go because the day after Sunday (which is today, today is Sunday) is Monday and I go to work the day after Sunday.

Living with my mother is bittersweet. Cleaning her home--doing the things she no longer is able--reminds me of all the times I was a teenager not wanting to clean my room or pick up my clothes. Being fully responsible for the meal planning, purchasing, preparation and clean-up is a far cry from helping her with these chores...whether as a teenager because she was a working mother or at holiday times because she was such a gracious hostess. The weight of responsibility is different than when I was raising my children. They were healthy, thank God, and meals were taken for granted. Now I watch my mom and wonder how much of what I have prepared is being gobbled by the  menacing cancer cells and not feeding healthy tissue. That her appetite is back and she is no longer losing weight at a phenomenal rate is a blessed relief, but for how long will this be the case?

She apologizes for her lapses in judgement, her confusion, her tendency to lash out at those who would offer assistance when all she wants is to be healthy and whole. All she wants is to be able to get up off the couch as easily and without thought or effort as any other adult. All she wants to do is to be able to open a bottle of wine and pour herself a glass without threat of falling or someone asking if she can have the wine or if it interferes with her medication. My response is repetitious. This is not you, Mom. This is the cancer. I love you. I will always love you. I hate the cancer. I hate what it is doing. You are NOT the cancer. How many times will say this in the future? Probably infinity amount, as many small children like to say.

Tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow the hospice nurse will be here. Tomorrow Debbie, the home companion will be here. I will be at work. I will come back to my mother's home, and I will remind my mother that it is Monday and Debbie is not her enemy. I will remind myself that the enemy is cancer, but I will not allow the cancer to destroy my relationship with my mother.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Introductions

Hi all;

Chances are, if you are checking out this blog, you know one of my email addresses. I have several, and they are all alike--just different domain names at the end. Yes, I am the person behind "dibasketcase". The name came from my 90's obsession with Longaberger baskets. That led to a temporary crafting obsession with making baskets. And let's face it...to the tempestuous years of raising my two daughters. (Girls--I love you very much, but you sent me over the edge more than once!)

It's difficult for me to believe I have landed so smack dab in the middle of middle age! In my mind, I am still the confused kid still out of high school, unsure about college and having no clue how to answer the question "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" In my mind, I am still the young professional wife--a part of the couple that was considered a "DONK" (Dog owners, no kids--which of course precedes the having kids.) I am still the hot shot YOUNG professional social worker working in the field of adoption and brazenly ready to tackle becoming a "special needs adoption" parent.

But those years are done. I'm still a dog owner...but they have gotten smaller over the years. Presently I have Schnickers--who is supposedly a Schnoodle. Schnoodle, Poodle...yeah right. Basically he is a fat poodle mutt. He's 7 years old and weighs about 25 pounds. Far cry from my Labrador days! Then to go even farther down the scale, I have Finn--a "poochi". He is the result of a poodle and chihuahua union and my being at a pet store adoption day at the wrong time. I wasn't looking for a another dog, but he stole my heart.

I am no longer married. I have been officially divorced since November 2006. It's been so long there is no more sting of rejection and pain of betrayal...although I certainly have no desire to have a conversation with the woman who took my place. On the positive side, I have a great "significant other" (I hate being middle aged and having a boyfriend.) Together we have gone from infatuation to deep feelings to love and a tested love. We weathered a significant break up and have found our way back to one another. The future is still a little unclear, but there is light on the path.  

I still work in the field of adoption, but added child therapist to my resume. I love working with kids, but don't miss the psychotic head banging, arm biting ones. Now I am doing home studies for very respectable adults who were born during the years I graduated from high school and attended college.

Why this is surprising, I don't know. After all, those two "special needs" adoptees are now ADULTS (for crying out loud) and I am a grandmother. Of four. 

The biggest issue in my life at the present time (and why I can still proudly wear the label of "basketcase" is my mom. One year ago at this time, my mother was in Arizona and having issues with breathing and dizziness. Her original diagnosis was "ear wax". We weren't even close with that one. One Sunday morning the paramedics took her to the emergency room and she found herself in the heart hospital with a diagnosis of atrial fib. This led to more tests and a bronchoscopy, during which the surgeon found "nodules". After returning to Indiana and her family physician telling her she probably had TB, it was found the "nodules" were actually masses which were actually tumors which were malignant  cancer. 

So one year later, here we are. I am living at my mom's house because it really isn't safe for her to be alone. My "boyfriend" is living at my house to take care of Finn and Schnickers. My sister and I have hired a companion to help with Mom when I have to work. This is not going well. 

So here I am. It's 2013, I am 49 years old, and I am a basket case. This blog is my attempt at journaling and to let those of you are interested in the question "what's up?" know the answer.

Feel free to follow along and remember--your prayers are always welcome.

Dibasketcase