The Driver's Side Door Closed for the Last Time

Recently, I fell out of the driver's side door of my car.  If truth be told, I did not actually fall out, but it felt as if I did.

My sister was there when I stumbled out - weak-kneed, looking as if I were incapable of driving - which I was.  Moments before, she had knocked on my car's window - letting me know that my wait was over.  The wait for my rescue.

The morning had started with some challenges: shower, dress, get to my electric scooter and out the door.  At least finding something to eat would be easy; the local coffee shop was around the corner and handicap accessible.  These activities alone had taken too many "spoons".  ( http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/wpress/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/ )

Still, after all these years, I overestimate how much I can accomplish in a day.  So, after all the morning's activities, I watched my grandson play baseball, then lunched with friends and family, and then into the car to visit my mom.

My mother is in a nursing home and has entered the last stage of her life - unaware of where she is and who I am.  One of my sister's is my mom's primary caretaker and advocate, but another sister and I had arranged to go visit my mom this infamous day:  the day that the driver's side door closed for the last time.

As I was driving out to the nursing home, a tightness started in my chest and my breaths came in short, shallow gulps.  I wondered, "Am I having a heart attack?"  "Oh, calm down," I scolded myself.  The tightness gripped my heart.  I started to pant.  "Oh no!  I am going to vomit all over the steering wheel!" "Relax! Relax!"  I spotted an exit ramp and headed straight for it.

I called my sister, told her where I was, and what was happening.  "No, no, do not call 911," I panted out and then waited.  Waited while the pain and nausea ebbed and flowed.  Laying in a sea of sweat, I waited.  Trusting my body to gain control of the autonomous system again, I waited while my sister drove to me. 

Slowly, my body did gain control.  Unable to talk, think, walk.  My only desire: get home.

That was the last time I drove my car.  As I stumbled into my sister's arms and she closed my driver's side door for the last time.



    

Pointing the Way

Yesterday was the day we gathered together for the "Cancer Walk."  Our team was called, "ILMO Julie."

As we walked the path, raising money for the local cancer support center, I noticed the names of other teams:  "ILMO my hero, Dr. Stone;" "In Support of my friend Randy;" and "ILMO Momy" was scrawled in crayon on the back of a four year old boy. 

The crowd was small, only about 300 or so. Yet, it seemed a vast ocean of representatives for those who could not represent themselves. Often, they carried more than one name of the fallen but not forgotten. 

These losses cut deep into our hearts. As the left behind, we understand our role as banner carriers. 

For me, I live to remember and hold strong. As I struggle everyday to find the energy to cling to the Hope, I remember Julie. At only 25 years old, she taught me the joy of hope. Hope learned through suffering. 

The day's activity ended with the balloon release. What hope when the balloons formed a "J" in the heavens. 

Slamming Doors

Remember, when you were a kid - a door slamming in the wind?  How startling!  Then, the wind would slam the door again.

Today, I heard a door slam.  The sound reverberating in me.   Taking a deep, calming breath, I told myself, "Everything will be okay."

These last two days have been quiet around the house.  My constant companions:  my two dogs.  Historically, it was easy to be by myself - easy to find something interesting to do.  Now, it is difficult to be by myself - difficult to find something interesting to do.  Oh, I still have plenty of activities that I find interesting:  I love to paint, read books, teach myself how to knit, practice my drawing skills, and even watch cooking shows.  But, it is difficult.  Counting the energy cost of every activity.  Every choice needs to be considered, for example: if I paint, what do I trade off in exchange?

Since December, I have had caretakers in my home.  They started off working a few hours a few days a week.  At the time, I could manage to cook an egg and make a very basic meal.  Now, I cannot: no cooking, no cutting, no opening cans.

One of my caretakers called in sick this morning.  "No problem," I thought.  "I am an adult.  I can take care of myself until 4 p.m."   At lunchtime, I heard the door slam.  As I tried to find something to eat that I could manage.  Any peanut butter in the house?  Nope.  Did not matter, could not open the jar anyway. 

The door slammed:  feeding myself is impossible - unless I eat cookies.  My refrigerator and freezer are stocked.  I am the problem in the equation.  Opening cans is not an option.  This morning, I struggled to open a Chobani individual serving yogurt cup.  Knives are unusable.  If the food is not already prepared and plated, I cannot eat.

The door slammed, "You cannot feed yourself.  You cannot be alone."

I am hungry.