Phases

There are always plusses and minuses in any new phase of life. I am stuck right now in the minus zone. Rachel has one year left at home-one year left for me to homeschool her, although I will not even be doing much of that next year as she will be taking most of her classes elsewhere. Christina wants to skip a year and start high school. Why do they want to grow up so quickly? There are so many things that I miss about the younger years-the things they played, the time we spent reading, outings we used to go on, not being so busy and so bound by activities-the thing I miss the most, however, is knowing that I had a lot of time still left. I don't have that any more with Rachel. We are down to the wire and I don't like the wire.
I must force myself to look the way of the plusses. The fact that I can have amazing and deep conversations with my girls. Seeing them coming into their own-becoming their own people, with independent ideas and goals. Seeing them fail, and pick themselves up, seeing them learn to love and obey God more and more each day. Knowing that we have had so many memories together that will last a lifetime and that I have no regrets about putting them in school and losing all these years. Still, my thoughts wander back-taking them to Awana when they were younger, going on little road trips-the two of them riding in the backseat together and playing/singing, coloring together while I read to them, putting on plays on the weekend and playing dolls for hours. I know they have to grow up-it is just so hard. I love where they are now, I just don't want them to leave-and yet I do, because I know they have to become their own people with their own lives and that is one of my goals as a parent: to get them to the point of leaving and doing it successfully. It won't be without pain.

Losses

I am mourning all the losses that accompany this disease called Alzheimers. It is a slow and gradual and unpredictable death and instead of mourning it after the fact, I have to mourn it now-little by little. Today I have been thinking about all the things my mom will no longer be able to do with my girls, especially. They are the extension of me now and I had so many hopes for times with their Grandparents that probably will not be realized now. This also encompasses my dad, as we cannot leave mom and go galavanting around. No more Greenhorn walks, no more hiking adventures. No more telling of Sammy Squirrel (my girls were getting too old for that anyway). Probably no more painting lessons, reading aloud or dancing while mom plays her beautiful Chopin pieces. No more seeing Gram cook in the kitchen-I even have to mourn the loss of conversations and the transfer of her memories and values. I hate this disease. It is a thief. I have to force myself to move on from the mourning place and do this quickly as it is dangerous to spend too much time here. My family has already told me that. I have to remember that maybe the Greenhorn is out, but quiet walks are not. We can still play games and read to Gram and the girls can play the piano for HER-she would like that. She can hear Christina sing and watch Rachel dance and that will bring HER joy. Now it is about her, not us. It has always been about us and now we are passing the baton. We can tell her stories, and ask her questions and listen when she wants to talk and try to get her to be able to open as many memory doors as she can and pull out whatever is left behind each one. That we can do and we must. This gives me hope and a purpose and ultimately, that is what the other side of grief is all about.

My Alzheimers friends

We spent another day at the Alzheimer's center yesterday. We sang carols, played Christmas songs, passed out cookies and just visited. I believe it will be the most memorable and important event of our Christmas season this year. I highly recommend it. The Franklin and Wohl kids were at the piano and 2 precious ladies came up and stood there almost the whole time, singing with the music. One had no front teeth. Her name was Nancy Ruth, I believe, and she was just precious. She said "I wish you could always be here" or something to that effect. I told her we would be coming back and she quickly said "when?" I told her after the new year. She said "we might not be here then." I could not argue that. One sweet man must have eaten at least 5-6 cookies. One lady kept staring at me with a confused look on her face. I think I reminded her of someone. She talked with me and the only words I could make sense out of at all were "we will go have a coke"-I told her that sounded nice. I said "God bless you" on the way out and gave her a hug and she said "Oh, yes, Lord." Maybe she is a believer. That is these folks only hope at this point. I love them all. They are delightful and have no idea how much joy they bring into my life just by being who they are. May we have many more times together.

Stages

We watched home videos last night to celebrate the girls' birthdays. There was Rachel with blonde curly hair smiling her little smile and speaking so distinctly-almost with a British accent. There was Christina toddling across the floor, plopping down with her thumb in her mouth-both of them, big eyes looking at the camera-in the tub splashing each other with bubbles-crawling like crabs and going in circles like dogs chasing their tails. It made me long for those carefree days when everything we did was fun and new and life was just a breeze. But then I realize that I do not have the energy for that anymore and that I like to be able to have the long conversations about deep issues with my girls that I have now. They will never be babies again, or really kids, but they will always be mine and we will always love each other and be in each other's lives and for that I am so grateful. Thank you, God, for giving me such exceptional people to be my children and for the privilege of raising them.

Flying and Faith

I love flying! However, being in the clouds is a little unnerving. It reminds me of our walk of faith-a little unnerving as well. In the lcouds, I trust the pilot to know where he is going, thought I can't see a lick-and I so want to! I trust God too, to pilot my life-guide me through the thick of it even when I can't see. I depend on the plane-to be secure, steady and safe-as I depend on God Almightymy refuge-my steel cabin. The turbulence comes in the clouds as it does in life. I get jostled and jiggled and knocked around but...Jesus Saviour Pilot Me!

Beauty from Ashes

Isaiah 61:3 says that God will comfort those who mourn, that He will "give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a spirit of faiting so they will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified." I want to be an oak of righteousness but first come the ashes. I experienced this verse first hand as my daughters and I went to minister at an Alzheimer's center this past week. God blew away the ashes and mourning of my mom's diagnosis with Alzheimer's and of my Aunt's recent death (she had Alzheimers) and allowed me to see His beautiful garland through the ministering hands of my daughters. As they played the piano and rubbed lotion on these precious people's hands, my heart melted-my soul was beautified and the oil of gladness flowed in my heart. To hear my girls speak words of comfort and gentleness to these often forgotten people and to rub their hands with tenderness and sing along to "Jesus Loves Me" ministered to my broken heart better than anything else. And God gave me a vision-to work with people with Alzheimers-to care for them, love them, bring some small joy and light into their lives-however transient. This is the planting of the Lord and I know He will bring it to pass. I feel a joy instead of helplessness. I feel I have come home.

Denial

Denial is like the eye of a hurricane. It brings a pseudo sense of peace in the midst of the storm. You think all is well, for a brief time. Then into the storm you go again-get whipped around in the fury, realize that "oh, yes, this is a storm I am in" and long for that sweet eye spot again. I have been in denial about my mother's Alzheimers-just for a brief time-just a couple of weeks. Enough time for me to sweep it into the background of my life while I go on. Last night I was thrown from the eye back into the storm. I have come to realize that although it is not optimal, I am going to have to use denial again periodically. Like a window shade you can pull down to hide the view outside. I will have to pull it down so I can go on with my life and concentrate on what is inside the house and not the ravages outside. My shade will give a little relief and then I know it will suddenly spring open, unexpectedly or perhaps I will open it for a little peek. Maybe someday, by God's grace alone, I can lift it completely and live inside, while still fully seeing what is outside. God will give me the strength to do this someday. But for now, I think He is helping protect me until He knows I am strong enough-to weather the storm-to really see what is outside.