December 16, 2001
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My back is absolutely killing me, but it’s all worth it. I finished the scrap book/photo album I was making Mom for Christmas. I showed it to her and she didn’t seem too interested, but she might more drawn to it another day. I have her parents, siblings, husband, kids, grandkids, and even some cousins and friends included. I love the way it turned out. I have no clue why sitting and working at the table is so hard on my back. It must be old age creeping up on me. Good idea: going out for lunch and shopping. Bad idea: going out for lunch and shopping with Mom. I wasn’t going to be gone long and I honestly thought things would go well. How can I still be so naive? Anyway, first we went to Dairy Queen to snatch up their specials, which were 2 for $2 chili dogs and sundaes. So we started with the chili dogs. What was I thinking? Mom refused to put the hotdog up to her mouth and bite it. She insisted on breaking it into pieces with her fingers. Messy! So, I finished my hotdog and left her at the table while I went to get the ice cream. When I got back, Mom looked like someone threw a chili dog at her. It was all down the front of her coat (if you want to start world war 3 just ask Mom to take off her coat), on one of the sleeves and on her cheek. I wiped her up as much as I could and we ate the ice cream. All in all, not too bad. The shopping part was when things began to get really hairy. For starters she didn’t want to get out of the car. Secondly, she wouldn’t walk toward the stores, she wanted to walk out to the road. When I finally got her up by the stores, she refused to enter and just kept fussing and pacing back and forth in front of the strip mall. Each time we passed by the desired store, I would try to steer her inside. After a few laps, I managed to coerce her through the doorway. After all that, the store didn’t have what I needed! Arrgg! So out we go. We can go home now, right? Wrong. Mom decided she wasn’t getting into my car. So we did one of those attention getting little exchanges for a few minutes. This involved me latching onto Mom’s arm and refusing to let go while she struggled and hollered. I opened my car door and blocked her with my body. She shut the door and I opened it again. Old ladies were staring at us, wondering if they should call the police. When Mom realized I wasn’t going to change my mind and let her walk off, she grudgingly slid into the car. “Wow, that was fun.” I’m thinking to myself as I drove home. I have great news. My sister held Mom’s arms and let me wipe her down a couple of days ago. This enabled me to clean her without getting my head pounded. It worked out well and my sister said she would help me try to bathe Mom every week when she visits! I’m so happy. Even if Mom is uncooperative, I just know it won’t seem so bad if someone is sharing the time with me and trying to assist. I think feeling all alone with no way out makes even little problems seem overwhelming. I am thrilled to have help with my numero uno most unpleasant task. While looking through old photo albums, scrounging for special pictures; I found a scrap book Mom made filled with all the pictures and letters I sent her during the three years we lived in Germany. At the very back was a poem I wrote to Mom and Dad for Christmas 22 years ago. I couldn’t read it without crying. It reminded me of how homesick I was when we lived in Europe. In spite of our family being terribly dysfunctional (I hate psycho babble, but that word seems to fit), there was love. Enough love that I yearned for home even though I enjoyed our time overseas.
Though we are miles and miles apart
The fire burning in the fireplace.
But you are there and I am here.
by A. D. Gordon
Isaiah 53:6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. . |
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