Running before the storm

Mom, Sunday

Sunday I was torn, yet again, between my mother and my children.

Any plans I'd had for the next few days were scotched by the coming of Sandy, a "Frankenstorm" of supposedly biblical proportion.

And this meant especially that I would not be spending Monday with my Mom at her Long Island nursing home, but instead in my home, holed up with the kids, as school was being cancelled. Furthermore, if the storm proceeded as forecast (and it did, as we all know, rather exceed expectations) it would be days and days before I could get out to see her again.

The choice was clear: Sunday or not until Friday at the soonest, if that.

My practical mind told me not to go. Driving was out of the question, as the mere possibility of car trouble, accidents, etc. stranding me out on Long Island for the week was giving me palpitations. But the subway and train option was not ideal either, as New York City's entire transit system was being shut down preemptively at 7pm that evening.

And yet... and yet... my heart told me to go.

And my gut.

Because as much as Mom does not consciously remember my visits, at some deep, other level, she knows. And it affects her in all ways, physical and mental.

Things happen. The initial fall. The middle of the night sink vs. face incident. The butter knife fiasco. These all occurred after a missed visit. They all happened on the rare occasion of there being more than a week's passing since I had last seen my mother. Or, more germanely, since she had last seen me.

So I feel that while she may not remember my time with her, something in her psyche does, and she unravels a bit, if that's missing.

Now this may be all malarkey. It might be coincidence. I may be borrowing guilt for no good reason. But what if I'm not wrong?

And then there's that other thing: what if I don't go and something happens during the storm?

So I fought with myself a bit; crowd-sourced my decision by posting my dilemma to FaceBook, but ended up, of course, taking only the advice that fit in with my gut feeling, unshakable, that this trip needed to be done.

And so it was.

I would have to time it very well. No chance to linger. I would have to catch my train home well before the last subway was leaving Penn Station.

(Such an odd concept to a native New Yorker: the "last subway" being normally non-existent in this, the city that never sleeps. I remember being shocked when I lived in Boston for a college summer to discover the T stopped at midnight, and equally appalled by Paris's dernier métro.)

Going out, I was lucky with the subway, a number two train pulling in moments after I'd arrived in the station, so I made my train with time for Starbucks (there just may be a god).

I arrived to find Mom playing bingo, a new-found pleasure she finds as embarrassing as it is enjoyable (she likes to win, my mother does).

And then, too, a brief visit from Uncle Walter - Mom's 85 year-old "baby brother" - who came bearing flowers, fruit and chocolates, as always.

Mom and Walter at the BINGO table

Owing her a manicure for many weeks running now, I managed to get Mom's nails done as she played, no mean feat.

"I love it when you do my nails" Mom always tells me. But getting her to remember they're wet and hold her hands still long enough for them to dry unmarred is quite another story. (I've figured out to do them one at a time. It takes twice as long, but is the only way it works without tears.)

Still, it's a tangible reminder that I've come, and this is a very good thing. "Your nails are lovely" everyone tells her, and she answers "My daughter did them!"

And then she remembers, she knows (at least for the next few minutes) that I was there.

October Thoughts

Mom, on the last day of September

It's the first of October... and what will this new month bring? Certainly more visits to my mother, twice or thrice weekly, sometimes with a boy or two in tow, sometimes not. (This past Sunday, with.)

Mom & Jake on Sunday

The air took a turn for the crisp today, and I was so ready for that, as my thoughts are gliding towards the autumnal too: a little sad, the bitter mixed in with the sweet. These are the days of waning and I feel that in nearly all things right now.

None more so than when visiting Mom.

She is so diminished, I don't even know what to do with my feelings when I see her. I just try to care for her as best I can. I hold her hand and look into her eyes. We talk a little but not so much, the deafness being a barrier as well as the cognitive dimming.

I take her out into the courtyard every time I come so she can get fresh air and see the trees and flowers, birds and squirrels - what passes for nature in a paved suburban enclave. I massage her shoulders - feeling the muscle melting away, more bone and less flesh each time - and try to make sure she is being properly taken cared of.

But "Mom"? Pretty much not there any more. Just a sweet old lady with a few of her memories (and fewer by the day).

Ethan is a soccer player now

And yet there is also this: Ethan woke up earlier than usual this morning, at the same time as Jake. Unable to fall back asleep, he joined us in the living room, and instead of his usual cranky not-ready-to-be-awake self, was incredibly helpful with getting Jake ready for school.

Ethan remarked upon the still dark at that wee hour, pondered the breaking dawn. He also kept track of the time and kept himself rather on schedule to get ready for school, too. And that was just the beginning...

I had a trying day today. Literally. An Impartial Hearing is in progress with the city's DOE over Jake's schooling, and today was an in-session day. I obviously can't talk about any of the details of it, as it is... in progress, other than to say: it's about as much fun as you imagine it to be.

The hearings are in downtown Brooklyn, and we are keeping our babysitting down to a minimum these days, which meant that Dan was in charge of the boys this afternoon until I could wend my way back to the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I came home to find quite a scene: Ethan was in the middle of patiently helping Jacob with his homework (had gotten half his own homework done already, too).

You could have knocked me down with a feather. If you are at all aware of the normally fractious relationship between my boys (just this weekend, for example) you will be stunned at the miracle this event represents.

And then? And then? And then...

Ethan made dinner for himself and Jacob. Nothing elaborate, rather basic - organic hot dogs grilled in the toaster oven, cut up fruit, baby carrots, bread / rice crackers. But still, he took the initiative,  volunteered, followed through. Incredibly proud of himself afterwards (and rightly so).

So maybe another thing this month that's autumnal and waning is a good thing: Ethan's nine year-old obnoxiousity giving way to some incoming ten year-old maturity. A mightily welcome October surprise indeed.

And I'll leave you with a little more bit of October:

A live performance from The October Project - an old friend of mine's band from the 90s. They're lovely if you've never heard them. Haunting alternative rock. Had a few albums out. Enjoy....

Visiting Mom

Mom, September 14th, 2012

Mom was far, far away when I came to see her today.

Sad,

sleepy,

lost inside herself.

She came to for moments, smiled as I placed a few familiar, much beloved objects into her hands.  But mostly she closed her eyes and drifted away.

Mom, dozing in the sun

I brought her outside, as I always do.

"It feels so good," she said, as I placed her in the warming sun. "I'm always so cold."

Mom, beautiful in profile

It's been hard since this latest fall. She has not been eating enough, her weight is down. She looks in the mirror and cries, not seeing her own beauty, finding only an old woman in a wheelchair.

I met with her team, we're making adjustments. They had her on a low-fat, low salt, "heart healthy" diet and needed my permission to take her off of it (as well as the doctor's go ahead).

This is one example of what is so wrong with our compartmentalized, knee-jerk medical system. Looking at the individual diagnosis instead of the whole person. High cholesterol = low fat diet.

I laughed because I didn't want to cry in that office. I was glad they were actually on the same page:  that putting a woman with a progressive heart condition who was clearly in the last year or so of her life - and who was losing weight due to poor appetite - on a restricted diet was beyond ludicrous.

It's all about quality of life now. We all agreed. Milkshakes are now on her meal plan. Ice cream sundaes. As much salt as she wants to make the food tastier.

And an adjustment to her medications to try to wake her up a bit.

I hope it all works.

I miss my mom.

I'm not ready to say goodbye.

Not yet.

I want more stories, a few more laughs.

To feel her shoulders relax as I massage them.

"Mmmm that feels so good." she said, patting my hand.

Before she drifted off, once again, to sleep.