When passing is actually failing.

Watching a person age a deteriorate is heart-rending for me. I don't think any human should suffer the indignity of losing themselves to age, of breaking, hurting, forgetting....becoming separated from the parts of their minds and memories that are their reasons for living in the first place. I am reaching an age where the people I grew up with are entering the end stages of their lives, and I find I have no stomach for it. I feel that they are suffering, losing their pride, being forced to survive merely because the healthier people around them are unable to face letting them go. So it was with relief today that I learned of the death of Clifford, a nearly 90 year old man that has been a part of my family's heart for almost 70 years. He and his wonderful wife, Irene, were my grandparents' dearest friends--they even shared a house while the men attended college, my grandmother worked, and Irene cared for each couples' first babies. They moved from the Midwest to California together, and remained close for the rest of their lives. I don't remember meeting them--they were just always there. That sounds a little odd, as we didn't actually see them very often (they spent many years traveling the world as missionaries, and later moved to Oregon), but true nonetheless--like any family member, they were always there, even when they weren't. My mother grew up playing with their daughters, and when I turned 8 yrs old they would give me a miniature tea set, which became the first in a large collection sitting in my dining room.
A few years ago Cliff and Irene were convinced to move out of their beloved home of forty years (and the strong ties with their church family) in Eugene, OR, to a retirement community in Portland. The convincing was done by two of their daughters who themselves lived in Portland. Shortly after moving (and the mysterious disappearance of many of their valuable items, including Irene's jewelry--their daughters where in charge of the move), their daughters took them out for a "picnic." Instead of taking them to a park, they arrived at a nursing home--one without the Independence, freedom and spacious accommodations they were adjusting to in the retirement community--where they were told "this is where you will live now" and abandoned. They did not have the resources or capability to leave, and were very unhappy in their tiny, stuffy room right next to the Portland Airport. Their health quickly began to deteriorate as a result.
My mother and I have visited them there. Not as often as we wished we could, mainly out of a selfish sense of self preservation--we just couldn't stand seeing them there. But still, when we drove through Portland, we would go. They were always so overjoyed to see us (especially when I brought my babies), and would always tell the staff, "these girls aren't just visitors, they're family." And we would sit with them, patiently listening to the same stories of our youths and of the origin of their relationship with my grandparents. It was almost humorous hearing the little changes their memories made over time. In one anecdote, my mother asked her father for candy in a sweet shop, and when he said, "No, see, the case is locked" she boldly attempted to remove the keys from Cliff's belt loop, certain that was all she needed to free the sweets. The last few times he told that story, I was the little girl snatching his keys.
The last times we left them in that place, we cried in the parking lot. Cried for their circumstances, their growing inabilities, the disrespect and lack of care show these amazing people by those who should love them most. Every time we said we just couldn't do it again, and yet we didn't have the heart not to.
Cliff's heart finally failed. After two days of not speaking, he looked at his beloved wife (even in their convalescence she always insisted on sitting in his lap for pictures) and said, "hey there. I love you." Knowing it was almost over, she climbed into bed with him, holding him until he was gone.
And while our family was so important to him, we were not contacted by his daughters until today. He died three weeks ago. So while I am relieved to see the end of his sadness, I am angry and mournful at being robbed of the opportunity to commemorate his passing for my family. Irene is now alone, and quickly losing her grasp on reality. So while I am glad his torment is ended, I am so sad knowing she is now alone, and knowing he did not want it that way. I am sad because she couldn't remember whether my grandma was still alive, and sad because tomorrow my grandma will have to be reminded that Cliff has died.
This isn't how our elders should be ending their lives. Who are we to rob them of their power, to tell them they must go on....who among us would want to travel a road that has gone far past its destinations, scenic byways, and pit stops? Can we honestly say we would want to keep going, and going, and going, without strength or thought or memory to keep us feeling alive? To exist as a shell of ourselves, but with a tickle of memory reminding us that this is not who we really are?
As a teacher, I think of passing as doing something well. By stretching out the lives o our loved ones to protect ourselves from sadness, we are turning their passing into failing. We are making their end into a twisted unhappiness. I am hoping Irene will soon find peace, that she will not be long left behind without even the comfort of her husband's warmth beside her. I am afraid to visit her, afraid to see the profound sadness in her eyes. She has been tucked into a box, an unwanted nuisance to those who are at the same time fighting to keep her alive. I hope she beats them. I hope she wins, and that her passing is just that--that she is no longer forced to fail.
We love you Cliff.

Running hot and cold.

Literally, hot and cold. The weather (75 on Mon, 45 today), me (hot flash city), Troy's work, yeesh. I like rolley-coasters, but right now some steady would be good.
Troy is once again in flux with his employees, which is why I refer to his work-it will get better, but right now he's dealing with trying to fill empty positions, people out on vacation, and not being able to get his bankers to reach their sales goals (for two reasons, not enough bankers and no help from him because he's busy interviewing bankers). So while this week is lousy, next week ought to be a little better.
As for the weather, I really wish Ma Nature would throw us a bone! We had such a great time Sun-Tues when it was so nice out-I was able to relax on the deck while the kids re-discovered the yard, and we even did a little weed-pulling and pruning. Our Magnolia tree finally bloomed in all its pink and white glory, we were even able to fill up a kiddie pool for a little splashing. Yesterday and today we're back to cold wet icky-yucks, but the kids still want to go out and play in the pool. Common, mom, we did it the other day!! But one way or the other winter will have to finally give up its hold and we'll be able to get back outside--to a yard now overrun with weeds and muck because they keep getting growth spurts from the sporadic warm days but then it's too wet to get them pulled!! At least we won't be lazy!
As for me, I' m plugging along, trying to deal with the unexpected bumps this pregnancy keeps tossing at me. I'll say it again, every pregnancy is different-one should not assume one knows it all just because one has done it before. And even though I know this, I still keep blazing my indigence every time something I've not experienced pops up. At least it keeps me learning. This week the lesson is Anemia: How To Survive the Day With Two Young Children, a House Full of Chores, and No Energy.
Yes, unfortunately my last blood test proved what we'd been anticipating but trying to prevent-I have developed anemia, a condition I've never even come close to in the past and didn't know a lot about. It came as a surprise mainly because I've always been told it makes you tired all the time, which I haven' t been--up until a couple weeks ago I would have said I felt just great, until I identified what was going on (and realized it was getting progressively worse-a few weeks ago I felt much less icky than I do now). I'm not constantly tired, but will, regardless of what I'm doing, suddenly experience a "crash" where I want nothing more than to lie down and sleep. I get light-headed and my thoughts get foggy, I become very short-of-breath and have to stop what I'm doing until it passes-anywhere from 10 min to an hour. Then I feel fine again. Yes, I'm consuming tons of iron, and yes I will continue to increase the amount, but I may not feel a difference for quite some time. We're hoping I will. I'll have another blood test in a month, and depending on how it reads (it will show improvement, I am certain), we will then plan accordingly for any changes that need to be made to our birth plan. The worst we're anticipating is that I'd need a shot of Pitocin (an artificial hormone that will cause my uterus to contract harder) immediately after the baby is born. This is a very effective way to reduce blood loss and help me recover faster. I absolutely hate Pitocin, but if it comes to a choice between that and a monitored hospital birth, I'll certainly choose the Pit. But really this is not a complication that should cause much concern, it is easy to manage in terms of the birth and postpartum, it just sucks right now when there's so much I want to be doing and can't.
The baby is doing great, unbelievably active and never content in any one position. At our last check on Monday the baby had finally found a head-down position (which we need everyone to knock on wood for so it sticks) and Garrett and Morgan got to attack me with stethoscopes in an attempt to hear the baby's real heart sounds, rather than the electronic "woosh" (Morgan proclaimed it a train) of the Doppler. Neither of them heard anything (this may have to do with Morgan putting the scope on my elbow), but they had a ball trying. We just love how involved the midwives make them feel, even if their exuberance sometimes prolongs our appointments!
The upstairs project is coming along (hot on the weekends, cold otherwise), Troy has the drywall well underway and we're still optimistic it'll be done and ready for its new inhabitants by the time the baby comes. At least, I hope so--Troy might refuse to let me give birth otherwise!!
So while there is much flux and some challenges, we're making progress towards great, exciting things. Life is good.