The Owl in the Tree

Prologue

Dear Mom,

It’s been a little over two months since you left us. Each day is better, but the time passes, and the memories only get stronger. There are days when I can’t believe that you are gone, and I wonder what was on your mind those last moments? I hope it wasn’t anything that brought pain. I hope you were not scared.

My regret… not being there. Not being there to hold your hand, to caress your face, to help you move on to eternal life. A life I know you welcomed after the last few years. But God didn’t want us there. He didn’t want us to try and stop you. He wanted you home.

I have thoughts—thoughts that make me wonder how you really felt about me, thoughts that make me wonder if you had questions to ask, things to say. Or maybe you were okay. Maybe you didn’t want to ask. Maybe you didn’t want to know.

I do know one thing. I know that you loved me. I know that you enjoyed your time with me and that I tried very hard to make things perfect for you.

We all did.

I also think about the past. I think about what it was like for you with all of us, and with Dad stricken with stroke at such a young age. We were all so very young. It was so difficult for you, wasn’t it?

But you pulled us through, and you took such great care of Dad from the day we heard he was ill. You never batted an eye as you figured out how it would be.

There I go… wearing my rose-colored glasses!

I think about the times we had and the things we did as we were growing up. I wonder if you ever felt that you took second place, second place behind Anna, Louie, Aunt Marie, and Uncle George and Aunt Anna. I wonder what you felt as I asked if I could go stay with them, at different times. Did you feel I abandoned you? Did you feel neglected? I hope not. I needed all of them at that time in my life. And I am so very glad that they were there!

It was just as hard for me to see Pop sitting in that chair day after day, not able to feed himself, go to the bathroom, walk, or even talk. I know we all felt something, something that each one of us dealt with in our own way.

I cry sometimes. I cry for all the reasons above. I cry for maybe not doing all that I should or could have. But I don’t think you would want me to.

I knew on the day that Richard called to tell me you fell that time was running out. I knew that even though you did try, not very hard, but you did, that time was not going to stand still. I felt it every time I visited and held your hand. I felt the life leaving you little by little, and I could see it in your eyes.

The funny thing is, I saw peace in your eyes. I saw the eyes that were looking to see if Dad was there. Was he there waiting for you? I’m sure he was!

So now, I have written about us, me and you, the family. I want to share the good times, the bad, and the memories we had.

I want to offer guidance and healing help to those who may suffer through the same things that we all did.

I want to offer hope for peace and calmness in lives that are affected with things that we have no control over.

I share what we sometimes spoke about, what we sometimes laughed about, and what we sometimes cried about.

But most of all, I share the love that I have always felt for you and the fact that you were and always will be number 1! Always.

And so… here we go.

1

The Nursing Home

I WANTED TO start this a few years ago, when my mom first took a fall and headed for rehab. We thought it would be a short stay and an easy recovery as her hip was pushed back into place and therapy was the key.

Not so. The second or third day, as she lay on her bed, the doctor said to my sister, This is going to be a long haul, and that it is—long, sad, and not easily accepted.

I can’t do it! I’m tired . . . I don’t feel good . . . I’ll do it tomorrow. My side hurts . . . and on and on. No therapy. The rehab time was up. What do we do?

Prior to this accident, Mom lived on her own in a senior building. Not bad as far as they go, not the best place to be, but it was safe, clean, and easily accessed by all family members.

Even though there are five of us, none of us were able to have her live with us due to many issues. So even though she wasn’t happy about it, she maintained a fairly good existence, had a lovely apartment overlooking the ocean, and had many friends in the building.

Good deal… for a while. When that door is shut and everyone is in for the night, it becomes quiet, lonely, and scary for an elderly person. But the sun shines the next day. Slowly the building comes to life. And all seems well. Then it gets dark. Oh boy!

Unfortunately, none of us are wealthy. Income for Mom is social security. Not enough to live on sometimes. Dad worked for the county—decent job, just not much money. But that’s a different story.

We were able to contact Medicaid, and Mom was accepted and put on an assisted living program prior to the fall, worked out well for a bit—good care, carefully watched and monitored. Things settled for a time.

Today, a friend asked me if I were writing this because of guilt or to make me feel better.

I think it is a little of both, but I have gotten over the guilt thing. I do everything I can, so the real reason is to make me feel better and to hopefully make people understand how difficult this is.

Any thoughts on that?

So we were at the rehab center/nursing home. Nice place. Seems like they were nice people… NOT! Be careful. They may seem like kind, compassionate souls; but if you don’t do what you came there to do, they would rather that you move on. We found that out and could actually see the change in each one of the caregivers as time went on. We were there from October to January. And if you think that Christmas was easy, dream on!

2

Christmas Eve

CHRISTMAS EVE WAS always a big deal for us. Every year, since I can remember, we had a big dinner. No matter how bad times were, we always had that dinner. And every year, it was the same questions, How much fish should I order? How many pounds of spaghetti? Did we really make that much? That’s too much fish! Mom always made everything when we lived at home. After she sold the house, we had it at my sister’s. We shared the duties, but Mom always fried the flounder! Always had to be Mazola oil and you had to put a saucer, upside down, on the platter for the grease to drip off! Well, it was always good, but we always had too much.

It’s changed a bit now, not really the same anymore. But you know what? Change is good. It’s good to start your own traditions. Do what works for you. Have the holiday as you see fit. But it was very hard that first year.

We didn’t want to leave her that night, but we reluctantly did and went to my sister’s and tried to enjoy. After a good cry, a little to eat, I headed home for the night. My brothers were going to be with her on Christmas Day. I needed to go home. I wanted to go home! In all my fifty-five years, I never left my mother alone on Christmas Eve, never woke up in my own home on Christmas Day until a few years ago! How did Santa know where I lived! Mom was kind of in and out of it, so it was okay. I was just happy that the time passed quickly. This past year, I, my two brothers, and my brothers’ children stayed with her. We brought food. My sister cooked some for us. I set up a table in her room, and we enjoyed the night. It was good, it was different, it was difficult, but we did it, and we all felt better for it! How could we leave her after all these years? How! I can’t.

I’m kind of straying from where I want to be, but I wanted to give a little history and set the stage.

Now we’re heading into January, and we have to find a new place. Rehab is over. It didn’t work very well, and we can’t stay at the current rehab/nursing home. What do we do?

We started to look and ask around, and yes, there are some places. The problem is that they only have so many places available for Medicaid patients. You know what happens then. They look for the most far away, funky facility that they can find. Some places are just awful. And you don’t have much to say due to your status and income.

We all looked. My brother and sister-in-law went to some places to actually see them. Several joints were on the table, and none looked too promising. Time was running out, and we had to make a move. Mom wanted to go back to her apartment, but by this time, she hadn’t walked in almost four months. She couldn’t take care of her personal hygiene, had a hard time eating by herself; and due to macular degeneration, her eyesight wasn’t good. Now with this disease, she will never go blind, but her vision will be impaired. It’s like looking through a tunnel and only seeing what’s around and not right in front. I will explain better later.

Fortunately, with some word of mouth and through some personal connections, we were able to find a place within a few miles of where we were—not a bad place, seemed to be clean, no horrid odors; two to a room, usually, one floor. But a nursing home is a nursing home! No matter what, it’s still not a place you would want to spend the rest of your life in.

Well, the choice was made, the paperwork in place, and the transfer was on the move. I seem to have a little mental block here. I don’t know if it was the reality of this, or maybe I just don’t want to remember. But we did it. Mom was in place, and although not happy about it, all went well.

3

Rose-colored glasses

I NEED TO step back a bit and tell you about my younger brother. He is the baby in the family. There are five of us.

I remember as a child that I didn’t even know my mom was having a baby, and she just came back one day with this little one. Funny.

I’m not going to go too deep into this right now, so I am going to jump into the older years.

I’m not really sure what happened in those years. I have always been accused of looking through rose-colored glasses at what’s happening in the world. So what!

But I guess I didn’t see things the way the rest of the group did. I didn’t see behavior patterns or what was actually going on among all of us. I was more interested in having everyone over for Sunday dinner, having a party, or just staying home although in my younger years, I spent a lot of time with Aunt Marie. She was and will always be my favorite of my mom’s