Say What?

Last week I made a visit to my friend Mavis. I sat and talked for an hour, well actually 55 minutes. That’s all the time allotted for her clients. I’m not crazy, but once in awhile it’s nice to sit and talk to someone outside the family, outside that group of friends with whom you spend your time socializing.

I first visited her when my last child went off to college. Since I was more or less a stay home mom, I wondered where this new phase of my life would take me. I would pass the kids rooms and the made up beds, the clutter free spaces only reiterated the feelings of being alone.

My husband was great. He would sit and talk to me. We would go out to dinner, we tried everything. I put on the mother’s smile and pretended. But I cried at everything. I mean to say I cried more than usual, I’ve always been a crier. Now I would cry sitting at a stop light, walking through the aisles at the grocery store. I knew I needed to talk to someone, and I needed not to be judged.

I went to Mavis. She was a friend of a friend. We talked, about everything. Secrets even my family have no idea’s about. Nothing sinister or earth shattering, but we all have things in our past that we just don’t want out there in the light. Her office was my one place where I could find that bit of insight and serenity I desperately needed to get through that time.

The things she told me weren’t so different from anything anyone else had said. But she talked to me in a way that made me come up with the solutions. Maybe I should volunteer with a children’s charity. Find a part time job. Write. Take time to find out who Wendy is now that she’s not ______’s Mom.

This time the visit was about my own expectations. My Mom’s thinking of selling her home of 55 years and moving to a condo. She seems to be counting on me to help her with the decision. My kids all seem to be in flux in their lives, looking towards new jobs and new directions. More times than not the calls come to me. And as Mavis told me one of my biggest problems, as well as asset, is that I’m a fixer. When someone says they have a problem I will jump in with both feet to help them resolve the issue.

SO - now I am working on letting people solve their own problems. My first question will be, ”What do you think?” And when I hang up the phone I’ll put the problem away and go write or garden.

Yeah right!!!!

Anyway, I promised to try.

What Should I Say

I was talking to a friend the other day that had recently lost her mother. She kept saying, “It just feels weird, I can’t explain the feeling.”

I knew exactly what she was talking about. Sixteen years ago I lost my Dad. He was the hero you read about, the guy that stands up for injustice and believed in helping those less fortunate. He had a good time wherever he went and I felt pride when people would say, you look just like your mom but act just like your dad. He wasn’t perfect, he was human.

But when he died I remember walking around and the strangest feeling would come over me. Then one day I realized how it felt. It was as if something had been amputated. A limb had been snatched from somewhere deep in my being. I’d feel it there at brief moments, possibly like an amputee might still feel their missing appendage. But then it would be gone.

I tried to explain this feeling to my friend and a look of understanding crept across her face. “People,” she said, “kept telling me it was a blessing as Mother had Alzheimer’s. But losing her feels like anything but a blessing.”

Maybe it was because of all my years working at a Ronald McDonald type house. I sat with a Mother during organ donation procedure before taking her child off life support. I helped plan a funeral for an infant and sat with parents while we waited for oncology reports. People don’t want to hear, it was a blessing or that it was God’s plan. They want to hear that you’re sorry and understand, but mostly they want to tell you about their loved one, share experiences and memories.

So I sat with my friend as she reminisced. I told her you will always miss that part of your life. I talk to Dad every day, usually when I’m out in the yard or doing some home improvement activity. When I see something he would love, an incredible sunset or just beautiful wildflowers by the side of the road. It helps keep him in the special little place in my heart, tucked in safe and sound, protected from the pain. He’s my biggest fan and most brilliant critic. And he is always with me.

Have A Sandwich

So, like most of my friends, I spend a great deal of time trying to help my children and my parent. I have heard us called the sandwich generation. It’s not something new. Every fifty something since the beginning of time has had dealt with this situation.

Grog – “Ugh, Mom shouldn’t live in her own cave anymore. Should she move into the cave next door?”

Or

Grog – “Ugh, kid no able to feed self out in the world. They move home.”

It’s not a problem and I’m not complaining, but it is what it is. We juggle our time, we listen to the problems that they are going through and we try to help. Of course most times they don’t want our help, just our time.

A friend of mines mother had her license taken away recently. It sent her and her mother into a tail spin. My friend, for the sake of anonymity I’ll call her Trudy, works long hours as an RN and now has to juggle her life to include doctor’s appointments, grocery trips, and outings. When she suggested using a local group that “Drives Ms. Daisy”, her mother had a conniption. She had taken care of her mother, why wasn’t my friend able, no, “happy” to do the same for her.

Maybe it was because Trudy’s daughter had just had her first baby and didn’t want to leave the child with a sitter. Trudy was babysitting her granddaughter twice a week on her days off. So now she has to put the car seat in, load the baby and baby paraphernalia and drive her mother, sometimes at a moment’s notice.

When we’re out for our weekly round of drinks and dessert we listen patiently. What we want to say is, “Tell your daughter to get a good babysitter and stop bouncing that poor baby weekly between mother, mother-in-law, sister or any other family member available. And tell your mother to schedule her appointments for one day a week so it’s convenient for EVERYONE.”

We don’t mind helping out, in fact most of us consider it a privilege, but there has to be a mutual respect for our time. It just makes things easier.