Out Of Mind

It was a lovely long holiday weekend. I was generally feeling pretty happy the entire time.

Then I went to visit my dad yesterday.

It had been a really long time.

Dad in his younger days.

He's been in an assisted living home for over 2 years now. His diabetes got the best of him a couple of years ago and he's been in deterioration mode ever since.

He never wanted to be this way. He always said - and I mean always - that when he got old and if he ended up in a wheelchair or couldn't care for himself to just shoot him. And now here he is. Wheelchair bound. One leg amputated. Completely blind. Unable to use the bathroom by himself.

I was on top of things at first. I helped find him a place to live. It was nearly impossible. Between missing a leg, being nearly blind, the constant diabetes care and then having absolutely no money, we weren't allowed to be choosey about where he got to go. But we did end up finding a place that seemed pleasant enough. All he wanted was his own room where he could do as he pleases. And he has that. A TV (which he can no longer watch because he can't see it) a microwave to make his popcorn, a place to sit and lift his weights (which he still tries to do to keep his arms in shape - just dumbbells), his own bathroom. That's all he wanted and that's what he got.

I made an effort to get out there at least once a month. It's over an hour drive from my house. But two of my sisters and his brothers live out there so he's not completely detached from others. I did make an effort at first. But it got harder and harder to do so. Or I got lazy.

I hadn't been out there since late July. And since he can no longer see to dial the phone and even getting to the phone to answer it is difficult for him now, I haven't spoken to him much in recent months.

I had no idea how bad he's become.

His mind was definitely not that sharp even the last time I saw him, but he really can't hold a conversation at all anymore.

He's a completely different person than he used to be. He was a fighter. He was tough. I guess he still is as he's still going. But he's tiny. He's helpless.

He's only 72.

He has a twin brother who owns his own home and still goes about a normal life.

My dad can't do anything without help anymore.

I walked into his room yesterday and it smelled. Bad. There was crackers and chip bits all over the floor. A tupperware container with some leftover food from who knows when was sitting on the table. There were obvious stains on the toilet that needed to be cleaned and empty toilet paper rolls surrounding it. His bed was covered in crumbs. The one chair was covered in crumbs. There was a towel on the floor. I asked him when people clean his room and he said Tuesdays - assured me they will be in on Tuesday - but that they are short staffed. I vacuumed the floor and threw away the tupperware container.

He was in the bathroom trying to wash his hands. The bathroom is not set up for a wheelchair so he gets stuck. This is made all the more difficult since he can't see.

I helped him get out and then that is how we spent the next 2 hours. He showed me how hard it is for him to get to the bathroom. I watched through tears of sadness and frustration as he went through the motions over and over again. Wheeling himself from the middle of his room to the bathroom. Wiggling the chair back and forth to get over the lip between the two rooms and to squeeze through the door. Going forward into the bathroom until he hit the wall. Grasping blindly for the wall rail to hoist himself up and then repeating this to get back into the chair. Then the struggle to try to back up and turn around in a very small space so he can wash his hands. And he can't do it. There is no room. He can't tell where he is and there is no room anyway. His foot gets caught on one of the guard rails by the toilet. Even if he makes it to the sink, it's set up for a person who is standing.

I went and got one of the people on staff. I showed her what he was saying. She had no idea - or so she said. We tried to come up with a solution. She even showed me a vacant room with a slightly larger bathroom but told me there isn't a room set up that is wheelchair accessible. In an assisted living home. WTF?

She tried to remind him where the call for help strings are that he can pull if he needs assistance, but he can't see so it doesn't matter.

He also has no idea where he is in the room. In one of the many attempts to show me how he navigates the bathroom, he would have no idea which way he was facing. The room is only so big so I tried to get him to use his bed as a reference. Feel for it. If it's on your left, you're facing the bathroom.

I just cannot imagine his frustration. It must be a 45 minute process just to deal with going to the bathroom.

The first thing he said to me when I walked in the door is that he wishes he could see.

And when I left and watched him just sitting there in the middle of his room, head to the floor, with a football game on the radio that was mostly static, I tried to assure him we would figure this out and find something that works. But I don't know how to do that. The nicer homes cost a fortune that nobody in my family has. The next step is a nursing home. He had to stay in one once when he broke his arm and he hated it. He couldn't wait to get out of there.

But I don't know if there is any other choice.

He is only 72.

It is terrifying to think of where you could end up someday. And to see it happening to someone I love is unbearable. Which is why I think I've stayed away for so long. Out of sight, out of mind. I tried to ignore it. But I can't. He's my dad. He may have not won any Father of the Year awards, but he's my dad and I love him and I don't want him to go out like this.

No one should end up that way. But a quick walk through any nursing home will show you so many who do.

His spirit is gone. He is literally just living. He gets up. He eats. He sits. He goes to bed. He loves talk radio and sports, and he had his radio on, but it was mostly static. I tried to get a better signal, but it wouldn't work. I asked him how he turns it on and off. He says he doesn't. It's just on all the time.

I just don't know what to do for him.

Family Reunion

We had a family reunion this week. It was with my mom’s side who I don’t see all that often. Truthfully I don’t see any side of my family all that often. My family is very large and it’s just so hard to get everyone together.

There were a lot of people missing from this reunion who I would have loved to have been there, but we still had a blast. I always forget I have so many cousins. I’m surrounded by nieces and nephews due to my many siblings, so cousins get lost. But I have many cousins and they are all awesome and so much fun.

My brother and me.

My Uncle Gene (who is probably one of my favorite people on the planet) took myself, my sister Missy, my brother Scotty, and my niece Kimi on a history trip around Sauk Centre, MN, which is where this side of my family settled. It was wonderful to hear how my family came to be and see the sites and really feel like a part of history.

My mother died when I was 6 years old so a lot of this feels lost to me. It’s always so wonderful to reconnect with this side of the family and get a feel for her through them.

He took us to the house my mother grew up in.

He took us to the graves of my great, great, great grandparents, Ole and Beret Johnson (not sure I got the amount of greats right). I learned how he came to America, that my families original name in Norway was Christensen, and that he fought in the civil war and was one of the few to make it back.

 Great Great (great?) grandfather.

Great grandparents.

He showed us the route my mother took to school and the church she went to. He told us about her first marriage and how that all shook out (not well).

It was just a wonderful trip.

We then went back to his house and regrouped with the rest of the family and spent the rest of the evening drinking and chatting and laughing and catching up. It was midnight by the time we left.

I have real issues feeling connected to people and this trip really made me feel connected. Family is good.

Birthday Week, Duluth, and Beyond

It’s my birthday week this week. What does that mean? Well, my birthday is tomorrow and for the Sunday through Saturday surrounding it, it is my birthday week. Basically that means that I don’t have to do the dishes all week, which, is HUGE for me. I hate doing the dishes.

But it also means week long celebrations and activities. Maybe that’s excessive or makes me come across as spoiled or narcissistic or something, but I think everyone should celebrate a birthday week. How often do you allow yourself to be pampered for a whole week?

So, Birthday Week kicked off yesterday with a show at The Cake Shop, the CakeIn15 headquarters, by Zoo Animal featuring Grant Cutler. This is the third show I’ve attended at The Cake Shop – which is really the living room of the two folks who run CakeIn15. It’s a great place to see a show. Super intimate and everyone just listens – which is rare these days. You bring your own drinks, they provide cupcakes, and the musicians provide great performances and Zoo Animal was fantastic. This Zoo Animal performance was just lead singer/songwriter Holly Newsom and her sometimes bandmate/sometimes album producer and also local musician, Grant Cutler. They were fantastic. She is so captivating to watch perform and, it turns out, quite hilarious when placed in a setting where conversation between the act and the audience and stories are encouraged.

And, as usual when seeing a live performance, I just want to sit at home and play my guitar and sing…but I won’t get a chance to do that until Wednesday!!! It’s torture. I did have a mini-band practice yesterday and we started working on some new songs and, well, I love writing songs. I don’t think there’s anything I find more enjoyable.

Speaking of my songs, about a week ago I performed in Duluth for the first time. I played solo and had a nice time. The husband and I drove up early and spent some time in Duluth and spent a large amount of time trying to get to some sort of lake shore. Lake Superior is very, very large and I was amazed at how difficult it was to just find a place to pull over and sit by the water. But, eventually did.

 

 

 I performed at Beaner’s Central later that night. It’s a cool little place. It sort of promotes itself as a coffee shop, but they also serve wine and beer, which is doubley nice. They have a great stage and it sounded really good in there.

Setlist for Beaner’s Central on August 10^th, 2012

• Good
• The Party
• Minnesota
• The Paul Simon Song
• Can’t Even Tell
• Easy to Blame
• Beg, Borrow, or Steal
• Adore
• Cast a Spell

We drove the 2 hours back home post-show on dark, dark, dark Highway 35. And, it was total white knuckle driving for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve driven unfamiliar roads at night in that – almost – total darkness. I’ll have to keep my fear in mind if I get to do any future regional late night touring.

Birthday Week will be capped off on Saturday, August 25th with a show that I get to play at the Turf Club. I’m really excited about this line-up and to play at the Turf Club on a Saturday night. 

In other news, there’s a lot of changes happening right now – a lot of uncertainty -  and I’m both excited and nervous. I’m really trying to take life as it comes and live in the moment and not worry too much about other things in the future…but I am a natural worrier so this is hard for me. It’s sort of like everything I’ve been saying that I want to do is setting itself up to happen and now that it’s presenting itself, it’s scary. It is so engrained in my brain that things are supposed to go a certain way in life and there are rules and by whatever age you are supposed to be doing this or that and, with the birthday tomorrow, it’s hard not to assess where I am in life and really look at it and to make sure I am truly comfortable with where I am and what I’m doing. Honestly, I’m still not entirely sure what I want to do in this life.

But, on Saturday I went out to see my dad again. He’s not doing well and it’s one of those things that for me is happening behind the scenes and I don’t talk about that much. People, like my co-workers, have no idea. Certain friends have no idea. It’s one of those things that I feel if I talk about it then it’s real. So, instead, I choose to ignore it or hide it. And in doing so, I am ignoring and hiding him and I feel terrible.

He’s already legally blind and has a leg amputated. He was living in an assisted living facility. He was, I think, happy there. He had his own room with all of his own stuff. He said the food was good. He had made some friends. He could go for walks.

But then he fell and broke his arm. This left him unable to be as mobile as he likes to because he can’t use the walker or wheel the wheelchair.

And then a week later, while sitting on his bed after lifting weights, one of the weights fell on his good leg and broke it. So, being that he is now completely immobile and too much for the nurses at the assisted living place, he has been moved to a nursing home and he is miserable. He can’t do anything on his own. He just gets placed in his wheelchair (which he can’t move) and sits there all day staring at the television he can barely see.

And there’s nothing me or my siblings can do.

None of us have the money to place him in some super fancy place or to take him in ourselves and hire at home nursing care.

For a man that was always active and outside 90% of the time to suddenly be stuck in a wheelchair unable to move and indoors all the time…I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. And it’s not like his mind is gone. He’s still there.

So he just sits.

The doctors say that they might have to take the other leg, as well, because the diabetes that started this whole mess in the first place is not letting it heal. Dad actually says he’d prefer if they’d just go ahead and take it so he can get the other prosthetic and maybe start to try to walk again instead of waiting 8 weeks to see if this one is going to heal and then getting it removed.

It’s all just so very weird and it makes me so sad.

He worked all his life. Put in overtime every single week. Went in at 4am came home at 5pm. Never went on vacation and never called in sick. And now there he is. That life of hard work gave him…that.

When I say I don’t know what I want in life, I do know I don’t want that. I don’t want to slave away at a job and then to one day find myself stuck in a wheelchair in a nursing home just withering away.

Sorry to get so down. Everything with my dad has been weighing on me and I just needed to put it somewhere.

Sigh.

This blog is all over the place today. That's what happens when I don't update often. There are a million other things I want to write about, but I should probably save it for later.

So, yeah, it’s Birthday Week and it’s Monday and I really don’t want to work today. It’s absolutely perfect outside. I want to be home with the windows open writing songs.

I want to be a musician. That is what I want. I want to make a living with music. I don’t need to be rich. I just want to be able to survive solely on making music.

That is what I want.

I jokingly said to my husband last week that I wish someone would pay me to sing songs to dogs. I think I’d be the happiest person in the world if that happened.

I think I'll leave you with this video today. This is Holly Newsom of Zoo Animal singing her song "Dream On" acapella and on ice skates. I'm pretty sure I've posted it before. It's a beautiful song. 

 

And So It Begins

The Christmas weekend is here. I should probably get my shopping done. Then when the next person asks me if I have my Christmas shopping done I can finally say yes. I've lost count on how many times I've been asked that question these last few weeks. Well, ever since Thanksgiving, really. I can't wait until it goes away. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate to not have 50 people to shop for. Some people who ask me this question then rattle off how much they have left and I just want to find a hole and crawl into on their behalf. Why do we do this to ourselves? My family and my husband's family have both decided to simplify things. I have to buy 3 gifts this year. All with a dollar limit. A very low dollar limit. I can't imagine having to shop for a whole herd of folks who I barely know. I know this makes me sound scroogy, but why give people more junk they don't want/need? I say it every year, but either I can go out and spend $20 on something that I really want or need or I can spend $20 on some kitchen towels or picture frames for some relative that I only see one day a year that they probably won't like/won't use and will just sit in a closet somewhere. Then, in return, I get a Christmas tree ornament for a tree I don't have and we all call it a day and go back to our homes where we won't see each other for another year.

Bah-humbug, right? I know.

I'm just not feeling very festive this year. My holiday festiveness has been waning for the last few years and this year I think it finally fully disappeared. I like to see my family, but it's always so chaotic that I never really get to talk to anyone anyway. I'm not a religious person, so it has no significance for me there. I don't eat meat so I usually get no food out of the deal. And the whole gift exchange is lost on me. I find it pointless, as I've said.

Murray really liked the gift exchange part, though.

But, it's what we do as people, right? We do this. These traditions. And we smile and sometimes we even have fun. I just wish I could convince my family to forgo most of these traditions and let's just all get together and bring some fancy cheese and crackers and some wine, or apple cider for the non-drinkers, and sit and visit. No big meal with all of those dishes (god, that just gives me so much anxiety). No gift exchange. No games. Let's just all hang out. Together.

But that will never fly.

So instead we'll get together and bring all this food and exchange gifts and it will be loud and chaotic and I will come super close to having an anxiety attack and then I will go home, exhausted and hungry and that will be it for the year. 2011 will finally be over.

So happy holidays, everyone. At the very least, we get videos like this and this makes me smile at the same time as making me really really miss my dog. But that's just par for the course around these parts these days.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today my dad turned 70 years old. 70!

I have to chuckle. My dad is a very impatient man. When I was a kid, every time we would be driving somewhere and have to stop at a red light, he would start to complain and say "Jesus! I'll be sitting here until I'm 70!"

And, now, here he is at 70 and he is not sitting at any red lights.

Apparently the assisted living home where he now lives sang him Happy Birthday at dinner tonight. He said he hated it. But I know he secretly loved it.

It makes me happy that he is now a part of a community again.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Back In Time

Today I had to run out to Watertown, MN to take care of some things for my father. I hadn't been out there since high school - and even in high school I didn't hang out there very often, but I was/am friends with a lot of people from there. It was weird driving those roads for the first time in probably 12 years. The swervy curviness of County 10 and how it is basically unchanged - not counting a few new housing developments and a roundabout where it meets Highway 7. A roundabout! Why did they decide a roundabout was the best option for that intersection?

There's another roundabout (seriously, why?) as you enter Watertown. As I headed down the hill into "downtown" this flood of memories came back. But they weren't really memories - more feelings, sensations, vibes. I can't even tell you if they were good or bad. I just hadn't laid eyes on that part of my youth in so long. It was all very strange.

Life seems to be pointing me in the direction of my past quite often lately. I find myself confronted with a lot of different memories/vibes all the time now. Whether it's people I run into/reconnect with, visits out to the hometown, family I haven't seen in ages, just random things I'm being forced to think about. I seem to be coming back full circle. I'm trying to figure out if that's good or bad.

Me at my high school prom.

Resilience

My dad had a scary day yesterday. He contracted some strange virus and was hemorrhaging and had to get emergency surgery in a very weakened state. He made it through surgery and is recovering and all his vitals are looking good (knock on wood).

My dad is 70 years old. He’s a diabetic. He is missing his right leg below the knee due to diabetic complications and is blind – also due to diabetes. He had been suffering from flu like symptoms for the past month and was severely dehydrated and weak when he went into the hospital last Thursday. Needless to say, it’s amazing he made it through such a traumatic operation.

Due to the health conditions he’s had for the last few years, I’ve had myself in a sort of readied state, knowing That Phone Call could come at any time. I’ve been preparing myself for so long that I actually had this fear that when his time does come, I wouldn’t even cry because I had overprepared and already grieved.

But yesterday I got That Phone Call - well, a version of it - and my fears did not come true. Because I sobbed. I was so scared.

My dad is incredibly tough. The family has joked that, even with all of his health problems, he’s going to outlive us all. He once had an abscess on his jaw and instead of going to the doctor, he just cut it out himself. No numbing device - just sliced it out. Pain has never bothered him.

But still, things were pretty bleak yesterday and I know he’s tired. He’s been tired for a long time. His resilience is amazing.

I always feel like I’m a person who can handle death well. I’ve been around it so often. But after yesterday, I know that when my dad goes, I can only hope to be as resilient as him.

Click Clack

My dog is old. It’s becoming more and more apparent how old he actually is. He still wants to play and go for walks, but just not for as long. His hips will give out on him as he’s jumping around. He can’t see or hear very well anymore so it’s hard to keep/get his attention. His muzzle is growing whiter each day. It breaks my heart.

But this is not about that. This is about the other side effect of his aging. This is about how I don’t get to sleep anymore.

Over the last few months, he has difficulty sleeping through the night. This never used to be a problem for him. He would go to bed when we did and wake up to the alarm with us. At most, he would wake up 5 minutes before the alarm went off and stand at attention by the side of the bed waiting for one of us to take him for his morning walk.

But lately, he’s been waking up at first light, which is about 4am these days. He will get up, shake – this causes the tags on his collar to sound like a school bell, then he goes for a walk up and down the hallway made of hardwood. Click Clack – Click Clack – Click Clack – Click Clack, for what feels like forever when you are trying to enjoy those very important final two hours of r.e.m. sleep before the alarm sounds. Up and down he goes until he remembers he’s thirsty and makes it to the kitchen to lap up water. Then he wanders back to the bedroom and stands by the bed and pants. And pants and pants and pants. I have never heard a dog breathe so loud. I feel really bad for my husband. He is on the side of the bed Murray can actually get to. I have the luxury of not having much space between my side and the wall, so Murray doesn’t venture over to wake me up with his morning breath. Not that it matters, since I can hear him perfectly well on my side with two pillows over my head.

I don’t know why he gets up like this every day (and I do mean every day). It’s not a bathroom issue. I can only attribute it to getting old and a little confused.

I look at my dad as an example. He recently told me that he can no longer sleep through the night and he gets up and paces the halls around midnight. Sometimes he’ll even do the dishes or clean the bathroom. I always felt bad for my brother, who he lived with until a couple of weeks ago, as I could understand the sleep difficulties he must have when dad gets up at midnight and walks up and down the hall.

Amazingly I manage to function every day on the limited, interrupted sleep I’m getting every night. I used to be a person that had to have at least 8 hours of sleep each night in order to make it through a day. Now I’m getting about 5-6 hours followed by a couple of hours of dog noise interrupted sleep.

But, I don’t like to complain too much about it. I love my dog so very much and I know the day will come when I will get a full 8 hours of solid sleep again and I know what that will mean. And that is a terrible thought. Because even though every day around 5am as I am cursing under my breath for him to go lay down, I know that when I get home from work his happy smiling dog face will be there to greet me, tail wagging. I’ll be covered in dog kisses and dog hair. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Father's Day

I went to see my dad today. It is Father's Day after all. It's always difficult to go over there. My dad isn't getting any younger or healthier. He's never been a happy man and age and all the complications he's had from diabetes haven't made him any happier. His biggest concern is that he never wants to be a burden on anyone. And now, I think he feels like he is, though no one else thinks that.

He lives with my brother in a trailer house. He's miserable. He never gets out of the house. He lost his leg 10 years ago due to diabetes and his eyesight started to go shortly after. So he can't get around very easily. He finds it difficult to be around people since he can't really see who he's talking to. I think his mind isn't quite as sharp anymore, either. This is a new development. He tends to go off on tangents that have nothing to do with what's being talked about. He spaces out. It's hard to hold his attention.


He hates going to the doctor, which is why the diabetes got so bad in the first place. It was everything me and my siblings could do to finally get him going regularly and to get on insulin. But now he just found out that he can only get his insulin in 3 months doses, versus the year dosage he was getting before. This means he now has to go to the doctor every 3 months. This pisses him off and he says he's not going to go and is certain he can control his insulin levels on his own.

What sucks is that he won't go and there is nothing anyone can do about it. The one thing my dad wants is his dignity and you are not going to shove him into a car kicking and screaming like a baby. So what do you do? Do you let him go down this path that will certainly kill him? Or do you force him against his will to go take care of himself? The irony is that, by acting this way, he's become the burden that he never wanted to be. It's hard to say that, but it's true. I know everyone just wishes he would be a little more eager to enjoy the life that he still has. If he would just want to go outside once in a while. This is a man who used to spend every available moment he could outdoors. Hour and hours were spent lying in the sun, tanning in his bright orange speedos that he had my entire life. I'm sure they are still sitting in a drawer somewhere.

But instead he just wants to sit at the kitchen table and listen to sports radio. That's all he does. He lives ridiculous hours. Today he told me he gets up every night around midnight and cleans the house. I'm sure my brother is just thrilled by this.


But what can you do? I love my dad more than I could ever express in a stupid blog post. He is my world. When I was a teenager, I honestly thought that I would never be able to leave home because I could never leave him all alone. But then my sister took him in and I felt that I could begin my life.

And then I saw him less and less and life went on and visits were few and every time I leave I feel this ball of guilt just knot up in my stomach. I just want him to be my dad again and I know one of these days, probably sooner than I care to believe, he's going to be even less of my dad. And I don't know if I can handle that.


But I don't know how to fix it. Because, really, how can you fix it? He's old and his health is deteriorating. That's what happens in life.

While at my dad's today, my brother's mother (confusing, yes) and her husband came over. These two used to be the life of the party. But Kurt, the new husband, had a stroke a few years ago and he's basically catatonic. He just sat there and stared. When I asked her how she's been, she said they've "been surviving". I just never want that to be the answer I give. She just seemed beaten. She said they don't get out much anymore.


It's just all so sad. Getting old. At some point you must just sit back and think, what the hell happened?


And, like my dad, I never want to be a burden on anyone. Which is another reason why I never want to have kids. I'll just let the state take care of me.

So, yeah, this was how I spent Father's Day. Contemplating life and death and just feeling all around blue. It's a beautiful day outside, too. The first one in a long time. I just wish I wasn't feeling so blah now.


Anyway, I love my dad. I'm glad he's my dad. As stubborn as he is.

Happy Mother's Day

Another Mother's Day is here. Once again, I'm a little blue. But, what can you do? Maybe I shouldn't dwell on the sadness of not having a mom to call, visit, gift something to. Maybe I should just feel happy for all of the moms out there that I know and wish them the best day they can have.

So, happy Mother's Day, Moms!

Good Dog

Today, Katie Boes will no longer have to be in pain.

She was a very good dog. You always felt safe when she was around. She loved people and had no interest in other dogs. When we would go visit my in-laws and brought our dog along, Katie completey ignored Murray and always headed for us. She would greet you with a bellowing howl, then spend the next hour licking your pants, your hands, your arms, your face.

She loved food. All food. Sometimes it didn't even have to be food. Her favorite snack was tissues. The more used, the better. She just loved to consume. She would eat batteries, socks, sticks...she'd graze in the yard like a cow, munching on grass.

She was a good dog.

She will be missed.

We love you, Katie.

HOORAY!!!!

My husband got a job today!!!!

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 73 today. She died over 23 years ago.

I was six years old when she died. I remember that day very clearly. She had been sick for most of my life...well, all of my life. I've been told she had cancer while pregnant with me. I've also been told she was on chemo while pregnant with me and that I was a "miracle baby". Allegedly the doctors told my mother to abort me because I would most certainly be fucked up due to all the radiation being poured into my developing fetus. But she refused and out I came as perfect as can be. I say allegedly because this all sounds pretty far fetched and I'm almost certain it is a story my family made up to make me feel better about things.

She died just a few days before Christmas on December 20th. My eldest sister gathered us around the kitchen to break the news. My brother took it the hardest. He was about 12 years old. He was really into eating baby food at the time. He took the jar and threw it on the ground, then ran upstairs to his room. I remember hearing him pounding on the floor and wailing. He was always a momma's boy. He was her only son.

I took the news fairly well. My niece was with me. She is more like a sister to me. We are about the same age and grew up like sisters. We snuck away from the table and went to watch tv. We had a bag of chips. I remember eating them so slowly and thinking that I should be doing something. Crying, screaming like my brother...but I couldn't do anything. At one point, I recall my niece asking me if I was okay. I think I just nodded my head and went back to watching tv.

Later that day, my dad and I drove to the hospital to see her. It strikes me as odd, now, that they just left her in her room. Being that I was only six, it may just be my poor memory recalling exact details. But, I swear, my sister told us she died that morning, and dad and I drove to the hospital that night. Either way, once we were there, everyone left dad and I alone in the room. She was laying on her hospital bed and her eyes were still open and very yellow. I'm starting to wonder if this took place the night before she died....that would make sense. I crawled up on the bed and said my goodbye. I remember feeling a little scared. Then dad started crying and I walked to the otherside of the curtain. Dad was openly weeping at this point - bawling. I had never heard him like that before. He kept telling her how much he loved her. I left them alone.

That was the last time I saw her.

My dad would not let me go to the funeral. This infuriated my sisters. But, I'm thankful for it. My last memory of her is not in a coffin, but in a hospital bed. That's a lot better then seeing your mom in a coffin. I think my sisters still hold it against him to this day.

I have a lot of other fleeting memories of her that I try to hang onto.

She volunteered at my school library when I was in kindergarten. I have a very quick flash memory of her smiling at me as we walked through the library. I was so proud of her.

She used to let my niece and I do horrible things to her hair. We called it "Beauty Shop". I'm sure she had other names for it, but she let us do it.

She was stern. My dad was the one I could get to do what I wanted. She was the disciplinarian.

She was always singing. She would sing to me and rock me to sleep up until she died. Her favorite song was "Amazing Grace". She would sing to me the song that goes "You're the end of the rainbow, my pot of gold..."

There are other memories. Random ones of her doing laundry or making dinner. But they do fade more each day.

I miss her. Very much. I wonder how different my life would be if she had lived.

Nothing More Than Feelings...

One month from yesterday will mark the 23rd anniversary of my mother's death. It's hard to believe it's been 23 years. I was 6 years old.

My brother sent an email out me and my siblings asking us to share our memories of mom. It's been really nice for me to read. As the youngest, I don't remember a whole lot. So it's nice to read about her as a mother of a teenager and adult women.

My oldest sister is 25 years my senior. My youngest sibling is 6 years older than me. I have 9 siblings in all. 6 sisters, 3 brothers. All half-siblings.

My mom was married twice before my dad, and my dad was married once before my mom. I am the only product of the two of them. My mother brought 5 kids to the marriage, my dad 4. All but two were out of the house already when I came along.

I had an older sister (10 years older) and older brother (6 years older) in the house growing up.

All of these emails going back and forth have reminded me that I used to have a "normal" childhood, however brief it lasted. I had a married mom and dad, we lived in a house with a yard, I had older brothers and sisters who played tricks on me and each other. We ate dinner together at night. I got in trouble when I did things wrong, and praised when I did them right. There were neighborhood kids who I was friends with and we would play all day. There were quirky sitcom-esq situations and serious "special episodes". We had Christmas trees and presents were purchased and wrapped without my knowledge of what they were. Everyone got together for the holidays. There were Easter egg hunts and Santas. People slept in beds. Birthday parties were had.

Then she died....and that all went away.

My "real" childhood consisted of a never ending rotation of 1 and 2 bedroom crappy apartments. Since my brother and sister were technically my mom's kids, dad threw them out. It was just he and I. Dinner mostly consisted of TV dinners. Sundays we had pot roast. I was already cooking for myself by the time I was 8. Well, heating crap in the microwave. Once I turned 9, I spent after school alone fending for myself (I had a daycare up until then, but dad pulled me out. If I remember correctly, there was a scandal with the provider's son. I was better off at home alone). I was never scolded or punished. I was spoiled rotten, in the only way poor people can be spoiled. My dad spent every extra dime he had on me. He never spent money on himself. He was a drinker, though. He would go out a lot, especially when I was younger. I spent many nights home alone. My mom's kids would come get me for holidays, I didn't see much of my dad's family. He kept to himself. He would get a Christmas tree then take me shopping and have me pick out several items, then he would choose from those and wrap them. After awhile, he just took me shopping. He did get me the biggest Easter basket every year. Depending on whether or not we had a 1 bedroom or 2 bedroom, sometimes my room was the living room and I would sleep on the couch. I think I had one real birthday party after she died. My dad always acknowledged my birthday and would buy a Dairy Queen ice cream cake and presents, but I never had a real birthday party.

I won't get into my teen years because that is just way too much craziness.

I guess I'm just suddenly feeling very angry about my childhood and I never felt that way before. I was never the kid who was mad at their parent for dying, but now I kind of am. Or maybe I'm mad at my dad for not doing everything he could to give me a normal childhood.

I don't know. I should probably go to therapy.