Bed Rails and Spring Buds

The past month and a half has been a complete blur... no doubt due to a great deal of loss.  And as we all know, the one constant in life is change.  A thing that most people dread.  But it is through change that we grow, and learn, and move on to whatever is meant to happen next.

"V" has been experiencing the same thing in her own life lately.  Truth be told, she's been experiencing it for the past ninety six years.  Just as I have for the past fifty.

Last week, "V" learned that one of her best friends, who had recently entered a hospice in FL, had passed away.  She didn't talk much about it, because every time she brought up her friend's name, her eyes welled up with tears.  I didn't push the subject, simply telling her that I was deeply sorry for her loss.

I could empathize completely, however.  My eyes have been welling up quite a bit in recent weeks.

I assured "V that based on my own first-hand experience, Hospice in FL, especially the area where her friend had lived (which was not far from my Father's home), was wonderful... comforting and caring to those who are nearing life's end.  

"I know," she said with a slight smile.  I imagine she's been down this road one too many times.

Our time together this past week was a bit different from our regular routine.  In fact, that's exactly where the difference was... trying to establish a new regular routine.

"V" was fitted wit a new leg brace late last week.  Since her second hip replacement back in October, she's had some difficulty walking, clearly favoring one leg over the other.  It was hoped that this would subside in time, but during the past month, one of her feet has been swelling up, hindering her mobility even further. 

A visit to the orthopedist for a consultation resulted in a brand new, top-of-the-line, straight-off-the-wrack, ultra-lightweight leg brace.  Along with absolutely arduous to put on, and also straight-off-the-wrack (purchased at the pharmacy on the way home form the doctor's office!) support hose to replace her fuzzy, comfy, skid-proof, socks that barely go above her ankle, let alone all the way up to her knees, like these new atrocities.

One may not think that a simple think like changing the type of socks you wear is a big deal.  For some people, wearing mismatched socks is an everyday occurrence that doesn't shake them in the least (my teenage son is one of those amazing individuals... black, white, grey, striped, checkered, zig-zagged... it doesn't matter to him what goes on his feet, as long as they fit and feel good!). 

Like "V", I'm a creature of habit.  Always have been.  In fact, the more I get to know "V", the more I realize how alike we are in personality.  As a Caregiver, this is a wonderful thing.  It helps me to relate to her as an individual at a much more intimate level.  But as I know from my relationship with "M", sometimes this intimacy can become a little too close, with the loss of the person whose family you are really not a part of taking quite an emotional toll.

Along with the leg paraphernalia, "V"s twin-size bed has recently received a makeover.  Instead of a small, almost unnoticeable white bed-rail that blended in with the colors of her quaint quilt, her safety in bed is now ensured with a much larger, three-railed black barricade that cannot help but be noticed.  It looks kind of like the bars on a jail cell.

To be fair, the three-railed black barricade, which fits firmly under the mattress, has been a huge help to "V" over the past several months.  With the old, almost unnoticeable white rail on one side of the bed and the jail cell bars on the other, "V" is able to use her arms to pull herself into position so that she is able to get in and out of the bed.  And even with the both bed rails in place, she stills needs assistance moving her legs off the bed and onto the floor.

This entire bedroom situation is a huge change from when I first met "V" in August.  At that time, she was getting in and out of bed independently, able to use her walker to get to the commode as needed during the night without any assistance whatsoever.  She felt good about that, as any semblance of independence that remains a part of her life is a treasure to her.

Since the fall and subsequent hip replacement, "V" now needs one of her Caregivers to lift her legs up and swing them over to the floor, sometimes calling for help three or four times during the night. 

When I am with her, I try to handle the situation as nonchalantly as possible, often joking with her and trying to make her smile (although without her hearing aide on at night, I think she is trying to make me smile by nodding politely and pretending to hear what I'm saying!). 

The addition of the suffocating support hose and leg brace (which must be attached to a shoe, which "V" is not accustomed to wearing inside) is yet another major change that "V" bravely tries to adjust to so that she can continue to reside in her own home.

My heart goes out to her, while at the same time my spirit is inspired by her.  Change is damned hard!  For almost everyone!  In my entire life, I've only met one person who honestly stated that she liked change... and she was a bit of an odd duck to begin with!

Add a series of losses on top of that, and it is a wonder that anyone would continue to persevere with the steadfast determination that "V" has consistently demonstrated.

Yet week after week, "V" does exactly that.  Perseveres.  The baseball game we know of as life continues to throw her curve ball after curve ball, and she just keeps ducking. 

Come to think of it, that's exactly how I live my own life.  You never know what's going to be thrown at you next.  No wonder "V" and I get along so well!

The first night I spent with "V" this past weekend, she was clearly very anxious about the leg brace and support hose.  This prevented her from sleeping soundly, but not in the way that you might think.  She doesn't need to wear those things at night.  They come off before bedtime and are replaced with her fuzzy, comfy, skid-proofed socks.

The concern was focused on her morning routine, as "V" worried about what order to do things in:  Should she have me put her pants on first, and then the support hose and leg brace and shoes?  Or should we reverse it and do the pants last?  Will the pants even fit over the brace?  What if they don't?  Am I going to have to order all new pants? 

I felt badly for her, and tried to ease her anxiety while at the same time completely empathizing with it.  When my morning routine gets changed, I'm a basket case!  This past winter proved it.  With the continuously cold temperatures in the Northeast, often getting to the sub-zero mark, I've had to adjust my shower schedule.  My hot water does not come on when the weather mimics the arctic, so I have to wait to take my shower.  This throws me completely off track, because shower time is when I meditate (or at least try to) and get myself focused on the tasks I have to complete that day.  There were quite a number of days this winter when I couldn't shower at all, and even my closest friends did NOT want to be around me during those times!

It occurred to me on my second morning with "V", after a second night of worry by both of us, her anxiety having become completely enmeshed with my own, that we should just talk about the situation honestly and openly.  I assured her, as I often do, that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, and that we needed to work together as a team to figure out a new system that works best for us so that she can get ready for her day as easily as possible in the morning.

And so we talked.  Not only about the support hose and the brace and the shoes and whether or not the pants would fit over them (luckily, we found a perfect pair that did!).  We talked about our winter of loss.  About her best friend's passing, and how even though it was expected, it still hurts.  Just like my Dad's passing.  Or "M"s.  We talked about how both our lives have been full of loss, except that she has had twice as many as me.  "V" shared about how she has handled these situations, and moved on gracefully to establish new routines... like living alone, without her late husband of many, MANY years by her side. 

And as we talked about how we each had survived the losses of many things in our lives, not just people, but other things equally important, like changes in lifestyles and attitudes, we noticed an amazing occurrence outside her dining room doors. 

Birds were beginning to appear, hopefully chirping as they searched for food.  The snow had mostly melted, and we saw some deer finally able to navigate their way across the once frozen field of beans.  Geese were squawking, LOUDLY, but at least they were flying North instead of South!

I decided to go outside and retrieve "V"s mail, as the path to the mailbox was finally clear of ice, and she had not wanted me to fall and break my hip just to get a pile of mostly magazines and advertisements. 

For some reason, I brought my phone with me.  The handy-dandy (and now updated) phone that also served as a camera.  It's become a habit (and not always a good one).  Bringing the darned gadget with me everywhere I go!  I guess I really have started to adapt, despite MUCH resistance, to life in a technological world!  Talk about a BIG CHANGE!!!

I stopped in my tracks three quarters of the way up the path to "V"s mailbox.  There, popping out of the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand, was a patch of little white buds.  Spring flowers.  The first I had seen this year.  Most likely, they were Crocuses, which are common in this part of this country, and often the first flowers to bravely poke their tiny heads out of the still thawing ground.  Even before the Daffodils.

Good thing I brought that silly camera phone with me!  I knelt down on my knees beside the newborns, not minding the remnants of snow, ice, piles of dead leaves, crushed brown grass, and spewed salt and sand soaking through my already worn out jeans, and snapped photos of the first Spring Buds.  Signs of life and renewal after a season of tremendous change.

I rushed into the house, completely forgetting about the mail, to show "V" the pictures. 

"Look!" I practically shouted at her, even though she did have her hearing aide in. 

Always curious to look at photos, "V" put her glasses on, thankfully ignoring my rather loud clumsy entrance, and peered down at the tiny images on the phone.

"I can make it bigger!" I said in a tone that clearly was boasting about my ability to use the device.

"V" smiled, and softly said, "Spring is finally here."  I thought I heard a sigh of relief in her voice... of maybe the sound was coming from me.

Tiny little Spring Buds, eager to start a new season, despite the harshness of the previous one.

Just like me and "V".  Maybe not quite as tiny, but more than ready to move forward past the Winter of loss, establish new routines, and start our lives anew.

 

Baby Brother

Meet Mr. Oreck's baby brother...

All I can say is that, like his Father, he is a delight.

Lightweight (even has a shoulder strap), efficient, easy to navigate, EASY.

Great for those nooks and crannies!

And we have a LOT of nooks and crannies at "V"s home, especially in her favorite chair.

She lets me vacuum right around her as she happily sits playing solitaire on her I-Pad.

Ahhhh.... the simple pleasures. 

There are not too many things I enjoy more than using Mr. Oreck and his son.   A bit scary...

A Kinder, Gentler Vacuum

Light, Easy & Thoroughly Enjoyable

Remember Alma?  And her complicated, cumbersome vacuum?  What a whirlwind of an experience that was!

I only heard from her once more since December, and that was when she called to accuse me of misplacing some of her holiday belongings (which I, of course, did not.).  

Hopefully, she is safely finding her St. Patrick's Day and Easter decorations without too much of a fuss!

I often wonder if our appliances, along with other belongings, and the way we approach certain household tasks, are a reflection who we are as individuals.

The above vacuum belongs to "V".  It is light, easy and thoroughly enjoyable.  In fact, I actually look forward to using it whenever I spend time with her.

It has no attachments that I know of, and doesn't need any.  It does what it is designed to do (pick up dirt!) in a simple and comfortable way, almost graceful in its motions.  

I don't have to fight with it.  Or desperately search for its accessories, after which is comes the struggle of attaching them.

Rather, I pull it out (it is extremely lightweight) and plug it in.  It swivels as needed.  And swerves to avoid collisions.  It even bends completely backwards so as to gently glide underneath furnishings, like a perfectly practiced Olympic gymnast. 

I LOVE this vacuum!  One of my goals in life is to get one for myself when I can afford it!  It's right up there on my bucket list!

My weekdays are very busy, filled with various appointments and meetings.  Today I am looking forward (NOT!!!) to having my neck placed in traction for the first time because I have such a severe limitation in my range of motion. 

Luckily for me, the above activity will be followed by a visit with "V", which I know in advance will be peaceful, predictable (in the best way imaginable) and positive.

She'll start off the visit by asking me about my week, even though I really want to know the details of her week, as they will impact what needs to be done during the weekend.  Did she have any doctor appointments?  Are there any changes in her medications, diet, exercises, overall health?  

No.  She'd rather find out how my son, who is visiting his Father in California, is faring.  When will he be back?  How is he enjoying his stay?  What has he been doing?

"V" also is eager to learn about my week.  What have I been doing?  Did I get a lot of snow and ice in my area (an all too common question this dreadfully depressing Winter season)?  She seems to live vicariously through her caregivers.  I'm rather embarrassed to say that some of them have far more interesting and exciting lives than I do!  But it's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?  I think that "V" finds all of our lives more interesting and exciting than her own at this point, as she is pretty much housebound at the age of ninety-six.  Last week, her daytime caregiver succeeding in getting "V" out to the Library to get some more large-print books, as we had a break in the snow and ice.  From my point of view, this was a major accomplishment, and it made "V" very happy.

"I bet you can't wait until your son gets back," she'll say, "So he can do the shoveling!"

And she couldn't be more right!  At the present time, there are mammoth sized (Okay... a slight exaggeration... but ever so slight!) mounds of ice outside my little mobile home.  I just position the cars between the bergs, and pray that I'll be able to propel them as needed!

The time I spend with "V" is definitely predictable, but there is tangibly soothing comfort in that, especially following the two significant losses I have just experienced in my personal life.

We will eat all our meals together, three square ones a day.  And we will enjoy an array of topics to converse about while we dine.  Sometimes the subjects are rather deep, but the way "V" handles the is full of grace and dignity, making it easy to talk about what could be difficult subjects.

Last week, we talked about death.  Openly and honestly.  At ninety-six, I know she has put a lot of thought into the subject.  And I was amazed at how easily she was willing to discuss it.

"What do you think happens when people die?" I asked, genuinely seeking her guidance and wisdom.

"Well..." she started out slowly, considering the question quite carefully.  "I think that when a person dies, their body is gone, but their soul lives on."

Short and sweet.  Exactly the kind of answer I would expect from "V".

"Yeah," I stated, searching for more.  "But what happens next?  Is my Dad having a cup of coffee with the mother he hasn't seen since 1972?"  "Is "M" having another fancy meal with her sisters?"

"V" smiled slightly at what I thought were silly questions, but her look was not one a mocking one.  Rather, it was full of understanding, as if she'd been pondering these same mysteries for years.  And indeed she had!  Ninety-six, to be exact (although I'm sure she didn't think about these things much when she was a child, innocently enjoying life and not worrying about the future, exactly the way young people are supposed to thrive, learn, and grow.).

"Maybe," she responded to my query.  "I'm not sure what happens to the soul when the body dies," she stated quite frankly.  "But I believe that it lives on in some way, and that people are reunited with their loved ones." 

My eyes teared as I asked the next question.  "Do you think "M" will remember me, even though I wasn't part of her family?"

"Of course she will," "V" said with certainty and compassion.  "You were part of her life during an important time."

She was right.  She was always right.  I so admired "V"s take on life... and death.  The matter-of-fact way that she lived her life, knowing every single day that the odds of her passing on sooner rather than later were significantly higher than all of the younger people who surrounded her.

With one exception.  A dear friend who is about ten months younger than "V".  They speak with each other almost every day by phone, but they don't say very much at all.  Just checking in.  It is rather funny to listen to them.  Question:  "How are you?"  Answer: "Fine."  Question: "Have you heard from anyone?"  (Who would they hear from, I wondered but didn't dare ask.)  Answer:  "No.  How 'bout you?"  Short and sweet.  Two minutes tops.  Hello.  Glad you're alive.  I'll check in again tomorrow. 

After breakfast, "V" likes to sit and read or play a little Solitaire on her I-Pad.  Getting up and dressed is wearying for her, and she seems to enjoy this the time between breakfast and lunch as one of simple relaxation.

That's when I take out the amazing Oreck, the King of vacuums.  "V" doesn't mind the noise at all, and, in fact, the Oreck is quite quiet compared to other vacuums I've used (I still curse Alma's Electrolux and all its infinite gadgets!). 

For me, vacuuming is a stress-reliever.  Always has been.  I LOVE to vacuum.  But only when it isn't a confounding and confusing project!  Just glide the machine back and forth over the floor's surface and listen to the little particles of dirt and what-not get sucked up into the vacuum's stomach.  Very, VERY soothing.  

And "V" doesn't mind at all.  When I get to her reclining chair, she tries to lift her legs up, even though they are already lifted.  It's a rather comical sight.  But she never once takes her eyes off the book or I-Pad, as though she has complete faith in my ability to find the little demons that live in her carpets and on her floors. 

It's a pleasant routine, and I look forward to it.  Saturday mornings with the Oreck.  Calm.  Peaceful.  Easy-going.  Almost effortless.  Just like spending time with "V".  

I guess vacuums, and other household appliances, really are a reflection of their owners.  At least in "V"s case, they are.  

Thoroughly enjoyable and uncomplicated.  Easy, light, efficient, and rather relaxing.

Note to self:  I've got to get me an Oreck!

Memorials and Celebrations

"V"s Celebratory Flowers

Friday, February 21st, 2014 was one of the most unusual, and emotional, days I have ever spent. (And trust me, there have been a great many unusual and emotional days throughout my life's journey thus far!)

As you faithful readers already know, my Father passed away on Valentine's Day, February 14th.   After his body was flown up from Florida, to be waked in the town we lived in when I was growing up, the second part of the week afterwards was spent mourning his loss, or celebrating his life, depending upon how you look at it.  

At first it felt like mourning, but as I began the process of preparing poster boards that proudly displayed photos of my Dad with me and my sister as babies, and three decades later, at our weddings, I realized that this was really a time of celebration.  

I did not find as many pictures as I would have liked, but the ones I did manage to dig up brought me, quite surprisingly, a great many smiles.   (Especially the Polaroids from the 1970's!  What fun those silly cameras were.  Talk about instant gratification long before the Internet era!  Press a button and presto!  A cheesy, poor on quality but high on character, photograph appears in a matter of minutes!)

For much of my adult life, I have been plagued by painful memories of my growing up years.  You see, my Dad, as wonderful a man as he was when he wasn't drinking, unfortunately did not make such a wonderful drunk.  My childhood was filled with fearful, and at times, horrifying moments that still haunt me today.

I am happy to say that my Father found sobriety, and for the last twenty-six years of his life, managed to live a life free from alcohol... a life that, ironically, turned out to be full of great physical pain.  One might think that this would be a perfect reason to drink, but the reality is that many people who partake in alcohol abuse do so in a desperate attempt to diminish their inner pain.  I must admit that I know this from firsthand experience, although like my Father, I have found a way to live my life, and even enjoy my life, without having to drown my sorrows in a bottle.

I apologize for digressing.  Back to the photos used to make the poster board tribute.

Digging through a scrapbook that I had maintained until I was a late teenager, I found this one Polaroid photograph of me and my Dad that made my jaw drop down in awe.  No exaggeration, this was a real shocker!

First of all, I didn't even have a lot of family photographs in my scrapbook, and the ones I did have usually did not reflect smiling faces.  Rather, there were grimaces, blank stares, annoyed glances.  Apparently, I had not yet honed my ability to catch people at their better moments!  

No.  Instead of photos, my scrapbook was filled with (no shocker here) movie ticket stubs, TV Guide (when it was in its simpler, stapled, and somehow more satisfying format) clippings about old films and favorite shows, and pictures from Girl Scout trips and activities.  Also, there were some of me and my sister (in hideous 1970's attire and hairstyles) from the vacations taken to Niagara Falls and Lake Placid with my Grandparents.   There was even one of the Twin Towers taken from the Staten Island Ferry shortly after they had been erected.  Once looked at as a work of modern wonder, but now seen as a sorrowful and chilling image.

The jaw-dropper, however, was not of a Girl Scout trip, or touristy vacation, or even a frowning family photo.  

It was a picture taken on the morning of my Fourteenth Birthday.  I always remembered (what I could remember, that is) my Fourteenth year as being filled with trauma.  The reasons are not relevant to this story, so I will not say anything else about that.

In the photograph, I was sitting on the living room couch with my Father, opening a birthday present.  We were both wearing pajamas and bathrobes (a dead giveaway that it was actually the morning of my Fourteenth Birthday and not the afternoon or evening or middle of the night!), and were looking intently at a gift rather than the camera.  And happily, the night-time clothing wasn't quite as hideous as the daytime attire.  What the heck were fashion designers thinking in the 1970's, anyway?  

Sorry.  Just my opinion.  There are many people who, I am certain, would say the same thing about my tie-dyed "Hippie" attire that I proudly wear whenever its possible... and appropriate.  I always thought I should have been born a decade earlier, so I could have been an older child of the sixties rather than an actual child.

The gift that my Dad and I were so intently looking at was none other than a book.  And not just a single book.  But a series of books.  The exact same series of black and white movie books that I now have the great pleasure of sharing with "V" week after week.  My parents had given me those books, realizing my great love of the movies.  And my Dad, in particular, was a huge fan of old movies, especially westerns.  I spent years thinking we had absolutely nothing in common, and right there, in front of my tearful eyes, was a Polaroid picture of the two of us looking through my beloved movie books.  I've had to rid myself of many treasured possessions in my lifetime, usually due to some kind of geographic move, but I always made sure that my movie books stayed with me wherever I was.

I couldn't believe it.  Here I was trying to make a poster board collage of photos for my Father's wake, and I had rather miraculously discovered the source of the books that "V" looks forward to leafing through every week.  (I only bring one or two a week, usually about someone who was in a movie we recently watched.  "V" can't read the small print, but there are plenty of black and white images of the "Old Hollywood" to maintain her interest and make her smile!)

Rosalind.  Lana.  Jimmy.  There they all were!  Caught in a cheesy, poor on quality but high on character Polaroid picture from my Fourteenth Birthday.

Me and my Father.  Together.  Sharing the happy experience of opening a gift that continues to bring joy four decades later in my role as a caregiver to a wonderful woman who amazingly just turned Ninety-Six years old!

Finding that photograph changed the tone of the whole week for me.  Rather than being a time of mourning, it happily transformed into a time of celebration.

I found many more pictures than I thought I would while putting together the commemorative collages, and my sister was able to dig up quite a few gems herself.  We collaborated on the collage, which was another amazing feat in and of itself, given the fact that we are only fifteen months apart in age, forty miles apart in geographic distance, yet often light years apart in the quality of our interactions and time together.  We even shared some really good laughs.  (My sister, much more than I, is very fashion conscious, and there was a look of absolute horror on her face when she saw images of those hideous 1970's outfits and haircuts!)  

I have a feeling that my Dad's passing, however, will change all that... and that wherever he is, it will bring him great joy.  

It occurred to me that death doesn't have to mean the loss of someone resulting in the separation of people.  Rather, it can be an opportunity to bring people together, perhaps on a more permanent basis.

My sister and I, along with our children, watched our Dad's body be placed in its final resting place on the morning of February 21st, 2014.  After that, we went out for a rare, but very meaningful, brunch together.  Hopefully, these will become less rare as time goes by.

Immediately following the brunch, I drove over the snow-capped foothills and frozen Hudson River to "V"s house, one of my movie books safely tucked in my knapsack.  I'm not certain, but I think it was the one about Shirley Temple.  Although "V" and I had enjoyed "Going My Way" the week before, right after I learned of my Dad's passing, I did not have a Bing Crosby book.  But because Shirley, someone whose jubilant spirit brought great happiness and hope to people during the Great Depression, had recently passed on as well, it seemed like the right choice.

What an interesting site to see upon entering "V"s home.  In honor of her recent birthday, as well as Valentine's Day, there were a number of bright, beautiful flowers decorating her dining room.  Sure signs of a celebration. 

And aren't there things to celebrate every single day?  Even during the sorrowful times?  Isn't life often about valuing who you are with at the moment, appreciating the present (the word present also meaning gift), and letting the past pass.

I shared my Dad's gift of the Shirley Temple book with "V", who was delighted to look through it, perhaps reflecting on a fond memory from her own past.  I wondered if my Dad's spirit would meet  Shirley's spirit somehow, or maybe Jimmy Stewart's, who was one of my Dad's favorite stars, especially when it came to old Westerns.

Later that night, we both enjoyed a special showing of "Casablanca," in honor of the soon to be aired annual Academy Awards celebration.

Guess which book is going to visit "V" next?   Here's a hint (if you need one):  Here's looking at you!

My Dad's Memorial Flowers

Memorials.  Celebrations.  Commemorations.  No matter what they are called, these events are all comprised of a collection of people who are there to pay special tribute to someone or something.

Often, the occasion is for a living person, to honor an achievement of some kind. And sometimes, it is for someone who has moved on to another place...  Perhaps more peaceful.

Either way, the essence of that person remains in the minds and hearts of those whose lives they touche, their spirits continuing to touch others, in one way or another.

In Memorium

My beloved friend, "M", drew her last breath on the morning of March 1st, 2014.  And for the purpose of this piece, I will lovingly and proudly refer to her as just that.  My friend. Because she wasn't just someone I cared for at her family's request.  No.  Far from it.  She became more like a soul mate, as we spent hours, days, sometimes even weeks, sharing the deepest parts of our hearts and minds.

I will never forget her, and yet, ironically, she never knew my name.  She always recognized my face, though, whether we were enjoying the sunshine of a tropical climate, hunkering down together watching old movies during a stormy NorEaster, or just chatting over a cup of tea, watching the Autumn leaves unveil their glorious wardrobe.

It didn't matter where we were, only that we were together.  Enjoying the moments. Sometimes reminiscing about the highly interesting happenings of my friend's past, other times pondering the always mysterious nature of mankind and it's place in the universe.   We never came up with any answers, but we did reveal some serious insights that perhaps held the potential for world peace!

We shared many quiet moments as well, just sitting together, being together, staring up at the sky and its brilliant array of clouds.  These are perhaps the moments I will treasure, and miss, the most. Simple.  Serene.  Shared.

My friend was completely captivated by the sky, and anything that was able to propel itself across its vast canvas.  Swarms of Black Flies (involving a great deal of swatting), seasonal and regional butterflies, always graceful in their amazing delicacy, and birds.  Lots and lots of birds.  It never mattered what particular type of aviary creature it was, the sight of a bird soaring through the sky always filled my friend with delight.   Genuine, often contagious glee, occasionally resulting in a mutual clapping of our hands in gratitude and respect for one of nature's most marvelous wonders.

My friend was so fascinated by the sky that when she was young, she became a bird herself as a pilot and flight instructor of small planes.  I never quite knew all the types, but an aircraft called a Cessna seems to stick with me.  And a Piper Cub, a yellow model of which I gave to my friend one wonderful Christmas morning.

Her smile could light up the darkest of rooms whenever she talked about flying.  Even though I've yet to pilot a plane (although you never know what the future holds), I can recall feeling all of my senses come alive when my friend described her days of flying, so passionate was she about her vocation.

That's another thing we shared.  Passion for our chosen vocations.  My friend truly loved being in the cockpit of a small aircraft, just as I loved being beside her as a caregiver and companion.  And a friend.

I was told by my friend's daughter that she passed away peacefully, in the presence of her children and a compassionate hospice worker, silently slipping away to...

Somewhere serene, surrounded by the love and laughter of family and friends...  A place where wishes finally come true, and prayers are silently answered..   A place where there is no more sorrow or suffering, only joy and light... A bright, warm presence that wraps its safe arms around you and keeps you safe from harm...

A place where beautiful birds of all kinds fly freely amid an endless array of puffy, cotton-ball clouds decorating a brilliant blue sky.

That's where I'll always feel the presence of my treasured friend...  Every single time I look above me, and see a bird elegantly soaring, or the seemingly endless white tail of a passing plane.

The night after my friend's passing, the Annual Academy Award Ceremony was aired around the world.  During the "In Memorium" segment that pays homage to members of the film-making community who have passed away the previous year, I thought I saw my friend's distinguished and dignified face flash by.  Just for a second.  For you see, to me, she was a star.

How fitting that Bette Midler should close the segment with the haunting yet inspiring song, "Wind Beneath My Wings."

I will no doubt care for, and grow to love, many more people in my life.  But none of them will ever mean as much to me as my friend, "M."

She may not have known my name because of her Dementia, but she was, and always will be, the wind beneath my wings.

Rest in Peace, My Beloved Friend.  Rest in Peace.

Connecting with the Past – Reminiscing with Maria

Connecting with the Past – Reminiscing with Maria



I hope you all enjoy this story about Maria, a colorful and endearing woman that I had the immense pleasure of caring for seven years ago.



The memories of her jubilant spirit, one that embraced life to it's fullest, are as bright and clear as they were when I worked with her.



We shared many happy moments together, and it is a true JOY to share some of them with my loyal (and extremely patient) readers.



Here's to Maria!