The Little Things

7:15p and I finally smile tonight, about three blocks from home, because I remember that waiting in the fridge is (a bottle of wine) and a Tupperware of dinner that one of my volunteers at work made for me yesterday.  She has come faithfully every week for her whole college career to play piano, sing, and connect with my residents on Memory Support and her loving, accepting demeanor brings a great peace to all of us.  As she was leaving last night, she handed me a bag filled with Spanish rice and peas other goodies that she had made for a dinner party with her college friends.  "But I wanted to share some with you," she said, her face glowing. 

Earlier in the day I found myself standing in the doorway of a friend who was recently diagnosed with bronchitis, most likely because her immune system is compromised because of the chemo for her breast cancer.  Fortunately, her multiple sclerosis has been fairly  manageable during all this treatment.  I had promised to bring her a tea and a hug on my lunch break (she lives a block away from where I work) but when I headed out to her apartment I was on the phone with a dear friend, 29 years old, who had lost her father a few short hours ago to ALS.  So I forgot to get the tea.  And I stood in front of her and just felt horribly guilty.  How could I forget the tea!?!  I was so mad at

myself.  But I had to get back to work.  So I blew some kisses and promised to text later, went back to work and got my residents ready for our weekly Saturday sing-along, which is one of our favorite programs for the whole week.  Basically I pretend that I can sing, and try to mask my voice with bells and tambourines and big smiles and a pianist tries to drown me out and we all have a grand time.  And halfway through Singing In the Rain one of my residents starts having a seizure and it's almost too much and we call the nurse and the show must go on so I start talking about the next song, Home On the Range, which I always introduce as my favorite place- where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day. 

Later, around, 5p, I am catching up on paperwork and charting and I call my friend again because hey, when your Dad has died the night before you cannot take too many phone calls, right?  And she says, "you know, I'm taking Monday off from work and all I can think is Great, I'll be able to visit Dad."  Because visiting Dad in the nursing home is what she is used to doing in all her spare time.  This I know all too well.  And one of my residents is sitting next to me in my office, and she's saying, "Oh I like you.  Oh, you're okay.  Oh, I don't know what to do.  Oh, I like you."  And those are the exact things I want to say to my friend but instead I fumble all my words and something comes out like, "cry because it's good because you might not be able to cry because you are amazing because it  hurts so much now because at least you can feel and what do you need- wait no, you can't tell me that now, I'm supposed to know what you need, I'm so sorry, I love you so much..." and my resident nods and sighs and throws her cup of Ensure on the floor and gets up and goes out to watch I Love Lucy on the big screen TV in the living room. 

6p and I leave work and go to my health club and try to drown it all out in the pool- I literally get lost in the water and lose track of time but after my swim I am more balanced and focused than I have been all day. 

My friend's father died a week short of her birthday- just like my father did.  She is being flooded by love and support, just like I was.  Her father will not see her get married, like mine won't.  Her father will always be the biggest part of her heart, just like mine will.  She will never regret the years she took out of her life to give him love and light, just like I won't.  They're up there tonight, toasting and laughing and smiling down on us.  All of us.  Everyone. 

The Next Chapter

I woke up to the phone ringing this morning, and before seeing who the caller was I opted to retreat back under the covers for a few more moments of comfort.  A few minutes later I checked my messages and heard the worried recording from Geraldine, my father's old caregiver.  Although it's been years since she took care of him in his apartment, we still have a strong connection and speak on the phone about once a month.  She came to visit Dad several times when he was dying and has always held a special place in my heart.  She has a curious sixth sense and always seems to know when something is going wrong- call it intuition or compassion or connection, she is always looking out for me. 

When I finally checked my phone I saw her name on the caller ID and was immediately jolted out of bed.  In my early morning fog I was still in that place where dreams meet reality but my mother's image immediately came to mind.  While going for a walk around the block in her North Evanston neighborhood yesterday, she fell forward and hit her face on the sidewalk.  Several good Samaritan neighbors ran out and convinced her to go with them to the hospital (she sprained her wrist, was


Bonnie (center) at her Parkinson's Dance Group

bleeding profusely from the lip, and had cracked several teeth), but after three hours in the waiting room of the ER she decided that she would heal at home.  We were able to make an appointment with the dentist this morning, and fortunately most of the lip damage was in the soft tissue and will heal in it's own time.  The cracked teeth will be repaired next week. 
I stopped off at the grocery store to pick up bananas, soup, cheese, ice cream, soft foods.  My friends at the coffee shop made her special double-tall skim latte, for gratis.  Back at her house I put away the groceries and listened to Mom try to work things out in her head.  I think she was in as much (or more) shock and frustration as I was.  Every other time Mom has fallen, she's brushed it away with, "oh, the sidewalk was uneven," or "I was wearing the wrong shoes."  Today, she sat at the kitchen table and admitted that she had no idea what happened.  I tried to get some clarity- Did you feel dizzy?  Weak?  Were you shuffling you feet?  These are all symptoms of Parkinson's that Mom has dealt with in the 13 years she's had the disease.  But no, she insisted, she was feeling great, which left us both at a loss with how to move forward. 

I needed a breather and went into the basement, where some of Dad's old furniture had been in storage since I moved him out of his apartment 6 years ago.   A dining room table, an exquisite dresser, several pieces of art, some bookcases.  In a few weeks I'll be moving from the studio apartment I've called home the past nine years into a 2-bedroom apartment a few blocks away.  I'm excited to be able to have people over and feel at home in my own space.  I am honored to be able to put Dad's old pieces to use and continue their legacy- he and Mom had many of them before I was born.  But still, there is nothing I would want more than for him to see me through this next chapter.  He always wanted the absolute best for me, and stayed beside me when times weren't so great.  I know he would be so proud of me right now and would want to help out however he could.  There is nothing I wouldn't do to be able to share a glass on wine on my new back porch...we've talked in every other setting and to finally have him see me as an adult would be the ultimate compliment and validation. 

I still have two weeks until I move and am trying to get the last-minute stuff together.  I'm trying not to sweat the small stuff.  I'm trying to remember to have fun.  I'm tired.  I'm looking forward to the next chapter.  I want nothing more than to be able to share this with my Dad.  I want nothing more than for my mom to be safe.  I don't have control over either of these.  I can appreciate the little things, like how Mom's neighbors stayed with her late last night and how I went to my local wine spot tonight and a friend immediately said, "you look like you need a hug."  So we'll do this.  We'll move forward.  We'll take the next chapter.  But I'm a slow reader and I need to pace this stuff out.