Memories, Tears and Apathy - Part 1

I haven’t been writing much these days because it just seems everything has conspired to take the wind out of my sails – a perfect storm of seemingly diminutive events that just got a hold on me all at once and the end result - lack of interest in so many things.

So, I will begin with Part 1 which has a lot to do with memories and tears. Tears of melancholy of my past – childhood.

My Aunt Grace, or Aunt Weenie as we called her, has been battling Alzheimer’s for the past two years. It has been ever so unrelenting in chipping away at her memories. Even last year at a family picnic I could see she no longer recognized me which stung even more when I thought of all the aunts, uncles, great ones too, grandparents, great-grandparents, cousins and in-laws that have passed before: accidents, diabetes, heart attacks, Alzheimer’s (again) and old age. Gone were so many of the family members who were always in attendance at our gatherings of the 1960s mainly. I could just close my eyes and reminisce about our family picnics in our rather large yard or our cookouts at a nearby lake complete with boat rides.

I remember:

Root beer and birch beer on tap for us kids in big metal tubs wrapped in old hand-made rag carpets to keep the ice blocks from melting fast.

The old portable outdoor sink to rinse the glasses – remember highballs?? I do.

Fireworks before so many became illegal.

Polkas – weddings used to be so much more fun back then too!

Hide and Seek with Uncle Vince.

Ann doing a hula dance in the yard in the fake purple grass skirt one of my sisters used for Halloween.

Garden hose fights with my father which usually wet most of the slower relatives.

Aunt Weenie went into a nursing home about a month ago when she kept falling and refused to walk anymore. She didn’t recognize her husband, our Uncle Billy, now either.

To me, Aunt Weenie and Uncle Billy are the last two who were always at a family function back then when family stuck together and had found fun in the simplest of yarns, practical jokes, gags and harmless pranks. A chapter in my life is closing.

What made this yearning for old days even more wounding recently was the addition of illnesses of both my parents.

My father has had heart problems before which he fixed with stents, catheterizing and even a triple bypass a couple years back. Now, his lungs keep filling with fluid and he has been hospitalized three times recently. The doctors are not willing to perform another major operation but will give him a defibrillator/ pacemaker to regulate his heartbeat better. They say his arteries are too calcified for any further invasive surgery. So, between this and his new medications, he’ll have some time. This will not be a long term solution. He wants so much to be active even at 81! Oh, and he has gout which has deformed his hands into knobby, almost useless tools. I look at this frail man now and think back to when he was younger when I was a child. He was a stocky, muscular man who was always gardening, doing yard work and had a home-repair or improvement project going. This has got to upset him being so confined by his afflictions now. It is very clear how unhappy he is when he sometimes tells someone that he was happy with his life and if he were to die tomorrow – he’s ready. But, are we, his children?
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Now, my mother, who at 77, has had her battles over the years with Type 2 diabetes, a weight problem and low-grade emphysema had to be tested for a back problem. In the course of this, we were told they had found a mass on her left kidney and there was a 99% chance it was cancerous. They said she would never survive the operation and/ or recovery because of her weight and have given her one to five years depending on the growth of the cancer. But,, the doctors were quick to add that she might die of a heart attack from her weight even before the .cancer gets her. I guess we’re supposed to feel better!! Her back problem? They found deteriorated disks which would require injections because an operation was out of the question

So, you would think all the children would pitch in. My father and mother had eight children (four boys and four girls) before they divorced and my mother had one more (my half-brother) when she remarried. I only can vouch that four of us, three sisters and myself – the gay one, seem to be doing the majority of the care and hospital visits. The eldest brother and the half-brother only help when thoroughly cajoled by the three sisters and very reluctantly and minimally. Me? I have no use for any of my brothers, the one sister and the half-brother. Alright, I can excuse one brother for he is barely supporting a wife and child, and he calls – sometimes. Well, at least he calls every now and then. One brother and one sister never call them.

So, the majority of any offer of help to my parents be it going out for dinner, getting a prescription, going grocery shopping or a doctor appointment – falls onto the three sisters and me.

And, I hate that I am limited because of my wheelchair but am thankful that I have the mini-van now and can help take them where they need or want to go. But then, I do help with the phone calls and researching on the Internet.

One project that I have begun investigating recently is having a wheelchair ramp put onto my mother’s house. This is very emotional for me because it is the house I grew up in and never imagined to have to put a ramp on it. My reasoning for this addition is that I can get into the house now and help with the cooking and cleaning. My role of caregiver will increase for my mother now and hopefully alleviate some of the hardships from my three sisters.

On that note, my father already has a ramp because of his now deceased second wife and he is very mobile – more than he should be!! My big contributions to my father recently are taking him to dinner, church picnics and errands. He loves to visit with me too!

At night, I go out to the deck on the front of the house just to look at the mountain and my mother’s house about 100 yards away. (My mother sub-divided her property so my place, my sister’s house, overlooks hers.) I look at the very clear star-filled sky or the moon, then watch the fireflies and feel my emotions begin to swell. I remember so much, too much, of simpler days when we had family picnics here or at a lake, spent an evening chasing fireflies (and capturing them in old mayonnaise jars with some grass in the bottom), went bike riding, swam in the river or a creek or a pond, built forts from snow or ferns, sledding, having a garden, helping with the canning (I still remember skinning the scalded tomatoes, cutting beans and helping make pickles), and on and on.

There is so much the younger people (my nieces, nephews and their children) missed out on and it hurts when they cannot understand the reasons for my discomfort and sadness when I speak of the “old days.” It is a sad ending for me.

Next is part 2 coming...