Road Trip Tales – Part One

The day dawned… a good way for any day to start.

First I picked up my sister – she was ready and waiting – then on to our mum’s. Mum was a little distressed when we arrived.

“I’ve been trying to phone Karen, but it’s not going through.”

“Did you remember to dial the area code first, Mum?”

In our area we now must dial the area code for a local call. This has been in place for some time but lately Mum forgets – at least half the time.

“I was wondering when you were coming.”

We looked around and instead of the one bag Karen had helped Mum pack the night before there were several. Amidst explanations we went through the bags. We were able to get it down to one bag for the hotel, one for the car and one full of magazines for Aunty.

A stop for coffee-to-go and we were on our way.

A couple of hours into our trip we took a detour to a large mall. There were some specialty exercise shoes my sister wanted to look at that weren’t available in our area. And, we had a surprise for Mum. She had been debating whether or not to get a walker. Karen and I knew it would give her more security and confidence in her walking so we got one for her. She was thrilled when we gave it to her and anxious to try it out.

Mum has always been a walker. Out of enjoyment, as well as necessity, she has walked miles and miles in her lifetime. In the past couple or so years, however, Mum’s walking has decreased and deteriorated as her legs have started to give out. She catches her shoe on a crack or unevenness in the pavement and stumbles. Her knee sometimes gives out, with no warning. She’s had a couple of falls. Now a pleasant walk, even a slow one, conjures up fear of falling. I thought that with her walker she would have a sense of freedom – something she’s been lacking since no longer having a car, or legs that are 100%.

So, off we went. Mum was excited at first and walked at a smart pace… then slower…up the sidewalk to the door, through the door, a few metres, then…

“Where are we going in the mall? Is it far?”

It was a struggle for her to walk, even with her walker, even with multiple rests and sit-downs, even with her determination, her stubbornness to do and to go. How had it come to this?

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2009

But, would it work?

Folks less hardy than we might have fainted at the foolhardiness of it. But not us! We were up for the challenge. With just a few days to spare we made sure we had all we needed. It was going to be close. It was going to be difficult. It was going to need cooperation from all involved. We knew we could pull it off.

But, would it work?

After lots of fun and conversation at the restaurant the tension began to build. Amidst hugs and laughter and “I’ll see you there!” we wondered if we would. Would we see everyone there?

Cars parked. Food and such retrieved. Stairs climbed. In pairs and groups they rode the elevator.

As I left the elevator and entered the hall I could hear voices. Happy voices. Lots of happy voices. And yet, I could see no one, nothing. Nothing except one lone shoe. An important job for a lone shoe – keeping the door ajar so that no welcome soul would be locked out. Furtively I pushed open the door and ventured the three feet into the living room/dining room/kitchen area of my mum’s retirement residence suite. I smiled widely.

What I saw was cause for relief and celebration. We had done it. We pulled it off. And, more than that we had accomplished a daring feat quietly, on the sly. She didn’t have a clue.

Mum was chatting and laughing – happy that, once again, she could have the entire family in her “home”.

And, my sister and I were happy, too. We had been able to gather everyone together for fun, food and games at Grandma’s – just like we used to when Mum had a large family home to house us all.

And, miracles of miracles – we all fit!! Well, as long as we didn’t all breathe out at the same time and kept our elbows in.

Let’s journey together.

©2009 Denise Budd Rumble

Moving mother and memories…

Over two years ago my mum moved from her house of over 4o years to an apartment complex. It was a difficult transition, not only for my mum, but for me and my siblings. We sorted and organized and cleaned and sorted and threw out and sorted and kept and tossed and… You get the idea. It was long and it was painful.

This fall my mum decided that it was time to leave her two-bedroom apartment and move to a one-bedroom suite in a retirement residence. Once again we sorted and organized and tossed and kept and…

“What’s this?” I asked my sister. “Didn’t we throw this out the last time?”

I held up a thin, worn blanket. A blanket that once wrapped precious items bought in England and given in love. A blanket that kept those things safe from breaking as we traveled the ocean to all the promise and adventure of our new chosen home, Canada.

Karen looked over from the box she was opening. “I’m sure we did,” she answered. “Oh my goodness! Come here, Denise.”

There in the box was a pile of material we had found in the attic of the house. It had not survived being stored in the attic very well and the decision had been made to throw it out. But, here it was again. Obviously Mum had reversed the decision and washed and kept the material. Mum had made most of our clothes and, as many of her generation, hesitated to throw anything away. We found bits and pieces of various shapes and sizes.

“That’s from my Grade 8 graduation dress!”

“Mum made that dress for me the summer I met my future husband.”

“Do you remember this dress of Mum’s? She wore it to death.”

I held up a jar.  “And what are we going to do with these? Do you think Mum will do any more sewing?”

To others it was a jar of buttons. To our mum it was a jar full of memories – a little white button off one of her baby’s knitted jackets, knitted by her mum – a fancy gold button from a smart navy blazer – a button from a favourite dress long gone – and many more.

Tears filled our eyes as we looked around. These were not just our mum’s memories, but ours as well. Blankets, buttons, books, tablecloths, fabric, furniture and more – each filled pages and chapters of our lives.

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversations…with my mother, this year

“Ready to go Mum?”

“Yep.”

“Here, let me help you zip up your coat.”

“No, just leave it. I’ll be fine.”

“But look outside. It’s snowing. It’s freezing out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be cold. Let me zip up your coat.”

“I’m fine! Leave it!”

“Have you got a scarf?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about that one you got last Christmas?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here’s your boots…”

”I’ve got my shoes on and they’ll do.”

“But, Mum, there’s at least three inches of snow on the ground!”

“They’ll do!”

“I’m glad you’ve got your gloves on, at least. Ok, I’ll just get my stuff on and we’ll head out.’

Worn out, frustrated and angry I head out with my mother. She shuffles down the hallway of the apartment. No dancing here, not with our bodies or our minds. No singing either. Just silence. This doesn’t feel right. It’s not fun. I don’t like it.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Sister's Day

It is fitting that my foray into blogging begins today.

Today, the first Sunday in August, is Sister’s Day.

Dictionary.com defines sister as “a female having the same parents as another”. This is certainly true of me as I do have siblings. But one of the other definitions defines all women in midlife, “a female fellow member of any group”.

Women in midlife are undoubtedly in a group of their own. Filled with many changes and challenges it is doubtful many of us choose to go through midlife, but journey through it we must. We are not a small group. Over 45 million women in North America are between the ages of 45 and 54.

We can take comfort in the fact that we are not going through this time in our lives alone, however, we are often reluctant to talk about the things that are bothering us. From hot flashes and fuzzy brain to children leaving for higher education and parents aging and declining before our eyes, changes in body, mind and soul keep us spinning.

We don’t have to do this alone, so let’s not. Come back often and visit me. I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll chat.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble