Reality of no time or space

There is a place of no time with no boundaries of space or place. It is a place where one can be young and old. New jobs and old, loved ones long gone from this earth and new friends – all mingle together in a cacophony of emotions and goings on.

It is a place where thinking and worrying and turning a problem over and over in one’s mind for days, sometimes weeks, brings about a concrete solution – a concrete “thing” – so that the worry passes and action ensues.

One can enjoy their children as young needing care, and as grown with spouses and children of their own. One can converse about the every day, the new job of a child or grandchild, the upcoming journey, the course of a school year, and about the present daily happenings of a parent long passed into glory.

There is no time continuum. There are no boundaries. Imagination becomes reality. There are no limits to the realization of our fondest dreams and longings.

This place is called “dementia brought on by small blood vessel disease.”

As the child I watch as my mother lives her days in a morphed combination of past and present. For now she is in a happy place and I pray it stays so.

She and I converse. “How are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m well, Mum. Busy with my job – but it’s good.”

“And your hubby – is he enjoying his semi-retirement? How about the children?”

And I wonder how old she thinks “the children” are, but she continues and asks if my youngest is finished university yet, and I realize that for this moment she is very much in the present and in tune with my reality.

She listens to my answers and then continues, “I talked to my Mam this morning. She was wondering when I’d be able to come home…”

And so in the exhale of a breath she is years and continents away, but every bit in her present and her reality as I am.

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2010

Road Trip Tales – Part Three

We had a comfortable night in the hotel – after finally finding one! Who would have thought we’d have trouble finding a room in Belleville, in the middle of the week!

We had a leisurely breakfast before we loaded into the car. A stop at a country craft and bake shop for goodies and baked goods and we were on our way to Aunty K. This time we took the major highway. Time for gawking about was over. It was time to just get there. It had been a year since our last visit.

Aunty K.’s face lit up when she saw us. “What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

She sat in her wheelchair, one side immobile. Her hair looked like it could use a good wash and a set. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Aunty K. How are you doing? You look good.”

And she did. She was a sight for sore eyes.  Even with one arm she gave good hugs and her eyes twinkled.

We sat and chatted for a little while. Mum had eaten the last part of her sandwich in the car. “Of course it’s all right.” So Karen and I decided to go out for some lunch promising to bring back cups of tea to have with our dessert. We thought that the two friends might want to have some time for themselves.

Joining them after lunch we laughed until we almost cried, tears of joy and sadness blending, as we reminisced, drank our lukewarm tea from take-out cardboard cups and ate chocolate éclairs – freshly baked. We talked about cheeky mosquitoes in the church, baking pies in the cottage woodstove in 80F degree heat, and more. Memories of a time past, when Mum and Aunty K. got up early in the mornings to start the laundry, make breakfast, usher their children off to school. A time when they walked to… wherever, whenever they felt like it. They made their own cups of tea with boiling water in china teapots. We children feasted on the results of their hard work and love – roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and gravy, apple dumplings, skinny pancakes, ginger snaps and chocolate cake. A time when age was just a word.

Mum told Aunty K. about her new walker.

“That’s what I’ll need next,” Aunty K. informed us. “Today I stood up – first time since my stroke. I can hardly wait to get in my own apartment with my own furniture again.”

We agreed that would, indeed, be wonderful. And, yes, Mum could come to visit, stay a week, or more!

A helper came to wheel Aunty K. to the dining room for supper. It was time for us to go.

“We’ll come again. Shall we bring chocolate éclairs, or would you like something different next time.” “Not sure when we’ll get back…” “Yes, it’s been really lovely visiting with you…”

Amidst kisses and hugs we “walked” with her to the dining room. “Enjoy your supper!” “Good bye!” “See you soon!” “Take care!”

I looked over at Karen. We both swallowed harder. It was difficult to come, to psych ourselves up for the reality of “now”, but it was more difficult to say goodbye.

Mum broke the silence as we walked to the car, “It was really nice to see her again. Thank you, girls, for bringing me. I really appreciate it.”

I swallowed hard, again. After all, how big a deal was it – really? Two days to do something for two people who had loved me well, and helped shape me into the person I am. Two people who would, and had, sacrificed for me and yet expected nothing in return.

“Everybody have their seatbelts on?” I asked. “Mum, are you comfortable back there? Sure you don’t want to sit in the front?”

“I’m fine. Did you say you had another book for me to read?”

“Two more, I think. Right in that red bag there. Yep, that’s it. Whew, it sure is hot in here. Mum, I’m going to have to turn the air conditioning on.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“And, there is a pillow and a blanket if you need one.”

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

On a roller coaster at Christmas time

Christmas is a time for a multitude of things, but something folks don’t talk about much is the overwhelming emotion that accompanies this celebration. For me it’s quite like a roller coaster.

As I’m cleaning today I listen to my radio. The station is playing only Christmas music. I love that. You see, I love Christmas time. I’m one of those people who wish it were Christmas all year.

My mood has been up and down like a yo-yo today. Okay, maybe being menopausal and moody isn’t a surprise to anyone, but it seems like every few minutes, or every half hour, I’m up and then down and then dancing and then eyes filling with tears. It just occurred to me that I’m being messed with…by my radio station!

“Jingle bells, jingle bells…” happy, happy.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…” memories, nostalgia.

“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus…” mental pictures, story ideas.

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…” snapping fingers, dancing around the living room – see, I am getting exercise today.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…” no problem there. We had a snowstorm yesterday. School buses cancelled, roads closed, snow, snow and more snow! “…just like the ones I used to know…” Hmm, not quite. No amount of snow will bring my dad back to celebrate Christmas with us, just one more time.

Why is it that Christmas evokes such emotion? From strangers wishing you “Merry Christmas” – okay, maybe “Happy Holidays” – to some gnarly brute stealing the parking spot that you’d been waiting patiently for! From teary-eyed parents watching their kids on Santa’s knee to parents screaming at whiny kids to quit asking for every toy they see. Emotions are flying all over the place.

No wonder I’m so exhausted after shopping. My emotions undergo a strenuous exercise there! Happy, sad, impatient, surprised, frustrated, angry. And when hubby happily greets me at the door, obviously having missed me, all I can say is,  “I need a cuppa and some time alone! Did you even think about starting supper?” Hmm, he probably thinks I was alone all day…

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversation…with my four-year-old granddaughter

“Grammie! Mummy, Grammie’s here!”

Before I can undo my coat my granddaughter runs at me, arms outstretched.

“Grammie!”

I squat down and catch her as she throws herself at me.

“Grammie, I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m so happy to see you, too!”

Little arms squeeze my neck. Smiling brown eyes look into mine. “I love you so much, Grammie.”

“I love you so much, too.”

“Are you going to sleep at my house?”

”Yes, I’m going to sleep at your house for three nights.”

A few minutes later and she’s perched on my knee, her arm wrapped behind my neck. “Can we play tomorrow?”

“We sure can.”

“And colour a picture?”

“Sure, we can do that.”

“Maybe we can go for a walk outside?”

“I’d like that. I brought my walking shoes, just in case.”

The voice of authority intrudes on our plans. “Okay, time for bed.”

“Not yet, Mummy.”

“Yes, now. I let you stay up late to see Grammie, but now you have to go to bed.” Mummy is insistent.

“Can Grammie read me a story first?”

“A story?”

“Come on, Mummy. Just one story?” I add my plea.

My daughter looks at me and pulls a face. “Okay, just one story”.

My granddaughter and I look at each other and laugh. “Thanks, Mummy,” we answer.

My daughter joins us on the couch and I open the book.

“Once upon a time…”

Once upon a time everything was right with the world and they lived happily ever after.

And it is. At least for these few precious moments.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Makeup Quandary

“I’m coming!”

Gee, you’d think my hubby was deaf or something. That’ll be the third time I’ve told him that I’m coming.

Yes, I know we’re running a tad behind but I’m doing the best I can. You just can’t hurry some things. It’s my makeup you see—I’m trying to put it on, but…well…I was running behind, so I was hurrying to get ready. Now I’m finally down to the makeup. Then it happened—hot flash attack! The heat radiated from the middle of me to the outer edges of me and the steam came out the pores on my face resulting in facial dampness. Okay, maybe “drips” is a better term.

I tried drying my face with a towel. But by the time I put the towel back on the rack and picked up my eye shadow brush my face was wet again. Have you ever attempted to apply eye shadow and blush to a wet surface?

If I could just wait it out…

“Yes, I know what time it is. I’ll be there in a minute!”

Well, I guess I’ll start with lipstick. At least that surface is supposed to be wet.

© 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