Early to bed, early to rise

I peek through the doorway and see her on the bed, covered with a white cotton blanket. She lies still, curled up in the fetal position.

I touch her shoulder. “Are you awake?” Soft breathing is the reply.

Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, I lean over and gently stroke her back. Her curly salt and pepper hair peeks out above the warm blanket. She sleeps deeply – in the late morning.

Late morning? What would my mother say about that?

It just seems like just the other day that Mum was trying to get me up for school.

“Denise, it’s time to get up.”

Ten minutes later she’d climb the stairs again.

“Denise, now! You’re going to be late for school!”

At least that’s the story she told me. You see, I never heard her. But when I ran down the stairs  clothing askew, dropping books in my wake, with only two minutes to get ready, demanding to know why she hadn’t woken me up… Well, that’s the story she told me, every time!

Mum is a morning person. “Early to bed. Early to rise.” I look at the bed. Well, at least she was.

Let’s journey together.

© 2011 Denise Budd Rumble

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

It's too difficult…

Do you ever feel like throwing in the towel?

Just before Christmas, Mum was diagnosed with small blood vessel disease. The blood circulation to her brain is faulty and it is not getting the oxygen it needs. It’s also called vascular dementia. Two of the manifestations are mental confusion and hallucinations. There is no cure.

My sister’s phone number must be the first one of her list and she gets the majority of calls. But, the phone calls to me are increasing. Nearly every call is coloured with urgency. “I’ve just had a shock.” “I have a situation here.” I know she phones my brother as well.

It’s difficult to hear that Grandma is visiting, or that Aunty has gone out and she doesn’t know when she’ll be back, or “I’m just waiting for your Dad to come home.” Both Grandma and Dad have been gone for years and Aunty lives in England and is unable to travel on her own.

It’s difficult to visit and sit and have a conversation and become hopeful and optimistic because it’s as normal a conversation as I’ve ever had with Mum and then hear her say, “I’ve just been wondering about my furniture. What will happen to it when I go back home to England?”

It’s difficult when I stay for supper with her and she wonders how I can afford to come all that way. “It’s expensive traveling from England you know.”

So, maybe I’ll just throw in the towel. I could get a new phone number. I could never go and visit my mother again. I could just forget it all….

On the other hand that would leave my sister and brother alone in this. After all, I am the big sister. What would they do without me? And, it would confuse Mum if all of a sudden I didn’t phone or visit anymore, or my phone number didn’t work. After all, she is confused enough.

Then again, our mum never threw in the towel. Oh sure, I know she thought about it – probably more than once. But, when a job has to be done you just set your mind to it, dig in and do it. And, she should know. She did just that – for over 23 years… But, that’s another story.

So, I will do just that. With a song and a prayer I will set my mind to it, dig in and do it. I will do it for my sister and brother. I will do it for our mum. And, I will do it for myself. Because, in the long run, how would I live with myself if I turned my back on her when she needed me most.

I know I’m not alone.

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2010

It's only a cold, but…

I want my mummy!

Drippy nose, hurting, stuffed-up head, coughing, slight fever from time to time and all the little bones in my face ache, and a bag of used Kleenex beside my chair…

I know it’s only a cold, but… I want my mummy!

If my mummy were here she would get me comfortable on the couch and tuck soft blankets around me. She’d put cool facecloths on my forehead and stroke my hair. She would take my temperature on a regular basis. She would insist I rest – no matter what I thought I had to do – and bring me books to read. Regular drinks would be brought to me all through the day. And, chicken soup – not the salty, overcooked store-bought kind, but homemade. Then, to help me sleep, my mum’s special hot lemon and honey at bedtime.

When I was a child I would get a doozy of a cold at least twice, if not three times, every year. But, it wasn’t so bad with my mummy looking after me. Okay, yes, sometimes she got impatient with me but all us kids have to try out the limits – right?

All stuffed up and coughing I phoned my mum the other night. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t come down with this dreadful cold because we had been together the day before it hit me. And, at 82, a cold can become a much more serious event.

“Are you getting enough rest? Are you eating? Drinking enough? Have you made yourself some hot lemon and honey?”

“I’ll be okay, Mum. Remember when I was little and you used to look after me when I was sick? You made the best hot lemon and honey – your secret recipe.”

“You need someone to look after you. You phone your son and tell him to come and get me. I’ll come and look after you…”

“Thanks Mum. But, really, I’ll be okay. I’m probably over the worst of it. And I sure don’t want you to get this! It’s…”

“Oh Denise, I won’t get sick!”

“I know Mum. Thank you. Tell you what. If I get any worse I’ll have you come.”

“Make sure you do, mind.”

Lately the retirement home has told Mum that she must use her walker; even just to go down to meals. Her walking is deteriorating… as is her memory… But, no matter the age of the mother, or the daughter, the relationship stands as it always has, ageless – a mother, a child, the instinct to look after one another just a part of who you are. I am blessed to have such a mother.

“Achoooo! Cough, cough, cough… I want my mummy!!!”

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2009

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

Road Trip Tales – Part Two

“I don’t remember being on this road before.”

Another half-hour drive and we decided to stay away from the major highways and enjoy some of the scenery. As kids the purpose of the trip was usually just to get there so we did very little sight-seeing along the way.

“You’re right, Mum. But, we decided we’d travel some new roads, see some new scenery. We thought you might like that.”

“But will there be time to visit Aunty K.?”

“Remember we told you that we were just going to travel to Belleville today and stay in a hotel tonight. We’ll have a leisurely breakfast and then make our way to Napanee in the morning to visit. We’ll be able to stay all day, until her supper time.”

“Oh, alright then.

A minute later her nose was buried in her book once again.

The car took us over rolling hills and through peaceful valleys. Patchwork fields, wildflowers waving in the breeze and trickling brooks danced across our field of sight. We enjoyed seeing the varied architecture of old houses and new, quaint villages and larger towns. We drove by the Bowmanville Zoo. Earlier we thought we might stop and visit there but the break at the mall convinced us that it would be too difficult for Mum.

“I don’t remember the trip taking this long.” Mum lifted her eyes from her book to the window. “I don’t remember being on this road before.”

A few hours later, with the help of “geeps”, my GPS, we found a nice “British pub” and restaurant.

“Where are we?”

“We’ve found an interesting place for supper, Mum, a British pub. They probably have some nice fish and chips.”

“I’ll just wait in the car. You can bring me a pack of chips.”

“Mum, you need to have some supper. We’ve found this nice place for you. I bet they make a really good cup of tea.”

“I’ve got part of that sandwich left, just bring me some chips.”

After some cajoling, arguing and putting our foot down, we helped Mum out of the car and up the stairs to the pub. Karen and I did enjoy a delicious meal of fish and chips. Mum had trifle. Following an arduous climb up, then down, a flight of stairs to use the “facilities” the three of us settled into the car again.

Continuing on minor highways and through a couple more towns we finally reached our destination for the evening.

“Are you sure the home will still let us in? It’s getting a bit late isn’t it?”

“We’re going to a hotel now, Mum.”

“But, I thought we were going to visit Aunty K.”

“Tomorrow, Mum. We’re going to have a leisurely breakfast and then spend the day with Aunty K. tomorrow.”

“Oh. Alright then. How much farther to the hotel? I’m nearly finished my book.”

“Nearly there. We’re in Belleville now.”

Overwhelmed by hot flashes I turned on the air conditioner – full blast.

“Mum, there’s a blanket there if you need it – and a pillow.”

Let’s journey together.

© Denise Budd Rumble 2009

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

Road trip!

We got the car’s air-conditioning fixed at the beginning of the summer for which I’m thankful because tomorrow – road trip!

My sister and I are taking our mum to visit a friend. They’ve known each other for over fifty years, since before we emigrated from England. Besides the fact that my sister and I also want to visit her, our mum can’t drive herself anymore and she needs some assistance when travelling, so it’s a road trip!

Just those two words conjure up feelings of anticipation and excitement. My mind goes into full-gear – what shall I wear? Hmm, the weather man says “clouds, with some sun and chance of rain”. I’ll need maps. We’ll pack a lunch to eat on the road. Where should we stop for supper?

When we were kids we went to said friend’s for many holidays – Christmas, Easter, summer. The husband was a minister and so church holidays were busy times for him, not so easy for them to come to visit us.

Preparations for our trips started days, if not weeks before. Mum would bake so we could contribute to the meals – cakes, pies, squares. I would have to go to the library and get some books to read – in the car and while we were there. It would be a chance for me to indulge in my favourite past-time. Then there were all the decisions about clothes and toys and if the car would make the journey there – and back!

Excitement would be at a fever pitch on our travel day. Dad and Mum would get up while it was still dark and pack the car. Dad would start up the car so it would be nice and warm for us. Mum would set up the back seat as a bed and Dad would carry us and place us, ever so gently, in the back seat bed, a mess of pyjamas, blankets, pillows and feet. Half an hour later the questions would begin, starting with “how long before we get there?” and continuing with “are we there yet”?

Aunty and Uncle and their two kids would give us a grand welcome when we arrived.

I loved doing dishes with Aunty – we had such great conversations. She always treated me as an “equal” and never “just a child”. Uncle was in and out with the irregularity of his position as minister to his flock and counsellor to every one else. He conducted the high school band. He could “hum” like a trumpet. And his eyes nearly always danced.

I remember bats in the belfry, smoke and fire in the chimney, cheesecake on the floor, the best raspberry pie ever and lumpy gravy, daily walks to the grocery store and good times at the rented summer cottage – puzzles and boat rides, sticky Chelsea buns and water skiing, new friends and old, sand between the toes, sun and rain, singing, laughing and playing, walks on the beach and rides in the car.

I loved spending time with them. It felt like home. They felt like family. We were loved well.

I’ll think of all these things tomorrow as I throw my overnight bag in the car and drive to pick up my sister and our mum. I’ll wipe away tears as I do now. I’ll remember what was as I help my mum down the stairs and answer her question “what day is it?” at least three times on the way to the car. We’ll try to be patient as she asks “how long will it take to get there?” and “how long are we staying?” and “when are we going home?” again and again.

My sister and I will smile at each other when she asks “are we there yet?” You see, we are sisters. We share these same memories – good memories, happy memories, the kind that stay with you, even when the people in the memories begin to fade, even when old age grasps them tight.

And you know what? I think I’ll put a pillow and blankets in my back seat – just for old time’s sake.

Let’s journey together.

©2009 Denise Budd Rumble

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

Craft Night

“You know what we should do?” My sister’s eyes twinkled. “We should have a craft night!”

She practically choked on the last word as our mum and the two of us burst out laughing. That innocent line had been our mantra, and cause for much mirth over many years.

There were some fine craft shows in the three months leading up to Christmas. Most years we were able to attend at least one.

Snowmen and Santas. Angels and stars. Shepherds and crèches.

Wreaths and bells. Teddies and dollies. Trucks and trains.

Wood and wool. Wire and wheels. Fabric and lace. Stuffing and string.

It made one giddy to see all that selection and choice.

“Mum, look! Isn’t it sweet? And, it’s sooo soft!”

“Oh, my goodness! How can anyone charge that much for that bit of stuffing and fur?”

“But…”

“Denise, I’m sure we could make something even better and for much less. We should have a craft night.”

Over the years the same scenario was played out hundreds of times. We didn’t even have to say the words out loud! “We should have a craft night!”

And “craft” we did. Between us, my mum, sister and I made teddies and teddy clothes, dollies and dolly clothes, various and varied Christmas ornaments and decorations, knitted and crocheted sweaters and cardigans, vests, afghans, pillow covers, baby booties, mitts and socks.

We sewed Halloween costumes, toys, pillows, pillow covers, clothes, clothes and more clothes. We embroidered and cross-stitched and tatted and painted.

We baked everything from Christmas fruit cakes made in October so they could set and taste just right, to candy and cookies, play-doh, clay and shrink plastic.

We didn’t always live close to each other and made many things on our own. Then there were the fun times when we had our “craft nights” and afternoons and days and worked our hands raw preparing enough “stuff” for our own table at a craft and/or bake sale.

Were our attempts always perfect? Did everything always sell? Was our quality superb? Well…of course! How can you even ask such questions?

Even today wandering alone through the gift shops or enjoying a local craft sale I still hear my mum say, “We should have a craft night!”

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble