Sorting, organizing, down-sizing, trashing ... this is the stuff I love!

It's a sad but true fact that Dorsey and I must be really lazy.

It's only when we have serious motivation to do anything around the house that we do it.

For example, we started painting the interior of our house in 2009, I believe. We had high hopes for doing one room at a time, and we would finish over the course of a year.

We finished a lot of it last year ... 2014.  Life and other more important things to us would get in the way ... like sitting on the patio drinking frozen drinks or something.

Now, we have one more room to do, and that has been expedited because Dorsey and I are moving into it — because Dad is moving into our room and bathroom.

If my dad were not moving in with us, I would not have, for the past two days, rid my closet of 10 bags of clothes and shoes. Last year, when we had a garage sale, I let go of lots of "stuff." I felt hesitant about some of the clothes, because I either liked them or thought I might wear them again. (Of course, there were also the two bags of too-small jeans I wanted to hang onto; I had this unhealthy idea that I still wanted to wear them, when I wore those jeans when I was extremely ill. Dummy. Some ideas die hard, even when you're "old.")

I decided that if in a year I hadn't worn certain clothes, I would donate them.

That's where the 10 trash bags come in. How ridiculous is that? I had clothes from 13 years ago!!!

I realized that, really, I wear about two-weeks-worth of clothes in all. I have all these clothes in my closet, and I always go back to the same ones. Plus, I practically live in yoga pants. (No, I do not do yoga, unfortunately.)

Sharing great memories makes my day!

I received a super wonderful email yesterday from one of my dad's former players. I have to share it. These stories mean so much to my family and to me. They also remind me of the hundreds of different sayings my dad has shared through the years, as well as his penchant for giving people all kinds of names of endearment. If you would like to continue to share your experiences, please email me at jmwilmarth(at)yahoo.com. I will share them here if you allow me to. And maybe I can talk Jordie Henry into writing about all the sayings he has collected from my dad ...

My name is Jordan (Gore) Ward; I was one of your dad’s former basketball players at Randall, and I was just informed about your mom and dad.  I am terribly sorry to hear about your parents; it is heartbreaking.  You and your family will be in my thoughts and prayers.

I have been following your blog and came across the “You can help in the greatest way!” post, so I wanted to share a few of the many good memories that I have of your dad:

Coach Wil was a big part of my life, and he has had a major influence of where I am today.  Like a lot of his former players, I am now a teacher and coach.  His example in my life helped motivate me to get into the coaching business!  In elementary and middle school, I would always attend his basketball camps and could not wait to be a Raider and for him to be my coach!  Once I finally got into high school, I couldn’t be prouder to be a part of his team.

Coach Wil is famous for all the many nicknames that he gave out to us and our friends in high school.  (A lot of those nicknames have forever stuck and are still being used today!)  The most common nickname was to our guy friends; he would always ask us, “Why are you hanging out with those hairy-legged boys?”

Another thing that he was known for was always throwing his clipboard during games when he was mad.  During one game, he threw his clipboard, and a piece broke off and hit Coach Glenn’s leg (I think it actually stuck in his leg) and caused Coach Glenn to bleed!  It was so funny!  Coach Wil obviously didn’t stay mad too long after that!

Where are you, my positive outlook?

I have a budget of blog post topics waiting for me to tackle.

I just haven't felt like it since I last wrote. I've been waiting until the "positive" in me surfaces.

It hasn't.

Truly, I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself, although I sometimes do. I recognize well that I am not the first, nor am I — unfortunately — the last to go through this. Kim and I have been told we will have lots of ups and downs.

The downs just seem to be happening closer and closer together and lasting longer.

Maybe it's because I'm finally worn down. Maybe it's because I'm depressed. Maybe it's because I've been sick. And maybe it's because the reality — when I really, really, really let it sink in — is that nothing is going to get better.

It's just not. Don't try to tell me otherwise.

Here is the harsh reality:

My dad's health is getting worse. He needs blood transfusions just to feel better for a few days. He looks like a ghost, and he's frail. He walks with a shuffle. He takes several seconds to minutes to get his thoughts out. He can't keep his medicines straight, so I do ... but he still has to call and ask me about them. I try hard not to be frustrated, but I am.

He's depressed about my mom and watching her struggle. No medicine will fix that. He clings to the hope that she will walk — but then I think, really? Is that what we want? Do we want her to have more mobility so that she can wander off or have access to things that are unsafe?

He's lonely because she's in assisted living and he's at home.

But how much longer will he be able to be at home?  Kim and I wondered this yesterday. And then what will we do? He doesn't want to "be put away in a home somewhere." (Like we would do that, but who knows what he might perceive, even with the best of intentions.) Any idea we've been able to come up with so far is something Dad would be miserable with, or it would create massive upheaval I'm not sure either parent could handle.

A Rock with my name on it

A former co-worker from the Amarillo Globe-News contacted me recently after he learned of my experience with my mom in the nursing home. 

I had lost touch with Chris, as I have with many of those AGN colleagues, so I had no idea he now lives in a nursing home and has for about a year. 

Chris said he relates to what I had described about the care in the nursing home, or rather, the system, itself. He recently wrote about it in his blog Life's Journey. 

Chris calls living in a nursing home like living in a resort ... a last resort. Yet, he feels safe there, in spite of the drawbacks. And he has made friends with many of the aides. Chris understands and has learned to accept "the system." The problem, he says and as I noted in my experience, is not with the caregivers, but that nursing homes do not employ enough caregivers. 

"There's usually one nurse and two aides (if you're lucky) for each shift," Chris said in his blog last week. "That means I sometimes have to wait 30 to 45 minutes for the aides to transfer me.  The aides do the best they can, but they're just spread too thin."

Chris' mind obviously works just fine; his body just doesn't cooperate with him. So, he understands his living arrangements, and he understands the limitations. He also made the decision to move to where he is. While he certainly has struggled with these environmental limitations, I think intellectual awareness has allowed him to reach a level of acceptance that some residents are not capable of reaching. 

I believe oftentimes people get the idea nursing home residents are "senile" and don't know what the heck is going on, so it doesn't really matter how they are treated. I think the system operates this way, for sure.

Sadness sometimes prevails in this journey

I saw my mom again yesterday for the first time in a week, although I had talked with her some on the phone while I was sick.

I felt wary of returning, just because I had become so overwhelmed with feelings of responsibility for her daily well-being and for whatever she might be feeling. I also felt extreme sadness at my mother's situation. I prayed a lot before I walked in that door.

In fact, when Mom was still at the nursing home, I would talk to God while driving. I asked for three things: right thoughts, right actions, right words. 

And I would pray that God comfort and help my mom through me that day.

When I did this, the days ran pretty smoothly. On days I felt stressed or frustrated, I could often trace my morning back to a failure to get the right God focus. I drove too preoccupied to pray that day. 

The good news, however, is that I knew I could stop at any point in the day and ask for those three things. In my world, it's called pausing when agitated. 

As I began to have trouble dealing with the nursing home system, I learned to pray those three things in dealing with staff, as well. I grew better at this with some time. But definitely not perfect. 

So yesterday, I returned to my routine request for right thoughts, right words and right actions.

The Peanut Butter Saga

Can't Live Without It

When I say I love peanut butter, I mean it.

I LOVE PEANUT BUTTER.

LOVE. IT.

I love you so, Peanut Butter!

Slathered on apples.

Smeared over bread and topped with jam.

Mixed with smashed up bananas and dolloped onto mushy bread.

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Peanut butter cookies.

Reese's Peanut Butter cookies.

Huge, GIANT spoonfuls of smooth, creamy peanut butter.  

You are so wonderful, Peanut Butter!

I used to eat Peanut Butter every day in some way, shape or form. I enjoyed Peanut Butter and apples for lunch for many years.

I enjoyed Peanut Butter and apples for snacks for many years.

Peanut Butter and banana sandwiches? A delicacy!

I enjoyed Peanut Butter so much for so long, I heard my former office smelled like Peanut Butter for months after I had left it. 

Oh, how I love Peanut Butter!

Got my zen back!

It's been a week since I've been to see my mom. While I feel bad about that for her and for my dad, the refreshing thing is ... I don't feel guilty! (That's not normal for me.)

I've been sick and felt horrible and lifeless. I've just had the usual cold/flu stuff, but I finally went to the doctor yesterday because I'm not getting any better. Apparently, whatever I had turned into a sinus and ear infection.

Interestingly, this experience forced me to stop. Just stop. While I might have attempted to go and do with this sort of thing in the past, I knew I couldn't this time, because I would be putting several older people with compromised immune systems at risk. Not only that ... I'm not a youngin' anymore, either.

While sick, I regained some perspective. I relaxed a little, too. I discovered I could trust others to take care of my mom. While I might not have felt this way if I'd gotten sick while she was still at the former place, for whatever reason or intervention this time, I did.

That doesn't mean things went smoothly. Based on reports from my sister, my dad, the staff and the sitters we kept for her first week there, Mom had her good days and bad days. She was weepy and afraid at times. She inconsolably feared different family members had died, repeatedly. And, she also had her days when she ragged on Dad so badly we had to encourage him to leave for awhile.

Mothers can be wrong

Jordie

My son, Jordie, is a 19-year-old student at Wayland Baptist University and a freshman pitcher on the baseball team.

I readily admit I never thought I would see the day he was on a college team, much less actually pitching in real games.

Wait, before you tell me I'm horrible for not believing in my son, I must explain.

I've always had faith in Jordie. I did not, however, trust an unconventional route into college baseball. I mean that, to the best of my knowledge, generally only the "star" athletes go on to play college ball — in any sport.

While Jordie has always been great in my eyes, and I've always truly, truly believed he is gifted at pitching, the fact is, his high school baseball career mostly produced disappointment and frustration for him. He faced a nagging elbow injury, and when he was healthy — whether right or wrong — he played "behind" other players.

Plain and simple: This type of play severely limits a kid's chance to get noticed by college recruiters.

Jumping hurdles into the new normal

Tuesday, we moved Mom to a new "home." This one is much smaller — 15 rooms — and more like a house. All the rooms are circled around the main living room and a large kitchen/dining area. Each bedroom has its own bathroom, too.

I'm hoping and praying this will be a good answer for my mom, and for us. So far, it seems that way. I am a little frustrated because I haven't been well enough to be out there since Wednesday morning. I have the "crud," whatever that is right now (chest, throat, cough, head). I don't think my parents or the other residents need to be exposed. 

So ... Because I've been away since the first night, I don't know much. 

I do know, however, that communication with staff has been good, either when my sister tries or I do. And my dad is giving good reports from when he is out there. She's been sleeping well. That's definitely different. And she likes the food. The chef there personalizes the food for them;  he asked me what she likes, and I told him. He made Mexican food yesterday. Sweet! 

(I'm itching to get her room finished! It's going to be so cute!)

So, why didn't we do this sooner? Why did we go through all that nursing home drama?

Mostly because of money, of course. Isn't that the usual hurdle?  

Kim and I had been looking at the expensive option of a group home. That's where four residents live in a regular house together with licensed caregivers. Group homes are more expensive options because normal insurance/Medicare doesn't pay for them. 

We were told of some good ones (and not so good ones), and looked into them. We liked the idea but couldn't make it work. First, the good ones have long waiting lists. Second, the state of Texas does not require the group homes to be licensed, and the homes in Amarillo are not licensed; however, if Mom's long-term care policy were to pay for the home, her residence would have to be licensed. (The group homes in Flower Mound, where Kim lives, are licensed ... but, hey, picking up and moving both my parents may just be too much for everyone. We haven't needed ... yet ... to jump that hurdle.)

Hats off to good caregivers

Yesterday I shared a pretty scathing report of my experiences so far with the nursing home system.

Granted, I live in Amarillo, Texas.

And, I've only experienced one nursing home.

And, I've already admitted that I've only hit the tip of the iceberg in this matter.

SO — I am willing to keep an open mind. In fact, somebody show me now the exception to what I've been hearing from many that is the rule of care in nursing homes. Please!

I'm thinking Kim and I must have some gut reason for feeling less than impressed or happy each time we've left a care facility in our search for the right place.

There has to be a reason that when my dad visited a few facilities with us, he left in tears at the prospect of the love of his life living in "one of those places," as he puts it.

Why do I keep coming back to the thought I frequently express? "There are no good answers here."

And, seriously, folks, a good reason must exist in this unsatisfactory venture when I hear a long-time physician gravely shake his head and say to us, "Oh. No. Nursing homes are not for human beings."

... But I'm willing to keep an open mind ...

I also need to express that my overall problem is with the system itself, not with the individuals who provide the care. Not the certified nurses' aids and not the nurses.

I think, for the most part, they care. I have no complaints at my mom's current facility with the hearts of any of the caregivers. We've met some incredibly sweet, well-intentioned, competent people. I sure as heck don't want their jobs. You have to have a heart for this sort of work if you're willing to change dirty briefs or sit with patients in the bathroom while they poop.

Dad and I visited with one of Mom's CNAs last week, when she was upset because a resident had died. She said, of course, that is the worst part of the job, especially when the resident who dies has no family. She obviously cares about her patients.