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.