Martha

I took my mom to vote today.  I sat in the car as she went to cast her ballot.  When she came back she was spent.  "Next time, I'm taking my wheelchair!  That was a long walk and the line was too long. They had to bring me a chair to sit in!  You know how when you stand too long and your legs just feel like they are going to buckle?"  This, coming from the woman who just the day before was mad at me because we aren't going to take her to Japan with us on our family trip.  

My mom is 78 years old.  It's hard to believe.  In my mind she is still in her late 50s but then I remember, I'm in my late 50s.  She's approaching that age where she is simultaneously deliciously adorable and deliciously maddening.  Tonight, I asked her if she wanted to come back to my house to eat dinner after she voted.  "Lee is going to be out and I have extra salmon." "Oh no!" she replied, "You know I don't eat dinner!"  As we are driving home from the voting center, she is telling me how to drive "no don't get on the freeway, there is too much rodeo traffic!".  So we drive through Bellaire and we pass Menchies.  "Oh, I'd really like a sweet treat!  Can you stop at Menchies so I can get a frozen yogurt for dinner?  Do you want one?"  She brings back a bucket of frozen yogurt with chocolate sauce and boba.  "This will be dinner for 2 nights!" she squeals!

I can't even get annoyed with her anymore. The minute I'm in her presence she spouts off a laundry list of tasks that I need to do for her.  "Michelle, I can't get Brit Box on my TV anymore.  I need you to fix it."  "Michelle, I need you to text my pulmonologist and tell him I need an appointment."  "Michelle, I need you to drag this app into my app with all my other medical apps."  "Michelle, I need you to take me shopping for cool grandmother clothes before Annie's graduation."  It's ceaseless.  But just as soon as I might get aggravated, I remember that the days aren't infinite.  I'm acutely aware that the time we've spent together is greater than the time we have left.  And I can still text her at the drop of a hat when I feel sad or frustrated or confused and she always has the right answer.  

So, I'll go to her house and take down her garbage can or return her Amazon orders to Whole Foods or go play Triominos with her because some day I won't be able to do that and the thought guts me.  

Margaret Ann

Just came back from PA.  We hadn't been there in 9 years and like Annie said, it just felt normal.  I was supposed to write a memory of my mother-in-law in a memory book that I insisted we purchase.  In the end, I didn't write anything.  It was a lovely week.  Yesterday, the day of the party/memorial, I was really sad and kept randomly crying.  Everything made me sad; a song, a glance at the shed, hugging my brother-in-law.  Even though Peg died over a year ago and I had cried previously, this day/celebration, July 5, 2025, made it final.  Until then I could keep kicking the can down the road.  The "Property House", as we like to call it, is where my kids spent their summers with their cousins swimming in the pond, catching frogs, walking through paths, picking blackberries, playing Guitar Hero in the basement, watching movies in the "theater room" and Sponge Bob in the "3 seasons room" off the kitchen, learning not to run the water so the well didn't run dry, shooting pellet guns, eating Krispy Kreme donuts, and so many other memories.  It was 75 acres to run free and just be a kid, all sponsored by my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law.  Grampa Jerry would cook burgers on the grill, Grammy Peg would make blackberry jam and zucchini bread from with zucchinis from her garden.  We'd drive back and forth between Washington and Mt Lebanon, PA to skate at the ice rink, watch movies at the mall, and eat pizza at their cousins' house after baseball games.  Most of the time we'd drive up to PA, slowly winding our way across the country with the kids in the back of the silver Honda minivan, sometimes with our niece on the way home and sometimes with the dog for the whole journey.  We'd stop and see my dad, Lee's brother, friends in TN or KY, my father-in-law and his wife outside of Ft Worth, my grandmother in Wisconsin.  The kids were wee little and the time rocketed by.  In the interim kids have graduated high school, college, medical school, residency, fellowship, graduate school, earned graduate degrees, gotten jobs, moved to different states.  My mother-in-law and her husband moved to Texas in 2016 followed by my sister-in-law a few years later.  Jerry died in January 2018 and Peg died on May 4, 2024.  Peg lived with us for a year - September 2022 to September 2023.  It was the first year we were "empty nesters" but we weren't really because we had Peg with us.  We did puzzles together, watched movies and TV shows, went with her to her doctors' appointments, reminded her to take her medicine, use her nebulizer machine, and eat her food.  She had spent so much time taking care of us (and for my husband, even longer) that it was time for us to take care of her.  She died pretty quickly and, though not unexpectedly, I don't think anyone was truly prepared.  Lee, Eleanor, and Katie were with her when she died.  Everyone was able to say goodbye on the telephone and she was able to tell everyone that she loved them.  

Especially after the tragedy of the flooding in central Texas this past Friday, I realize the sanctity of life and how fast and fleeting it all is.  I was talking to Michael, Jerry's son, and we agreed that Peg and Jerry both had a good run (88 and 84 years old).  However, you can't help but play some of the memories on rerun and feel bittersweet.  I know this past week we were making new memories with new members of the family who haven't taken the place of the old ones but whom we welcome with so much joy.  It's absolutely what Peg and Jerry would have wanted.  They blended 2 families into one.  Maybe someday I'll send Easter cards with a $5 bill in them or sit on the floor of my children's hallway and play race cars with Hot Wheels, or let my granddaughter "do" my hair, or make chocolate chip cookies for my grandkids, or come take care of my grandbabies when they are born, or my kids or their spouses when they are sick.  Peg loved every minute of being a mother and a grandmother and she taught me what it means to be a mother-in-law.  She gave her whole heart, told stories about her youth and her cousins, aunt/uncles/grandparents/great-grandparents, and reinforced the sanctity of family.  

What Eleanor gave us this week was an extension of her mom and it was a labor of love, hard earned over the past 12 months.  By requiring us all to take part and to make it happen she was gifting us each a little piece of Peg (and Jerry) and it was more than the cup of ashes we each spread across the property.  We might have rolled our eyes or been annoyed when we had to power wash or vacuum, or cut flowers, or made the 100th trip to Walmart, or clandestinely deposited garbage/recycling, or washed windows, or dug in the rock garden in the blistering sun, but we were all grabbing hold of Grammy (and Jerry) and we didn't even realize it.  Those dinners at the dining room table this past week were priceless, as were the belly laughs as we sat in the front room this morning.  And my little Dr Nuh, who selflessly held her mom's hand as she sprinted across the finish line these past 2 weeks, that was the biggest gift you've ever given Grammy.  Same with K and D with their gifts of time (and their amazing partners, Z, A, B - talk about support system).  God has blessed your mama (and all of us) with the gift of you 3.  My 3, I don't need to tell you how much I love you and L & J, how critical it was to have you with us at the house and for your parents to let us have free rein.  

So what are my best memories of Peg?  Damn, I couldn't even write them all down.  They come to me with so many breaths - when I look at my dining room light fixture and Jake's Topo Chico collection and think how much she told me she hated them or how she'd kiss me on the head every night that she lived with us and thanked me for another day.  But mostly when I look at my husband, kids, and my family and I thank God for how she endures in each one of them. 

  

Old Stuff (written March 27, 2023)

You haven’t lived in here in several years, not full time anyway.  Yet, I can’t help but feel overwhelming nostalgia at packing it all up.  You never really lived in this room.  There was no ceremony when your sister encroached on your back bedroom.  Seems like some female is always moving you in or moving you out.  You can see Gram's things in here.  She’s anxious to make it her own.  I don't blame her.  She's been a nomad for the past 7 months.  But it still makes me sad.  Like there is some finality in it.  Why, as humans, are we always putting significance in stuff.  I'd love to make a shrine of your bedroom. Probably more for me than for you.  Maybe it signifies to me that I raised a living creature from a baby to a full grown man.  But I think your room signifies the 18+ years that you lived here in this house with us day in and day out.  Such a small fraction of your life, and ours really.  But oh what beautiful years they were.  Days that you couldn't appreciate the beauty in the midst of it because you were so focused on just making it through the next hour.  You have been and will always be my beautiful, beautiful boy.  A gift from God.  While I may not have been the perfect mother at all times, I thank you for allowing me to hold that sacred role.  

I feel a deep sense of loss. 

Recovery Notes - (written October 2024)

I just had a hip replacement 2 weeks ago.  I'm in the doldrums.  My poor mom has been doing this for 3 months.  I'm not sure how she is handling it.  Her situation has been a bit more perilous than mine.  On July 5th she broke 4 toes on her right foot, numbers 2-5.  Her recovery has been prolonged and one continuous setback after another.  She's pretty much been housebound except for her 3 forays into the hospital and one into skilled nursing.  Normally, being productive makes me feel good.  Right now I'm feeling a cross between abject apathy and guilt.  There is much I could be doing, computer wise, both for work and for home.  But, I don't really feel like it.  I don't want to watch anymore TV even though I could.  There are still so many shows out there.  I feel like I've plumbed the depths of streaming TV, but there are always new horizons.  

In terms of my recovery, I'm doing pretty well.  I'm using my walker mainly because it forces me to use good form when I'm walking.  I'm 85-90% adherent to my physical therapy exercises and walking recommendations.  My pain is about a 2 out of 10 at its worst.  I still can't really lie (lay?) on my side when I sleep because it makes my right hip ache.  I didn't become an opioid addict.  I can do things I couldn't do previously, like stand up straight, completely extend my right hip, and move it laterally farther than about 20 degrees.  I think my limp will eventually go away.  I'm used to exercising and I can't do that right now.  For me, exercise is as much about mental health as it is physical health.  I need the endorphins.  Maybe once I get the clear to exercise, I'll have more energy.  But do you need energy to expend energy?

Having an aging parent is an education for which you are never prepared.  You'd think I was brimming with compassion, but I'm not.  My mom's dependency has dug up all sorts of long dormant resentments.  It's twisted AF.  First of all, I'm annoyed that she has gotten old and needy.  That is not in the parent-child by-laws.  Second, see number one.  

I'm back in therapy.  I took notes from my meeting with my therapist this week but those are just for me.  Honestly, I don't understand how everyone isn't in therapy.  It's soul-scrubbing goodness.    

Cave of Regrets

I've crawled into my cave of regrets. It is not cozy in here.  There is A LOT of shame.  A lot of could haves, should haves, would haves...but didn't.  When my adult children return home it's like a fun house mirror held up to me to magnify and distort all my imperfections.  Normally, when they aren't around and when I'm just responsible for myself, I feel pretty good about who I am, the choices I've made, the life I'm living.  But as soon as they enter my gravitational field, my world bumps off its axis.  

I had two drinks last night.  I never drink.  Like ever.  However, I was feeling like I needed to take the edge off.  There had been lots of consternation.  When I arrived home, it was clear that I should not have had those two aperol spritzes.  

Maybe I shouldn't try to make everyone happy because when I do this, everyone is still miserable and I feel worse.  When I started this blog, back when it was www.halfarack.blogspot.com and then www.spittenpigeons.blogspot.com

From December 27, 2024 ^^^^

Today is May 30, 2025.  It's harder to write in a public forum because the kids are no longer kids and I need to respect their privacy.  But I can write from the perspective of parenting adult children.  There are lots of highs and lots of lows in my own mind.  I just read Streams in the Desert.  

School of Sorrow

And no man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which were redeemed from the earth - Rev 14:3

There are songs which can only be learned in the valley. No art can teach them; no rules of voice can make them perfectly sung. Their music is in the heart. They are songs of memory, of personal experience. They bring out their burden from the shadow of the past; they mount on the wings of yesterday.

St. John says that even in Heaven there will be a song that can only be fully sung by the sons of earth—the strain of redemption. Doubtless it is a song of triumph, a hymn of victory to the Christ who made us free. But the sense of triumph must come from the memory of the chain.

No angel, no archangel can sing it so sweetly as I can. To sing it as I sing it, they must pass through my exile, and this they cannot do. None can learn it but the children of the Cross.

And so, my soul, thou art receiving a music lesson from thy Father. Thou art being educated for the choir invisible. There are parts of the symphony that none can take but thee.

There are chords too minor for the angels. There may be heights in the symphony which are beyond the scale—heights which angels alone can reach; but there are depths which belong to thee, and can only be touched by thee.

Thy Father is training thee for the part the angels cannot sing; and the school is sorrow. I have heard many say that He sends sorrow to prove thee; nay, He sends sorrow to educate thee, to train thee for the choir invisible.

In the night He is preparing thy song. In the valley He is tuning thy voice. In the cloud He is deepening thy chords. In the rain He is sweetening thy melody. In the cold He is moulding thy expression. In the transition from hope to fear He is perfecting thy lights.

Despise not thy school of sorrow, O my soul; it will give thee a unique part in the universal song. —George Matheson

“Is the midnight closing round you?  

Are the shadows dark and long?  

Ask Him to come close beside you,  

And He’ll give you a new, sweet song.  

He’ll give it and sing it with you;  

And when weakness lets it down,  

He’ll take up the broken cadence,  

And blend it with His own.  

“And many a rapturous minstrel  

Among those sons of light,  

Will say of His sweetest music  

’I learned it in the night.’  

And many a rolling anthem,  

That fills the Father’s home,  

Sobbed out its first rehearsal,  

In the shade of a darkened room.”

https://www.youdevotion.com/streams/may/30

I bolded that last line because the irony is that I am sitting in a dark room.  It's rainy out.  I have worries about all 3 kids but God is trying to teach me about faith this summer.  The last 2 summers it was about control.  

Hebrews 11:1, "Now faith is the [a]substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (NKJV)

I have to have faith that God has good things in store for my kids.  

Parenting Adult Children, Part 1

Lee and I started seeing this therapist together to help us become better parents to our adult children.  I feel like we are on page 2 of a 1000 page tome.  We've barely cracked the surface.  I don't know why this kind of stuff excites me.  It's like doing a puzzle, or making a blanket, or working on a craft.  I'm ready to dig in.  Bring me the horrible seedy parts of my character and my intentions.  Let me examine it from all sides.  I want to expose the shit that's been buried and dust off all the dirt and see if we can make something of it or if we need to recycle that shit or just throw it out.  It's like a spa for the psyche.  I don't think Lee shares the eager anticipation that I do.  He seems to be more of a nervous participant.  Like not quite sure he wants to jump in the water.  He's dipping a toe in and then pulling it out...slowly inching his way into the deep end, afraid of gators and sharks and shit.  I think he'd rather stay on shore.  But I am ready to go!  I'll go all 12 rounds or however many they do in boxing these days.  Of course, I probably have more free time to do this kind of activity.  And I think that I'm probably the larger part of the problem, so maybe that's where my enthusiasm comes from.  

My uncle sent me this flyer called the Novena of Abandonment.  It was written by this dude called Father Dolindo Ruotolo whose first language probably wasn't English or maybe it didn't translate perfectly.  It's 9 days of short devotions that read as though God or Jesus is speaking directly to you and then you're supposed to say, 10 times, "Oh Jesus, I surrender everything to you, take care of everything!"  This is my second go round of completing the novena and sometimes I'll repeat a day.  I've been writing it down in my journal on the days that I do it, including the chant - 10 times, like when you used to write sentences on the chalkboard when you were in trouble at school.  But I've started substituting my worries in brackets instead of "everything", for example:  "Oh Jesus, I surrender [my worries about my children] to you, take care of everything!"  The substitutions have been getting longer and more reflective. 

One of the things that the therapist said to us the other day was along the lines of basically, let your kids be your kids and don't make your relationship transactional.  And don't worry how your kids are gonna react to what you have to say.  They might not like it at first but they'll get over it (assuming it's coming from a good place and you aren't being a jerk).  So, I've been doing absolutely everything wrong, apparently.  I'm using hyperbole, obviously, but not that much.  SO much of my love has been based on performance.  Honestly, as a species, we probably shouldn't be able to breed until we're about 50 because we aren't psychologically equipped to deal with the MOUNTAIN of insecurities that raising another living being entails.  My children have ALWAYS been an extension of me and my value as a human.  That's where 99.9% from whence my anxiety arises!  I'm writing this in jest, but I'm not completely joking people.  Will their behavior, actions, choices bring shame on not just the village, but more specifically, on the village queen (that's me, btw)?  I'm a horrible person.  I've ALWAYS been such a performance based individual that I let that shit become the basis of my mothering.  If my kid got a yellow or red card during circle time, I was getting a yellow or red card on parenting.  Why couldn't I just make my kid behave?

It's much easier to manipulate/control your kids when they are little.  About age 10, that shit no longer works because they are sentient beings with minds, thoughts, desires, opinions of their own.  When I could no longer manipulate them, I'd use disappointment as a tool.  The problem is this is also manipulation.  Oh Lord, there is so much here.  Now they are adults; certifiable adults.  Two of them have graduated from college and are living independently (for the most part) and one is finishing up college.  So much of my identity is wrapped up in who they are and that is just so unfair to them.  I'm going to be drastically reductionist here because I'm short on time.  Lee doesn't have this problem, not to the extent that I do.  Yes, he deeply wants to be a good father, and he is an excellent father.  BUT, for him, their actions aren't a reflection on who he is as a person.  And I bring this crap to the table...ALL...THE...TIME!  I want him to feel the anxiety that I feel.  I want him to take action based on my insecurities.  A kid makes a bad grade one semester, he can roll with it; they're still figuring things out.  They are basically good kids.  Me: how are they going to get a job? they are going to live on our couch! - which actually translates into, "I've done a terrible job as a mother.  I don't know how to be a parent.  I'm not worthy of breath."  I want Lee to know I feel this, feel it to, and do something about it.  Ugh.  How has he lived with me for almost 30 years?  

So surrender has taken on so many different meanings for the past 2 months, in my daily life, while I've had this devotion on repeat.  I have to surrender all my selfish expectations.  It's not about me. It definitely involves me.  When Lee and I conceived them we signed the contract; they are ours for life.   But my trajectory is not dependent on their trajectory.  Lee and I have to launch them independent of our intentions.  They will shine brightly on their own long after our light begins to dim.  

Auld Lang Syne

Lee and I are in this twilight phase.  Our kids are out of the house, one making his own money and two in college.  Now our parents are starting to fall apart.  My mom broke her foot yesterday.  Her right foot, the 5th toe in 3 separate pieces.  She can't put pressure on it and she can't drive.  Just one day before Lee was feeling out of sorts because both of his parents are sick and I told him that I'd probably be despondent if it was both of my parents.  It's as if the universe was listening.  The next day, on my dad's birthday, he has to go to urgent care because of confusion and my mom breaks her foot.  Life never gets easier.  The washing machine doesn't work.  We had to buy a new furnace.  Honestly, it's a good thing I didn't get that job.  When you are a kid you think that life is going to get easier the older you get; you'll be able to make your own choices.  You can for a while. But now I look at my parents and my in-laws and their choices are getting narrower and narrower.  They are slowly losing agency over their bodies and their minds and we have to step in and make choices for them.  More than resentment, I mourn the loss of their vitality.  I want my parents and Lee's parents to stay mid 60s forever because that's where they are in my mind.  In reality, I'm closer to mid 60s.  This life is so fucking short.  In the same night I have to worry about one kid getting home to Philly, 2 others going out on NYE, and whether or not our parents are going to fall.  It's like Jan said earlier today, will I ever be happy again?  I'm not unhappy but I thought life was a story book and I get to choose the plot and the characters and the story arc and the ending? Why isn't everything glimmery and pretty and perfect?  My kids are educated and healthy.  Lee and I are in relative good health.  I'm just not prepared for this next phase; the one where our parents get sick and need us and they die.  How do I do this with grace and mercy and kindness and joy?  Where is that unspeakable joy?  It's not in the pile of clean clothes that need to be folded.  It's not under the Christmas tree.  It's not doom-scrolling on Instagram or Facebook.  It's not in the cheesecake that I made or the crafts that I do to distract myself.  It's not in my kids and who they are becoming.  It's not in my friends (they are just as busy and dealing with the same stuff).  It's not in my job (but it can be a very nice escape).  It's not in an Amazon order or a Netflix series.  It's not in a clean house or a messy house or an organized or disorganized house.  All 4 of our parents are going to be gone some time and the brutal reality is taunting me.  I've gotta make peace with that and uncover that joy no matter how insignificant the spark might seem.  My fucking mom always has told me to practice gratitude and I think that's where it is.  The joy is in the gratitude.  Thank you for chicken.  When we couldn't afford anything else to eat while I was growing up, while saying grace, with sarcasm, I'd thank God for the chicken, again.  Thank you God for the mess.  Thank you for the imperfection.  Thank you for the friends that I don't get to see but who I know that are there.  Thank you for the husband with the humor and the unending well of goodness.  Thank you for the kids who mostly want to be with us.  Thank you for the nearly 60 years with the parents who were chosen for us.  Thank you for the jobs that we love.  Thank you for our humble little house with the cracks in the ceiling and the mismatched, second-hand furniture.  Thank you for the past 2 weeks with the kids and thank you, as I've cleaned out the house, for the opportunity to see the small parcels you've consistently sent me over the years.  Thank you for showing me the small adjustments I can make in my relationships with my kids as they become adults; how to support and not undermine.  I guess as long as there is breath to breathe I can use that breath to make the sound that forms the word that says the thing that means thank you.  Thank you for this moment.