Shake It Off

I am not a sports person. I don’t play any sports, nor do I watch any sports on television. The exception to that is the Olympics. In watching individual athletes compete, I see them falter at the starting block, fall off the balance beam, foul on a crucial play. Each time they are told to “shake it off”. Well that is what I am learning to do – shake it off.

It is not that I am faltering or falling down or missing any crucial plays. I just get frustrated at living with Mom. I have no time for me. My down time, is exercising at the YMCA. And I hate exercising. My body revs up, endorphins pump through me, heart rate rises, breathing becomes heavy and my throat is parched. Yet, this is my personal time to let my mind wind down. This is the only time I can slow down all my thoughts as they bump into one another. My time for brain renewal. It is a juxtaposition of my body and my mind that leaves me somewhere between physically tired and emotionally numb. Neither result is satisfactory.

Somehow I have to learn how to “shake it off:”. Shake it off when Mom accuses me of rearranging all the dishes in the cupboard. Shake it off when I tell her I have to pick up one more item for dinner and then find her cooking something entirely different and yucky when I return home. Shake it off when Mom vehemently denies throwing my clothes in the dryer, knowing that my favorite pants will now look like flood pants and my shirts are now mid-drifts. Shake it off when I discover that she has driven the car to the liquor store to buy two bottles of wine. Shake it off when I tell her that she can not drive or drink alcohol and she spits back at me that she is now a prisoner in her own house. Shake it off when I feel like the warden.

I am not good at shaking it off. I haven’t had years of working with a personal trainer advising how to do this. There is no learning curve for this one. I have to acquire this skill, this stress reducing tactic, this new strategy, overnight. I am a quick study on many things, but this is not one of them.

I am good at exposing my feelings through writing. You, the reader, will have to suffer through my cathartic moments. This is when you get to see me, warts and all. I am not the loving daughter who patiently, saintly, deals with all that life throws at me. Hell no. Instead you get glimpses of my vulnerable self, who has pity-parties from time to time. This is my way of shaking it off. That and tears. One good thing about being Irish is that the tears flow easily.

Tears and prayers cleanse my spirit. I am no stranger to asking the Holy Spirit to walk with me on this journey, for I can not do it alone. Despite prayers, there are times when it still feels like a lonely stroll.

Tomorrow is a doc appointment. I am dreading it because it will be one more confrontation when Mom will be told unequivocally that she can not drive and can not drink. It is a tearing off of the bandage, one more time. I hate it. So I have prayed for God to send a legion of angels to soften the blow that Mom will feel. Oh Lord, give me the patience and the right words to help her get through tomorrow.

Peace,

JaneEllen

Sparkling Crystal

I have been traveling all week. As always my mind drifts back to 1019, wondering how Mom and Dad are faring without me. Wow, that sounds like they are totally lost without my guiding hand. Or maybe it is a controlling hand. Or maybe it is a caring heart that is all too familiar with the daily pitfalls, hiding in the corners of their routine. I best knock myself off the saint-pedestal before I ask for Papal sanctification.

On Tuesday, my girls were treated to dinner at their favorite restaurant. The pitfalls that lie in wait of every restaurant outing is alcohol. I have never spoke of Mom’s taste for wine. At home, she starts with one glass and then continues to pour ½ a glass of wine until it is all gone. At a restaurant she continually orders one glass after another. Dad, on the other hand, has a penchant for martini’s when dining out. He finally, finally, finally realized that it is all alcohol and at his age, combined with his zillion meds, he can no longer handle an 8 ounce glass of pure alcohol. So he switched to gin and tonics. He stops at one and then switches to wine.

Grandparents and granddaughters were off to a night of who knows what. I sat in my hotel room Tuesday evening, watching the clock, wondering how it was going. It is very difficult for my girls to limit my folks. They love their mémère and pépère, but don’t feel comfortable taking the glasses out of their hands. I don’t expect them to be the alcohol-police.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I texted Adrienne and asked how everything was going. She called ten minutes later to tell me that it was a great dinner. Yea! Thank you God! Mom had only a half glass of wine. Dad didn’t even finish is g&t and took only a few sips of his wine. Adrienne said they chatted about Emily’s upcoming trip to Europe, Adrienne’s school activities with Dad, of course, filling in the gaps with stories.

I am so thrilled that they had a great time. I am so proud of my girls. And I am happy that Mom and Dad had a chance to make a special memory with their beloved granddaughters. They have eight other grandchildren, who are all loved. But since I am writing this piece, I can claim my girls as their beloveds.

Through the daily confusion and repetitive questions, this memory is a piece of fine cut crystal, sparkling so brightly, it illuminates the dark moments.

Peace,

JaneEllen