Author: chelleren

Saturday dawned brightly and we headed on the familiar path to Michigan. After a grocery store run where we purchased birthday party food, we entered Waterford to discover my father in his bed, fast asleep.

“Wake up, Dad! It’s a birthday party!” we enthusiastically greeted him. He opened his eyes, smiled a little, and then we proceeded to get him out of his bed with the help of the nurse aide.

” I’m so tired, ” he muttered. ” That’s okay. You will wake up!”I replied.

We wheeled his chair to the reserved room but stopped for a Boost to see if it woke him up. ” Some party, ” I thought to myself but did not utter the words.

We entered the room where we had previously arranged the food. ” Look at all the goodies!” He barely glanced at it.

“Let’s just eat and celebrate,” I announced. ” Maybe he will wake up in a bit.”

My nephew soon joined the luncheon. Despite our best efforts, my father stayed sleeping. After a suggestion from my brother on FaceTime, Mitch walked him outside.

” How can people sleep that much?” I wondered aloud.

A few moments later, Mitch walked back into the room. ” A miracle! He is awake! The raindrops hit his head and woke him up!” We laughed in relief.

The rest of the time, he listened to Psalm 91, conversed with Caden about the upcoming grandchild, and seemed to comprehend the conversation. We ended the celebration with a photo. Another year of God’s goodness and mercy!

Easter, a time of hope and celebration, reminds me of so many wonderful family memories. Unfortunately, my father did not remember any of them. As we gathered together at Waterford, he admitted that he barely remembered my mother. Wow. I showed him a picture of my mother, but he just shook his head. His memory seemed different, so I showed him other pictures of his life. The one I thought would spark a time of reflection included his former church in Lethbridge, Canada. However, he shook his head again.

My thoughts went back to last summer, our trip out West which included a trip across the border.

“Let’s go to your father’s Canadian church tomorrow, ” Mitch suggested on Saturday. I found myself getting excited about the possibilities. ” Yes!” I enthusiastically agreed. Sunday morning found ourselves driving toward Canada. After waiting thirty-six minutes for the office to open, we waited a mere five more minutes to advance to the entrance. Handing out passports and COVID cards seemed easy, but then we learned of AIRCAN. “What’s that?” Mitch inquired. The officer explained that it’s an online app that contains the necessary documents to enter Canada. Suddenly, the trip did not seem too easy. However,, after thirty minutes of scanning documents, entering dates, and verifying information, we were on our way, traveling through Canada, the former country where my father resided.

Unfortunately, due to the border requirements, we ended up arriving late. “Better late than never” is my motto when it comes to church, but walking in late to any event is not my favorite!

Attending a church as a visitor is an interesting experience. This particular visit combined our desire to worship plus a historical perspective. How did my grandparents choose this church? Despite arriving eight minutes late to a packed sanctuary, we located two seats. An older woman smiled at us in a friendly way I appreciated. After the service, an older gentleman greeted us. Surprisingly, he knew my father and his brothers. As more people gathered around and joined in the conversation, we met additional people who knew my father’s family. They even knew the location of the former farmstead. Art, a friendly farmer, walked us around the church and located the contact information for my cousin, a local veterinarian. ” Get a cup of coffee, ” he encouraged. ” Meet the table of white hairs, ” he jokingly added.

We followed him into the fellowship hall where a table of men sat, drinking coffee with smiles. ” Yes, we know Bert! Can we see his picture?” one asked. I quickly located his birthday photo. A few women also gathered around the table. ” I wouldn’t have recognized him, ” another stated. I smiled to myself, thinking that most people don’t recognize friends after so many years. ” How old is he?” another inquired. ” We remember him from youth group, always arguing over theological issues.” Mitch and I grinned, not surprised. ” Let’s get a picture, ” Mitch suggested.

I gathered with these wonderful people, who felt like instant friends because of their association with my father. I felt surprised at their willingness to have a picture taken, an activity my mother always deplored.

Leaving the church, we headed to Lethbridge to locate my grandparent’s gravesites. The cemetery, small and organized by sections, allowed us to locate it quickly. We didn’t have any flowers to add, so we looked at it for a while and then left. What else does one do at a cemetery? We stopped for a quick bite to eat, wanting to head back to the border. Thankfully, the return process proved to be simple. The Montana mountains welcomed us back as we ended our Sunday adventure.

As we ended our Easter Sunday adventure with another trip to Michigan, I felt a sense of gratitude that we took the time to discover a part of my father’s past. Even though he forgot, our experience is one we can share with our families.

Valentine’s Day was one of my mother’s favorite winter celebrations, so a trip to see my father was perfect. However, he doesn’t quite embrace Valentine’s Day in the same manner. “Thanks for the flowers, ” he stated, in rather a blah way.

However, we enjoyed a wonderful visit which included seeing the new chapel at Waterford. The piano seemed to beckon me to play. “Let’s limit it to three songs,” Mitch encouraged, knowing that I would probably play for an hour. We admired the sanctuary, designed in calming colors of blues and greens. Our conversation also included the exciting news about him becoming a great-grandfather!

The day ended with dinner with my brother. and sister-in-law. I think my mom would be pleased that we celebrated together. Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom.

Waterford’s Ice Sculpture was back!

A snow day! What an unexpected treasure! I decided to clean out as many closets and drawers as possible. There is something strangely exhilarating about tossing out bags of junk. However, technology posed a different challenge. What do you do with i-pads that don’t work? I decided to try them out. Several hours later, I discovered a surprise.

One of the i-Pads was my father’s. As I viewed the photos and read the emails, I figured out that it was back in 2016, when my mom was still alive. What memories! Life can really change in seven years.

Reading the emails felt like reading letters in an attic. I had forgotten Bob, a man who faithfully drove my parents to different places. I read several emails regarding my children’s Christmas wish lists, references to presidential elections, the church prayer line, and many advertisements.

When I told my brother, he didn’t share the enthusiasm and thought of it as old junk, but for me, it was another reminder of my mother. The snow day took on a whole new meaning.

December’s snowstorm meant that we delayed our Christmas until January, but it was still memorable. A day filled with laughter, food, and games is a blessing despite the date. Hugging my frail father is a Christmas present in itself.

We marveled at another celebration with my father. ” Remember what he was like right after Mom died?” we mused. We thought it was the last Christmas, based on his comments and depression.

Our discussions usually center on college life, politics, and then my mother. ” What do you suppose she is doing now? we wondered. ” Do you think she welcomed Aunt Mary when she arrived?” The topic reminded my father of his discussion with the pastor and how we should not fantasize about heaven but rely entirely upon God’s Word. I nodded in agreement because sometimes it is easier to nod instead of trying to figure out his thoughts.

We drove back to Indiana, grateful for clear roads and another opportunity to see my dad. Thank you, God, for giving him another Christmas.

If I wasn’t teaching full-time, I think I would create a support group for caretakers. It’s definitely a need.

At church today, I spent time talking to a person who is taking care of a spouse. Listening to the description brought me back to my time in Michigan when my father required intensive care after my mother’s death. We experimented with so many approaches. This conversation reminded me of my idea for a caretaker support group.

What would the class look like? Here is a sample.

Class Syllabus

#1 Get to Know You: This class will be one where members learn about the caretaking and responsibilities of each member. Personal inventories will be completed, pictures taken, and snacks would be provided.

#2 Self-Care: This class will focus on the importance of self-care as a caretaker.

#3 Community Building: This class will focus on ways the group can support each other. Members need to come prepared with the top three things that would help them feel supported.

#4 Resources: This class will focus on available resources for the caretakers.

#5 Problem Solving: This class will allow members to share the top three problems associated with caregiving. Members will have the opportunity to share solutions.

#6 Closing Activities: This class will be reflective. Each member will help create a booklet of ideas to help other caretakers. This booklet will be available to current members.

As I look ahead to 2023, will this support group be something I will implement? Time will tell, but I will keep it on my radar.

It’s hard to believe that another year is upon us. New opportunities, new places to go– it’s exciting!

As the year begins, my thoughts turn to my father. How can I connect with him when we live 3 hours away? How can I make intentional plans to help him?

Unfortunately, we could not see him at Christmas. The Blizzard of ” 22 prevented our Christmas party. Michigan winter weather is unpredictable, so what is a better idea?

FaceTiming with text is a new way I am communicating. I call the nurse at around 1:30, she sets up his computer, and we connect. At the bottom of the screen, you can see various icons. The texting feature works well. I text and then point to the words on the screen. The challenge was that it took too long. Live captions are the newest feature I discovered. Hopefully, this will help us communicate even better!

What are other strategies I can implement? Visits are good, but sometimes hard to schedule with the unpredictable weather. Printed photos of the family? I need to think harder about these strategies for 2023.

” I think I can use Goo-Gone and get rid of the extra glue,” Caden announced. I had my doubts and they proved true. The stubborn yellow glue would not come off, but I think it’s okay. Hobby Lobby’s Christmas sale prompted me to buy a new one. I don’t think the blue Delft Christmas tree is worth the effort. As my mother used to say, ” It served its purpose.”

How do people deal with sentimental items from parents who passed away? Do they just take a picture and make an album? My cousin told me that she has not touched one piece of her mom’s belongings. Others have told me that they dealt with all items immediately.

As I clean out the basement, my mom’s furniture has not moved. Three years ago, I had plans to recover the hope chest, but the wood is rotting and it is becoming an eyesore. Three years ago, I thought I would put the small side table to good use, but it doesn’t appeal to me now.

Hanging in the closet is her yellowed wedding dress. What do I do with that? Is it bad to cut up the best parts and place it in a memory box? Will anyone in the family be offended if I do this?

I finally decided that I am going to gather all the items, place them in a pile, and make a decision on each one. Three years later… I am still working through the memories as the journey continues.

What happens when your father and grandfather cannot make it to the wedding? I wrestled with this question during the weeks leading up to the wedding. Inwardly, I hoped that he would suddenly appear with my brother, but it was not the case.

Instead, we drove up to Waterford to share the dance with my father and the residents. Cookies and sparkling grape juice were added to the festivities. The residents watched with smiles and joy. It was a precious event.

Friday afternoon found me back at Waterford after an inspiring educator convention in South Bend. While I was tempted to shop in the many stores, I decided to spend Friday afternoon and Saturday morning with my father.

“It’s like I am in class and you are the teacher,” he commented. “But it’s okay,” he quickly added.

His comment referred to our writing class. We decided to work on Christmas cards and an acrostic poem to include inside the card.

At first, he resisted. ” I don’t know what to write,” he complained. Undeterred by his comment, I persisted.

” Come on, Dad. It will be fun,” I encouraged. We worked together to write an acrostic poem about Christmas. The creativity bug inspired him to add more. ” How can I shape the words in a different way so that they are slanted?” he inquired.

Maddie, the nursing aide, overheard our conversation and told him they would work on it during their Tuesday session.

Our next class: Music. I wheeled him to the piano where I sat down at the familiar black instrument.

After playing many hymns, he indicated two songs he remembered: “Count Your Blessings” and “Now Thank We All Our God”. It surprised me that he didn’t know more, but music was never one of his hobbies.

His last comments made me stop and think.” Why do you suppose the church is called the communion of the saints and I cannot get another person to take me to church?” He was referring to the fact that Joan takes him to church once a month, a hired person takes him to church twice a month, but nobody takes him the other Sundays.

I had to stop and ponder this question. He saw my hesitation and persisted. ” I mean, if there are 160 people in a church and only 1 person picks me up, what does that say about the church?”

Choosing my words carefully, I explained to him that it may be difficult for families with young children to pick someone up for church and also pointed to my own brother who could also pick him up once a month. ” He wants to go to his own church,” my father explained. I secretly think that there is really no reason why my brother cannot take him to church one time per month, but I do not live there and should not judge. Should I make more of an effort to include this in our Michigan visits?

” I think I need to write an article for the church newsletter and title it Practical Christianity,” he decided. “One of my tips will be picking up people for church.” “Okay,” I answered. ” Maybe next time.”

I left him, thinking about this important question. Are there people in my own church who need someone to give them a ride?

Again, spending time at Waterford prompted me to think about life in a different way. It’s one of the many blessings of visiting my father.