” I watched the little preschoolers today,” my mother told me on the phone. I listened to her description of preschoolers outside, running on the playground, and found myself wondering about her state of mind. Where was a playground located? How could she see preschoolers when she was in a community of elderly people?
However, I discovered she was right. A preschool could be seen from her patio doors. On certain days of the week, the playground was dotted with small children, clad in winter gear.
For some reason, I thought of this phone call yesterday, watching elementary students, also clad in winter gear, enjoying the snow in different ways. Tears filled my eyes and I found myself surprised. Am I really crying again?
I felt myself drawn to the cemetery again, wanting to see my mother’s gravesite covered in snow. Why? I don’t know and cannot explain it, but I felt the need. More tears were shed as I etched the letter “M” atop her gravesite.
I ended the afternoon with a phone call to my sister-in-law, checking in to see how her family was coping. Her comments of how glad she was that her father was no longer suffering once again reminded me of the eternal hope and joy my mother is experiencing. My sadness was replaced with peace.
Even though Michigan received some flurries some time ago, I would define today’s snow as the first one. It is pretty substantial! In fact, I even shoveled! Kenai, our labrador fur baby, reacted with joy and enthusiasm as she tore across the snow covered yard. Her crazy antics made me smile. Snow can be fun!
While living in the Netherlands, we designated Saturdays a day for exploring. Some of our memorable excursions included Amsterdam, Enkhuizen, and Delft. While our goal of traveling to every Dutch province was not met, we enjoyed exploring a variety of areas. We have decided to continue this type of adventure in Michigan.
One main difference of our Michigan journey is that the boys are now teenagers complete with opinions and suggestions. Since our first MI adventure included hiking, we decided that a coffee house would provide variety. Using Yelp as a guide, we journeyed to downtown Grand Rapids for an afternoon cup of java. Surrounded by students of all ages, we enjoyed a time of drinking coffee. Corey, always creative, chose “Dirty Harry”, a tea he claimed was really good. The rest of us enjoyed a variety of lattes. The day ended with grocery shopping for the Sunday dinner.
The word trust evokes powerful images. These images include me driving up from Indiana behind Corey, a newly licensed driver. It includes me watching out the window, praying that he will make it safely to school in blizzard-like weather conditions. It includes listening to stories from my husband, traveling in remote places of the world that include Niger and Senegal. Trusting in God’s provision means that I need to feel at peace with a daughter living in another country, traveling to various destinations. It also means that I must believe that my father’s health is in God’s hands and not mine. Trust– difficult and challenging.
Trusting in the Lord’s timing means that I must believe that His ways are not my ways. At yesterday’s Sunday dinner, my father slept through most of the meal and ended up snoozing for several hours on our bed. We were puzzled by his weariness and wondered if it was related to his mobility. My sister-in-law’s comments yesterday, “We will not plan one more funeral. I refuse to!”, made me pause and remind myself that we don’t get to choose that route. I don’t get to decide how my father’s life will continue. Will he re-energize after a change in his medications? Will he stay at Royal Park or have to move to another facility that offers more care? What will the rest of this Michigan journey look like?
Trusting definitely takes faith. I was reminded of this again when I starting thinking about this year. I could either focus my energies on worrying about the year or remembering the countless blessings. It is definitely more peaceful to remember the blessings– the blessing of being able to live in Michigan to help my father, the blessing of being able to have a family dinner yesterday which included my father and my brother’s mom-in-law, the blessing of substitute teaching in a different state, and the blessing of three children who openly confess that Jesus is Savior and Lord. But… remembering these blessings takes focus and persistence. I can easily start thinking of the “what ifs” and head down a dark route.
As the journey continues, the words to Steven Curtis Chapman’s song remind me– remember.
Well, I’ve been looking back over my shoulder Retracing every step trying to unforget And I see the mountaintops I’ve journeyed over And I see the valleys deep where I crawled on my hands and knees Pages and memories filled with joy and stained with tears They call my name and if I listen, I can hear them saying
Remember the way He led you up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way He carried you through the deepest dark Remember His promises for every step on the road ahead Look where you’ve been and where you’re going And remember to remember Remember, remember
And now I’m looking out at the road that’s waiting But my eyes can only see so far out ahead of me As sure as the sun will shine there’ll be more mountains I will climb And more deep dark shadowlands where desperate faith is all I have Until I’m home, I’m resting all my hope and trust In the only One whose name is: God with us
Remember the way He led us up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way He carried us through the deepest dark Remember His promises for every step on the road ahead Look where we’ve been and where we’re going And remember to remember
Remember the day is coming when He’s going to wipe the tears away He’ll look in our eyes and say Remember the way I led you off the mountain Remember the way I carried you, ohh
Remember the way I led you up to the top of the highest mountain Remember the way I carried you through the deepest dark Remember my promises for every step on the road ahead Look where you’ve been and where you’re going Look where we’ve been and where we’re going And remember to remember
Oh remember to remember Oh remember to remember Oh remember to remember
Surprisingly, I am finding a sense of joy subbing in the various classrooms in the Caledonia area. I never quite know what I will be teaching for the day until I enter the classroom, but it doesn’t really make me anxious anymore. I do the best that I can and make education, safety, and classroom control, the top priority.
However, I have quickly learned the necessity of my bag of tricks. These tricks include singing, playing the piano if there is one in the classroom, throwing an orange ball up and down until there is quiet, dog stories, a puppet, and then my favorite: the remote.
Created by my former colleague and one of the most creative teachers I know, Libby, this valuable tool can stop the chattiest student. “And now,” I announce. ” I will use my handy-dandy remote to share with you.” The students’ eyes are riveted on this medium sized piece of cardboard. ” I will turn on the power button.” Complete with my own sound effects, I usually point it at the student who is the chattiest. “This power button means that all students need to turn to take out their math pages. ” When the noise increases, I also remind them that the volume button is on low which means they need to take their items out quietly. In every classroom, there is one student who states, “That is fake!” Ignoring that statement, I continue using it.
Another one of my favorites is one I saw posted on the classroom wall. Walk so quietly that the mice in the school cannot hear you. I also have used this phrase and it never fails to generate comments. “Are there really mice in the school? I can’t believe it”.
The best part of subbing is coming to see the students and provide a day of as much happiness as I can share. For some students, school is a safe haven from the world’s ugliness. I am glad to be a tiny part of their world.
Waking up Saturday morning, I realized that this journey would now include another funeral. I dreaded attending because I feared that I would be a gloppy mess of mascara and eye makeup at the end. I also feared my father’s reaction as this would be the first one since my mother passed away.
Despite the worries, my eyes stayed dry, my father remained composed, and I felt a sense of peace as I reflected on the blessing of a quick passing instead of a lengthy illness.
One of the defining moments occurred when listening to my high school nephew share memories of his grandfather. He spoke clearly and peppered his reflections with fishing events and Grandparents’ Day at his high school.
The day ended with a luncheon and me taking some photos. I found myself feeling thankful that it went okay, but also hoping it would be the last funeral I would need to attend. But why do I keep feeling like there will be more?
“Why did you get training in SAIDO?” my cousin queried. I had to stop and think for a moment. Why DID I do it? It is at Waterford, not exactly right around the corner. “Is it because you want to give back to Waterford since your mom was there?” she continued asking. “I think that’s it,” I slowly nodded.
SAIDO training, a Japanese learning therapy for dementia patients, was definitely one highlight of this past week. Learning about the progression of Alzheimer’s disease, viewing videos of elderly patients before and after they received the therapy, and conversing with those involved with geriatric care intrigued me from start to finish. Time went quickly and I found myself disappointed when it ended.
One part of the training involved actually practicing the therapy on other participants. This included instruction in reading, writing, and math. One of the most fascinating parts is how the Japanese correct the patients’ assignments. Only red pens are used, every patient receives 100 despite errors, and each paper is circled in a certain section of the paper. No percentage sign is used on the paper. The 100 needs to be in the quarter right of the paper. It took me a little bit to make sure I was doing this part right as I don’t necessarily grade every students’ paper with a circle or the percentage in the exact spot each time!
Positive affirmations are essential to the program as well. The system is called MRP– mark, record, and praise. I liked it!
After my training, I was excited to use some of the techniques on my father. I printed off some math sheets and encouraged him to complete them. “This is good for your brain, Dad!” I enthusiastically announced as he sat in his gray recliner. “Okay,” he grudgingly answered. The math, double digit addition, proved to be too easy. “You must think I am really dumb to give me this math,” he said, in a despondent manner. “This is for second graders!” I quickly realized that SAIDO ideas weren’t for him and put the papers away. Sighing, I decided that my training would be better for those at Waterford who actually signed up for the program. I consoled myself with the thought that maybe another day would be better or I should print some word problems instead.
Despite the failed attempt with my father, I look forward to heading back to Waterford to begin my volunteering with the patients!
This is the math part of instruction. Patients match the round numbers to the number board.
The memory of the phone call came back in a flash. “Michelle, is this an okay time to talk?” It was my sister-in-law, Hope. I was sitting in the bleachers, watching Corey’s soccer game. “Of course, “I answered. Her news filled me with dismay. “It’s my dad. They said he has six months to live- liver cancer. He may qualify for immunotherapy, though. I wanted to let you know, in case I seem rather sad at Mom’s funeral.”
I recall sitting in the far corner of the bleachers, repeatedly saying, “This can’t be happening.” Would we be attending two funerals this year?
I also remember him attending my mother’s funeral and commenting on how he appreciated my brother’s eulogy and the different songs sang. He told my sister-in-law that he wanted a similar funeral, sentiments she didn’t want to hear.
Now, this morning, I answered another phone call with the news that her father had indeed passed. “You have to be kidding,” I said. “Of course I’m not kidding,” my brother angrily responded. I don’t know why I responded with those words. Strangely enough, I answered the call at Waterford, the facility where my mother passed away. I had signed up for SAIDO, the training for dementia patients and this just happened to be the day of training. The tears ran down my face as I listened to my brother share the details of how his father-in-law’s health deteriorated so quickly in the past few days. He was out for lunch on Thursday, enjoying a visit with his brothers, but Friday found him at a different state. It was too fast. Another funeral, another burial, and more tears.
Despite the shock at the sudden death, I rejoice over the spiritual legacy Phil left his family and grandchildren. I praise God for the family dinners they were able to enjoy in his last days. I am thankful that I was able to take their family photo the Sunday after my mother passed away and continue to pray that our heavenly Father will comfort and uplift them in their sorrow.
I am so glad we took this outside as the foliage was beautiful.
I woke up on Saturday, feeling a sense of excitement as I thought ahead to the excursion I planned for my father– visiting the Holland Art Museum. Filled with Dutch artifacts and masterpieces, I thought this would be the perfect way to distract him from his sadness. But again, I was wrong.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” he answered, placing his hands on his head. “I am too tired.” Inwardly sighing, I sensed that no persuasive arguments would change his mind. “What about if we change some things in your room instead?” I questioned, remembering that the lighting needed to be changed. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” While I was disappointed that we didn’t head to the art museum, I rejoiced that he didn’t care how I redesigned his room!
My first step was to change the blank walls and add more family pictures to help him remember that his family dearly loves and adores him. I headed back to his condo where I somehow hauled his dresser back to Room 211. This arduous task included locating the cart, dragging the dresser to the cart, and then transporting the dresser/cart back to his room amidst many comments from the residents. “What ARE you doing?” they all asked. I am sure that it was quite a sight seeing me pull the cart with this dresser all through the hallways. However, it was totally worth it when I finished. I also added more lamps.
My next step was to create more color in the room. “What is your favorite color, Dad??” “I don’t have one,” he responded. I persisted.
“What about green? Blue?” “Well, I guess I do have one: orange.”
“ORANGE? Did you say ORANGE, Dad?” I could not believe it. After all these years, I never knew that orange was his favorite color.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Orange is a good color.” I didn’t know if he was just saying that to get me to stop asking him, but I was thrilled.
“Okay! Orange will work great!”
I ended up leaving to head to the nearest home store where I located another jewel– Scrabble letters that could be stuck on his wall. My dad and I played Scrabble for countless hours when I was growing up!
On Sunday, I headed back to Royal Park where I added the extra design elements. It is such a little thing, but the design of a nursing home room is important in the healing process. I found myself thinking of more ways to add fun to his room and hope it helps his grieving process.
These are the Scrabble tiles. I wish I could cover up the call light, but that is rather important.
I don’t really know if these pillows will stay like this, but it was fun to rearrange them!
My dad’s bed doesn’t have a headboard, so I placed the pillows here.
I want to add a round mirror on top of the verse. I would also like to change the handles, but my brother will think it is too frivolous. Style matters, though!
“I love his Einstein hair!” my nephew always comments. My dad’s hair, unruly and wild, definitely looked like Einstein, but that ended with a haircut by Bev. Despite my dad’s desire to stay in his room, I wheeled him to the salon where he received a haircut and eyebrow trim.
During the appointment, Bev chatted about my mother and her enjoyment of getting her hair done. My dad, always cautious with his money, expressed reluctance to pay for what he viewed as frivolous. Bev shared how my mother would whisper, “If Bert says it’s okay, I will come and get my hair done!” My brother and I learned about my dad’s reluctance and purchased a hair certificate for my mother as a present.
While chatting with Bev, I thought of other times when we focused on Mom’s hair. When my mother was close to death at Waterford, she was supposed to get a haircut, but it seemed pointless so we canceled. While at Freedom, my aunt visited and marveled at my mom’s plethora of hair. My aunt was wearing a wig because of cancer treatments. While completing the funeral arrangements, the director asked if we wanted Mom’s hair done a certain way. Thinking that was definitely silly since it was a closed casket, we responded that it didn’t matter. At the funeral, when our family viewed Mom for one last time, I had to feel her hair for one more time. It still maintained its form, mostly because of hair product.
The day ended with me driving back on M-6, thinking about hair. It was another moment of remembering my mother.
A Journey Worth Remembering 