blog feed

The Dutch phrase, “Eet Smakelijk”, synonymous with ” Bon Appetit”, is one we often heard at different family gatherings. It usually brings a smile to our faces because of the last ” ckkk” sound often uttered within Dutch circles. I sometimes use the phrase at mealtimes as well.

Spending time in the dining room with my mother is a definite challenge as I spoon feed anything I think she might enjoy. ” What about ice cream? ” I ask with energy. “That’s enough, ” she usually answers, and pushes the food away. At a mere 71 pounds, it is essential that she eats so I persist and use my teacher voice. ” Mom, you need to eat” as I place the ice cream near her mouth. Amazingly, she listens.

Mom is placed at a certain table which could be named “The Resisters”. Two other patients and a nurse’s aide sit at the round table.The aide works diligently to help the patients eat the prepared food. The scene reminds me of times when I fed our toddler children, eyes focused on every swallow. The strangest sight is when my mother stares at the other patients and they stare back at her. What are they thinking?

The nurses are trying everything to encourage my mother to eat. Pancakes, cheeseburgers, ice cream are some of the choices. Come on, Mom! Eet Smakelijk! However, it is ultimately her decision to eat to aid her recovery process.

Waterford, the facility where my parents are heading on August 14, claims that “the resisters” start eating again because of their approach. But how will they do that?

According to their website, the facility offers brain- friendly meal choices. What does that include that will be different that what she currently receives? How will they encourage her to eat when she tells them ” You are being bossy” or “That’s enough” and pushes the food away?

I look forward to seeing this approach in action so we can say our Dutch phrase together.

Finding her felt like locating a piece of my mother, now gone. I think that emotions spilled out because I remember how my mother would faithfully send little notes to those in need, visit nursing home residents from church, and ask others about their health status when sick.There I stood, in her room, crying and hugging a beautiful Royal Park resident: Lois.

In midst of my tears, I explained how her notes deeply touched me in ways I found difficult to explain. The words, ” Miss you at the table” made me weep because I miss her at the table, too. I miss the little picnics, Bob Evans’ meals, and family dinners. Now, our table meals consist of me feeding her most of the time, encouraging her to consume the calories her frail body so desperately needs.

I somehow managed to control my emotions and discovered commonalities. Her late husband, led a church in northern Michigan, where I lived for a year when teaching. One of her sons is someone I connected with several years ago in Lafayette. But my biggest thrill was learning that she was a former third grade teacher. ” I knew it! I could tell by your handwriting and the little smiley faces that you were a teacher!” I hugged her again and knew that this short meeting would have to continue. I must hear her third grade stories!

One unexpected part of the meeting, however, was her emotion at learning that my parents will be leaving Royal Park to head to Waterford, a long- term facility with a memory care unit. She kept saying, ” This is such sad news.” I wondered if I did the right thing. She mentioned how difficult it was to see people leave the home. I wish I had thought of that part before our visit. I know how difficult it is to see friends move away. ” Please give me their address,” she implored. I promised that I would because I know I have to see her again. It needs to be part of this journey.

Besides communicating with parents and students regarding educational matters, sending cards, organizing meal sign-ups, and collecting gift cards are some ways I witness fellow teaching colleagues share kindness with others in times of need. Now, I am on the other side as I receive various types of communication regarding my mother’s health.

I have reread the cards to my mother who, surprisingly, remembers those who communicated. “She is from church” or ” They are from Royal Park” are some of her answers as her eyes remain closed.

The communication varies from texts and posts to cards and calls, but it reminds of the importance of always reaching out to those who face a life-changing situation. It helps knowing how others have also faced this journey. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

“How about #45?” she called out. “Great choice!” I responded. As I played the hymn for the residents, memories of piano lessons flooded my mind.

My Saturday mornings as an elementary student were spent at piano lessons where I dutifully played for my teacher, Mrs. Werkema, a church organist. She insisted that I learn the hymns because ” You never know when someone will need a pianist. Knowing the hymns will help you in many ways.”

When Virginia, an activity manager at Freedom Village, informed me that the piano had not been played for such a long time, I immediately volunteered. ” I love playing the piano!” I enthusiastically responded. At 4 PM, I wheeled my mother and guided my father to Copper Harbor, a named area where residents were waiting.

I played a variety of hymns– “Amazing Grace” “Jesus Loves Me” and many others, but my favorite moment occurred when the residents started singing. We even sang Christmas songs! One request, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” came from a little lady wearing an orange shirt who started flapping her hands at the conclusion.

As we entered the elevator to head to the dining room, my mother remarked,” It was nice that you could play”. She ate more food at dinner and seemed more alert, despite her confusing conversation.

“…[W]e lose sight of how powerful melody and rhythm can be in the realm of medicine, particularly with respect to Alzheimer’s patients and their caregivers… nursing homes and hospitals are finding that working with a music therapist can make a big difference…”

– C. Gorman. Time, November 14, 2005 https://www.musictherapy.org/assets/1/7/MT_Alzheimers_2006.pdf

Reading about music therapy validates the importance of including music in my aging parents’ health plan. It reminds me of the importance of elementary students singing to the Lafayette nursing home residents. It definitely needs to be a part of this journey and beyond.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

L-R: the front door of 1891, Mitch and Corey eating breakfast in the kitchen, the MI welcome sign, poppies in the high school field, 1891 before the door changed to white, MI flowers

Salsa, our red mini- van, needed repairs today so I couldn’t see my parents which filled me with worry. What if my mom passed away when I was at my house? I wondered about my dad’s medicine since it is the last day of July, but my brother took care of it. I wondered about my mom’s eating habits. Did she eat the same way as yesterday when I fed her, rather forcefully at times? Or did she eat very little because nobody was guiding her every morsel? These thoughts distracted me today as I completed various household tasks.

Caregivers, in any role, need breaks. Teachers, nurses, parents of young children, parents of special needs children, and any other type of caregiver need breaks, rest, and relaxation. But does our society work together to help each other out? Do we communicate our needs for breaks or do we often feel that we need to continue as if we are some kind of martyr?

I am not sure if I really took a break today because my thoughts were consumed with worries. A better choice would be to schedule the repairs near their residence, but that thought did not occur to me until later.

Spiritual Emphasis Week, a week-long focus on our school theme, seems long ago, but these photos say it all. I need to trust in God’s ways and have faith that He will provide. Tomorrow will be a new day of opportunities for caregiving. The journey continues.

• 

• 

As we continue this journey, my mind goes back to 2005, the year of our first sabbatical to Wageningen, The Netherlands. Wageningen is home to one of the best plant research universities in the world. We also chose it because of our Dutch family ties. I am thankful for my notes since so many details could be easily forgotten.

One entry, dated May 20, reminds me of the ease of moving to another state versus traveling overseas.

It was not a very successful day. We went to register in Wageningen, but we could not since we didn’t have a contract. We also learned that we have to complete huge forms and pay $1,800 in Euros. There goes the Rome trip. A bank account was also denied since Mitch needed a work statement from the university. Discouragement set in like a blanket of fog over the city harbor. How are we going to get that money overseas? I wonder if we should have taken a sabbatical in New York instead??

Another entry, dated May 26, details one adventure I had forgotten.

Today, filled with excitement, we headed to the zoo! We missed the 9:21 bus, so we spent time at a sandbox waiting for the next bus to arrive. Hurray! The 10:20 bus picked us up and we were on our way. Riding the bus, less tiring than walking, provided simple entertainment for the three kids. Once we arrived, my eyes focused on the prices: $16.50 Euros for adult; $13.50 for Chloe/ Caden; Corey- free equaling $53 for one visit. Much to the disappointment of Chloe and Caden, I could not justify the expense. Caden cried and cried. Chloe didn’t say much. Corey sat on a bench, chowing down on raisins. When all the school buses drove in, transporting multitudes of children, Caden agreed that it would have been too crowded. The bus transported us back to Wageningen where we ended the adventure with some ice cream and playground time.

The benefits of taking a sabbatical, however, outweigh the challenges. Traveling overseas with three children, ages 6, 4, and 18 months caused us to step outside our comfort zones, take new risks, and meet new people. I have no doubt that this Michigan adventure will be the same.

“It’s so dumb, it’s funny,”one teacher remarked as we posed with our named vehicles in the school parking lot.

With the school year behind us and sweet summer ahead, a group of teachers and staff gathered in the school parking lot to capture the moment. A “teacher kid” took the photo, we laughed hysterically at the sight, and we agreed to share the photos in some manner.

We recently purchased “Salsa” after the “Bluemobile” entered its final resting spot- the salvage yard. I feel a certain bonding with this 2010 mini-van my teenagers cannot fathom. “Why did you get another van, Mom?” “Makes no sense”.

However, it makes perfect sense when I am transporting my father with his blue walker. I love how the van seats easily fold down, I can park it in most spots, and it transports an entire family if needed.

I depend upon Salsa to drive us safely from 1891 to Royal Park and then on to Freedom Village, where my mother is living. I am thankful and grateful to be able to use a dependable vehicle in midst of this journey.

• 

• 

Smiley faces, words of encouragement, and the phrase, “Miss you at the table” find their way in the correspondence. I frequently discover them on my dad’s table and find myself eagerly reading them even though they are meant for my mother. Lois Stegink, I need to meet you.

Notes, emails, and texts encourage and uphold our family as we watch my mother’s health deteriorate. They also distract from the sadness of watching and hearing my father’s crying as he leaves each day. I read the notes aloud to my mother who recalls some of the senders. Sometimes she knows the senders and other times not, but we know and feel a sense of appreciation for those who took the time to share and care.

I hope I will meet Lois soon to tell her how my mother misses her at the table, too.

• 

The sound of music usually filled our childhood home on most days. Classical, Christian, the oldies, and even polka provided the background noise. My mother often surprised us with her knowledge of various musicians like Johnny Cash, her brother’s favorite, Elvis Presley, and also the classic musicians like Bach and Beethoven.

Attending outdoor summer concerts, enrolling me in piano lessons, and encouraging me to play the piano at home are some examples of how my mother valued music and its role in our lives.

Bringing her CD player to Freedom Village, her current rehab facility, has been one of the best ways to keep her mind off the pain. Playing a Strauss CD opened up a whole conversation, remarkable since silence can be more typical. “Who is your favorite composer, Mom?” Why did you like Strauss more than Bach?” This higher level type of questioning ellicited a surprising response. “Bach’s music is more refined”. Hearing her use the word refined startled me since her recent dialogue has mostly focused on cleaning windows and getting the pizza out of the oven. “And what about Beethoven, Mom?” I read her some statistics about his life and she nodded.

When I became a mother, I followed my mother’s example of playing music in the home and vehicles. One musical moment is forever etched in my memory. When Chloe, our oldest, needed a calm environment, I repeatedly played a Celtic Psalm CD. The rhythmic cadences lulled her to sleep many times. Years later, I played the same song causing her to comment, ” How do I know that song?”

My first item on my Michigan bucket list, attending “Worship on the Waterfront” in Grand Haven, is completed. Last Sunday, Cheryl, Corey, and I sat in the outside stadium, listening to the sounds of “Building 429”. I can’t keep the lyrics of their newest song, “Fear No More” out of my head. Here is the chorus:

This isn’t what I’d choose
But it’s where I’m finding you
When I’m broken and undone
Your mercy’s just begun
You overcome my doubt
Your hands are reaching out
You hold me through the storm
And I will fear no more

The power of music– a therapy, a conversation starter, a blessing.