We started making plans for this trip after my husband and I offered to take them ‘home’.  They wanted to go, but they wanted to drive, not fly.  So they offered their car for this trip.  Dad had new tires put on the car, got the oil changed and the car ready for the 1500+ miles.  Then a few days before our departure date, my sister told me that dad had informed them at lunch that day that it was his car and he would drive whenever he felt like driving.

Ohmeohmy!  My husband heard this and replied firmly (and loudly I might add), “I will not put my life or my wife’s life in the hands of my 94 year old father-in-law.”  We discussed our dilemma and decided that we needed to drive our own car.  Then we needed to find a good reason to make this last minute change.  We really are making every effort to help them feel they are not losing all control of their lives.  However, if the day does come that we need to make the statement, “Dad, you’re not driving,”  or whatever the statement needs to be, we will do it.  This time, gratefully, we had a good, ready reason to take our own vehicle.  We actually needed to take a large item with us and needed more trunk space.

They accepted the change, almost jumped into our back seat, smiled at each other, and held hands all the way ‘home’!  They were so anxious to get there that Dad didn’t even put his head back for a nap…at all. 

We were concerned about disorientation, which is something that happens easily when they are out of their ‘home’ environment, especially in a strange motel at night.  And mother told me that they were talking till nearly midnight that first night because dad couldn’t understand where they were and why they weren’t in their own beds.

The second full day slipped by smoothly and easily, just as the first had.  There was some conversation, and some laughter, some joking and no resting.  Dad was really quite alert and he connected with us all day.  By the time we stopped for dinner and one more motel night, I could tell that the trip was wearing on him. He looked tired, but for whatever reason, he would not, or could not rest during the day.  I certainly did!   Perhaps he felt responsible for being awake to ‘help the driver’. 

We finally arrived at our destination by the middle of the third day.  Their rental car was waiting for them.  Yep, they rented a car.  We got them settled in their comfortable motel suite and prepared to leave them.  At which point, Mom said to Dad, “we couldn’t have gotten here if they hadn’t driven us.”  At which point Dad said to all of us, “Oh I don’t know about that!  I could have driven all the way!”

Oh well “Whatever, Dad!”

There were struggles with friendships, painful  competitions, and the whole business of ‘growing up’…moving from childhood, through adolescence towards adulthood….ohmeohmy, it’s no wonder that we struggle so much in those years.  One of my painful memories was that of waitinghopingwishing that I would be chosen, NOT LAST, when teams were selected to play on the playground.  Two girls were selected to captain the two teams, then those two would take turns choosing who they wanted to be on their teams.  Of course someone always was chosen last…and frequently that was the same someone over and over and over. 

My youngest sister accompanied me on this weekend and we were talking about this very thing.  She told me that she was always chosen last.   And so today I ask if there was/is any other way of selecting teams?   50 years ago all I thought was, selfishly, “I don’t want to be the last selected.”  I am wondering today if, in my grandchildren’s schools, does this situation even exist?  I will take that question to my children. 

I remember well the feeling of ‘not fitting in’ with any of the popular girls in my class.  They always seemed to have the most fun, were the loudest, made their voices heard, and seemed to be allowed to do many activities I either wasn’t allowed to, or didn’t feel comfortable doing, because I felt I didn’t fit in.  It was truly a difficult time for me. 

One of the reasons I originally decided against going to this reunion and used all my excuses to cover, were these very feelings that unsuspectingly returned to me.  It’s easy to bury feelings like these when we move away, grow up a bit or a whole lot, and life’s experiences replace the experiences of our youth.  However, one of my conscious thoughts a few weeks ago was that I had buried some negative feelings from my youth that I wanted to be released from.  I also have decided that I want to live as free from regrets as I possibly can.  That was when I began to realize that I could possibly kill two birds with one stone!  Actually I didn’t want to ‘kill one bird’ and add another bird to my regret bucket which I’m working to clean out.

All of this to say again how healing, cleansing, freeing and good it was to meet my former classmates as adults who have also matured a whole lot,  yes, even those popular girls some of whom are now popular adults.  We liked each other, accepted each other, and respected each other and we all seemed to thoroughly enjoy re-meeting and reconnecting in a whole new and pleasant way.

The weeks prior to the reunion, however, I began thinking about those years, 50 years ago.   We lived in a very small, rural midwest town.  And my high school graduating class was 29 students of which 17 were attending this reunion.

 High school was not an easy time for me and the difficulty came with my intense need and desire to please my father.  So I played basketball because he wanted me to.  I was tall and therefore ‘I would be a good basketball player’!  Those were the days of half court  girl’s basketball.  So I would stand as the ‘tall center’ in the forward court and pray that the ball wouldn’t come to our end.   I was neither athletic nor competitive…not a good combination for a center forward on a basketball team. 

I liked a young man,  a really fine and good young man who was a year older than I.  But my father didn’t approve of him.  I don’t remember that we ever dated, but I do remember sitting with him at school functions. 

I didn’t have a lot of friends.  I was not allowed to ‘cruise’ with my classmates.  I was not allowed to meet them at the town cafe after games. 

I began to realize that I really wanted to return to that environment of my youth.  I wanted to meet my former classmates, many of whom my father disapproved.   I am not the person that I was 50 years ago.  I don’t know how much my father has changed, but I do know that I have changed.

 I went back with an agenda.  It was a quiet, unassuming agenda and my goal was redemptive in nature.  I needed to meet each classmate that was there and visit with him or her, even if only for a few minutes.  I desired a good connection with each person, a genuine exchange and an opportunity to give of myself and receive from them. 

The weekend turned out to be good…very, very good.  The one friend I did have in high school was one of the speakers at our alumni banquet and she made a comment in her closing remarks that so beautifully summarized my ‘reunion’ weekend.  She stated that our class has ‘made peace with our past’.  I felt that she knew why I had come…I needed to make peace with my past.

Our father married our step mother over 25 years ago, after our mother had died.  Over the years they’ve given each other gifts and we had made the assumption that the gifts that Dad had given to his wife were her’s also assuming that those gifts she gave him belonged to him.  However, when some of the jewelry she had given to him were not brought out with other of his jewelry, this assumption took another turn.

What we are becoming clearer about is that with second marriages there are different considerations that need clarification when ‘end of life’ issues are being discussed.  One of these issues is the handling of ‘gifts’ given to each other.  Another of these issues that my hospice-expert sister has already discussed with Dad and his wife was the question of who will pay for each of their funeral expenses.  It turns out that our mother’s estate will pay for her’s and our father’s estate will pay for his.  There is no right or wrong here… it was a matter of clarifying this so that at the time of death, the question was previously settled and agreed upon.  This is the process that will be used with the handling of the jewelry gifts as well.

Agendas…as long as the questions continue to arise, discussions will continue to take place.

One of the agenda items on my recipe sharing plate is the Salade Niçoise which we served to our father and mother and visiting sister yesterday.  It is worth sharing with you.  It comes from southern France in the Province region and is a most glorious main dish summer salad.  It was a huge hit with our family!

Salade Niçoise

for 4 people

• Red potatoes, scrubbed and boiled…as many as you would use in a salad

• Fresh green beans lightly steamed…a nice amount

• Sweet onion or red onion, chopped or sliced not finely

• Black olives…one can drained (or those good ones from the deli counter!)

• Tuna…fresh grilled, or canned

• 4 Roma tomatoes quartered

• 4 Boiled eggs quartered

• Dressing:  6 Tbsp olive oil,  2 Tbsp fresh squeezed lemon juice or balsamic vinegar,  1 large clove garlic squeezed, salt and pepper to taste

Mix quartered potatoes,  green beans, chopped onions and olives together with most of the dressing, reserving a small amount of dressing. Place this mixture in the middle of a large serving platter, arrange the tuna over the top, and the tomatoes and egg quarters around the edge.  Drizzle the remainder of the dressing over the tomatoes, eggs and tuna.  Smile at your master piece and serve it to your favorite people.

Her agenda this trip was solely about Dad’s jewelry.  I say solely, because she has started reducing her agenda to one item… that seems to be the limit that either Dad or Mom can handle.  It was not until late afternoon yesterday that she found an appropriate time to bring up this subject.  We four sisters were sitting on our parent’s patio when she said that she was going in to talk with them about the jewelry.

The jewelry has become an issue with us, Dad’s four daughters.  About three months ago, I went to their home early morning as I do daily, to make sure that both of them were up and breathing.  I usually enjoy a cup of coffee with them, make their bed then return to my home.  This particular morning, Dad said to me, “I can’t find my ring.”  He was rubbing his hands and looking at his ring-less right hand.  The ring that he couldn’t find was a family heirloom.  I asked about it and all Dad could say was that he couldn’t find it.  He had taken it off to put some medicated salve on his hands.  He said that he always puts it on the table, then back on his finger when he has salved his hands.

We sisters have been concerned about the loss of more of Dad’s jewelry, hence, an agenda item.  Not that his jewelry is worth that much… we are sentimental, and it has sentimental value of great worth to us.

Yesterday we three sat on that patio about 45 minutes before she came back out with Dad, Mom and the jewelry in an envelope.  He/they agreed that it was time to put it into ‘safe keeping’ and if he wanted to wear any of it, he needed to let us know and we would get it to him.

This morning as the four of us went together to the airport, my hospice-expert sister told us, ‘the rest of the story.’  She had to do some convincing to get them to part with this jewelry… she told them that she wanted each of her children to have a piece of grandpa’s jewelry and she knew that her sisters felt the same way.  She told us that Dad’s dementia was severe enough that he didn’t know that he had any jewelry, he asked what his jewelry box was and he had no memory of the lost heirloom ring.  He didn’t know anything about that ring and when she explained that it was lost, he asked, “What is lost?”   She quietly and patiently persisted in this tangled conversation and Mom began slowly to bring out a few pieces.  She seemed as reluctant as Dad seemed confused.  However Mom finally said that he had not worn any of this jewelry for at least three years and she was surprised this subject hadn’t been brought up before now.

We believe that before we got to the airport, this jewelry conversation with Dad had gotten lost in that mysterious place where everything else is getting lost.  And we felt like four sad little girls.

I was surprised at this strong statement of his because they have nearly stopped driving in areas of heavy traffic, letting my husband and me do that driving for them.  I was shocked because he seemed to be saying that his daughters seem to him to have too much control over his life.  Another time I heard an attack against us when he said, in one of his moments of angst  about returning to his hometown to die,  “I want to move to get away from the people in my family who are trying to tell me what I can and can’t do.”  Just a couple of days ago he was upset about   ‘loss of control of my own money’.

His response to the comment I made about the airport drive, taught me something about handling him and his ‘unreasonable’ statements.  I said to him,  “Dad, a couple of years ago, you made the decision to stop driving to the airport with the statement, ‘I’m just not comfortable making that drive anymore’.  And since that time, you’ve been very happy to let someone else do the airport pickups.”   He looked at me, thought for a moment, then asked, “Did I say that?”  I assured him that he had,  then he said,  “Ok, then I’ll just let you all do that driving.”

Concerning his savings account, I reminded him that several months ago he, his wife and his hospice daughter had the conversation in which both mom and dad made the statement that he is not capable of making financial decisions himself and he needs help with that, help that does not put all the financial responsibility on his wife.  They each agreed that he needed to assign two of his daughters to help him think and talk through any financial issues that came up.  Legal steps were taken to make this decision binding.   Until they were both reminded of that conversation and the decision that was made to protect both of them, they felt a loss of control over their money.  We told them that their money was still their money, no one could touch it,  but they would simply have to discuss any major financial decisions they wanted to make concerning how it was spent with two of their daughters.  We had to remind them of this decision that both of them made, when and why they made it.    Mom remembered that conversation and that decision, dad didn’t, but accepted that mom remembered it.

I’ve thought a lot about our trip back to the midwest this summer, back to his home town and I’ve thought about other decisions he’s made that he doesn’t remember, but that he made for his own good.   This approach of taking him back to that decision, even though he doesn’t remember making that decision, is a helpful and useful tool in helping him deal with situations he isn’t happy about at the moment.

To one of my sisters, our mother said, “I know that neither of us would be able to pass the written drivers test.”   Well in all reality, neither of them has any business driving anymore anyway.  And that is going to be my next subject to consider.

How nice it is and what a difference it has made in at least part of the stress level in their lives and ours to have this ‘move back home’ buried, at least for the moment.   Mom is actually making the decisions and trying really hard to get dad to willingly agree with them.  Dad is agreeing, though not necessarily gracefully, to not making a physical move back to his home state.  He gets this very stoic and unhappy glare on his face and seems to be putting the ‘blame’ for his inability to make the move on his daughters.  Which is probably a good thing, since we don’t want him angry with mom about it.

So two days ago I offered to go back ‘home’ with them this summer; to help them get settled in a motel suite and let them enjoy the experience of being ‘home’ for as long as they wanted to be there.  They accepted gladly but let me know that they wanted to drive not fly.  My husband and I are leaving with them, driving their car and will ‘take them home’.

I found dad’s two comments about this trip most interesting.  His first one was that they might want to “just stay there a long time”.  A few minutes later when he’d forgotten what he had just said, he offered that he “might be ready to return ‘home’ within just a few days”!!

Mother has set July 5th for our departure date and July 26 for the return trip date.  If the mosquitoes are bad enough, the flies in their glory, the humidity high enough to cause a physical meltdown and the heat really up there, I can’t imagine their lasting two weeks!  My hospice sister tells me that he will quickly forget all the reasonable reasons they had for returning to their hot, but dry southwest home and he will probable return to wanting to ‘go home to die’.

Dad really has two ‘hometowns’.   The one they are physically living in and have been in for nearly 25 years and the one in his memory, the part of his memory that continues to work.  I think that his reality actually is that he prefers living here, but at the moment of his death, he wants to be there to die.

My daughter is a veterinarian…she’s an all natural, organic, holistic, fantastic vet.  She said that she had very, very sick clients who could not have grains in their diets…which of course dogs weren’t meant to have anyway.  That day, I heard her question with different ears.  The question became a challenge and an adventure.  I enlisted the help of a friend and together we turned my kitchen into an experimental laboratory.  Our home took on the odor of cooked liver and my white kitchen took on the appearance of a…well, you can imagine what it looked like sometimes.

My daughter said that it would be the very best if we could do this without adding any grains but she wasn’t sure we could accomplish that.  So we started with some very old, Biblical grains that we found at our health food store.  We didn’t like those.  We tried different kinds of grains in different combinations.  The experimenting continued for nearly 9 months.  We prayed,  we cried,  we laughed,  we pulled out every pan in my kitchen, we kept logs, added more of this and less of that, we tried again.

Then a new idea struck us…one that we worked on until finally we got something that looked good and smelled good,  (we were trying to smell as a dog does).  We tried it on some neighborhood dogs, they loved it.  We sent it to my daughter and she loved it.  Her dogs really loved it.  And so our dog treat was born.   And it had no grains!

My daughter told us that we had something different than anything else on the market.  She used it in her vet clinic and some of her clients who owned doggie boutiques wanted to sell it in their stores.  So we packaged it and started selling to a few retailers in the Chicago area where my daughter was located.

We soon transformed our basement into our bakery,  hoping to move the liver smell downstairs.  Actually it only served to fill the entire house,  the smell rose right up the stairs and out into the neighborhood.  So we kept our neighbors happy with dog treats.

It has turned into a full time business and we sell our treats across the country.  My friend left our partnership and my son joined me.   It was he who saw the potential in this little enterprise  and had the energy to grow it.  And so today we have retailers in every state selling Dr. Becker’s Bites…this little treat that was created in my kitchen.

I want to share it with you and if you have a dog, or even a cat, please check it out at beckerbites.com

So the other day this subject came up with me.  They usually reserve this conversation for my sister, the one who started all these discussions a year ago, but they have broached me with it a few times.  If I respond supportively,  (I think I just created a new word there)  they might talk with me again; however if my response feels to them like I am trying to talk them out of it, I don’t hear about the move for a while.    I looked for an opportunity to share my concerns and when ‘mom’ said to me that she didn’t know how they could handle this move at their age, I felt the door had opened for me.

I shared with her that two years ago when my husband and I moved into the communal living arrangement we have with our youngest daughter and her husband, I experienced an unexpected feeling of relief and security.  When I gave our move and this unexpected response some thought, I realized that we were no longer in the potential position of being alone in our old age and felt this surprising sense of relief and security.

I told my mother that I feared if they got moved back to their home state–which they’ve been away from for 25 years–they would ultimately feel alone and insecure, and want to return to the warm sunny desert where 4/6ths of their family lives.    They would be leaving four of their combined children, each of which today give them support, company and all the help they need.  They would be moving to a small town where her son lives at the moment, but plans to move shortly to be closer to one of his daughters.  I tried to gently remind her that their friends are also elderly and cannot be counted on for support.  Then I boldly said that usually elderly parents try to move closer to their families rather than move away from them at this point in their lives.

Even with Dad’s dementia, they have done an amazing job of caring for themselves, for the most part,  and living independently in their own home.  However, it seems that when they get an idea into their heads that they want to do something,  all reality quickly marches right out the back door.  Their house will be on the market next week, according to their plans.   They will hire the entire move done.  The snow and ice of midwestern winters will be like the heat of desert summers and they will just stay indoors.   My greatest fear is that this move will compromise their ability to remain independent and they will end up in a place they really don’t want to be.

I keep reminding myself of the value of seeking wise counsel and I am praying that as I age, the curse of stubbornness will not have settled on me.

Pat is a hospice nurse, and professional caregiver; she has worked with hospice for 150 years (remember that means a long, long, long long long time) and in fact has helped plan, organize and write hospice programs.  This is her life, her passion and she is good.  She knows the ‘end of life’ issues, questions and subjects that need to be addressed.  So she started addressing these with our parents.

It was hard at first…they both cried and cried.  She treated them with respect and  honor.  She helped them to talk about their wishes and desires for their own lives at the time of their deaths.  Neither of them really knew what they wanted…if they had thought about it,  they hadn’t talked about it with anyone.  As they talked, they began to find it an easier subject to deal with and they began to form some definite thoughts about what they wanted or didn’t want.

My sister talked with them about their funerals, their finances, what to do at the time of death.  They talked about resuscitation, they talked about care facilities, they talked about Durable Power of Attorney for Healthcare.

It was perhaps a little over a year ago that she felt the need to talk with them about end of life issues.  She told me that she said to them during one of her visits with them, that she had some difficult questions that she wanted to ask them.  She clarified to them that they didn’t have to answer her questions if they didn’t want to, or perhaps they had discussed the topic with someone else and they didn’t need to discuss it with her.  So she simply asked,  “Dad, do you know what you would do if you woke up one morning and found mom dead?”  Actually, she is our second mom…dad remarried after our mother died 25 years ago.  “Mom, what would you do if you walked into the living room and found dad had died in his chair?”

My sister told me that no one had ever talked to them about this  and they were very happy and actually quite relieved to talk with her.  She said that in hospice, you die….you don’t ‘pass’  or ‘move on’,  you die.  And this is how the whole conversation got started.

And so a year later, DPOAH or Durable Power of Attorney for Healthcare has been signed and given to their doctor.  Mother has a copy and so do we.  Do Not Resuscitate papers have been signed and are posted by their bed.  Funeral plans have been made, scratched and made again.  And their wishes have been written down.  What to do if one wakes up to find the other dead has been discussed and each step has been written down.  We’ve taken the further step of checking in with them each morning around 7:00, or making a telephone call to them.  Financial issues are being addressed.  Power of Attorney is in place for our father whose mind no longer permits him to make decisions.

Death, we’re all going to be there someday…I’m learning that to the extent possible, planning for it may help remove part of the sting for those left.  I have talked about every stage of my life…young adult, marriage, retirement…talking about my end of life years is going on my agenda for discussion.  I have seen for myself what a good thing it is to talk about.