Five Wooden Buttons

11/17/2013

"Five Wooden Buttons"

"Five wooden buttons", hand made out of a branch of Manzanita wood, a wood that comes from a beautiful bush that is protected in California.  Beautiful dark reddish wood with a blond streak running through it. A very hard wood, but as you polish, it presents such a glow that comes from deep inside.  

"Five wooden buttons", hand made my me.  Each one cut from a branch I found in the woods above my trailer.  Similar in size. They all began the same way, bark cut off, stroked and sanded carefully with different grades of sand paper until the finish was satin smooth. Hours of work, fingers worn raw. 

Then holes to drill.  A button must have holes. Maybe not 4, as it seems an overkill.  Two would be just fine, just simple, just perfect to hold the thread that is pulled through it many times in order to hold it in place on a beautiful hand made lilac sweater.  

   

"Five wooden buttons", each given my full attention, the stroke of my fingers for hours, and the anticipation of what would she say when I gave her the sweater, adorned with the Five wooden buttons, each individually sewn on, one by one. 

 

"Five wooden buttons". Twenty years ago, they were given to her, wrapped in such love. Received with a smile and then......never seen again.

"Five wooden buttons" appeared today, November 17, 2013.  As I was going through the boxes of "things" belonging to mom. So many things left behind. I have the job of the long ordeal of sorting, keeping, discarding my mother's belongings and personal effects. Those "Five wooden buttons" appeared. 

I have casually looked for them, over the years, when mom and I would go out to shop, go to doctors appointments, take a drive to see the beautiful autumn leaves.  They were never seen again until... 

Today, opening up boxes, little boxes. Boxes with a beautiful satin covering, old wooden boxes, colorful tin boxes, beautiful ceramic boxes.  My mother loved boxes of all kinds.  Then.....there was this little rust colored velvet box, 3x3x3 inches with a beautiful little gathering of gold beads on top making a small design.  As I opened it, there they were the "Five wooden buttons" all with thread through their holes. They were no longer connected to that beautiful lilac sweater.  The thread was the thread I sewed them on with but they all had been cut off the sweather.

There they were, all five.  They seemed to be hiding or tucked away, or forgotten where they had been placed or hidden.  Still shiny, still beautiful red Manazanita wood.  There was a hush in my heart. A silence in the empty room I was in. I could hear the wind outside. Here they were, living in this little velvet box, cut off and hidden away.  Why? I don't know.  

What I do know is that I was not the girl my mom wanted to have.  She had two children, myself and my brother.  I was a little freckle faced, redheaded, pudgy tom boy.  Mom and I were very different people. Over the years she struggled to make me look nice, making my clothes, perming my hair, making me wear a bra, pretty dresses and wear lipstick, etc. But to no avail. I was just a tomboy, a girl who loved working with her dad, getting dirty, going fishing, etc.

I have seen, over the many years, gifts I have given mom, put in a box for Salvation Army, given back to me, not remembering I had made it for her. My gifts to mom disappeared, worn once for me to see or just hidden away, never used.   I tried to be the daughter she wanted me to be. Mom had high expectations for me, which I never met. I have led a financially comfortable life, having wild and wonderful adventures. But.....not the daughter she "expected".  

Finding those "Five wooden buttons" spoke loud and clear to me.  The final word, the final seal on the suspicions I have lived in my heart for years and were confirmed when I opened that little box and found those "Five wooden buttons".    

"Five wooden buttons". They are still resting comfortably in that little velvet box on a shelf in my room.  A sad note at the end of my mother's life that she never intended me to find.

"Five wooden buttons", what else is there to say except....."Mom I miss you and love you".

Mom passed away March 30th, 2013 3:01 am, in my home with me by her side, holding her hand, feeling her fainting pulse. Trying to do what a daughter should do.

Accepting Last Chapter ..Part 2

In Part 1 I reviewed the changes in my mom.  Yes, we who still have our parents when we are in our 60's, are lucky........or are we?

They change.......they change..........they change............!

My mother became a recluse, had my step dad cover all the windows in their home with foam core - no daylight showed. She would sit under a lamp, in her recliner and work her word puzzles.  My step dad enjoyed watching old westerns and black and white movies.  Mom had him set the television so there was no sound, only the word captions.  Then that wasn't enough. She had him buy her a temporary partition that he would put up in front of her everyday so she couldn't see the tv.  

My father, on the other hand, is now 90.  He lost my step mom a year ago February.  They were never married but had so much fun for 42 years, or so I thought.  Towards the last year, my step mom often spoke of leaving.  We later found that she had been having small strokes.  She would get angry and say horrible things to dad then be fine.

I never expected my "daddy" to change.  I was his favorite, his pet, his tomboy who would go fishing with him, work on cars with him.  My brother was a wimp for so long and a mommy's boy.   I called dad everyday and if I missed he would track me down until he heard from me.  This went on for 20 yrs.  My brother would maybe call once a week.  

When I wanted to go see dad, I would ask my brother if he wanted to go but he always had an excuse and when he got out there to Arizona, he would have to get back.

After my step mom passed, I chose to stay and live with my dad for 7 mos. so dad would not drive.  He was legally blind but wouldn't admit it.  Dad became angry in his grieving process and took it out on me, a woman of 67 yrs. "Don't cross your legs, don't put your elbows on the table, don't step on the throw rug outside of the shower - you will get it wet - dry off in the shower, don't move anything in the refrigerator and put everything back where it belongs, fold the dish towels like mom did etc.  He would jerk his hand away when I reached to hold it.  Once, he thought I was putting my hand on his shoulder when we were out.  He jammed his elbow back hard thinking he was hitting me. It wasn't me but another person.   By the end of 7 months i was an emotional mess, and exhausted as I did all the packing of his 4 bedroom home, so dad could move across country.  My sibling didn't have time, and wouldn't come out to spell me so I could go home to see my husband.  

It took a couple of months with dad settling into his new home for me to tell him why I have refused to stay overnight and preferred to travel the two hours back home.  He admitted he treated me like s--t.  He apologized several times after that.  Our relationship got back to normal.  I loved dad so much and I finally had my "daddy" back.

Then a 6 mos after he had moved he became ill and almost died 3 times while in the hospital.  During his stay he was at various stages of consciousness.  When he was conscious but drugged he became that evil mean guy towards me again, calling me horrible names, ordering me around like a slave.  When my brother would enter the room, dad's arms were up and a smile on his face.  When I came in, he would ask why I was there.  He would hit my arm and order some water or changing the lights.  I knew it was his true thoughts.  It was like when a person has to much to drink the truth comes out...... and that is what dad was like.  Was it a stroke?  who knows.   But it was dimentia, his short term memory was failing, he was repeating himself.  

Now in the last chapter of his life, I have lost my dad.  My dad has some kind of unspoken hostility towads me or my past actions somewhere in my life.  He lies to me.  Tells me things are fine.  My trust has been broken.  

Do I just accept his change as a result of dimentia?  Is it fair that in the last chapter of his life his love for me has dimmed, my mother's love for me had dimmed?  

Is that fair? I have done nothing but try to be there and take care when needed.  And in the last chapter of their lives, they only remember their love of my brother, who has done nothing to help in any way in their time of need.  A year and a half of my life, sleeping in hospital chairs for a total of 6mos, running errands, handling their financial affairs?  Being the daughter who would be there for doctors appts, shopping, etc.   Dimentia took them, twisted their minds and I lost them.  Accepting the last chapters of their lives was so different that what I thought it would be.  I feel so alone, so abandoned.   

So prepare yourself, know that their minds change and you may lose them.  You may lose them as your loving wonderful parents.  And yet they will be there in front of you, needing your help, needing you.....and yet......you will be expected to perform and accept criticism like a hired maid.

Prepare yourself, Pray for acceptance and understanding.  Oh I understand........but my heart is so sore!  It is so broken.

Accepting Last Chapters Part 1

Ocober 6 2013

"ACCEPTING THE LAST CHAPTERS"

We all approach this point when we start losing friends and family.  I have never given it much thought, accepting that it will be full of tears, sadness, reflecting moments and full of work.  Taking care of the father or mother that is left behind or going through and getting rid of the evidence of a long life - THINGS, things, things..... would be the "work".  I "always" thought I was prepared for the trials and tribulations of raising a child or losing loved ones.  I always accepted that I would just have to figure it out, create solutions, and move on.  Never did I figure on what the side shows of those challenges would be.

The side shows of "Last Chapters" in my life has been more than challenging.  I am tough gal, still riding my mule, still able to take long trips with truck and trailer, endure mechanical breakdowns, troubled horses or mules, bad weather, unplanned monetary debt etc.   But the challenges of your parents, who live long lives, are nothing short of a "mountain to climb and then a slide down without falling or losing skin off your butt".  

In the last year and a half I have lost my Step Mom, my Mom, almost lost my Dad 3 times, taking on the care of my Step-dad, losing a, once loving relationship with my brother who turned out to be my enemy, lost 2 of my mule riding buddies and my black lab - Lucky. 

"Accepting Last Chapters" means just that - it means "accepting" when you haven't planned on it.  We think we know how the "last chapters" will go.......they don't!  My mother developed Dementia and we later learned, suffered many strokes over the last years which created her Dementia.  Our relationship, which has been a challenge for me over the years, became so much more difficult with her becoming recluse, becoming more critical of me and openly adoring my brother, her youngest.  I interrupted my life to take mom on shopping trips, doctor's apts., daily phone calls, shopping for her and making sure she and my step dad were okay and comfortable.  My brother, her baby son, called once a month and visited once every two or three months while living just 15 miles away. She opening adored him and throughout her illness, worshiped his every visit, word or gesture. She loved him so. 

Last January Mom suffered her first of two strokes.  I immediately took up residence in the hospital with her, while going back and forth to take care of my 91 yr old step dad, cleaning their home, doing laundry and shopping, taking step dad to dr's appts and then back to mom.  I was received at the hospital, when she was conscious, with little regard.  But the twice a week 2 hr visit from my brother was received with open arms and smiles when she was conscious.

It was a daily reminder that our relationship was always a "work in progress".  Mom and I were very different people.  And that difference was accentuated by the changes as result of her many small, undiscovered, strokes over the years.  In her last week of life, I brought her home to my home. , We redecorated the large bedroom, brought in a hospital bed for mom, moved step dad into the room to be with mom in her last days or moments.  We knew she didn't have much time. 

I stayed in a chair beside mom's bed for 6 days, with only brief times away.  I held her wrist on her last night of life, feeling her fading heartbeat, resting my head next to her and listening to her breathing.  Waiting, waiting, waiting for her departure.  And knowing she would miss her son but not sure she would miss me.  Oh Mom and I had some good times, laughter, talks etc but that was years ago and we both worked on being mother and daughter with little bits of progress - more acceptance than progress. 

The "Accepting..." I speak about is accepting the fact that your mom, at the end of her life still did not accept who you are, what you have done, your mistakes and successes.  To say goodbye wondering if you mom really loved you or just was forced to say it and accept you because she gave you life.  

 Was the doubt in my mind the result of being so close to mom over the years and not seeing the "forest for the trees" with small strokes being the culprits of change?  How do you factor that in?  How do you sort out what was really in her heart and what was forgotten as a result of the stroke/Dementia?  Was there a "deep down" love for her daughter as she approached life with lots of adventures, some of which was not approved by mom?  I was her "wild child".  To look at mom's urn, so beautiful, and wonder where she is, if she really loved me, if she knew how hard I tried to make her comfortable and at peace.  I didn't know about this part of the "...Last Chapter."  I didn't know I would be doubting my mother's love for me.  Or just be sad that she, as a result of her illness/strokes/Dimentia would forget her love for me.  It isn't fair, is it?  Did she forget?  I think so.  But maybe I should be just grateful she had it at one time, that she did give birth to me and loved me until she was ill. 

Maybe that is what "Accepting Last Chapters" means.