Life and other things

Life is a funny thing. I got up this morning with the view of my five year old son's sea blue eyes inches from my own as his pop-tart sweetened breath scented the air about me and his earnest whisper echoed in my ears "hey mom, I need you to come see my kazoo. Are you awake?" Happiness isn't the word, nor is contentment. A sigh of something wonderful ran through me. I am mom.

In the next moment I thought about the red haired wonders that are off with their father somewhere he won't share and a nasty sting hit my soul. Not being able to communicate with either of my 2 older children is harsh. Upon occasion, I rail at God for taking them out of my influence even for a week or two at a time, then I remember that no matter what, they know that I love them more than life itself and I feel their love in return...

As small children, I would tuck kisses and hugs into their blankies, and my daughter would come back from a weekend with her father and say very solemnly "Mommy, I think there are only one or two kisses left. You need to reload my blankie." And together we would kiss and cuddle her blankie, making sure there were plenty stored within it's folds.

Now she is thirteen (can you believe it? I can't) and doesn't carry her blankie any more. But we still store up the kisses and hugs - she just holds them in her heart as I hold them in mine and together we remember every day to say "I love you" even when we are apart.

My first born, my oldest, is dear and sweet and kind and funny and smart and cute. I don't want him to grow up, but he is reaching ever more toward adult hood, and I hate to let him fly even though I will. We are working on driving right now; he is actually really good for a beginner though I am positive we will be purchasing one of those nanny cam things that goes into the vehicle. He is very responsible, but why tempt fate???

He has dark chocolate brown eyes rimmed with black and gorgeous red hair like his little sister, though his is getting darker and curlier much to his dismay. His voice has gotten rich and deep, and when I had him on speaker phone Saturday my friend thought he was a grown man. Not yet, son, but soon enough.

My baby boy, who is no longer a baby with his blue, blue eyes and tow head reasons with me again for a kazoo concert and pink cookies - his favorite for today. We agree to let mom drink coffee before cookies and during the kazoo concert - he is chortling with contentment and marching to his own tune. We have a long discussion about how a kazoo works; he informs me it is the buzzing stuff that makes the music and then we discuss what buzzing stuff is and he pokes apart his kazoo (we fix it with wax paper) to see how it works for real. I show him how to make an instrument out of his comb and a piece of wax paper. We make a shaker out of rice, a paper tube and some tape and then find his tamborine and have a concert.

We pack ourselves into the car before lunch, pick up Daddy and head in to EC to see grandma at the nursing home for her birthday. She is having a good day - she cannot focus on anyone, but she grips her pink birthday card tightly in her hand and makes appreciative noises. Her mouth works; she tries to let us know that she is aware of us, but we know that she has no real knowledge of who we are, just that we are there. She loves to have L visit and calls him by his daddy's name when she can talk (I keep saying he looks nothing like me, but J won't see it!). She is asleep again within a few minutes, so we leave her pink card in her grip and some red, white and blue paper roses in a vase on her dresser. L is confused as to what is going on with Grandma M and a little frightened. We have spent his whole life visiting Grandma M in the nursing home but recently it has become difficult as she nears the end of her days. We take him to lunch, and J and I discuss with him the issues of heaven and Jesus and Grandpa M who went with Jesus before L was born. How do you explain death to a five year old? How do you explain it to an adult?

L and I come home and eat some more pink cookies - he is fractious and I send him to his room to rest - I know he won't nap but he will look at books quietly for a bit so I can do something with my time. Laundry calls, so I throw some in and think for a moment about wiping down the kitchen though not too hard. I have plenty of day left to clean the house, and what I really want is some time to just rearrange my thoughts and write. We are going to make cupcakes this afternoon in Grandma M's honor, with blue frosting (because L remembers Grandma liking blue frosting) and I am going to try to figure out how to pay for our vacation in a couple of weeks.

We are staying close this year because of her condition - she has been leaving us for about a month, and the doctor keeps telling us that she will leave us in the next week or so. She is a strong and stubborn person though and continues to hang in there. I hate it. She is in pain, and frustrated, and can't eat anymore. I want to have her back - her wit and humor, her endless puzzles and her enjoyment of the kids. I want my husband to feel some relief from the agonizing slowness of his mom's decline. I don't like that he wanders the house in the dark of the night and pretends that he sleeps to relieve my concern for him. I hate that I can't tell her who we are and have some faint glimmer of recognition in her faded blue eyes. I am saddened when she seems frightened by her own lack of understanding, and I say a prayer for her and with her every day I visit.
I dread the day that we receive that call. It was difficult when J's dad passed away, but that was from cancer, and at home, and he was aware of who was with him and we were able to talk about his journey and help him understand we would always take care of mom. I feel guilty that she is not at home, but we cannot care for her here, and her home in Detroit Lakes is several hours away and long since sold. I am thinking hard about what to do with L at the end -- do we take him to see her before she is picked up by the funeral home? What memories do we give him? Another deep breath, another prayer, and hope we do it right in the end.

I am thinking of having him write a letter to his grandma M - maybe a goodbye letter. Maybe we'll write a letter to send her with Santa's letter every year. I know that way too soon we will be making the trek to Gwynner ND to see Grandpa M and bury Grandma M beside him. Do we make this a mini vacation, too? I will tak to J about it again tonight. Alzheimer's stinks.