You Be Bitches

“You be bitches,” I say softly, my voice cracking from my roiling emotions.  Tears well up in my eyes as I look across our dining room table at 3 of my beloved nieces, the remnants of our Thanksgiving feast spread before us.  Ranging in age from 21 to 34, this is a pivotal moment in their lives, one they will always remember.

I’d called my family together for a rare “family summit.” Our communications to each other are always done via phone, text, email – with whoever is telling the story repeating it again and again.  Worn out from talking to my 3 siblings independently, I’d asked that we convene face-to-face.

My mother is very ill (photo above, circa 1950).  After 84 years of living a life filled with love, joy and abundance, numerous health challenges have taken their toll and she’s in a downward spiral.  Her spirit is willing but her body forsakes her.

She has traveled this path at least 3 other times in the last 10 years and, much to the surprise of her doctors, has always, miraculously, pulled through.  Because of the other medical miracles that we, her family, have witnessed at her bedside, we are hopeful that she will rally again.

A hospice team is now in place, which gives us pause.  Many doctors and nurses have told us the end is near – imminent.  Not able to pinpoint when she will leave us to join my father, I’ve called my family far and wide and, one-by-one, they’ve arrived to help with the bedside vigil, help with health care decisions and just to be there to give her comfort, love and encouragement.

The last few weeks have been fraught with high emotions – sadness, grief, unimaginable pain as I watch over my mother.  No one could ask for a better mother.  A shining example of courage, strength and tremendous will, she loves her family fiercely and we grew up secure in her loving arms.  Until I was an adult, out in the working world, I thought all families were like ours and all mothers like ours.

Not happy with the assisted living facility where she resides, I’ve been searching for other alternatives.  We found one that has given me hope.  We are moving her, via medical transport, on Wednesday.

Late yesterday afternoon, once arrangements for her transfer were finalized, I asked my family to come to my house for dinner so that we could all discuss things together, face-to-face.  I’d already made my Twice Baked Turkey and it was carved up and in the freezer. I’d also made Cornbread Stuffing, Turkey Gravy, Sour Apple Cranberry Sauce – now all either in the refrigerator or freezer.

So, yesterday morning, I defrosted the turkey, turkey gravy and stuffing.  All that remained to make an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner were mashed potatoes and petite green peas.  Plus, we needed dessert.

Leaving work, I ran to the grocery store to pick up a pumpkin pie, an apple pie, ice cream, Cool Whip and dinner rolls.  But, as often happens, the grocery store outing morphed from a quick trip to an agonizingly long one because I picked the wrong line with the wrong cashier at the grocery store’s check-out line (cashier-in-training, I think), during one of their busiest times of day (the after-work rush).  Fretting that everyone would arrive and I’d have nothing ready, I thought my impromptu Thanksgiving gathering would turn into a midnight dinner fiasco!

Car loaded, I headed home.  A few minutes into the drive home, my youngest sister, Dawn, called me.  “Are you still shopping?  What can we do to help with dinner?”

In rapid-fire response like a Drill Sargent, I rattled off, “peel potatoes, chop them into small cubes (speeds up the cooking process) and put them in a pot of water and bring to a boil for mashed potatoes.  Place the sliced turkey in a 9″ x 13″ pan, pour chicken broth over it, cover it with foil and place it in the oven on 350 degrees.  Put the gravy in a saucepot and reheat on the stove on low.  Put the stuffing in a microwave dish and get it ready to microwave.  Get peas out of the freezer and place in another saucepan on the stove. Oh, and I’m almost home.  Have the little ones come help me with the groceries when I arrive.”

As we hang up, I hear her telling everyone already there that she’d gotten thorough instructions from me! {grin}

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway.  Hearing the garage door open, my sweet young helpers pile out the back door.  9, 7, 6 and 5 years old, they are generous with their hugs and filled with happiness and giggles.  Just the tonic their great-aunt needs after days of endless grief.  In no time flat, my helpers put everything away in the freezer, refrigerator, kitchen and pantry.

True to her word, my sister, Dawn, has coordinated our impromptu Thanksgiving feast and everything is cooking away.  The young ones, full of youthful exuberance, are running around the house, driving their great-uncle Charlie crazy with no sign of our cat, Coco, anywhere.  Hiding somewhere safe, he would not make an appearance until all the children were in bed later that night.

“Hey, kids, want to help me set the table?” I yell through the din of a houseful of people. “Yes,” they scream in unison, jumping up and down and heading towards me.

“Count how many people are here,” I instruct them.  After several recounts, “14 including the baby,” they decide.

The table isn’t large enough in its present configuration.  I whip off the tablecloth and show them that we can expand the table with table leaves.  Off we go on a scavenger hunt to locate those leaves and in lickety-split time, we have transformed the table for 8 to a table to seat 14.

Although Halloween is 10 days in the past, I have fake pumpkins lying around willy-nilly, not put away with the Halloween decorations but meant for use as Thanksgiving decorations. I’d had no time in recent days to do something as silly as decorate for a holiday that may not happen because of my mother’s ill-health.

Showing the kids the available decorations, they make short work of decorating.  So, like a pied-piper, I lead them out to the garage storage to rifle through Thanksgiving decorations not yet brought into the house.  Carrying plastic tubs bigger than they are, these precious children, our future caregivers, excitedly chatter away as the older children help the younger ones get those Thanksgiving treasure chests into the house.

Mini stick turkeys, Fall fairies, birds and butterflies, mini scarecrows and holiday poppers – each reach into one of the plastic tubs reveals a glittery surprise eliciting squeals of delight.  Next came plates, napkins, silverware and glassware.  Finally, their table, now a masterpiece overflowing with childlike Thanksgiving charm, is done.

And, dinner is ready.

Hungry, as soon as the children sit down, they start passing the bowls and platters.  Unable to wait any longer, each child takes a bite.

“Let’s sing our blessing, “ I announce.  Princess P has just taken a large bite of turkey and looks at me at the other end of the long table, like a deer caught in the headlights.  She struggles to chew her food faster.

“That’s okay; we’ll wait,” I say softly and everyone giggles.  All eyes watch her as she swallows hard.

“Do you need to take a drink?” I ask.  She nods yes.  “We’ll wait,” I reassure her and again everyone giggles.

“Okay; let’s join hands.  I’m not sure I can start the song because I’ve been talking all day and my throat is hoarse,” I share (on the phone all day long, trying to coordinate logistics for my mother’s care, my voice was shot).  My sister, Dawn, takes the cue and starts singing, with everyone else joining in:

Thank you, Lord, for taking my hand

Thank you, Lord, for making life grand

Thank you, Lord, for giving to me

Sunshine and rain and food to eat.

Amen.

A blessing from our childhood, this was the perfect way to honor my mother.

Dinner underway, my sister, Gail, asks me why I decided to make Thanksgiving dinner since Thanksgiving is still weeks away.  I explain that I’d made the turkey for the blog (Twice Baked Turkey), so once I’d made the turkey, I went ahead and made gravy and stuffing.

But, life interfered and my mother’s health took a turn for the worse.  So, I’d frozen all of it and it was there, in the freezer.  What better use of a make-ahead freezer meal than to have a Thanksgiving dinner with all of us that had gathered there to help our mother, their grandmother, their great-grandmother?

“And,” I further shared, “because it may be the only Thanksgiving we have this year.”

After dinner, I conned the younger ones (Prince Charming, Princess P, Princess Sweetheart and Princess Sweetie Pie) into sitting on the sofa until I came to get them.  Not wanting them to overhear the adult conversation in the dining room, I asked them to stay put on the sofa until I came back for them.  With the TV turned to a kid-friendly cartoon and books and games strewn before them, I wasn’t asking much.  Their parents, unsure that the kids will listen to me (about staying put until I come to get them), just shake their heads in disbelief, sporting lopsided grins and silently think to themselves, “yea, sure; like that’s gonna happen.”

But, I knew it would.  Nieces, nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews always do things for me that they won’t do for their parents without giving their parents flak.  Isn’t that what it’s about?  Challenging parental authority as we grow up and figure out our place in the world?  With me, they don’t have the secure knowledge that I will always love them no matter what (I will), but rather think in the deep recesses of their youthful minds that if they do something their great-aunt doesn’t approve of, their great-aunt might get angry with them (maybe I would).

So, they always behave for me.  And, their parents always think I have some kinda magic wand because they do.  I don’t; I’m just their aunt, not their parent and its one of the laws of nature.

I tell my siblings and my nieces what has transpired:  our mother’s impending death is classified as “imminent”.  I’ve found a place which can provide her with a higher level of care.  This place and the owner (a registered nurse) have given me hope; hope that the experts are wrong and that Mom will get better.  And, if there is even one small glimmer of hope that this will happen, I want to give our mother (their grandmother) the chance.  I explain that I may be looking at her chances through “rose-colored glasses” and it may be too late, but I want to give it a shot.

And, more importantly, our mother wants it, too.  She knows that I want to move her to another place that promises more round-the-clock care.  And while she knows she is in hospice, she wants the opportunity to try to get better.

But, here’s the thing:  this little mind-set of mine – encouraging her to get better – goes against the grain of what hospice is about.  What I mean by that is while they  don’t impede a patient’s chances for getting better, they encourage loved ones NOT to suggest to the patient that they might get better.  So, by encouraging her and making this change to a different facility, I’m bucking the system somewhat.

My family supports my decision.  My family supports my mother’s decision.

My brother leaves the room to work on cleaning up the dinner dishes.  All the girls stay behind because I tell them I want to talk to my 3 nieces.  My sisters stay because they are curious.  The youngest child, not yet a year old, Princess Sweet Cheeks, sits in her grandmother’s lap (Dawn).

I ask my three nieces, Tiffany, Nicole and Samantha, to sit across the dining room table so that I can look at all 3 of them at the same time.  With a little trepidation, they comply. What is their Aunt Carole up to?  What news or lecture is she going to impart?  Lord knows that over the years they’ve all had an earful from their opinionated (though well-meaning) aunt.

Looking at my nieces, I say –

“Your parents and I don’t expect that you will toilet us, change our diapers, feed us, bath us, dress us, transfer us (know as “Activities of Daily Living” in the elder care world).  What we hope is that you will advocate for us, fight for us.  Because it is hard.  People will give you bad information, wrong information or no information at all. They will encourage you with one hand and discourage you with the other.  They will tell you it can’t be done, when in your heart-of-hearts you know that it can be done.  They will express their opinion about elder care and it may not be what you know that your elders want.  And it’s going to get worse as our medical system changes.  We elders won’t be able to speak for ourselves, as our cognitive ability slows down and dementia sets in.  We hope you will be our voice.”  

With tears welling up in my eyes, I finish by saying, “you be bitches.”

P.S.  I then got up and went into the family room and gave my great-nephew and great-nieces each a big hug for a job well done!  As I knew they would, they’d done what I’d asked and played on the sofa until I came to get them.

Until Next Time,

Related Posts:

(other posts on elder care)

• A Gifted Man
• A Month of Sundays
• Believe
• Both Sides of Clouds
• Do You Have One of These?
• Eldercare’s Blackhole
• High Flight
• Love Leaves a Memory
• Many a Winding Turn
• Murphy’s Law
• Pictures at an Exhibition
• Princess Palooza
• Requiem for My Father
• Running on Empty
• Senior Advocacy:  What Adult Children Can Do to Help Their Aging Parents
• The Best of the Rest of Your Life
• The Fairest Blossom
• The Gift
• The Sunshine Gang
• The Train
• Twice Baked Turkey