Lifecycles

Recently a friend posted a photo to Facebook that shook me a little bit. My mind was racing all over the place with memories of my own life.

Recently a friend posted a photo to Facebook that shook me a little bit. My mind was racing all over the place with memories of my own life. Of comments made in the past by strangers and friends. Then I let my mind go silent.

In the spring of 2008, my last grandparent passed away – My Dad’s mom. I hold firmly to my belief that I am a better person having had grandparents who loved me and were alive well into my 30’s and 40’s. Mostly, I am a better person for having had a hand in caring directly for my grandma during her last year.

When her health dictated that it was time for her to leave her Mid-Missouri home and move to Kansas City to be nearer to her family, she embraced it whole-heartedly. Her statement was, “I’ve always wanted to live in the big city!” The day she spoke those words to me, I wrote them down so that I wouldn’t forget that adventure comes at every age.

My father found a place for her to live in south Kansas City that was very near her primary care doctor, but I think he knew that the best medicine for her was to be super close to her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Finally, after all the years of driving to Mid-Missouri to see any of my grandparents, I had one living less that 4 miles from my home. I was a little bit excited.

I tried to visit her two times a week, but some weeks found me there only once. Those weeks were hard for me, because I have inherited from both of my grandmothers a need to not be “cooped up” and to “get out for a little while,” to paraphrase them both. I was always afraid that, when I was unable to visit, she would suffer from this virus we all shared. I called her every day, and we spoke of much. She let loose with a few thoughts she’d been harboring for years, and those utterances left me speechless several times. Deep issues regarding her life with my grandfather and, therefore, my father. I was glad she released them, and, two times in particular when I didn’t respond quickly, she asked if I was OK and I told her I just needed a little time to think about what she said. She replied, “I’ve got time.”

What was amazing to me about my grandma’s last year was that many of my friends and aquaintances were stunned that I would take my son with me to care for his great grandmother. I found no shame in having him help me with her hair, putting away her small amount of groceries, cleaning her bathroom, lotioning her legs, and, on one occasion, trimming her toenails. One person admonished me with this line: “He doesn’t need to see all that.”

Yes, he did. We all do. The lessons that are learned at the end of life are as great as the lessons I learned at the beginning of my son’s life.

He never saw her naked. He never cleaned up the truly messy parts of her bathroom. He sat on the edge of her chair and charmed her with stories of basketball and art class and his younger cousin. He told her about the trials and tribulations of the 4th and then 5th grades. He read her mail to her and described every detail of the art on the greeting cards, because the finer parts were lost to her macular degeneration. He helped her decorate her door and bedside table for the passing seasons and always was a guiding force on how the magnets and photos were displayed on her tiny under-the-cabinet refrigerator.

I was not prepared for the fact that so many people spoke to me about not understanding why I did all this,I talked to a family lawyer from the criminal lawyers Melbourne office.  It was more people than those who could easily see why this was so important to me. And why it was important to have my son see the glory of living past 85.

A series of strokes dictated when the time came for her to enter the hospital and never leave. My son only visited her in the hospital once. It was early in the episodes, and she was cognitive and aware, smiling and laughing. She was still his “Gramma Ginny”. He got right up into the bed with her, and her eyes just blazed. I remember thinking he was so comfortable in a place that makes most people ultra-nervous and stiff.

I am amazed at how much he remembers from this year we had with her in The Big City. We showed her a good time, given all the limitations. We made a little magic.

Sloane

p.s. I want to thank my friend Shelly DeMotte Kramer for letting me share her photo of her daughter with her father-in-law. You can see the second pair of hands to the left in the photo. Shelly has twin girls, and the human caring they share in this photo is amazing. Shelly and her family laid him to rest today.

p.p.s Casey wrote an amazing blog in 2008 about my grandmother. Find it here.

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Falling in Love Again

For 17 years, we lived with one dog. He was amazing, and he was cherished. This past August, we let him go into his good night.

For 17 years, we lived with one dog. He was amazing, and he was cherished. This past August, we let him go into his good night. His name was Einstein, and I still miss him terribly. However, a month or so ago, I felt the grieving end. I was able to look at photos and say his name without a catch in my voice or a quick blink.

Einstein was our baby when we brought our bouncing baby boy home. They took to each other instantly, and it had everything to do with the full-face lick our son received when he was 16 hours old and the carrier was set in front of Einstein soon after our arrival home. They were thick as thieves, and Einstein never betrayed his love for our young man.

He stayed true to our son through the perils of toddlerhood. My theory? Because Einstein had spent our son’s babyhood under the high chair and it had been glorious for him. The new parent in each of us knew to be grateful for Einstein’s help in making sure the floor was always spic and span.

He stayed true to my husband and me when daily walks weren’t always achieved in a coordinated and timely fashion. We think this patience with us was direct compensation for spending every night for 17 years in our bed with us.

Then, last Wednesday, I started to fall in love again, and my voice only caught once that day. We were at the shelter, the final decision had been made, and the money had changed hands. We were merely waiting for someone to unlock the cage. When I said to my husband, “Let’s take him home,” I lost it just a tiny bit.

Here’s why:

   

   

Falling in love again has been easy. Edison is wonderful, and we will all grow a little bit older together. To me, it’s the beginning of another perfect love story,

Sloane

p.s. Should you want to read more about Einstein, click here.

Photo Credit: These shots were captured just this afternoon by Joy Albright. I owe her one.

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Copyright Casey Simmons and S. Sloane Simmons. People who steal other people's words & thoughts are asshats. Don't be an asshat.