Not much happening in 2013 or 2014, at least nothing of note to write about. Except for this: "Beautiful bouquet just arrived for mom...the roses are permeating the house!" I remember the smell. I think these roses came from the "rose queen" neighbor who lived up the road from my folks.
We had also received a roast and another chicken the day before and we were expecting a pot of chili the next day. So our pantry was full.
And, yet...all my father wanted was "one of those Elvis sandwiches." Mom, dad, my daughter and I had traveled to Memphis to visit my daughter in school in 2010, and we took a sidetrip to Graceland. I don't think I need to say any more. I learned from my mother that the women always serve the men, but it was fun to watch my dad have a blast in the kitchen after mom died. At any rate, I was making the sandwich shown here for dad after our company departed.
My father made numerous concessions to health with his "Elvis" sandwich, though. He wanted rye bread rather than white bread, he omitted the bacon, and he didn't want it grilled like Elvis did. Nor could my father eat as many as thirteen or more of those sandwiches at one time. One would suffice, thank you very much.
Elvis's peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich is now known as The Elvis, and it's served on menus across the South.
In another note, I wrote that mom greeted her friends with her usual southern gracious charm that always made her friends feel so special. "You cannot tell from looking at mom that she's so sick. Cannot tell, especially when she puts on makeup. It's frightening, really, beause there's such a disconnect between how she looks and what's going on beneath the surface."
And that was my life with my mother in a nutshell.
I hope, sincerely, that much has changed at my mother's hospital's IR since 2014. I know the man in charge either quit or was let go before June of 2014, because mom told me he was no longer there. IR as a practice was first introduced in the 1960s, but became a medical specialty in 2012, just two years before mom experienced their treatments. The departments conducts angiography, angioplasty, embolization, stent placement, needle biopsy, foreign body removal, and more. While IR became a medical specialty in this century, they introducted biliary and genitourinary system interventions, and should have been very skilled with those process by 2014.
That said, my mother had to return to the IR just two weeks after her hospital stay to replace her biliary catheter because someone in IR did not suture her correctly. As a result, mom developed a fever and was in "pain". When she returned from the hospital, she was exhausted. The next day, 23 January 2014, I wrote, "Mom sleeps. Mom's been sleeping for hours. Mom's twitching in ther sleep. She's been sleeping in the easy-boy chair, and I can't get her to wake up enough to get her to bed. I keep watching her chest to see if she's breathing. I may have to sleep on the couch, because I can't bring myself to go to bed, either."
She woke at 1 a.m. and said, "I've got to go to bed." She took herself back to the bedroom, where she fell asleep again immediately. She had been awake for a total of four hours that day.
The comments from friends regarding my anger were in empathy, and many responses focused on the anger they felt when their loved ones were shortchanged by any given department within hospital systems. When I expand these entries for my published journal, I'll include some quotes that hit home for me. I had worried at times that I shouldn't be making our private lives public, but my parents didn't mind as long as I directed my writing at friends, and not to the world in general at the time.
Now that time is over. They're both gone. I have learned, through this process, that sharing is what cements us as a society. We need to know that we're not alone.
Note for illustration: This is a graphic image of the digestive system showing the bile duct, which is in the public domain. It is one of the graphics used in the article on Cholangiocarcinoma at Wikipedia. If the cancer cannot be removed and is pressing on or within the bile duct, the patient requires a bile duct stent (aka biliary stent) made of either plastic or metal. That stent holds the bile duct open so bile can continue to flow into the bowels. See more at Cancer Council, NSW, "Inserting a Stent".
I don't know what she had for lunch, but I made tortellini with porcini sauce for dinner, along with a healthy salad filled with lettuce, English cucumber, tomatoes, celery, and yellow pepper plus one roll, that dinner came to 1 gram of sodium. That 1 gram represented 1/3 of my mother's mandated daily intake, and it was the most she'd had in one meal since she left the hospital about a week prior.
That said, the portions were small. "10 Tortellini, 1/4 cup of sauce, one roll with one pat of olive oil butter, and a tablespoon of dressing on the salad." I had purchased much of the food the day before at a Fresh Market, not far from where my parents lived. I was at that market mainly because they carried probiotics and elderberry--two items I needed for myself. That store had been open for only six months, and I swore I would shop there more because of their organic options, but as time went on, my time was limited. I think I only shopped there twice, as Food Lion was much closer, and--according to my friends--a much less expensive option. I didn't see that. Fresh Market was competitive with Kroger, at least.
Other than shopping for food, we concentrated on a winter storm that was sweeping east from Kentucky. My husband sent a photo of his car outside the local coffee shop in Kentucky at the time (shown here), and that photo showed much more snow than we had at the time. A few hours later, though, we caught up. The conversation about snow was a long, ongoing reminiscence about snowfalls in the past. One guy mentioned 16" of snow in the late '70s or early '80s in Virginia Beach and the best I could find was 12" in 1980. The largest snowfall ever recorded in Virginia was the Jefferson-Washington snowfall where both Thomas Jefferson and George Washington recorded snowfall of around 3 feet in their diaries, occurring on January 28, 1772, making it one of the most significant snowstorms in Virginia history. Essentially, the storm dropped approximately 3 feet of snow in the areas where Jefferson and Washington resided.
Anyone from Virginia might know where Thomas Jefferson resided in 1772. He had just married Martha Wayles on January 1, and they were residing in a one-room brick house on his Virginia plantation as enslaved laborers were building his Monticello plantation home. That location is about halfway between Richmond and today's Interstate 81 along I-64. Washington? He was residing with Martha and his two children at Ferry Farm, located near Fredericksburg, Virginia. That must have been some storm!
In the meantime, in 2014, my mother wasn't that interested in the snow. While she said she enjoyed my dinner, she had much to do about the mess I left on her stove. I honestly did not believe I left a mess, and I distinctly remember clearning up after myself, washing all dishes and wiping down everything. My father just shrugged.
That was life with my mother, sick or not. I guess she was feeling fine that evening.
I thought mom weathered the hectic and short-lived visit with friends the previous two days, because I felt comfortable enough to leave the house for the afternoon. I stopped at Starbucks on Boonesboro, then traveled down Rivermont to the library. I was familiar with their collections by this time, as I already had gone through the eight books in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, as well as the five books contained in The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. I read the former as a dare to myself, and the latter so I could understand my daughter's fascination with the movies based on those books.
This time I listed The Invention of Murder by Judith Flanders, Indiscretion by Charles Dubow, Deeply Odd by Dean Koontz, and House of Earth by Woody Guthrie as my borrowed reads. I don't remember reading any one of these four books, and I don't know why. I do remember the premise of Deeply Odd, because my late husband and I discovered "Odd Thomas" during one trip to Virginia as we listened to a book on CD. I became slightly addicted to poor Odd.
I won't know why I don't remember those four books in particular until I go through the upcoming memories that Facebook holds. I do know that, after my husband died in 2015, I couldn't read for years. I couldn't concentrate enough, and my retention of what I did read was at zero. Only recently, almost ten years after his death, have I been able to read and retain information. Fiction bores me now, even Stephen King. What I crave is non-fiction works that prove I am now capable of learning and retaining.
Who am I trying to prove anything to? Myself. I think that's important.
Photo by Vincenzo Malagoli at Pexels.
The responses I received from my friends to this post were both heartfelt and expansive. Some of my friends went into great detail on how they handled their own parent's DNR and then segued into how their parent sat down to plan their own funerals. My mother did write her obituary, but she was certain no one would come to her funeral or memorial service, so she vetoed that idea. Hospice had other plans, though, and we did get to enjoy a service months after she died. We lost her obituary, though. That's another story.
The cardiologist was a contentious issue, because hospice wasn't happy with the number of visits that he wanted my mother to add to her schedule. Hospice, at that time and place, was into providing palliative care to make the patient comfortable. The cardiologist was intent on keeping my mother alive, which was going to prove to be a losing battle.
Interestingly, both the cardiologist and hospice agreed that my mother should continue to see her nephrologist, the doctor who specialized in the diagnosis and treatment of kidney disease. I think hospice felt it would be good to keep tabs on that one kidney mom had to know more in advance about when her kidney might give up the ghost. I agreed. Cartainty in the face of uncertainty, for me, was vital at the time. That was a healthier compromise for us all.
Another friend wanted me to find a massage therapist for me, not for my mother. But, as I told her, anytime I left the house, I could count on my mother having an emergency situation. I was thankful for mobile phones, but I still didn't have much freedom.
The one joy I allowed myself to have in my trips back and forth between Virginia and home was to stop at the Blenko Glass Factory in Milton, Cabell County, West Virginia. I would pick up one piece, resulting in several dozen pieces that I eventually sold on eBay. The piece I purchased on my last trip to Virginia that ended with mom's death was a rare one. White frosted glass with dimples. I still have that piece.
I took the photo above during one pit stop at Blenko. It was a very colorful place, and I always enjoyed browsing all the interesting shapes and textures. I do miss those visits.
The wedge was blue to match the bedroom walls, removeable fabric-covered foam, about 27° angle, and it took up more than 1/2 of my parents' queen-sized bed. When mom used it, she said the bottom of her spine hurt. I knew what she meant, and that position wasn't the best for her, or for anyone for that matter. But, since hospice ordered it and my parents didn't pay for it, they kept it.
Since that wedge stayed past dad's demise, it was up to me to decide what to do with that durn thing. I donated it. I hope it found a good home.
Speaking of donations, plan now to decide what you want to pass on to your friends, family, children, etc. and which things need to be donated. I had to make those decitions alone for both parents, as my siblings live out west and weren't part of the day-to-day plans and outcomes regarding either parents' deaths. My parents didn't say a word about most of their items, and I didn't know to ask. I wish I did. My life would be so much easier.
Even now, many of my parents' belongings are sitting quietly down in my basement, waiting for me to decide what to do with them.
I noted in a Facebook post that hospice nurses drilled my father and I with our parts in taking care of mom. Our days would be filled with counting sodium mg (3 grams per day max), liquids (no more than 1,500 ML per day), tactics on how to shoot saline into various tubes protruding from my mother's body, how to change dressings, and learning how to operate two different oxygen systems. Dad did panic once when he couldn't replace the cap correctly on mom's bile duct catheter, but he eventually got it. He also cooked most of the evening's dinner and I picked up a baked chicken at Kroger.
I don't know how many chickens we consumed during mom's illness and especially after she died, but that's a story in itself. I pray for all the chickens.
The man who brought the oxygen was entertaining. Dad had a great time talking with him. The parents had a gas fireplace, and the oxygen man was especially leery of that contraption, but dad promised they wouldn't turn it on while oxygen was in the room. We eventually stored the tanks in the corner of their master bedroom, and we "hid" the current oxygen tank in use behind the easy chair in the living room.
Now we waited for all the "contraptions" to arrive, including a hospital bed, shower chair, wheelchair, and walker. Mom was on cloud nine with all the attention, but when everyone left she became surly about the incoming items, especially the hospital bed. Dad insisted on it, though, because of all the conveniences it offered. Mom was insistent on where to place it. It would go into the living room, where anyone who visited could see it.
That hospital bed eventually became the center of attention.
The doctors had put her on oxygen, as her oxygen levels were low. This situation occurs many times for long-term patients and/or those patients who suffer from lowered immune systems or failing organs. I think we all learned a lot about oxygen levels during the COVID pandemic in 2020.
I wrote that the transition to hospice would begin Sunday morning at 10 am., an appointment that will assess mom's home situation and to conduct patient intake. This is when the real journey begins, as every day was a challenge between my mother had her mercurial attitudes (which she had all her life, not just with the experience of dying), and with learning new medical procedures that I would need to conduct should hospice be unavailable for any reason.
I still have the memory of mom leaving the hospital. It was cold outside, and the nurses brought two blankets from the hospital, which I still have. Those are some great quality blankets right there.
Aging can be a beautiful journey, especially when you find yourself older than you ever thought you'd be...your life now may be filled with wisdom, plenty of experiences, and, yes, some challenges. But when you’re navigating the aging journey alone, it’s essential to plan ahead to ensure your well-being and peace of mind. If you’re a solo ager—someone without a spouse or children—here are some practical tips to help you thrive as you age.
Health is wealth, as the saying goes, and it’s especially true as we age. Regular check-ups with your doctors, dentist, and eye specialist are non-negotiable. Staying on top of your health can help catch potential issues early on. Don’t forget about mental health, too—consider seeing a therapist or joining support groups to keep your emotional well-being in check, especially if you find yourself acting and feeling depressed.
Actionable Tip: Schedule all your annual health check-ups at the start of the year and set reminders a week before each appointment. Utilize your health facility's "MyChart" to stay on top of scheduled appointments. Make sure your MyChart visits align with your calendar.
Mobility is often a concern as we get older, but staying active can mitigate many of these issues. Incorporate physical activities that you enjoy, such as walking, swimming, or yoga, into your daily routine. Regular exercise not only keeps your body strong but also improves balance, which can prevent falls. In addition, it can help mitigate any bone density deterioration that could lead to osteopenia as well as osteoperosis.
Actionable Tip: Find a local fitness class tailored to seniors or follow online workout videos designed for gentle exercise. If you're planning to exercise at home alone, you might need to set up some ways to deal with possible accidents. Check out #4 and #8 below.
Driving might not always be an option, so having alternative transportation plans is crucial. Research public transport options in your area, explore ride-sharing services, or look into senior transportation programs that might be available.
Actionable Tip: Create a list of transportation options and keep it handy, so you're never stuck without a way to get around. Check with your insurance and/or Medicare / Medicaid to see what transportation bennies they might offer.
Social isolation can be a significant challenge for solo agers, but staying connected is vital for mental and emotional health. Make an effort to maintain friendships and participate in community activities. Volunteering is another excellent way to meet people and stay engaged.
Actionable Tip: Join a local club or group that aligns with your interests, such as a book club, gardening group, or volunteer organization. Online activities can be just as constructive, especially if you are using Zoom or special groups to learn new skills or to share your projects and interests.
Safety at home is paramount. Make sure your living space is free of hazards that could lead to falls or injuries. Simple modifications like installing grab bars in the bathroom, ensuring good lighting, and removing tripping hazards can make a big difference.
Actionable Tip: Conduct a safety audit of your home or hire a professional to suggest necessary modifications. You might not need these changes right now, but why not go ahead and make them so that's one less thing to deal with down the road. Of course, if you don't plan to stay home as you age, then avoid that expense.
As we age, managing a household can become more challenging. Consider automating bill payments, hiring help for heavy chores, or downsizing to a more manageable living space. Streamlining your daily tasks can reduce stress and free up time for enjoyable activities.
Actionable Tip: Use a calendar or app to track bills and household maintenance tasks to stay organized. Learn more about time management skills and pick one that works for you.
Ensuring your legal and financial affairs are in order is crucial. Create or update your will, designate a power of attorney, and make sure your healthcare directives are clear. Having these documents in place provides peace of mind and makes things easier for those who might assist you in the future.
Actionable Tip: Consult with an attorney who specializes in elder law to ensure all your documents are comprehensive and up to date. Loan books from your local library that focus on end-of-life legalities so you can be more prepared to talk about them with an attorney or a banker.
Some books you might find at the library or used at eBay or Alibris. The following books are located at Amazon, and they are affiliate links. If you buy you don't pay extra, but Amazon pays me for the marketing. Thanks!
Technology can be a solo ager’s best friend. From medical alert systems to smart home devices, technology can help you stay safe and connected. Learn to use tools like video calling apps to stay in touch with friends and family, and consider using grocery delivery services to make life easier.
Actionable Tip: Take a tech class at a local community center or library to get comfortable with new gadgets and apps. Don't be afraid of life alerts...some products can be used to notify authorities if you think someone is following you or if you hear someone trying to break into your house. A true lifeline for solo agers!
Aging alone doesn’t mean you have to face every challenge by yourself. With a bit of planning and the right strategies, you can enjoy a fulfilling, independent life. Remember, it’s never too late to create a support network and adopt new habits that enrich your life. Here’s to aging gracefully and confidently—you’ve got this!
I noted in a Facebook post that mom was "a little loopy" over the past 24 hours. I learned over time that when mom developed a fever, she became totally irrational and mean. Dad couldn't handle it, but I had some practice, as that's how she would treat me when I was a child when dad wasn't around. If you have questions about why I would help mom in the last stages of her life in light of this information, it was because I did it for dad. When mom ran a fever, he froze like a deer in headlights in the face of her behavior.
I could tell I was angry, as that's the only inkling I had of what happened that day. Otherwise, I might have been more forthcoming about mom's condition. Looking back, I know I would have had the same feelings she had, but I knew then and I know now that half of what she was going through she brought on herself. She never was a person to give in gracefully to people trying to help her.
Even today, I become angry with her foolishness when I remember her behaviors, but I also have had enough therapy to know that she was who she was, and it was her life. No matter what I would hope for, she would make sure it wouldn't happen. That was the most difficult side of her competitiveness with me that I endured.
Photo: Canva.
I had mentioned the other day about how I was trained by mom's home health care on how to massage mom's legs, ankles, and feet to help relieve some of the fluid build-up pressure. Not only did this practice help relieve some of her discomfort, but I could also look for open sores, scratches, or other issues that would allow bacteria to enter and cause an infection. When this happens, cellulitis can develop. Left untreated, the infection can spread to the lymph nodes and bloodstream and rapidly become life-threatening.
Mom didn't allow me to massage her legs in the hospital, and that refusal turned into more days in a bed away from home. Her weak immune system and arterial issues, along with pressure of fluid build-up against her skin had taken its toll, and now she had an infection that was very dangerous, as in her condition cellulitis could lead to septic shock. What was difficult to hear was that now that she had that condition, it could occur again often and very quickly without keeping watch over her legs.
The image shown here is not of my other's condition (in fact, it looks like ringworm), but her cellulitis patches looked just like this--something that might be easily overlooked. I carry so much gratitude for the hospitalist who saw several of these patches and knew it for what it was. That cream was also in mom's future, as I was later designated as mom's "cellulitis watch", and I applied the cream to her wounds as well as massaged her legs and cut her tonails and did a number of other chores that helped her keep infections at bay.
After meeting with the hospitalist, we also agreed that, perhaps, mom needed to sign up for hospice. Of course, that didn't sit well with mom, either, as it was one more step toward acknowledging that she had a terminal illness. I remember meeting in the hallway with dad, the hospitalist, and a specialist who was called in to look at mom's legs. We decided the best way to handle the situation was to tell mom that dad and I couldn't administer the intravenous antibiotic mom required to treat her cellulitis. The nurses from hospice could, however.
The people we met from hospice (Centra) were wonderful. They helped mom to understand they would be better than her current visits from Home Health Care, because they had staff who could work with her port (which was installed in 2013 before her first chemo treatments), as well as the antibiotics. If she chose hospice, the hospitalist added, she could return home in one or two days as opposed to another week in the hospital bed.
I can see that whole scene clearly even today. With everyone surrounding her bed and taking turns talking to her, it reminded me of an intervention...and it was, truly. We only wanted what was best for mom, and I think she got that message. I wrote that she was in good spirits at the end. Dad and I were less optimistic. Events were cascading, and it made us feel as though the end was very near.
Fortunately, we were wrong.
The oncologist and the cardiologist agreed that chemo wasn't an option at the moment, as those treatments aggravated her heart. We could only guess at what those treatments were doing to her one kidney. While a few friends and even her oncologist were concerned that gaining hospice meant losing chemo treatments down the road if her health improved somewhat, their fears were unfounded. As hospice explained, the chemo would be for palliative care, not for a cure.
That was another harsh reality.
Through it all, mom held up. When we left the hospital, she had a smile on her face. The only hint as to how she really felt was when she asked that we refer to hospice as "dad's help." That way, the use of palliative care wouldn't seem so hopeless for her.
On January 4th, 2014, I had a sneezing cold, so I couldln't visit mom in the hospital. I think I caught the cold when we were admitting her, so staying away probably was more for my benefit than hers. I did mention that I had masks, which was an unusual thing to have before 2020.
Also on that date I was more specific as to my mother's definition of pain. I wrote, "It appears "pain" is long-term constant hurting. "Hurting" is temporary until it becomes "pain." So when my mother's doctors asked her if she was in pain, she always responded in the negative. No one bothered to ask her if she was hurting.
I said it before, and I'll say it again. My mother could be difficult. When I learned the difference between the two words for her, it made it easier for the doctors to understand. When they would ask my mother if she was in pain and she would say no, I'd look at the doctor and say, "Now, ask her if she's hurting." My interjection would anger my mother, but it helped her in the long run.
Another thing that didn't help mom was the lack of communication among her specialists. At that time, we didn't have "MyChart" or any other way to deal with multiple specialists viewing what other specialists had discovered. I was my mother's advocate, and I would inform each specialist about my mother's health history between her visits to the oncologist, the cardiologist, and the nephrologist.
Being my mother's advocate was a lesson in many things, but the main thing I learned was to love myself first. If I didn't feel loved, then I couldn't deal with my mother. She disliked having to depend upon me, too, but she did.
I still have that visual in my head, of me standing at the foot of her bed and asking her if she wanted me to massage her ankles and feet with lotion. That was one of the procedures I learned to handle her edema when taking care of her. I can still see her legs and ankles, all swollen and slightly purple from the fluid retention. Again, when I asked, she said she wasn't in any pain. And, no, she didn't want me to massage her legs.
She changed her mind later, after the doctor arrived and told her that I should be massaging her ankles and feet at the very least. That's how she rolled, my mother. Not doing anything for herself unless someone in authority told her she should do it.
The edema causes were multiple in my mother. Known a century before as dropsy ("she was a long-sufferer of dropsy"), this medical condition causes the patient to exhibit tight skin, a feeling of heaviness in the area affected, joint stiffness, skin discoloration, and difficulty moving. In my mother's case the edema came from her cancer, of course, but it also came from specific failures wrought by that cancer. Those included heart failure, kidney issues (she only had one kidney, and the previous chemo treatments affected the strength of that organ), liver problems, and some medications. The liver problems stemmed from the advancement of the tumors from her bile duct into her liver. This issue also was the root source of her ever-present jaundice.
Our efforts to stem her jaundice were daily rituals that included cleaning the catheter that was inserted into her bile duct to drain the bile, and to replace the bag that collected that bile. I'll write more about those routines as I come upon those journal entries.
While in the hospital, she was hooked up to various fluids. I don't remember all of them now, but I'm certain one of them was Lasix. She was still receiving small doses of that medication to try to ease the fluid retention. We were never fully successful, as "she was a long-sufferer of dropsy" until her demise.
Photo is from Canva.com.
But, that weather went back and forth over the years as I took care of mom and then dad. I was lucky not to get caught up in really bad weather, although sometimes it rained so hard I had to pull over. I'm talking rain that my windshield wipers couldn't handle.
The only time I encoutered bad roads was on this day in 2016 on my way home from visiting with dad. The photo shows a picture I took from inside my car. No other cars or trucks around me at all. I was on I-64 west close to Dawson when the snow came "raining" down. I was able to stop in the middle of the road to take the photo, because I guess everyone else got a warning that I didn't hear. I made it home safely.
Today in 2025, Kentucky is about to get whacked with yet another ice storm. This one should be short-lived, though. Here's to no power loss! Hope everyone else stays safe, too.
Taking care of my father between those years is another story, so I'll save most of those details for later. The distance I traveled between 2015 (after my spouse died) and 2020 (when my father died) added up over the years, though, and that is a point of interest for now.
I'm fortunate that my little black 2014 Chevy Cruze LT, which I purchased after my husband died, made all those trips without major issues. We'll not count the time a buck charged at my car outside Beckley, West Virginia, in 2015 with my daughter and infant grandson in the car. It was rutting season, after all. We all were fine, and the Chevy braved it.
The one-way mileage between where I live and where my parents lived equals about 750 miles, or about eight hours. That's 1,500 miles per visit, which is why most visits were extended ones. Of course, I became very bored with traveling the interstate time and again, so I took back roads sometimes. I will never do that again when driving alone, because I saw so much beauty in the Appalachian mountains, and I couldn't stop, because--you know--a single woman traveling alone...
Back roads also added to the mileage. So, I often kept to the interstate along with a book on disc. I kept measure of my time on the road by the towns I passed on my way, the roadside oddities, such as iron bridges spanning the interstate and log cabins off in mowed fields, and by pit stops. I tried to make only two restroom stops, one at the halfway mark, and one when I left the interstate to travel the mountain road into Lynchburg. One never knows how long that leg of the trip might take. It would depend upon any slow drivers or 16-wheelers in front of me.
Plus, I would always stop in Clifton Forge to visit with my father's brother. He passed this last year, so I won't need to make that trip unless I wanted to visit the cemetery. I guess that's a mandatory thing, so I'll see that gas station above at least one more time, I guess. The photo is one I took in 2019 in a pit stop outside Clifton Forge. It was the one time I didn't stop to see my uncle. I had bad feelings on that trip, and they came to a head at this stop, which is why I took the photo. I didn't know what was going on with me then, but I have a good idea now. Sometimes we do have premonitions.
At times I long to take that trip again. I would have a reason, as I still have an aunt and cousin in Virginia. I learned this past year that I have many more cousins, thanks to DNA testing, and they all want to meet up the next time I return. I wonder if I can take someone with me.
That pain issue was addressed later, as was another issue in 2016. On 2 January 2016, I was in Virginia helping dad clean mom's things out of the garage. Those "things" included stained glass pieces, paint, tools, and fabric. She had moved many craft items from the attic to the garage so she didn't have to deal with stairs. She never did allow a surgeon to fix her knees, so that was another source of either pain or hurt.
I mentioned then that I was grateful to have this time with my father. "I know I've mentioned this before, but I really do treasure our alone time. Mom was jealous of the time we had, and I never went into that psycho-drama to figure it out. Maybe some day I will, but not now."
The clarity I needed "some day" occurred in 2024 in sessions with a therapist via Zoom. What that therapist told me in one sentence lent clarity to my entire life with my mother. Not only did I cry for a month, but I was able to finally forgive my mother, and--in that process--was able to begin to pull this journal together.
PHOTO: My mother in Davidsville, Pennsylvania. We lived on the top floor of a farm house in that little village. Mom was probably 25 or 26 years old. I was about 5 years old, and I took this photo with dad's camera.
At this point, mom was seeing an oncologist, a cardiologist, and a nephrologist (kidney specialist).
On this day in 2014, I wrote: "It's been a touch-and-go day with mom. Talked with the heart doc this afternoon, and it looks like she'll be admitted to hospital tomorrow morning for a day or two to manage a few things that are going on with her, including a growing resistance to Lasix and the need for a blood transfusion."
She had at least two blood transfusions, and I believe this was her first. I'm not sure, but as I continue to go through my journals I'm sure I'll learn. She was much sicker than a 1-2 day hospital stay, as we were to learn later. I do remember that much.
In the meantime, the deer in my parents' yard were a constant. The folks didn't know their yard was a deer path and had been for decades before they even purchased the house. This particular morning in 2014, there were four doe and one buck. The buck was hiding behind the bush, I think. The tree to the right was a crepe myrtle with lovely purple-pink blooms. You could see the top of the tree from the street, because it was a monster. I don't know if the folks planted it or not. It's just one of those questions that I didn't think to ask.