New Years' Revelations Between 2014 and Now

Today in 2014, my father and I escorted my mother to the heart center at Lynchburg General Hospital. We were waiting for intake when I posted where we were. It was on that day I wrote, "I asked her if she was in pain, and she replied that she was hurting in her lower back and her right leg. So, I said, "So, you're in pain." And she said, "No, there's a difference between pain and hurting."

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).

Happy New Year, 2014

Happy 2025, everyone. I'm not making any promises to myself, and I don't know if that's just a symptom of old age or one of mild apathy. No one told me that aging would happen quite this quickly, what with the aches and pains and a new focus on building bone density. I'll have to admit that this part of my life...entering the "crone" stage...has helped me to understand my parents more. I needed that time to sooth my ruffled feathers and to gain insight into my mother's behaviors with me at any rate.

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.

New Year's Eve 2013

I'm human. No matter how many years one might keep a tradition, that memory is easily lost when the tradition is discontinued. We didn't make oyster stew for Christmas. Oyster stew was for New Year's Eve. Or, New Year celebrations. Still unsure, but I ran across multiple images of oyster stew cooking and in bowls today in my journals, so I stand corrected.

At any rate, Mom's last New Year's Eve in 2013 was a small celebration. Dad usually went to bed about 9:30 pm in his later years with mom. I was visiting so she and I stayed up until the ball dropped in Times Square. We watched the New York Philharmonic, Yo Yo Ma, and a performace of Bolero, and I was trying not to cry knowing that mom may die in the new year.

On New Year's Eve in 2014, I was in Virginia again, beginning a tradition that would last until my father died. "Christmas with Dad" was never uneventful, sometimes harrowing, other times just downright fun. But, in 2014, he had the flu and I caught it from him despite our shots. I think we both were depressed as well, because mom's decorations never went up and there was nothing to take down.

But we did have another pot of oyster stew.

I sat down to remember the recipe and shared it at Joanne's Recipes. Enjoy!

Valentines in December, 2013

I was in Lynchburg with my parents in 2013, as witnessed by my photos and notes in my Facebook memories. Mom was able to take chemo on this date, and she also had a visit with her cardiologist. I don't remember the chemo session, but I did take notes on the visit with the heart doctor.

He mentioned that he almost hospitalized mom last week during her visit with him as her edema had built up rapidly. He gave her a shot of Lasix, and prescribed pills as well. Later that day a week before, he called to tell her not to take the pills. They would stress the one kidney she had.

On this day in 2013 I wrote: "She's at home with some new heart medication and we're to keep an eye on her. She was determined to get some shopping done after the doctor, and it was the worst experience of my life--she was so disoriented that it took two hours to purchase two simple bags of groceries. That will not happen again, at least on my watch. Nope. Not again. I'll wager that she'll sleep through the next two days."

I remember that trip to Kroger, as that store was promoting Valentine's day before New Year's even peeked at us. I noted the same on Saturday this year when I went to a Kroger near where I live in Kentucky. No major holidays between New Year and Valentine's day, so marketing the heck out of that holiday is essential. I even took a photo in 2013, as mom was moving so slowly.

I distinctly remember a comment my mother made when she saw the cards shown in the photo above. She said, "I don't think I'll make it to Valentine's Day, but I hope I do." I assured her that if she quit pushing herself so hard she just might make it. Of course, that suggestion fell on deaf ears.