While walking in Marshalls Store today, I passed by an elderly woman and saw she had a bright pink cherry blossom wreath in her basket.
“What a beautiful wreath!” I told her.
“It is, isn’t it?” She agreed.
I went on to say the wreath would brighten up any space.
“It’s for my daughter’s grave,” she said, wilting a little. “She died one year ago, and since her tombstone hasn’t been placed yet, I thought I would find a way to use this to dress it up.”
“It’s absolutely perfect,” I said. She went on to tell me her husband also died just three weeks shy of their 75th anniversary, at age 100 and 6 months.
“That’s the way life is,” she continued. I leaned in a little, thinking she was about to give me the secret to what life “is,” but instead, she stared at the flowers on the wreath.
I remembered my years in DC, where the cherry blossom trees define spring and renewal. After a few weeks, the delicate petals on the trees float off, symbolizing the impermanence of our fleeting lives.
As our conversation slowed, she said, ” I’m 95 years old.”
“What a blessing!” I said.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if it is or not.” She said, her voice tired.
“So nice talking to you,” I said…and God bless you…The wreath really is — absolutely perfect.”
She smiled, touched my arm, gave it a mom squeeze, and continued pushing her basket toward the clothing section where her caretaker waited.
What I learned:
My five-minute conversation with one kind, elderly woman was priceless to me, as were the connections we made. I pray she will find peace.
I also pray that maybe someone stop in and chat with my parents when they are out and about. They won’t be at Marshalls, but maybe Goodwill, Trader Joe’s, a yard sale, or the Commissary. Sharing a moment with someone and listening to their stories is lubrication for the soul.
40 Reflections – #12: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
I’m not sure when we transitioned from the word “forgetting” to Dementia when referring to Mom’s sweet mind. “My memory is not so great anymore,” she’ll say. My three sisters and I learned tips to lessen her pain of not remembering. Things like: Don’t start a sentence with “Remember when…” or ask”What did you eat for breakfast?” or “How many teaspoons of salt in tortillas?” It’s a process. My sisters are pros; I, on the other hand, plop in for intermittent visits and say the wrong things, but in that sense, dementia will work its black magic and present her mind with a clean slate.
I wrote a few quick essays about my most recent trips to see my parents, which I’ll share here. They are simply passing moments in my experience with them. Now 86 and 89 years old, they have been married 65 years next month. I reminded them separately of the milestone date, and they both had the same reaction, “That’s all!!!!?”
Here’s to Another Good Day with Mom and Dad
Wednesday 11:00 pm –
I arrived home late, too late for Mom to understand it was me, so I led with my blanket line, “It’s your daughter Lucretia”. I realized there was a good chance she was too exhausted to get it because sleep is critical for every age and in all functioning. They were clearly exhausted. Dad was trying to run out and give our friends who picked me up from the airport carne seca (jerky), but they had already headed home. Dad just wants to thank and give and be a part of the world. When your mind rarely rests, like his, activity and social stimulation are healing.
It’s sobering helping your mom figure out which end of the toothbrush gets the paste because now toothbrushes are huge or helping her find the back of her PJs. This is the same mom who could solve the puzzle of Simplicity sewing patterns, notches, and all. She could sew anything, measure, adjust, and add zippers, ruffles, and sleeves with ease. She’s my hero. She wanted 10,000 times more of what she had for us. And by God, she made it happen. Looking back, I bet with every application she typed (real-deal typed) for us, whether for a college, scholarship, award, or 4-H whatever, she probably thought, you know what, these girls are going to devour this world and spit it out when they are done. Totally crush it.
What I learned:
Dementia stinks. But I am so grateful for every visit to see my parents.
#9 – Lenten Reflections – 40 Raw reflections during the Lenten Season
A few weeks ago I went to visit my parents. I’m the youngest of four girls and my parents, now 86 and 89 require more caretaking these days. Before I left, I let my students know I was going for a few days to take care of my parents. As always, I tried to weave a life lesson into why I needed to go. I excel in overexplaining.
I began, “You see your parents take care of you now and then someday when they get older, you’ll take care of them. Also, my mom is having cataract surgery.” Suddenly there were a few connections to the word surgery. “Ohhhh…my mom had surgery on her knee!”
“My dog had special surgery too! Wait, what is surgery?”
“Can we play the chair game or do a scavenger hunt?”
The subject change sounded a lot like my own children’s strategy. Abort! Eject! Way too much information. I lost them in the life lesson.
Maybe some of the first graders were listening…either way, they knew where I’d be out for a few days. I’m sure they jotted it on their Google calendars. Ha.
After my return to school, class began like any other Monday. First grade came in bustling, loud, and joyful. As the kids took off their jackets and found their spots on the rug, Reagan, a bright-eyed girl, strode over, looked directly at me, and asked, “How are your parents?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I was floored by her sincerity. I hugged her, thanked her, and told her they were doing well. They are just older. But I’m so lucky to have them. “Oh good,” she said. I spoke to her like I would an old confidant. One of those gem friends where you can pick up right where you left off. An angel with a high ponytail wearing a plaid skirt and a blue polo shirt.
Reagan skipped off, plopped down on the carpet and immediately reached over to the friend next to her and began tying his shoes for him. Another boy chimed in, “She ties mine too. I mean my dad is trying to teach me at home but Reagan ties mine here.”
I shook my head and thought, wow…this six-year-old has more love in her heart than I’ve witnessed in years. Thank God for the Reagans in the world.
What I learned:
Some people, no matter their age see a great need. They load up bottles of water in their cars and hand them to the thirsty, one soul at a time.
They start small. Maybe check on a friend, listen to someone’s story, tie a shoe.
Simple gifts are empathy. Simple gifts are healing. Simple gifts mean never leaving anyone out. Jesus didn’t. Even Judas got a place at the table.
Here’s to another good day. Please pray for a quick recovery for the Pope.
40 Reflections – #5: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
Ever wake up, glance at the clock, and say, “I SHOULD have gotten up earlier” only to follow it up with “I SHOULD have gone to the gym, prepped dinner, called my parents, run with the dogs, played with the kids, or checked the pockets for that pen before I tossed everything in the wash?”
The “S” word is verifiably toxic, yet to avert our gaze away from what our lives would look like if we accomplished all of the SHOULDS is nearly impossible. Haven’t you marveled at the early birds who amble into work chatting about their early morning run, seamless commute, or the dinner menu they prepared for the month?
Let’s ditch the SHOULD have narrative with three easy tips:
BE YOURSELF: Change the lens through which you see yourself, and celebrate who you are and where you are today.
ACCEPT AND ALLOW: Your reality may be vacant of the plans you slated for yourself years ago, but by clutching onto the people we love, our SHOULD HAVE world dissipates. Some say, “Let go, Let God” It’s worth a shot.
SET YOUR INTENTIONS: Our deepest hopes are shaped by our intentions. Step out of the noise, serve others, find your passion, and share it!
What I learned:
When our minds harp on these unaccomplished actions, we sadly allow the present moment to circle the drain. All of the should haves coupled with regret keep popping up. I run low on forgiveness – mostly towards myself and allowing the “Did Not Do” list to ruin my day. I have heard that forgiveness is our work on earth. So let’s start with ourselves and those around us. Celebrate the now and keep moving forward.
DIG DEEP: On your next run or walk, bring a friend, and you do the listening.
The other day I was waiting to board my flight to Atlanta and overheard an anxious young woman discuss her seat location with her husband. She held a frothy coffee in one hand and phone in the other, and nervously said, “The agent said I’d have to wait until I was on the plane to change seats. I let her know I just can’t sit in an exit row. Not with all the recent flight accidents. It’s not my turn, I am not the person to sit in that seat…not this time.” I watched as her husband sat silently, nodding in agreement.
I settled into the comfy, leather-like seat at the Albuquerque airport and pondered her words. “It’s not my turn.” I applauded her honesty and clarity in knowing what she could and could not handle. But when is it our turn? When do we raise our hands to help another, give the Heimlich maneuver to someone choking, or save the child running into the road? Are some people just innately selfless?
Richard Lui, is a journalist and author of Enough About Me: The Unexpected Power of Selflessness where he explored self-sacrifice as he cared for his father with Alzheimer’s. Along with practicing acts of kindness and showing gratitude, Lui recommends building selflessness muscles. Muscle memory is what helps us remember how to swing a bat or ride a bike. So training your brain to choose others over yourself will build up your selflessness muscles.
My Connection…
Years ago, one of my three older sisters retired from her job after 30 years as a software engineer to care for our parents. She didn’t take a big trip around the world to celebrate her successful career or become a master gardener, she and her husband simply sold their home and moved closer to Mom and Dad. All four of us pitch in, but as the primary caretaker, she is the driver, the contact for the doctors, the shopper, the organizer, the constant in their lives that brings them the comfort of knowing they can make it through today and tomorrow. I have never known someone so incredibly selfless and generous. There are 53 million Americans who are caretakers in the United States, and she is one of those saints who has a special place in heaven just for her.
So whether you’re ready to brave the exit row today or on your next flight, give a little bit of yourself.
Pope Health Update: According to the Vatican, he “remained stable compared to previous days” and did not have “episodes of respiratory insufficiency”. Please pray for him.
As I get older, I’ve heard the line, “I’m becoming my mother” more and more from my friends. “Me too” I concur. The way she rolls her tortillas in just one direction, or nods off in her chair. The way she fights for her family above all and the way she pounds her chest in a mea culpa at mass.
Luckily I was blessed with a mom who nourished us with love and common sense. She measures her words like a baker uses a knife to smooth the flour across a measuring cup, precisely and without an ounce of overflow. If Mom says it, she means it. One of the many traits I’ve picked up from Mom is threading “dichos” or sayings in my conversations.
So on one of my recent visits home with my parents, I made a list of all the Spanish and some “Spanglish” sayings they use. The one new phrase that resonated with me was: “Son los años compadre.” This means: it’s the years, my friend. This is used to assuage their frustration when they can’t remember where they set their glasses or are disappointed because they are tired after doing a fraction of the yard work they used to do. So they sit on the patio exhausted and say “Son los años compadre” like a confession – an exhale – a declaration: we’re getting older, let’s have a seat in the shade, drink some Gatorade and rest.
Aging takes its toll on all of us. First thing in the morning my Dad will say, “Come on body! Join me!” My mom lovingly teases Dad about his arthritis in his hands as the tip of his index finger points south. “Watch Dad point,” she tells me chuckling…it’s always something on the ground he needs.”
Their routine continually changes, zipping around in the truck to run several errands, and detouring to yard sales just doesn’t happen anymore. They still spend much of the day working in the yard which they are so grateful for, yet the amount of work wanes with the years. “We feel like if the sun is out, we should be out,” says Dad. So they plant and prune, check on each other, feed the cranes, rearrange the woodpile, take apart anything that has metal and can be recycled, and breathe in the fresh air.
Once back inside, the aches and pains kick in, and through all the “Ay, yai, yai’s” I can hear Mom say, “Son los años compadre.”
Dad replies, “Yo se, pura ay, yai, yai.” (I know all I say is ay, yai, yai).
They have a good laugh, another glass of water, Pedialyte, or Boost, rest, and watch the hummingbirds buzz around like they used to and drink their fill of sweet water.
Quotes I love:
My father’s wit, and my mother’s tongue, assist me!
When it comes to taking care of our parents, we have a system. When I say “we” I really mean my sisters. One sister is the manager of us all and does a zillion tasks daily. The other two do a million things and I, call Mom and Dad a lot, yet it feels like not enough.
I am also in charge of…wait for it…calling the exterminator. This is crazy because growing up Mom and Dad would NEVER spend money on someone to kill bugs. In fact, when we were kids my oldest sister was hunting all over the yard for insects so she could pin them in a box for her entomology projects. So essentially, she was our exterminator. Of course we had a few stray mouse traps around. And no home in the 70’s and 80’s was complete without a fly swatter. Dad would walk around the house with that thing, swinging at flies, scooping them up, and saying, “Sorry guy”. Late at night, I remember grabbing that same swatter and hunting the relentless chirping South Valley crickets also.
Growing up I shared a room with my sister and if there was a spider sighting in our room, she was on a mission. The entire room was vacuumed top to bottom, furniture rearranged and the spider and its family was sucked into an Electrolux vacuum bag. I played it cool, and got out of my sister’s way. All I had to remember was which side of the bed to get up on in my nice, clean room.
But as the years passed, the bugs showed up more frequently when we visited and didn’t bother Mom and Dad) so I said, “I’ll take care of the exterminator!”
I took the job seriously and when hunting for the right bug guy or gal. I, of course, tried to find someone who spoke Spanish, mainly so Dad had someone to visit with while spraying poison around the house. I also had to make sure mom’s plants were not harmed in the process. All went well, but unfortunately, after the visit, I got a call from Dad, and nope! Antonio knew only a little Spanglish. “El Antonio no habla español,” Dad told me after his visit…” but a nice guy!
Darn it Antonio, couldn’t you fake it?! ——I had ONE JOB! 🙂
Per routine, Dad quizzed me on the cost. “What does that run?”
Then he usually shoots out a guess – “What? Like $50?”
I respond…”Más or menos…see not bad!”.
So the ants marched on, Dad got to visit with someone, Mom’s tomatoes and jalapeños were safe, and I made a small contribution from a distance. I’ll call them right now too.
Mom and Dad have always referred to us, their daughters as, “The Girls”. Since I live the furthest from my dear parents I don’t get the daily dose of them, but thanks to my sisters, I get the gifts of stories and photos.
Here’s a sampling:
Every night around 7:00 pm EST I get a text from one of my sisters that says:
✅ Meds Done!
That means Mom has been called and has taken her medicine. My oldest sister usually calls Alexa with the camera where you can see/spy on the goings-on in the kitchen and will talk Mom through it. Thanks to my super caretaker sister, we have a perfectly designed medicine chart and color-coded dots on all the bottles to make it easier. When I call to help her, Mom will say jokingly, “Are you just going to watch us all day from that thing?”
Sometimes one of us will call the landline during “Meds for Mom” and Dad will answer hastily, so excited to connect everyone on the devices. “Hey! We’ve got Lucretia on the Alexa, say hi!” We all say hello in our sing-songy voices and then one of us says we’ll call back.
On Thursdays, I get a picture of a bountiful bunch of fruits and vegetables from the “Food Pharmacy” a program where local farms and my parent’s hospital arrange delivery of in-season produce for Senior Citizens. Something to look forward to and a healthy addition to their meals.
On Mondays, I get a report of how the Pilates class went for Mom. My sister tells us whether the cool teacher, Richard, was there or if the substitute, “lady” ran the class. The “lady” (as mom calls her) is not great or, in other words, she’s not Richard.
Note: I’ve learned change isn’t great for anyone over 75. This is why they still make agitators in washing machines, regular Coca-Cola, and ironing boards. Therefore, when a newbie tries to win the hearts of senior citizens who simply want to stretch their bodies and maybe throw in a plank or two, she better connect with them quickly. (Maybe she could talk about her love for clotheslines).
After Pilates, I get a picture like this from the Casino where Mom and Dad have breakfast with the “gang”, enjoy their free coffee, and then disperse throughout the casino to play their games of choice.
Here are Dad’s tips to make the most of their casino time: 1) Play only nickel slots 2) Each person starts with $10 3) Everyone takes turns and is supportive 4) If your $10 is dwindling, keep trying new machines with the remaining money 5) Leave immediately if you are winning big OR have spent the allotted allowance.
Finally, my favorite photos are when I see Mom and Dad doing the things they love like working outside or making chili…just like the good old days.
I’m so lucky to have “The Girls” and Mom and Dad and blessed with updates and glimpses into their day.
Thanks for joining me…I pray you and yours are connecting as often as makes you happy,
In the age of Botox and incessant social media, a story about authenticity might seem so 1900’s. However, my memory of the classic Velveteen Rabbit was jarred when I pondered my own search for meaning and what is real. No, I’m not going to get Botox…I mean, should I? No way. I mean, I’ll have three kids in college next year, and I don’t want them to forget what I look like when they fly back to the nest.
In the beloved children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams wrote, “Real isn’t how you are made… It’s a thing that happens to you,” In this story, the stuffed and somewhat feeble rabbit pined for connection, and love from a boy, but was tossed aside when other snazzy, noise-making toys were found under the Christmas tree.
Sometimes I have a Velveteen Rabbit Day and feel patchy, fragile, and a little weak in the joints. Those days when my gray roots are trying to take over the rest of my mop, or maybe I discover my jeans really are “mom jeans” or the moments I wish there was an epidural for standing up from the crisscross applesauce position.
That’s when I have to remember to embrace what is real — that sorrow is unavoidable, that joy is fleeting even when all the kids are home and laughter is nonstop, or when I talk to Mom and Dad and they are feeling “Great!”. Real is when time dissolves into quicksand and we must stand shoulder to shoulder taking one step at a time to make sense of the mess, together.
“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.
‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’
‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’
‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse.
What I learned:
So even when we feel loose in the ligaments, and marred with physical and spiritual dents and dings, we should remember we are also in the process of becoming Real…but it really will take a long time.
On February 29, 1936, my Madrina (Godmother), Eddie Laura was born.
Last leap day, February 29, 2020, I called her up on her landline to wish her a happy Leap Year Birthday. She had just turned 84 and she told me she loved her morning walks, going to mass, and her cozy home by the mountains.
One month later, her daughter called me and told me she passed away. It wasn’t COVID nor was she ailing.
She fell. She was alone. I was heartbroken.
As a tribute to her, I revised a piece I wrote in 2020 about her undying love for family, faith, friends, and well, poker.
This is my baby book given to me by my Godparents.
In Leap Year math terms, my Godmother had 21 true birthdays. So Leap Day was especially busy for her. Let’s just say if an angel got their wings every time her phone rang on her true birthday, the halo business would be booming. I was among her callers who sang the traditional Happy Birthday and a few lines of Las Mañanitas, her favorite birthday song.
When I spoke to her last, I updated her on the kids and our treks from swim meets to tennis matches, and then baseball games. In lockstep, she reminded me to enjoy every moment of their childhood, because it goes too fast. “What are their ages?” she asked. When I said, 17, 15, and 14, she jumped in and as if reading from a mom script, said, “Oh college is coming up, that’s expensive.” She continued, “It’s when they go away that’s hard.” I knew she was referring to the outrageous cost attached to college tuition, but I also knew from our previous conversations that her statement meant more. She was always very candid about being a mom and college approaching meant empty beds, smaller meals to cook, and homes that were way too quiet.
When we would chat, her sing-songy, NM accent reminded me of home and I mirrored it. My kids always say when I come back from Albuquerque I have a strong accent. I tell them it’s just English and Spanish finding their harmony. The beautiful words of Spanglish bring solidarity and trust to our New Mexican culture.
I listened to how Eddie Laura recalled life as a mom…stirring red chili on the stove, flipping tortillas on the comal, sewing, quilting, dancing, and caring for her four children. As she spoke, I could hear how quickly life’s pages turn. One moment, instead of going to baseball games or PTA meetings, you’re headed to airports to pick up your kids who are “just visiting”. I can’t help but think of how she felt that first Sunday morning at church when she didn’t have to look for a large section on a church pew, but instead, was able to slip in at the end of a row because she was alone.
She told me she prays for me every night and every morning. When she said it, I always felt my body relax. Somehow simply knowing that someone who leads with faith was putting in a good word with God for me – made me feel cloaked in love. To me, Eddie Laura was like one of those saints Catholics pray to for everything from gallstones to lost glasses. We know they have our backs. That was my Godmother. I knew her prayers for me were deep, no-nonsense, and true.
When cleaning out her home, my sister and her daughter found lots of little treasures around her home. Chief among them were poker winnings stashed inside a box of quilt pieces. Her daughter told us she always asked her mom how she did at the casino and Eddie Laura would reply, “I’ll never tell.” My Madrina knew what she held close, whether it was cash from playing Blackjack, memories from marrying her high school sweetheart, or the priceless days of raising her children. I was so blessed to have such a loving Godmother.
Feliz Cumpleaños Madrina may you be at peace up in heaven, perhaps dealing a hand of 7-card-stud on that massive Last Supper table. God Bless.
What I learned:
Chances of being born on a leap day are about one in 1,461, according to the BBC. In fact, some astrologers say leap-year babies may possess special talents and luck. I agree. When I look at the picture of the day I was baptized, I think about all my Godmother has taught me…
Cherish time with my family – knowing they will eventually live under different roofs; keep faith at the forefront; and hope our kids will thrive with credence, compassion, and kindness (and always find their way home — I added that one).
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