Rehearsal dinner slide show in the works! Laura’s childhood photos were my job.
When you’re a mom, some of those days are long, but the years sure are short, as Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project reminds us in her quick but insightful video.
I only wish I’d understood it then.
Now I tell every young mother to relax and enjoy.
They’re probably not finding my advice that relaxing, but I can’t help it.
The years really are short.
A post by writer Ann Jacobus:
As a writer, everything is a story for me, with a beginning, a point of no return, a crisis and a climax, a resolution, and a theme or moral.
I lost my mother, 74, in December of 2011,
My father died at 82 in January of this year, thirteen months later.
And they weren’t even married.
But they both battled cancer of one kind and another for many years.
I got a double crash course in dying, or in the “final stage” as Hospice calls it.
And the theme or moral I’ve determined is that we all should be less wiggy about death.
My folks died as they lived.
Mom, laid back and accepting on one hand; not afraid, yet on the other hand, enjoying some denial right up to the end.
Dad, fighting and refusing to relinquish control until the last forty-eight hours. That’s when, after nine months of serious illness, Hospice finally became a part of his care.
They raged against the dying of the light in their own ways, but I’m convinced they both finally made peace with their departures and went gentle, even gratefully “into that good night.” (Thanks Dylan Thomas)
I find this encouraging.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating just giving up.
But we’ll all have to die eventually.
And as we get older (versus the alternative), we all have to watch it happen to those we love.
If every plant and animal and human goes through the life cycle, with death being not only a normal part of this, but the most certain, guaranteed thing we’ve got, maybe we shouldn’t fear it so much.
There clearly comes a point when accepting it and moving forward into it makes sense. Even if it’s just the last day or two.
My mom was at home under Hospice care.
Dad was in the Hospice unit in the hospital.
I cannot say enough good things about Hospice.
They are such an antidote to our society’s fear and discomfort with death, dealing with both patients and their loved ones with dignity, in a gentle but straight forward manner, helping to make the “final stage” as rich and rewarding as it can be stressful and emotional.
I was honored and ultimately reassured to be present with both of my parents at the moment they stopped breathing in the quiet early morning hours.
The preceding days, two in my father’s case, four in my mom’s, were intense, sad, and full of wonder as the family found its own rhythms of coming and going, talking and silence, laughing and crying, keeping vigil at their bedsides.
The moment a loved one leaves this world is a sacred moment, difficult to describe in its power and awesomeness.
Being present at a birth (let alone giving birth) for me was a similar experience.
It brings us right up close with those big questions.
There’s that really big question: what happens to my parents, or to me, when we die?
Whether you are a religious and/or spiritual person, or not, check out this story—Neurosurgeon Dr. Eben Alexander’s experience: Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. He’s written a book, but was also featured heavily in other media a few months ago. My sister, a doctor, sent it to me after Dad died.
Story, myth, spirituality and science (sort of), all intersect here.
For someone who just sent both parents off from this world, it’s comforting to contemplate reports of such a happy ending, and support for the theme of being less wiggy.
Ann Jacobus lives in San Francisco with her family, where she writes YA and middle grade fiction, blogs regularly at www.ReaderkidZ.com, and is trying to be less wiggy about a lot of things. Learn more about Ann at her website,www.annjacobus.com
Photos:
Top–Jake Jacobus at the helm in Edgartown Harbor, Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts
Middle– Jake and Ann in Midland,Texas
Bottom– Ann Jacobus
A post by writer Ann Jacobus:
During our fifties, many of our parents are reaching the ends of their lives and many of us are helping care for them.
It’s a difficult and emotional time; however, it can also be incredibly rich and fruitful.
Dying can teach us a lot about living.
There’s a great post by a palliative care worker, Bronnie Ware, called “Regrets of the Dying.” The concerns expressed by those who have accepted that they are in the “final stage” of their life, as Hospice refers to it, are pretty consistent.
The main regret of the dying is that they wish they’d lived life true to themselves and not to the expectations others had for them.
Got that? Our most likely regret when time is up: Not being true to oneself.
No one wishes they worked more and spent less time with family.
Most wish they’d maintained better connections with friends, and had the courage to express their true feelings
And last but not least, the dying wish they had let themselves be happy. Happiness is a choice.
A year and a half ago, I was flying back and forth to Dallas to help take care of my mom who had aggressive, small cell carcinoma in her lungs, colon, internal organs and eventually her brain.
She died peacefully December 1, 2011 at the age of seventy-four. She was otherwise in good shape and participated joyfully in all the events she could, including a shopping spree at the discount store Tuesday Morning, a mere two weeks earlier.
About a week before she died, we sat in her room.
I was leaving the next morning for California, planning on returning in eight days. I had been two weeks “on” caretaking, so was tired and ready to get home.
I didn’t know it was our last conscious time and conversation alone.
Lying in bed, she kicked up one of her legs and patted it. “I’m really going to miss them,” she said. “These have been good legs.”
I had to agree.
Then she said, “I really thought I would have more time.”
She knew the end was near.
She never did many of the things Hospice said were typical (like withdrawing), so I assumed she still had some time.
I ended up rushing back two days later because she took a sudden downturn, and didn’t really speak again.
Family members nearly always want to know how much time there is. Hospice wisely refrains from predicting. Things can change quickly and people die slower, faster and occasionally not at all.
The “final stage” of life though, is all about learning to give up control and taking full advantage of each moment.
Lessons not just for the dying.
Paradoxically, as a caretaker, you can get caught up in the taxing day-to-day and lose sight of the main event.
That night, Mom looked at me, her eyes bright with so much love it was unsettling.
Our family tends toward undemonstrative, but Mom and I hugged a long time and said how much we meant to each other.
I’m so grateful that I seized that moment to express my love one last time and say goodbye even though I didn’t realize I was.
That I didn’t put it off, certain of having more time.
Because I didn’t.
So, to your folks, and all those you love, say everything you need to say.
Hug a lot.
Also: Appreciate your body. It’s a great piece of engineering and biology.
Ann Jacobus lives in San Francisco with her family, where she writes YA and middle grade fiction and blogs regularly at www.ReaderkidZ.com. Learn more about Ann at her website, www.annjacobus.com
Photos:
Top–Ann’s mom, Libby Jacobus, in Dallas, Texas
Middle– Libby, Ann, and Ann’s sister Lacy near Mexico City
Bottom–Ann Jacobus
As a writer, revision is my middle name. I revise, almost, until the cows come home.
But what about as a menopausal woman?
Do I need to turn myself into ice cream?
Or should I just be happy with spilled milk, no crying allowed?
Cliff, my husband the engineer, goes into semi-heart failure if he spills anything. A splash of pickle juice. A dollop of coffee grounds.
The cries from the kitchen make me think the stove has caught fire, again, or the refrigerator is emitting poisonous gas.
To me, a spill isn’t such a big deal, unless it ruins a silk blouse or my daughter’s hard-earned diploma.
And so perhaps it should be with our bodies. Our houses. Our goals. Our disappointments.
Maybe we simply need to chill and embrace the spill.
I have a friend who’s in graduate school while working a full-time job. On top of that, she’s planning a wedding. The other day she said, “I think, in terms of my grades in grad school, I just need to lower my standards a bit.”
I’ve thought the same thing about me.
That, as a woman of a certain age, I can lower my standards and quit fretting about revising my very own self. (Although I’m not going to give up on my Wedding Arms, at least not yet.)
What about you?
Did The Great Pause put you into more accepting pastures?
Are you learning to embrace the spill?
Photo: Thanks to Write4Kids.com for the Katherine Paterson quote.
Katherine Paterson is the author of over thirty books including the much beloved Bridge to Terabithia. Read more about her writing process in this interview posted on the Scholastic Books website.
My story “Christabel and Mr. Reader,” inspired by my reading husband Cliff, was a Finalist for the Katherine Paterson Prize. You can read the story here, on the website of Hunger Mountain: The VCFA Journal of the Arts.
Congrats to Judy Brown who won the copy of Black Pearls: A Faerie Strand by Louise Hawes.
In honor of us menopausal types, my poem, “The Scale”:
Do you cringe
When you deliver
The bad news to me,
Or is smirking
More your style?
Someday, Scale,
I hope you’ll speak
Kindly, firmly, fondly
With words since
Your numbers fail me.
Are you a scale girl?
A waistband girl?
So lucky you don’t need to measure your weight in any way at all?
Or so carefree, it’s not a concern?
Giveaway: Speaking of weight and weight issues, Mika Brzezinski chronicles her eating troubles as well as her friend Diane’s and much of America’s in OBSESSED: America’s Food Addiction – And My Own.
Get the inside scoop on the eating habits of Gayle King, Charles Barkley, Jennifer Hudson, Padma Lakshmi, and others. Best of all, read Kathleen Turner’s comments on appearing naked, at 46, as Mrs. Robinson in the stage version of The Graduate.
For a chance to win a copy, simply enter a comment by May 25 saying you’d like to be the winner.
About fifteen years ago, my friend Lisa Flinn commented, “When you go through menopause, I read that a layer of fat on you feet disappears. It makes walking more uncomfortable.”
We were talking on the phone when she gave me this bit of info.
And like a lot of things you hear on the phone, I didn’t quite believe it.
Menopause and feet?
What could feet have to do with menopause?
I was a Menopause Virgin.
I thought menopause was all about the end of your periods, hot flashes, and maybe feeling grumpy.
Oh Barbara.
How could you ever be so naive.
About two years ago, my feet started to feel odd, as if…
Yep.
As if a layer of padding was gone.
As if my bones were actually scraping the hardwood floors of this old house.
Here’s what one foot doctor has to say:
“Aging results in loss of fat below the bottom of the foot, even as unwanted fat is gained in most other parts of the body. This fat once provided cushioning, and we now find ourselves walking on the foot bones and skin.”
The doc goes on to recommend orthotics. If those don’t work, she suggests the injection of some fluffy substance into the actual foot. Ouch!
Perhaps I’ll get to that point, but for now, I’ve found a cheaper, easier solution.
I bought super duper extra thick tennis socks. It almost feels like you’re putting a baby bunny on your feet.
Spring’s here, and my feet are ready to roll.
So far, pretty good.
High quality walking shoes help too.
Anybody else have a similar foot story to tell?
Solutions?
P.S.: I don”t really know much about this brand. I just picked them out after googling “extra thick socks.” My uncle isn’t chairman of the board or anything along those lines.
But Thorlo, if you read this post, a Friend for the Ride giveaway would be oh so fluffy cool and fun.
A bride and her mom.
Presents.
A fun game that gets everyone thinking about marriage and love and weddings and the years ahead.
Flowers in the wedding colors on a table splashed with more color.
Chocolate and berries.
Sandwiches, oh so dainty and ladylike.
Punch, gently spiked.
Cake!
Bridesmaids and sisters-in-law-to be.
And most of all, the good wishes and wise advice of the sisterhood, women young and old.
The sisterhood comes out in enthusiastic force for showers!
Thanks to my friends Lisa and Judy and Gail, who put on this festive shower for Laura, and to the friends who joined us with gifts and good wishes. I’m sorry we didn’t capture your pictures.
And to the Shower Sisterhood Universal I say, “Cake and punch and advice forever! Hooray!”
Any shower stories to share?
With thanks to my blogging daughters, Katherine and Laura for letting me use their photos. I can hardly bear to look at that cake. That’s how delicious it was.
