Click here to Introduction
Transitioning Homes
Sometimes, for a variety of reasons, it is no longer possible to care for our elder loved ones at home. Whereas I understand that for some people, the biggest problem when this happens is finding the right place, then they carry no further emotional baggage with them. I don't think this is the norm, but then again, I don't think what my family is experiencing is the norm either.
As I grow in experience, I have discovered that our family is very unusual. Even beyond the core of our unit, the multitude of cousins have been exposed to the residue of the thought processes that have us twisted in agony over the "Right" decision. Naturally the "country way of thinking" has us all in misery over the fact that we cannot "take care of our own", but we have also been trained in logical thinking. The only thing in more conflict is a Pacifist carrying a gun.
Logic and emotion is in constant conflict anyway. Logically we see the physical needs and address them. We eliminate "wants" and "desires" and consider the "needs" we observe through empiricism. When the accounts receivable outweigh the accounts payable, we make the necessary adjustments to balance the books. We understand the needs and the way to take care of them, but that doesn't make it any easier.
The emotional balance has been tipped and there are no columns to neatly organize our thoughts. We see consequences and results, but not always the tidy causes that our logical brain wants in order to classify and dismiss. Some things just won't be dismissed. Those are the messy emotions that make transitions so difficult.
Let's face it; even Grandma can see that her need for care has over burdened our resources in just about every way. She agrees that she can no longer remain where she was, but the knowing and the doing are quite different. After nearly 50 years she was shuffled from her home, to mine, then to Dad's and now to a home. No matter how much love was behind these decisions, it has not been easy for her. Since leaving her home, she has been trying to stay out of everyone's way as she waited to die.
Grandma worked pretty much every day of her life until Grandpa died. If she wasn't going off to work at her job or her business, she was working at home. I am probably one of the few people who understand what it meant for Grandma to "work at home". This isn't like today's phrase where people are doing transcriptions on their home computer or maybe do childcare in their home. For Grandma "working at home" was to make the house a "Home".
You can find "Home" in the details. Sure there is the regular cleaning and general maintenance which most people expect, but Grandma knew the difference was in the minutia. Even colors used, furniture placed and the decorative flair that individualizes a place is not enough to make it "Home". Look at the pictures in a room; there you will find "Home". Look at the pieces displayed from the ascetically pleasing nick knacks, to the odd bit that doesn't fit at all. You will find the key to "Home" in that odd little piece.
Each person has an individuality that is reflected in their belongings. Some people have a true need for the overly organized and sterile, while others flourish in apparent cacophony. The work that Grandma did best, was in combining all the different elements to create an environment from which her children and grandchildren could grow, always knowing there was someplace where they belonged, even if it wasn't always "perfect"; Home.
IN these past few years, everyone has been changing and shuffling, making room in their space so that Grandma could have a space to call her own. We have done a miserably poor job of it. Each room that has been designated as "hers" has been more multi-purpose than truly her own space. I am happy to say that I have learned a lot about personal space by having had my own room at Grandma's house since the day I first left the hospital. Mind you, my memory has my able to put my own things in only one drawer and half the closet in "my" room at grandma's house.
So this past week when we moved Grandma into the Masonic Home, I, with my fragile psyche, truly understood the impact of her personal space. Even before I saw the sparse sadness of other rooms, I had intended to make sure every glance reminded her of the full and beloved life she has and is leading. Pictures, pieces and colors were combined to create a space unique to her independent self. From her first look, that room was undeniably her space. It was the comfort from which she could branch out and explore her new environment. I am privileged to be in Grandma's confidence, so I have no doubts that she was honest in her response when I said, "Grandma, I know no place will ever be "home" again, but do you feel like this is your space?" and she responded , "Oh yes, I do!"
It was only the second day when I got to see what kind of different experience she was about to have. Not just different from what she had previously encountered, but in what the other residents were experiencing as well. I was concerned about mis-matched furniture when I was arranging the room, only to discover other residents with matching furniture that was obvious cast always. As I hung pictures I was concerned that the colors of the walls were not inviting, only to discovered other walls with better colors sparse of pictures. Grandma's door could not be open without someone walking by, exclaiming over the fairy princess's castle cove. I have been comforted in the knowledge that my physical presence is not required in order that my love can be known.
But love is not expressed by things alone. More often than not, I have been admonished, gently as it may be, to not spend too much time with Grandma during this transition. It seems that some people think it is most important for her to get acclimated to the nuances of her new surroundings. Whereas I agree that it is important to do so, I believe it is even more important for her to know she has not been abandoned. Perhaps it is because I am emotionally fragile myself, that I understand the impact emotions have on transitions. Unless there is emotional security, a person cannot thrive. They may survive, but that is an unacceptable minimalist attitude when it comes to my Grandma.
I am quite certain most people think I am spoiling Grandma to have spent the first night in her new abode sleeping on the floor of her room. They would be right. When I was little and had no where to go, Grandpa and Grandma provided. When I was scared and didn't know where to turn, Grandpa and Grandma always provided. When I was without and was not sure how to survive, Grandpa and Grandma always provided. What kind of offspring would I be if I were not overly considerate now.
I don't care if anyone thinks I am bragging, but my relationship with Grandma is a prime example for other parents. Grandma and I are very different personalities, and though I may have taken on many of her character traits, she and I have been irritants to one another more than allies; She is fundamentally Christian, I am Pagan. She was a ballroom dancer for 30 years, I like to dace barefoot to the music of the sun. She has always been petite and concerned about the image she presents, I will always be the chunky loon with crazy hair flying. In spite of these differences and the antagonistic details that come from them, we are closer than most mothers are with their daughters.
It comes from understanding unconditional love. Unconditional love is not love based upon agreement, but on dis-agreement. It is being able to stand on two opposing sides of an argument, and still enjoying one another's company. It is saying, "I think you are wrong, but I will help you in this because of the individual you are." Grandma wanted me to be a dancer or a pageant queen. What she got was a psycho writer. "I always thought we had time," was her response when I asked if she was disappointed. Then I read her my latest piece and she says with more pride than when I did win some dandified accolades, "You deal with death better than anyone I know." Unconditional love is being able to be disappointed in expectations, only to find pride in fear.
And so we, as a family, have embarked on the second greatest fear of our lives. The first being the loss of Grandpa, which we not only survived, but blossomed into a new and amazing understanding, we now face following our logical mind while our emotions despair. It is "Wrong" to entrust the care of a loved one into the hands of another, but it is more "Wrong" to allow illogical responses to cause deterioration. Caring for Grandma deteriorated our physical and emotional health as well as our finances. It is no small matter to go against what you have been exposed to as mores, even if it the teachings have been in conflict.
Maybe it is a fortunate thing that I have been made so keenly aware of a world in conflict and the emotional impact such tension creates. It certainly makes me more aware of the emotional impact this transition has on Grandma, and I have been able to nurture those emotions to create (what I think has been) a positive experience. I understand that this is just the beginning of this transition, and there are a great deal more emotions to process. Grandma and I are certainly not the only individuals struggling with this change. We are choosing to do well with this moment. We are doing what we can with what we have, directing our thoughts towards the positive, and tempering enthusiasm with reality. I can't say for Grandma, but I am also taking a moment here and there to accept the personal defeat that has lead us to this and resting in my battles as well. Then I gather up my weapons again, and share with others the strength of hope, the shield that is love, and the sword of Faith that directs my every breath.
As I grow in experience, I have discovered that our family is very unusual. Even beyond the core of our unit, the multitude of cousins have been exposed to the residue of the thought processes that have us twisted in agony over the "Right" decision. Naturally the "country way of thinking" has us all in misery over the fact that we cannot "take care of our own", but we have also been trained in logical thinking. The only thing in more conflict is a Pacifist carrying a gun.
Logic and emotion is in constant conflict anyway. Logically we see the physical needs and address them. We eliminate "wants" and "desires" and consider the "needs" we observe through empiricism. When the accounts receivable outweigh the accounts payable, we make the necessary adjustments to balance the books. We understand the needs and the way to take care of them, but that doesn't make it any easier.
The emotional balance has been tipped and there are no columns to neatly organize our thoughts. We see consequences and results, but not always the tidy causes that our logical brain wants in order to classify and dismiss. Some things just won't be dismissed. Those are the messy emotions that make transitions so difficult.
Let's face it; even Grandma can see that her need for care has over burdened our resources in just about every way. She agrees that she can no longer remain where she was, but the knowing and the doing are quite different. After nearly 50 years she was shuffled from her home, to mine, then to Dad's and now to a home. No matter how much love was behind these decisions, it has not been easy for her. Since leaving her home, she has been trying to stay out of everyone's way as she waited to die.
Grandma worked pretty much every day of her life until Grandpa died. If she wasn't going off to work at her job or her business, she was working at home. I am probably one of the few people who understand what it meant for Grandma to "work at home". This isn't like today's phrase where people are doing transcriptions on their home computer or maybe do childcare in their home. For Grandma "working at home" was to make the house a "Home".
You can find "Home" in the details. Sure there is the regular cleaning and general maintenance which most people expect, but Grandma knew the difference was in the minutia. Even colors used, furniture placed and the decorative flair that individualizes a place is not enough to make it "Home". Look at the pictures in a room; there you will find "Home". Look at the pieces displayed from the ascetically pleasing nick knacks, to the odd bit that doesn't fit at all. You will find the key to "Home" in that odd little piece.
Each person has an individuality that is reflected in their belongings. Some people have a true need for the overly organized and sterile, while others flourish in apparent cacophony. The work that Grandma did best, was in combining all the different elements to create an environment from which her children and grandchildren could grow, always knowing there was someplace where they belonged, even if it wasn't always "perfect"; Home.
IN these past few years, everyone has been changing and shuffling, making room in their space so that Grandma could have a space to call her own. We have done a miserably poor job of it. Each room that has been designated as "hers" has been more multi-purpose than truly her own space. I am happy to say that I have learned a lot about personal space by having had my own room at Grandma's house since the day I first left the hospital. Mind you, my memory has my able to put my own things in only one drawer and half the closet in "my" room at grandma's house.
So this past week when we moved Grandma into the Masonic Home, I, with my fragile psyche, truly understood the impact of her personal space. Even before I saw the sparse sadness of other rooms, I had intended to make sure every glance reminded her of the full and beloved life she has and is leading. Pictures, pieces and colors were combined to create a space unique to her independent self. From her first look, that room was undeniably her space. It was the comfort from which she could branch out and explore her new environment. I am privileged to be in Grandma's confidence, so I have no doubts that she was honest in her response when I said, "Grandma, I know no place will ever be "home" again, but do you feel like this is your space?" and she responded , "Oh yes, I do!"
It was only the second day when I got to see what kind of different experience she was about to have. Not just different from what she had previously encountered, but in what the other residents were experiencing as well. I was concerned about mis-matched furniture when I was arranging the room, only to discover other residents with matching furniture that was obvious cast always. As I hung pictures I was concerned that the colors of the walls were not inviting, only to discovered other walls with better colors sparse of pictures. Grandma's door could not be open without someone walking by, exclaiming over the fairy princess's castle cove. I have been comforted in the knowledge that my physical presence is not required in order that my love can be known.
But love is not expressed by things alone. More often than not, I have been admonished, gently as it may be, to not spend too much time with Grandma during this transition. It seems that some people think it is most important for her to get acclimated to the nuances of her new surroundings. Whereas I agree that it is important to do so, I believe it is even more important for her to know she has not been abandoned. Perhaps it is because I am emotionally fragile myself, that I understand the impact emotions have on transitions. Unless there is emotional security, a person cannot thrive. They may survive, but that is an unacceptable minimalist attitude when it comes to my Grandma.
I am quite certain most people think I am spoiling Grandma to have spent the first night in her new abode sleeping on the floor of her room. They would be right. When I was little and had no where to go, Grandpa and Grandma provided. When I was scared and didn't know where to turn, Grandpa and Grandma always provided. When I was without and was not sure how to survive, Grandpa and Grandma always provided. What kind of offspring would I be if I were not overly considerate now.
I don't care if anyone thinks I am bragging, but my relationship with Grandma is a prime example for other parents. Grandma and I are very different personalities, and though I may have taken on many of her character traits, she and I have been irritants to one another more than allies; She is fundamentally Christian, I am Pagan. She was a ballroom dancer for 30 years, I like to dace barefoot to the music of the sun. She has always been petite and concerned about the image she presents, I will always be the chunky loon with crazy hair flying. In spite of these differences and the antagonistic details that come from them, we are closer than most mothers are with their daughters.
It comes from understanding unconditional love. Unconditional love is not love based upon agreement, but on dis-agreement. It is being able to stand on two opposing sides of an argument, and still enjoying one another's company. It is saying, "I think you are wrong, but I will help you in this because of the individual you are." Grandma wanted me to be a dancer or a pageant queen. What she got was a psycho writer. "I always thought we had time," was her response when I asked if she was disappointed. Then I read her my latest piece and she says with more pride than when I did win some dandified accolades, "You deal with death better than anyone I know." Unconditional love is being able to be disappointed in expectations, only to find pride in fear.
And so we, as a family, have embarked on the second greatest fear of our lives. The first being the loss of Grandpa, which we not only survived, but blossomed into a new and amazing understanding, we now face following our logical mind while our emotions despair. It is "Wrong" to entrust the care of a loved one into the hands of another, but it is more "Wrong" to allow illogical responses to cause deterioration. Caring for Grandma deteriorated our physical and emotional health as well as our finances. It is no small matter to go against what you have been exposed to as mores, even if it the teachings have been in conflict.
Maybe it is a fortunate thing that I have been made so keenly aware of a world in conflict and the emotional impact such tension creates. It certainly makes me more aware of the emotional impact this transition has on Grandma, and I have been able to nurture those emotions to create (what I think has been) a positive experience. I understand that this is just the beginning of this transition, and there are a great deal more emotions to process. Grandma and I are certainly not the only individuals struggling with this change. We are choosing to do well with this moment. We are doing what we can with what we have, directing our thoughts towards the positive, and tempering enthusiasm with reality. I can't say for Grandma, but I am also taking a moment here and there to accept the personal defeat that has lead us to this and resting in my battles as well. Then I gather up my weapons again, and share with others the strength of hope, the shield that is love, and the sword of Faith that directs my every breath.