Voice

I see her sitting in that chair, slumped slightly to her left. As I focus on her face I see her mother and father, her brothers and sisters, her aunts and uncles all in the features handed down to her. I know these features as I share them with her and her other children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. 

I watch her perk up then I wait for her voice. Sometimes, now, it's a bit shaky as if her vocal chords are trying to steady. Other times, it's a bit more clear. No matter how it is, soon enough it hits the pitch and speed and volume I have known all my life.

Usually a smile comes across her face. That is a natural reaction for her. Now, though, it is sometimes masked behind some physical pain or maybe even depression. Still, she tries, and for a time, all is as well as it can get now.

We catch up on things. Her life now is the most limited it has ever been. Time and disease has taken away most of her eyesight. The vivid scope of life she knew all these years has grown limited, darker and blurry. Simple everyday tasks she tended to are no longer doable easily or at all. The more complicated things she was responsible for are now distant memories for her.

Sometimes it all slips off the rails. She begins talking about things the rest of us do not understand or cannot comprehend. She seems certain beyond any doubt that what she says is the way things are despite clear evidence that things are not the way she imagines. It is hard to know what to do then. I know I should probably just move on without saying much but it is hard to know how to reign in what you think you should say even if you understand why you should just keep quiet.

In time, some semblance of normalcy returns. Her smile returns. Her voice seems a bit stronger.

As much as I can hope and wish for in this situation, the days from the past when life unfolded seemingly without a hitch are gone, taken for granted because they were days where all seemed right. Now, I accept what is left, whether I like it or not.

I search for her smile. I listen for her laugh. I try to find that place where her voice is still strong. While there are things she told me I was always remember I listen for something else now in her voice. I listen for that place where whatever she says is running over with a confidence that assures me I can do whatever I set my mind to do. I search for that because I know I will need to lean into that to see all this through.

Long Decembers

“And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last.” 

As December ends, so will end another year. It also begins the slow shut down of the holiday season. The festiveness felt by many will give way to the routine of every day once more. Despite all the good feelings and cheer spread this time of year, some struggle with this time of year and struggle hard.

Two years ago at Christmastime, Mom was in an Atlanta hospital recovering from back surgery. Her recovery became complicated and almost overnight a stay of a couple of days turned into over ten days in the hospital. I was there with Dad and my sister. Some family would come to visit but only for a brief time since most of the family lived outside of Atlanta. Their visits were short before they would need to leave. So, there we were me, Mom, Dad and my sister in a city away from our homes over the Christmas holiday.

With Hannah being a year old at that time, I was encouraged to go home to spend Christmas with her and Jennifer. And, I did. I left Atlanta on a foggy Christmas Eve and drove I-75 north toward Tennessee. When I arrived home, Hannah was in bed asleep and I discovered both her and Jennifer were under the weather.

For the next few days I tried in my own feeble way to help Jennifer and Hannah get back up to speed. Of course, I felt torn since I had left family at the hospital in Atlanta. But, that is life sometimes, isn’t it? Hard choices where any answer you choose leaves a lingering bit of doubt about whether you should have made another choice.

By the weekend, Mom was doing better. Other family had visited and brought back reports on how she was improving. On a Sunday, my sister returned to her home in South Carolina leaving Dad and Mom alone in the big city in the big hospital so far away from their home.

Monday morning I was on my way to Atlanta. About halfway into my trip my phone rings. It is Dad on the other end of the line. He is wondering where I am because Mom will get to go home that day and they are anxious to get going. So, a few hours after arriving in Atlanta, we find ourselves on the one hundred plus mile ride back into the North Georgia mountains. We strapped Mom into the car with seat belts, aware of her recent back surgery and said a prayer that no traffic would hinder us and that she could handle the ride without stopping. I then waded into the mess that is everyday Atlanta traffic and drove for the hills like the old timers drove with a load of white lightning in the back of their cars.

Mom was a trooper and made it without any problems. We arrived at their home; we helped her out of the car and into the house where she promptly sat down in her recliner where she spends so much of her time. I stayed an extra day so that home health care could be arranged. When I left, I left just the two of them there. When I left it was also January but it had been a long December.

There are so many things I could say about this experience and maybe someday some of those things will find their way here. I can still taste the cafeteria food we ate daily, thinking at first how it wasn’t so bad but by the end of the stay how we never quite wanted to look at it again, much less eat it. I remember how we communicated through phone calls and text messages to family and friends how things were, or weren’t, progressing. I recall it being after two in the morning in ICU and Mom, confused by her meds, was talkative, albeit in a not totally coherent manner, while it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. I remember the beeping of machines, the dull lighting of each room, the physical therapist who wore Christmas lights around her neck, the cold wind as it blew through the parking garage and even a few anxious moments when things weren’t going well at all and we had no idea what was happening or what was to occur next.

I do know our long December wasn’t as long as some had then. I also recall a family we shared an ICU waiting room with, a family still there when we left for home. Their family member had a much longer recovery ahead and one that was still uncertain.

Another family spent one night in the ICU waiting room with us. The next day they were packing up to leave. Their family member was being sent home with hospice care. Maybe, for two weeks, they told us.

Now when this time of year comes around I still join in on the fun and frivolity but all that is tempered with the memories of how the sad, difficult parts of life won’t stop for anything. The family letting go of a loved one, the older lady facing her first holiday season all alone, the child on his third foster home in six months. Decembers are long for some. Please take a moment this holiday season to think about those suffering through their own long Decembers and if you can help them in some way. And, also, take some time to be thankful for what you do have.

Lyrics from "A Long December" written by John Daniel Vickrey, Matthew Malley, Charles Gillingham, David Bryson, Adam Duritz and Ben G. Mize available on YouTube as performed by Counting Crows, watch it here.

Catch My Breath

I’ve been trying lately to just catch my breath. Sometimes work and other obligations trip me up in this regard. This time though it’s a nagging health issue that has thrown me behind where I feel I should be. Seasonal allergies teamed with an elusive fever and an out-of-the-blue ear infection to make my world slow to a crawl. While my world took on a snail’s pace the rest of the world seemed to race right on by me.

During this time, Jennifer and I have been able to once again test that part of the marriage vow I suppose you could call the health clause, you know the part of the vow where you promise to care for one another “in sickness and in health”. At the start of this whole thing, I was a coughing, slobbering mess. I got a bit better in time. Somehow though, I transferred a portion of the sickness stuff to Jennifer. Since the family that coughs together can quickly get on each other's nerves together, we took a trip to see the doctor together. The most memorable part of the visit was when a nurse took our vital signs and then promptly handed us face masks. We then had to wait for a few minutes for the doctor to see us. As we stood there a slight distance away from others, face masks covering our mouths while strangers shot curious and slightly fearful glances our way, Jennifer whispered she felt we were suddenly lepers, sick and standing outside the rest of the group. We laughed through our congestion and those face masks. In sickness and in health, indeed. In time, the doctor emerged, provided his diagnosis and since then a slow recovery has followed.

I must admit while I find a certain charm in watching Judge Judy slice and dice small claims court cases into small pieces with her common sense, I know that the haze of over-the-counter allergy meds combined with the more ramped-up meds the doctor provided has to eventually wear off and will cause me to leave the comfort of the living room couch and return to the real world. The broken rattle I hear and feel when I inhale and exhale will disappear and take with it the cough that bursts out in to spasms I can’t control. The tasks I left undone at home, at work and anywhere else I venture will still be there with my name attached to them. For now though, I’m just trying to catch up to where I left off a week and a half ago. I’ll get there. Just let me catch my breath.

Symptom In Search of a Cure

Right about there is that tickle in my throat. Excuse me, I have this nagging cough. And when I breathe, I have this slight rattle in my chest. Sometimes my eyes water a lot. And then I sneeze so forceful that it seems as if my whole body shuts off for an instant. And I've coughed and sneezed so much my whole body aches when I cough and sneeze again.

The last week or so will not make the highlight reel of my life. Granted, I’ve felt worse before but this little spell has been frustrating. Allergies and a cold have teamed up to drag me down and I can’t quite seem to get back to the feeling-better place I was before. I do feel better now but the cough still resides and the occasional sneeze makes me sigh as if I’m asking for relief from above.

No doubt the medicine has helped but I’m not a medicine freak. I’ve always been a bit weary of things that alter reactions chemically. I mean I have enough problems dealing with things with a clear mind. I know though that these meds are prescribed to get me back to where I need to be so I read the instructions on the bottles and follow them to the letter. And wait. And hope. And pray. And while patience is a virtue, patience runs thin when I feel like I should be past this place already.

And for now the tickle in the throat and the nagging cough and the slight rattle in my chest and the watery eyes and the sneeze still reside. The sick symptoms are fading some and my strength is returning slowly. But still…

While this week has been a bump in the road, I feel foolish when I think of those who deal with real sickness day in, day out, compared with my temporary cough. I feel self-centered when I think of those who struggle with real pain, real weakness, real physical limitations or watch those they love deal with those things constantly when I will probably be over what I have now in a few more days.

It makes me think the real sickness I have is that I am spoiled. I take things for granted, especially the measure of health I do have. I am selfish and no over-the-counter or prescribed medicine can take that out of my heart. And it’s something that’s harder to get rid of than a nagging cough.