The Book About Mom Journal

Read an excerpt from the draft of The Book About Mom

The Journal so far:

In January 2009, I started writing a book about my Mom, Betty Jane and I decided to keep a Journal about the work - the process, the research, the writing. In July of 2009, I put the book away for a while, to let it sit until this summer when I planned to take it out again, review and keep going.

In late November, Mom suffered her first stroke and was hospitalised. In mid-December she had a second stroke and the medical team decided she would not be able to return home. She needed more care than my Dad and I could give her here.

Now Mom is in a private hospital close by. She is receiving excellent care and we visit her daily. I was unable to review the draft of her story as I'd planned but I'm writing about all that has happened and the time we spend with her now.

1 December 2010 

It is with such sadness that I tell you of the passing of my Mom, Betty Jane.

Mom passed away on Friday 26 November around 8pm with Dad and I by her side. It was very peaceful. She just slipped away.

It had been a most beautiful early summer day, warm and clear. Mom and Dad had taken their usual walk together, going along the pathways they enjoyed, looking at the gardens, the flowers and trees. 

As they were returning to the Home, Mom was taken ill. 

So many 'thank yous' to all who have sent their love, wishes and support since Mom passed away. We are so very grateful.

Mom will have a service at Manly Methodist Church, 2pm on Thursday 2 December. This was her Church, her 'spiritual home' and our Minister Val Nicholls will conduct the service.

We'll sing a hymn or two, have some readings from Mom's favourite Psalms. There will be tributes and I have no doubt there will be many tears and even more laughs because if there is one thing my mother would be remembered for, it would be her sense of humour, her ability to always see the bright side - and the good side - of everything and everyone.

Three things about Mom 

Dad and I stayed with Mom for several hours after she passed so she was never alone. One of us might leave for a cup of tea but the other would stay while we waited for the Funeral Director to come and attend to her.

The caregivers on duty came to the room too, to sit with us a while and to say goodbye to Mom, their 'Betty-Boo.' They shed some tears because Mom was a real favourite and they were so fond of her. Patti, one of our own special favourites, came in several times. She's the young gal who'd dance and sing with us when we had the music playing in Mom's room and often came in to laugh and visit with Mom.  

While Dad and I waited with Mom, he talked to me as he has seldom done before. He told me how he and Mom met, 67 years ago, on the beach at Fernandina. He and his Coast Guard buddies rented a beach cottage and Mom and her gal friends had rented another close by. "She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen," he said, and he didn't rate his chances too highly as Mom was dating another guy at the time.

But he persevered and in April of 1948, they were married.

While I listened to Dad, I distilled out three things about Mom.

Mom was beautiful, a real 'looker'! As a young woman, she was slight with delicate, graceful features who loved music, dancing and good times. She was, until the day of her passing, a real 'southern belle' with exquisite manners, bearing, a graciousness that was overwhelmingly attractive, all overlaying an inherent strength of purpose, optimism and character. Family and home were the cornerstones of my Mom's life.

She loved children. My sister, brother and I were her pride, her joy, her love and she showered us with all of these things, every day of our lives. As children, our friends were always welcome at the house to come and play, to stay, to hang out, raise a ruckus - and of course she would often join in. Up until last year, Mom was still enjoying the company of some of my childhood friends, having a drink with us, hanging out, raising a ruckus (slightly more subdued, perhaps, although after a few margaritas, anything was possible).

She loved people. My sister has written some words for the funeral and she says,"Mom really knew how to listen" and people responded to that, to her empathy, her understanding, her appreciation of them and their situation, whatever it might be. As Dad said that night as we sat together, "Mom never had anything bad to say about anyone." Indeed, Mom would often say that she needed people. She loved parties, she loved to entertain, she needed people in her life and she attracted them. So many lives were touched by my Mom and, in turn, her life was enriched, inspired and enlivened by their friendship and love. 

Mom and Me 

I feel a bit of a failure as a writer today because I cannot find the words to describe how I feel about Mom.

The loss of a beloved parent is so deep but the wonderful memories and joys are deeper and when the pain finally washes away, all these wonderful treasures will be left.

Mom was joyous, intuitive, blessed with good humour and good sense. She was my best friend, my confidante, the one I would run to, the one I would turn to. She was the woman from whom I drew strength and hope, the musician who introduced me to jazz, blues and black coffee, the dancer who taught me to waltz and boogie, the editor who corrected bad punctuation in my manuscripts, the adventurer who said, 'Yes! Get into it."

She was the strong one who held me up when I felt I couldn't take another step and the courageous woman who would take my hand when I was scared and always leave the hall light on at night.

She taught me about good manners and bad, how to make people feel welcome and appreciated, how to mix a good margarita and how to drink the third or fourth one gracefully. Her advice about spending one's last cent on a bottle of fine perfume or dabbing fine single malt whiskey behind one's ears in appreciation of life and good times has been sound.

My Mom has always been with me - in my actions and thoughts, in the way I carry myself into the world - and she will continue to be by my side and in my heart, of this I am sure.

25 November 2010

It's been quite some time since I last wrote here about Mom.

Mostly I can be quite strong. I go see her and we still head out for a walk if it's a nice day but we don't go for as long now. I come away feeling very tired but I don't cry that much any more.

Not long after I wrote the entry on 1 November, a friend and I took Mom out for her walk and Mom insisted on wearing what we call her 'booze glasses', the ones she received on her birthday back in July. They have a pink tinge to them and when we got outside and Mom said the sky was 'all pinkish' I thought we'd better take them off. But on the way out, all the caregivers were laughing with her and giving her little hugs and making jokes about the booze glasses.

Recently, we moved Mom to a room that is cooler, thinking this might make her more comfortable, but I think our good intentions may have had an adverse effect. She misses her old caregivers, and they her. Whilst the new ones are lovely and very kind, Mom was used to the routines and the type of care she received. The room she now has is bigger, cooler with a view of the gardens and main retirement village building but I think she misses her scene from the old room with the green fields, a few cows wandering about and the expanse of clouds going by.

She doesn't seem to play bingo any more nor attend the movies with the rest of the gang. She is painfully thin and we move her with great care.

When I went today she said she wanted to go out for a walk but when we moved her into the wheelchair, she just folded up and was unable to go. We laid her back in the bed and she seemed weak and very tired. She did not speak at all but smiled at me as I was telling her about meeting the electric power metre reader this morning, the one who has been faithfully trudging up all the stairs to my house for the last four years to read the metre. Mom smiled up large when I told her how the metre lady said she had got caught in all the mosquito netting that I hang about out on the deck every summer, keeping the Mosquito Bar a mozzie-free zone for the late night drinking sessions.

As Mom was lying there, I looked at her and found myself thinking, 'what will I remember most about my Mom?' Of course I shall miss her in so many ways - but I shall always remember the colour of her blue eyes. As unwell as she is now, her eyes are still the palest, clearest, most jewel-like blue.

1 November 2010
"Susie."
My sister has been visiting from down south. She came up especially to see Mom and saw her each day she was here. I've just dropped her off at the bus to begin her journey back home.

My sister and I went together to see Mom a couple of times. The first day we went it was warm and sunny so we took Mom out in the wheelchair and did the usual tour of favourite places - the poppy flower patch, the beds of calendulas outside the front gate and Mom's special favourite, the sweet peas outside one of the houses in the retirement village.

My sister pushed Mom along so I had time to take a few photos.

Mom does not speak much at all now but she smiled alot when my sister and I visited. She did say the occasional word and it was obvious she was very pleased to have us there.

The other day I found Mom's doll that she had when she was a little girl. It's kinda like a ragdoll and Mom has kept it all these years."That's Susie," my sister said and sure enough, when we were telling Mom about it, I asked if the doll's name was Susie and Mom nodded. "Would you like Susie to come visit?" I asked and Mom nodded again so now Susie is sitting in Mom's room along with alot of other little treasures.

Mom has lost weight because she isn't eating much. She drinks alot of liquid supplements, loves ice cream and vanilla puddings and the other day she managed a toasted cheese sandwich which apparently went down a real treat. My sister went with Dad to visit Mom yesterday and they watched a horror movie for Halloween - The Grudge. Apparently Mom was riveted ...

Both Dad and I are doing better, in a strange way. We are calmer, not so easily upset and not as jittered up as we have been. It may be simply because we are so tired. We haven't the energy to worry, fret, feel badly - all those things we've been doing so much of lately. I realise too, that this nervous energy we've been expending isn't going to change anything and it is better spent enjoying time with Mom and just being there, in the moment, with her.

Dear Mama. As quiet and thin as she is now, her spirit still shines through. All the caregivers love her. They kiss her and pet her and make a real fuss. I cannot find the words to express how courageous she is, how she handles all of this with such dignity and strength.

13 October 2010
"We'll get through this together."

Today is the ninth anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis. Many of us who've experienced such a diagnosis will often say, "I'm nine years down the track" or "I am three months away from it" but however we say it, we remember the date and can nearly always remember exactly how that day went when we were blindsided ... to put it mildly.

For me it was a Saturday, the 13th of October. My friend Katherine came with me to the appointment. We had lunch at a favourite cafe, looked through a CD shop and then went along to see Belinda Scott at 3pm.

Belinda had been in surgery that morning and came to her office specially to see me and give me the news. I remember her saying, "You have breast cancer" and there was this big silence and then she said, "It's OK to cry if you want to."

I don't know who had the bigger fright, me or Katherine. Suffice to say we went straight back to her house and had a glass of whiskey each to calm ourselves.

Mom had made me promise to call her as soon as I knew the results from Belinda but when I heard her voice on the other end of the phone, I could not talk so Katherine took over and told her the news. I then asked Katherine if she would take me over to see my friend Libby who'd had breast cancer herself. She did, Libby helped me come to terms with what had happened, I picked myself up and set out on the journey that changed my life.

I have always spent time with Mom either on my anniversary day or close to it. I was staying with my parents at the time of my diagnosis because I was packed up and ready to fly to the USA for an extended stay on the Monday after that ghastly Saturday. Needless to say, that trip was put on hold for a year.

I came home late that Saturday night, having spent the evening with my good friends. When I got home, Mom was waiting up for me and we had a talk. I was sitting with her today and I reminded her it was my anniversary. She nodded. She talks so rarely now but when I asked her, "Do you remember what you said to me that night when I got home?" she said, so clearly and loudly, "I said, we'll get through this together."

And we did.

12 October 2010

"Birds, blue sky and clouds."

The other day Mom had one of her 'panting fits'. We don't know what else to call them. She just starts panting and kind of hyperventilating. Sometimes we think it is because she gets too hot but we aren't sure.

The best thing to do is loosen her clothing, turn on the fan to blow some cool air and give her a drink of cold water. One of the caregivers who is especially fond of Mom will kneel down in front of her and try to encourage her to slow her breathing by taking deep breaths, slowly and steadily. She was doing this the other day and Mom was watching her exertions and said, "Your eyes will pop out of your head." We all had a good laugh. Mom still has her sense of humour, that's for sure.

But she is not doing well. She is eating so little and is very thin. She still enjoys her daily can of Mountain Dew but doesn't eat much for lunch or dinner any more, except ice cream.She doesn't talk much at all now - mostly 'yes' and no' but she does nod and seem to follow what we're saying when we visit her. More often she is lying on her bed when we visit and Dad thinks it tires her too much to go out for a ride in the car.

I  took her out in the wheelchair for a walk yesterday. We get geared up in her blue sweatshirt, the blanket over her legs and her very famous bright hat that everyone comments on and covets.The bear wears it when she doesn't.

We went around the grounds of the hospital to look at the flowers and the gardens. Mom pointed out a few things: "Poppies, pansies." We sat down by the putting green for a bit and looked around. I asked her, "What do you see?"

"Birds," she said, "blue sky and clouds."

 

30 September 2010

"Let's celebrate!"
I visited Mom yesterday. It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and sunny, so one of the caregivers helped me get her ready for an outing in the wheelchair. As we were going down in the lift I asked Mom how she was and she said "Good." I said I was good too and she said, "Let's celebrate!"

Off we went for a long walk through the neighbourhood, along the bike path to the mangroves and to what we call The Bridge to Nowhere. It's a great bridge over the creek and it will eventually be hooked up to the mangrove walkway but for now it ends with a fence in a paddock with a bunch of cows. Mom quite enjoys getting up close and personal with the cows. We sat there a while and watched them chewing and mooing and generally hanging out.

The neighbourhood has some lovely gardens and Mom enjoys these very much. There is one we always stop at that has a lovely planting of all different types of colourful and fragrant flowers - daffodils, freesias and more - and Mom's favourite the old-men-with-beards yellow pansies. She doesn't say much nowadays but will point at something she likes. Pink and red flowers are special favourites.

When we arrived back after our walk, I bought Mom a can of Mountain Dew from the machine and we set out making the rounds of the other two wings of the hospital. We always pop down to see Jean who is so happy to see us. Jean gives Mom a big smile and says "Hello! I am so glad you've come to see me." Jean is usually writing a letter when we visit - she has alot of contacts all over the world and the letter writing keeps her busy every day.

Then we cruised on back to our own wing and joined up with Ivy who was sitting in the lounge singing to the radio. Whenever Ivy sees us, she smiles and waves and says, "Hello darling!"

Mom let me have one of her chocolate fish she won at Bingo the other day. Dad said Mom cannot put the little numbers onto her board any more when the Activities Director calls them out. One of the caregivers has to help her now. "But when she wins some chocolate, she can sure unwrap that and eat it in a hurry," Dad said.

18 August 2010
"Terrific!"

The last couple of weeks everything has been 'terrific.' This is Mom's Word of the Month. When I ask her how her Mountain Dew drink is, it's 'terrific.' The other day they were all in the lounge watching Death on the Nile and when it was finished I asked, "How did you enjoy that Mom?" "Terrific!"

When I told Mom I'd taken up the drums, she said, "Terrific!"

I'm going to take in the small snare drum and maybe a cymbal so she can have a go and that, once again, was met with an enthusiastic, "Terrific!"

The Spring weather has invited a few more excursions in the wheelchair lately. It is warmer, the afternoons clear with blue skies and lots of birds flying everywhere with flowers in bloom and trees boasting bright green foliage - lots of things to look at. Her favourite wheelchair is "Number One" because it has great wheels, a smooth ride and a numbered label. As we get ready to go, she asks, "Are we in Number One?"

Mom has stayed much the same these past weeks - quiet, not speaking much except for the occasional 'terrific' - but some days she has seemed quite calm, not trembling and moving about so much with her Parkinson's and able to smile. When she smiles, I feel so joyous and it lifts my spirits so much to see it.

Earlier this week, I had one of those magic visits with her - rare these days - where I came away thinking that if I never had another visit with Mom, this is the way I would remember her. We sat together in her room and had a conversation. She listened, responded in short sentences, was very calm, sitting up straight in her chair, smiling and actually laughing when I was describing my clumsy efforts at drumming for the first time.Often I come away from my visits with such a heaviness in my heart but on this day, I came home feeling uplifted and light and I knew she had also enjoyed a good day and was happy.

Dad's had a cold this week so I've been visiting more often. The mood in the hospital is a little lighter because Spring is here and we're all very tired of winter. Mom's caregivers always say "Hello Jane!" when I walk in. Sometimes they give me a hug and they always give Mom a kiss on the top of her head.

31 August 2010
"I'd rather drive an Audi."

In the previous entry I noted that I hadn't been writing as often about Mom - not because I haven't been visiting but rather that it's becoming so hard - hard to put into words what I see when I visit.

She is usually in bed now when we go there, watching TV or holding up the local paper to look at the pictures or on the worst days, she is just lying there, looking at nothing, saying nothing, seemingly registering nothing. That's when it's hard and those days are becoming more frequent.

She talks less now but does know I'm there, pats my head, smooths my hair and occasionally will ask, "What's Dad doing today?"or "When are you going to get your hair cut?"

There are some days when she is onto it. I visited last Sunday afternoon and she was sitting up in her big easy chair watching "Ice Road Truckers" on TV. She has always loved big vehicles - trucks, tractors, big diggers - and likes to watch the trucks roaring along the treacherous ice road delivering their loads of equipment. "Would you like to drive one of those big trucks Mom?" I asked. "Yeah," she replied.

When that was over we watched some Motorsport and she loves that too, having always had a hankering for fast sporty cars. There was a Porsche whipping round the track and I said, "That'd be a good one to drive eh?" and she said, "I'd rather drive an Audi."

As we were straightening up her chair, I lowered the foot rest and tried to return the chair to straight up position when suddenly the whole contraption sprung upright and gave us both quite the fright. I was petrified worrying that the sudden lurch might have upset Mom or hurt her but instead she laughed and laughed. It was the first time I've seen her laugh so much and so long for months.

So there are some good times and Dad and I go along each day with no expectations, just a readiness to be in the moment with her. We take her as she is on any given day. Maybe we can take a walk to the lake, or watch a movie on her DVD player. Sometimes we can chat - or other times we just hang out and watch the truckers on TV. Some days there's little more to be done than hold her hand, sit close, share quiet time together and accept that - embrace it, hold it, treasure it .

10 August 2010
"Howz-about-it?"
It has been some time since I last wrote here in the Journal. It's true I have been exceptionally busy all through July and early August with work stuff. Plenty of meetings to attend in town, both during the day and in the evening and much to do.

But that's not the whole reason for not writing here .It's just getting to be quite hard.

Since her fabulous champagne-bellydancing birthday party, Mom has been visibly declining. She's losing more weight, her overall health isn't too good and she's in bed more when we visit. Used to be she'd be in the alcove, hanging out with Jack and Ivy, listening to the radio and reading magazines. I've noticed even Jack and Ivy aren't as lively as they were a few months ago. Ivy is very fretful, gets distressed when left alone for too long and doesn't sing much any more.The other day she was sitting in her room, looking at a digital slideshow set up on her dresser. I asked her who these people were. Many of the images were old black and white photos someone had scanned in for her and I could see she featured in many as a young woman. She put her hand to her forehead and said with such sadness, "I don't know."

Mom's birthday event was so joyous it was like a real high point. I remember when we arrived on the day, laden down with champagne and cake and candles and balloons. Mom was sitting in the alcove there, all dressed and ready to go and the caregivers said, "She's been looking forward to this all morning! She's very excited!"

We meet with the care team at the hospital every three months for a review of Mom's situation.Dad and I sat down a week or so ago and all signs are trending downwards: the weight loss, higher dependency (she cannot really feed herself any longer), increased medications, decreasing levels of energy. When I came away from that meeting I felt so acutely that we're losing her, more so than ever before.

She is comfortable, pain free and seems content overall but it's increasingly hard to tell how she is because she doesn't talk much now. She and I do a 'thumbs up and thumbs down' for 'yes and no' and I can often figure out that way if she needs anything.

Even though she is very debilitated, I have it stubbornly fixed in my head someplace that Mom will just keep going on and on. Ivy and Jack will too, of course! How could they not?

But having painted this picture of gloom, we still enjoy wonderful moments when she is there and present and talks and laughs and has a good time. One very clear and bright winter afternoon recently, she and I set out for a walk to the lake. We bundled her up like a papoose in her wheelchair, leaving just enough gap so she could see and breathe, and set off. The sun was out, there was no wind it was one of those gloriously clear mid-winter afternoons that my friend Dara calls 'a real charmer.'

We walked along the bike path, past the mangroves of the Orewa estuary, a favourite tour for Mom. There is a section of the path with a number of trees that are much loved by the tuis (one of our native birds - jet black and tuneful, they love to mimic and sing) and we always stop and listen to them singing away.

This particular afternoon, I asked Mom if she remembered one notorious summer during the mid-70s when a tui sat atop the enormous Norfolk pine tree near our house in Torbay and sang the same four or five note tune all day, every day for weeks and drove everyone in the neighbourhood nuts.

Mom recalled the bird and said, "It sounded like 'howz-about-it'?" She went on to say that after a few weeks of the tui and its territorial singing she went outside on the deck one day, stared way up into the branches of the tree, took aim with my brother's sling shot and said, 'Howz-about-this!', and fired a hard loquat at it.

"Of course I was well short," Mom said, "but I felt much better."

4 July 2010
The Big Birthday Hoolie

Chocolate cake, ice cream, champagne and a belly dancer – who could ask for more on their birthday? Mom certainly didn’t. Matter of fact, I think she was speechless afterwards – and may well be so today. What a party.

If there’s one thing Mom has always enjoyed it’s a good knees-up.  I can remember some wonderful dinners, parties, coffee afternoons and just good old get togethers over the years with music, food and laughter and even now Mom still enjoys a real hoolie.

Dad and I, our belly-dancing friend and two of Mom’s good mates packed into her room, cranked up the music, dished up the cake and ice cream, poured the champagne and had a jolly-fine toast to Mom on her 83rd birthday.

Of course there were the requisite candles on the cake, balloons a-plenty, the champagne cork popping (discreetly, I must add – not the usual pop-over-the-road-into-the-next-door-neighbour’s-garden routine that we do at home), the good jazzy music (Alberta Hunter, some bossa nova) and the two-dollar-shop glasses and party hats. Quite the joyous celebration with all the tacky trappings (us included!).

Mom ate and drank her weight in cake and booze, clapped to the music, laughed and smiled at the belly dancer, received some more gifts most graciously and lapped up all the attention including that of the caregivers who came by to see what all the noise was about (Mom’s friends arrived in the lobby of the hospital, wondered where to go and then just followed the music down the corridor to Moms’ room). Even Bill, the wandering resident, came in, sat down on Mom’s bed, clapped, picked up all the presents and looked at them, placing them carefully back where he found them, played bounce-the-balloon with me for a bit then wandered out again, only to come back a few moments later, attracted no doubt by all the people and the commotion.  

It was full on for about two hours then we started to mellow out. The nurse came in with Mom’s medication and Dad offered Coca Cola or champagne to wash it all down with. “Champagne,” Mom said pointing to her party cup so that was the way it went.

Dad was sitting on the bed beside Mom’s chair when she looked up at him, stared for a bit and then said, “Take that stupid hat off” and laughed.

 

1 July 2010
"A chocolate cake, ice cream, champagne and a belly dancer."

Ii was Mom's birthday today. She is 83 so we had a little celebration yesterday and the big hoolie is on Saturday. Mom has requested 'a chocolate cake, ice cream, champagne and a belly dancer'.

One of my dearest friends learned to belly dance a few years back and she gave a demo to Mom one day. Mom has been her biggest fan ever since and has asked for a performance at her birthday bash. My friend had actually gone into retirement but will come out, decked in her belly dancing finery, literally from Mom’s toilet room to dance with bells, coins and scarves.

Yesterday my belly-dancing friend and I met up with Mom and Dad on the day to wish Mom a happy birthday. When we arrived, they were just setting out on their walk which usually takes over an hour as Dad pushes Mom’s wheelchair through some lovely suburban streets, onto a special walkway which goes alongside the estuary, around the lake and then back to the hospital.

It was a lovely July afternoon – clear, blue sky, cold but lovely to be out. Mom was bundled up in her birthday outfit (her matching sweatpants and jacket) with hat, slippers, plenty of Kleenex and off we went.

Dad pointed out all the local sights they enjoy along their route: the flock of pigeons living in a tree along the path, the tui who always calls out as they walk by, the bench with the view across the mangroves to the estuary beyond, the wonderful backyards of the houses Mom likes to look into, the flowers and gardens, the gold fish in the lake, the picnic table where they stop and rest.

By the time we reached the lake, my friend and I were worn out and complaining of sore backs and feet. So out of shape am I! But Dad kept on truckin’, pushing Mom along. She loves to be out and doesn’t miss much – the pink camellias, the big cactus in someone’s rock garden, the ducks on the lake.

We wheeled back into the hospital round 415pm and my friend and I delivered our present to Mom – an emerald-blue pashmina shawl which she can wear over her shoulders or throw on the back of the chair.  Some of her friends had visited that day bringing flowers and cards and the staff at the hospital had taped up happy birthday signs and all came into her room to sing to her that morning.   

My sister sent a card, a small koala bear to add to Mom’s collection of furry friends and a bright pink bandana that Mom has decided to wear for her birthday party on Saturday. June, an old and dear friend of Mom’s brought her a special gift. Mom used to enjoy quilting and was working on a small bedspread when she finally had to stop because her hands were shaking too much.  June kept the quilt, finished it and gave it to Mom for her birthday yesterday. It’s lovely and we spread it on the bed so Mom could see it.

 Well by then it was time for dinner so Dad wheeled Mom into the dining room and we all said goodbye, see you on Saturday. It’s going to be some hoolie, I think.

My friend and I were so worn out after our walk we had to repair to the Irish pub, have two beers a-piece and some dinner: French onion soup and garlic bread for her, fall-off-the-bone lamb shanks, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and beans for me. I could barely move afterwards and had nightmares all night.

22 June 2010
"I'm a gangster."
The other day when I visited Mom I was wearing a new, royal blue hooded sweatshirt. Mom was admiring it so I said, "Would you like to try it on?" and she nodded. So we arm-wrestled her into it, pulled the hood low over her face. "I'm a gangster," she said. "Do you like the hoodie?" I asked. "Yes," she replied. "It's mine now."

So she ended up with the hoodie and I bought her a pair of sweatpants to match. When Dad delivered the pants the next day,she was very pleased. They sat there for a while, and he asked if she'd like to go walking to which she replied, "No I want to try on my new pants." So they got her all decked out in her new blue gear and out they went for a long burn in the wheelchair.

It's been pretty cold of late so the walks Mom and I have are not as long but she enjoys them. Dad has been taking her out in the car more often. On the weekend they went up to Waiwera for afternoon tea. However when Dad set out to order coffee and muffins Mom said, "I'd like a hamburger and chips" and that's what she got. It took her about two hours to eat it but Dad said she ate almost everything in sight and had a great time.

Today I walked into the rest home and Mom was sitting in the dining room all by herself, drinking a cup of iced water. They'd just finished the afternoon quiz session. I waved at her and she smiled at me and she kind of lights up when she sees us. Because of her Parkinson's, she lost alot of that broad smile she had long ago but we can still tell when she's smiling.

We got rugged up in the blue hoodie and her hat of amazing colours, took off in the wheelchair and visited our usual haunts - the gardens, the favourite hibiscus with the lemon flowers, the putting green where we stop to look at the geese in the paddock over the way, then down 'Park Lane' which is actually a tiled area behind some of the retirement village units where the residents have set out little tables and chairs and outdoor ornaments like enameled frogs and things. Mom likes to look at these,stare in through the windows and pet a cat who is nearly always lying in the afternoon sun on a bleached wooden table down the far end.

I've noticed she is talking less. Most days she can manage some conversation, but other days only a few words. She looks at me sometimes as if she wants to talk but can't think of the words or is unable to form them. When I leave after visiting, she is usually lying down in bed now instead of sitting up in the alcove, singing with Ivy and Jack and as we say good bye, she gets a bit fidgety and I feel she wants to say something like 'get me the hell out of here' or 'I love you so much please don't leave me' but she doesn't. More often these days I leave the rest home feeling so heavy in my heart and I often cry on the way home because I think there are things she wants to tell me but can't - I have things I want to tell her and ask her but I can't. I feel that time is precious.

Today the caregiver was organising Mom in her bed after our walk. "Are you comfortable?" she asked and Mom said no. "What can I do for you?" the caregiver asked, leaning down close. Mom then began to stroke her face, very gently. "I could stay here all afternoon while you did that," the caregiver said.

It's Mom's birthday on July 1st. She will be 83. I asked her today what she'd like for her birthday. A chocolate cake? No reply. Some new clothes? No reply. Picture books? No reply. Silence for a bit and then she said, "A bottle of gin and some cigarettes."I said, "Mom you've never smoked!" and she said, "Well, better make it a pipe then." Go figure that one out.

12 June 2010
"She's crazy."
Gosh time goes by eh? When the depths of winter come, I tend to go into some kind of cold-weather holding pattern. I was walking down the hill from the shops the other day and met one of our neighbours on the way up to her Tai Chi class. She said, "We're all hibernating! Haven't seen you, or anyone, for ages!"

It is damp and cold and we've had some days of rain and brisk wind. Up here in the bush, it never dries out. The decks are all dark and slippery, even Little Boy took a slide on the steps, much to my amusement and his manly humiliation.

Mom's been very quiet lately. It's often too wet and cold to go outside so I think she misses her walks around the gardens. One afternoon they were all in the lounge watching 'Mutiny on the Bounty', the old black and white with Charles Laughton. Dad has been taking her for a drive on fine days. She thinks he is driving around in my car. "Thank Jane for loaning you the car," she always says when they get back after their outing. They've been to the boat marina for lunch, down to the beach and up to the Puhoi Pub for gin.

Yesterday some of the residents were recovering in the dining room after a particularly productive afternoon of bingo. The Gang of Six ladies was having a restorative cup of tea round the table and all had a little pile of chocolate frogs. As soon as I arrived, one of the chirpier ladies said, "Your mother has eaten all her chocolate so there's none for you today!"

Another of the Gang is a very happy lady with apple-red cheeks and small granny-type glasses. She is always laughing - or rather giggling behind her hand like a naughty person - about something which makes no sense. "Horses gallop - and they trot too!" she said and started to snort and giggle to the contagious point where a couple of ladies joined in and the others just shook their heads. Sometimes she'll repeat a catch phrase from some TV ad, over and over - the latest was one for cat food and she'd laugh and carry on for ages.

Ivy just rests her head in her hands alot these days. When I see her, I always say hi and she waves at me and we give the 'secret sign for happiness': a tap on the side of the nose then a tap on the forehead.

A new lady has joined the bingo gang. At first I thought she seemed pretty onto it. When the caregivers were asking who wanted tea, she said, "I'll have a double scotch." After a while she asked the others, "Why are we waiting? Why can't we go home?" and she kept asking until our red-apple cheek lady said, "What? What? Go home? Why? We are home and there's no bus here!" and started giggling.

Mom was watching her and then turned to me slowly and said, "She's crazy."

8 May 2010
"Goin' fishin'."

At first Mom told me we were playing 'rummy' but now looks like our card game is some form of 'Go Fish' because whenever she runs out of cards she says, "I'll go fish" or tells me to "Go fish" or just says "Oh cripe!"

When I arrived for my visit today we had a walk outside in between showers and when we returned she said, "Let's go get a drink and play cards."

Sounded like we were heading off to the local bar to down a few tinnies and play a few hands of poker!  We procured the usual can of Mountain Dew and went back to her room to play cards. We set up as before, on either side of her hospital table. "Shuffle," she said, pushing the cards towards me. "Now what?" I asked. She sipped her drink for a while and I waited. She'd won two chocolate frogs at Bingo that afternoon so I asked if I could have one. She nodded. "Deal out seven cards," she said finally. I did that and then 'now what?' She sipped thoughtfully. I had another chocolate fish. Tension mounted as we two cardaholics pondered our hands and moves.

"Go fish!" she said and I replied, "But we haven't started playing yet" and she said, "My cards are lousy so go fish." So I went fishing and so did she.

We played for a good half hour or so and had two games. She's pretty onto it, calling out the numbers and asking for Kings and Jacks and throwing out the Jokers. She does start to get tired though and as soon as she starts playing some kind of Solitaire I know we're done for.

Playing 'Go Fish' reminded us both of the little conversation that Mom remembers from her Florida childhood and holds most dear - that between her Grandpa Captain Lasserre and one of his old friends. Both Grandpa and his friend were very deaf. Little Betty Jane was very fond of her Grandpa as he was of her. She was walking down the street with him one fine spring afternoon when they met Grandpa's friend. This is how it went: "Hey! Goin' fishin?" Grandpa asked his friend. "Nah," replied the mate, "Goin' fishin'!" "Oh, said Grandpa, "I thought you was goin' fishin'."

"Do you think about Grandpa sometimes?" I asked Mom. "Now and then," she replied.

"What about your Mom and Papa?" "Yes, I think of them alot."

Mom was very close to both of her parents, Mama Harry and Papa Louis and I know she had a wonderful childhood. Every now and then she comes out with something that they said or did and she recalls the house she grew up in and of course the Keystone Hotel where she spent her teenage years. Ask her what she did that morning and who came to visit and she cannot tell you.

24 May 2010
"All we need is a fifth of gin."
I'm happy to say that Mom seems better, a little more with it. They've been giving her some antibiotics for a mild kidney infection and I think that's done the trick. She was quite sharp today. I asked about a couple of things at home that I couldn't find and she told me where to look. I usually check to see what she's had for lunch. She often takes a while to answer but today she was really onto it. "A scoop of sweet potato, a pile of mashed up something green, ground meat and custard for desert."

She was also sporting a very trendy haircut and had found out that every couple of weeks they have a 'happy hour' where the residents are wheeled into the lounge on a Friday and have beer, wine and glasses of sherry. She's very keen to join in.

This afternoon was one of those magic times that you think, "I'll always remember this." Mom and I decided to play cards.

Mom has a deck of cards sitting in a plastic container but I don't know who brought them or how they got there. She used to love playing bridge at one time and was always into whatever card game was going.

We were hanging out in her room this afternoon. It's a grey, wet and windy day so we couldn't get outside for our walk. I was sitting in the big chair on one side of her hospital table and she was in her wheelchair on the other, sucking down Mounatin Dew. We were leaning over the table, having a joke about something and the Charge Nurse came in to give Mom her medication. "Are you two having a poker game?" she asked, wondering why we were so hunched over the table and after she'd left I reached for the deck of cards and said, "Would you like to have a game of something?" and Mom said "Oh yes!"

We played some version of rummy, I think. "Is this what they call gin rummy?" I asked Mom and she said, "Yeah - all we need is a fifth of gin."She told me I had to collect three cards of the same number, or Kings, Queens etc  and she said, "You ask me to give you the ones you need." So we were shouting back and forth, "Have you got any Jacks? Have you got any sevens?" I scooped all Mom's tens to which she replied, "Oh cripe!"

Towards the end, Mom was laying cards on the table in some strange order but she wouldn't let me see her hand for love nor money, holding it close to her chest like a real pro, oh yes.

We decided next time we would play 'Go Fish' and maybe try a hand or two of poker. I was telling the caregiver this as I was leaving today and she asked Mom, "Will you play for matchsticks?" to which Mom replied, "No, we'll play for real money."

20 May 2010
"That's a sachsafrasia!"
The last few times I've been to visit Mom hasn't been too flash.

She's not been too communicative and has been lying in her bed, on top of the blankets, fiddling with her clothes or just looking out the window. However, when I say, "Let's go for a walk!" she always says yes and once we get outside, she perks up and starts to point out things. The other afternoon we were wheeling by the gardens and she said, "Stop! That's a sachsafrasia! We used to have those in Florida." It was a low-growing green leafy plant with a stalk of purple flowers - very nice. I tried to look up the name she had given for this plant but couldn't find anything like that - so whether she made up the name or has it wrong, I'm not sure. Anyway she was thrilled to see this plant that reminded her of the Florida garden her Dad tended in Fernandina Beach (he was a great gardener), at 'the house on Sixth Street.' We always have to be clear about which residence in Fernandina because Mom's parents owned the fabulous Keystone Hotel for a number of years and the family lived there.

On this same afternoon, the herd of cows were back out in the paddock after a long absence so that was cause for joy as well!

For some reason which nobody can quite figure out, Mom gets very hot and sweaty, starts to pant and then hyperventilates which increases her distress and anxiety. Although the weather is getting colder now, she will often have these 'heat attacks' and she had a bad one today. When she starts panting, the routine is to get her gear off as quickly as possible and cool her down. Today the caregivers did this but Mom's breathing was not good so the Charge Nurse gave Mom some oxygen which settled her. It was cause for concern today.

When I arrived to visit, she was OK, lying in the lounge with some others, watching a Miss Marple mystery movie on TV. She was drinking a Mountain Dew, very engrossed in the movie. I had a brief chat with her, then spoke with the Nurse who told me about Mom's 'turn' earlier. I went back but Mom really wasn't herself today so I didn't stay on. She seemed very tired and wanted to watch the movie.

The other unusual thing that's happened - a neighbour of ours visits Mom every week or so, taking in a quilt she's made or a magazine. She's very thoughtful and kind and called me on the phone the other evening to check up on me. "I wonder if you know about your stroke?" she asked me. I was quite puzzled so she explained. Apparently Mom told her quite tearfully how I'd had a stroke, was in North Shore Hospital and had lost the use of my leg - exactly what had happened to her. We can't figure this out at all but our neighbour said, "I thought about it and wondered, 'perhaps it's true!' So I decided to call you because I was wondering how on earth you'd ever get up the stairs to your house if you couldn't walk!"

10 May 2010
"In a while crocodile."
Unfortunately we didn't make it out on Mother's Day. The weather wasn't too good - windy and wet - and Mom was too tired. She's been that way for a few days now and the Charge Nurse says it happens sometimes with Parkinson's. They just want to stay in bed, and they tend to disconnect.

I remember Mom used to do this at home too. Sometimes she'd just want to sit. Didn't want to go walking or go out anywhere, didn't read much or watch TV. Just kinda sat and stared at things, said little and didn't always make sense. So she still does this but it's worse now than before.

I visited today and she was in bed, fiddling with her blanket. I said hello to her and she said, "I'll say hello as soon as I've finished hemming this contraption." She gets very focussed on blankets and towels, matching up the edges, folding and re-folding with an intensity that excludes everything else. Eventually she laid it down and we had our conversation about lunch. "Today we had mashed potatoes, broccoli and something cold with peas," she said. "We were supposed to have fish but I didn't get any because I was at the end of the queue. I'm going to have go into the kitchen and fuss at them." Hmm.

She started folding the blanket again and asked me several times, "Who's downstairs?" and I  told her it's 'the man next door to you, he has a visitor' (which was true).

The sun was coming in through the window and for a while she was calm, looking out at the clouds in the sky and the wind blowing the trees about. The sunlight was shining through her grey wispy hair, lighting up the profile that I have known all my life. I just sat and looked at my Mom for a while and remembered some things. Like when I was young and she was too. She liked to go out in the car - how much she loved driving and how much I loved 'running errands' with her! We'd go get eggs at the Ponderosa Chicken Farm up on East Coast Road, then breeze out to Clemow's Orchard and buy apples straight off the tree.Clemow's is now the site of a retirement village and the Ponderosa ... well ... I think the house is still there but the chicken runs and fields are long gone.

My Mom and I were the best of mates. We still are. When I left I said, "See you later alligator!" and she replied with a snappiness that defied the silence of the previous half hour, "In a while crocodile!"

6 May 2010
"I'm the grand mogul!"
The caregivers were getting Mom ready for a nap when I arrived yesterday afternoon. It was very quiet in the hospital as the Activities Director was away for the day. Usually the residents would be in the lounge watching movies or having a singalong but most were having sleeps which I'm sure the staff were grateful for! Ivy was sitting in her wheelchair outside the office so I stopped by to say hello. "How are you Ivy?" I asked. "Well I don't know," she said to which I replied, "I don't know how I am either." It's our customary exchange these days.

When the two caregivers left, Mom relaxed on the bed and she said, "I was going to go to a movie with those two girls." "Really?" I asked. "What were you going to see?" "Something really ghastly with lots of blood." Hmm. I have to remind Dad to take the portable DVD player in soon to give Mom her dose of horror.

Mom was quite talkative yesteday. I caught her up on all the news, how Dad has rearranged some furniture in the house. He's made himself a little 'conversation nook' looking out on the bush and garden at the back of the house. He's not that big on decorating but managed to find a wooden duck on a stick and the small Christmas tree we made for Mom's celebration in hospital last year which he has placed in the centre of the round coffee table in his new nook.

I usually ask Mom what she's had for lunch and yesterday she said, "Mashed potatoes, carrots, peas - we've had the same thing for four weeks now." I doubt that's the case but whenever I ask what she's eaten, it's the same trio of pureed horrors with some meat thrown in. The food actually isn't bad at all but I think because it is pureed (so she can swallow it better), it does lose some appeal.

I told Mom that it's getting cold now. I've had some fires in my little wood burner and the cats are scrapping over prime position in front of the heat. Little Boy always chases Betsy away and she skulks down into the cold of the hallway most nights. "He has a most inhospitable disposition," Mom said.

Of course it is Mother's Day, I said and Mom said yes, indeed and it is this coming Sunday. She is very good at remembering dates like this! "What would you like to do?" I asked. "Drink gin," she said. I think Dad is planning another outing so we probably wouldn't want to be her all ginned up before that.

She was quite tired yesterday so I didn't stay too long. As I was straightening her pillows and getting her ready for a nap, I called her The Queen, tucking the blanket up around her and she said, "I'm the grand mogul!"

30 April 2010
"That's good manners."

It's been a while since I've written up the Journal. I had a bad cold for a week or two so felt it was best to stay away from Mom's place for a bit, until I was well. I visited her this week and wow, when I got there, she'd amassed a pile of four chocolate frogs playing bingo.

They wheel everybody into the dining room, line them up at the table and deal them out 8 or 10 playing cards (large ones!). The Activities Director Maria calls out the numbers and the residents flip over the cards as appropriate. Sometimes they get a bit tangled up when she calls "Eight - eight, shut the gate!" and one of the ladies says, "Is that eight of hearts?" and Maria replies, "No just the number eight." They all get there in the end. Some are more onto it than others and they help each other out.

Mom doesn't need much help although I noticed she has a tendency to start playing Solitaire if she's not concentrating. But when she's on top of her game, she's flipping those cards and when all are turned over, she throws her hands in the air and says "BINGO!" and everyone claps and they say "well done Betty!"

After all that, it's time for a cup of tea and piece of cake .. and Mom asks for her can of soft drink, Mountain Dew is still the favourite.

I've noticed that Ivy seems to be getting worse. She used to sit quite happily in the alcove, looking at her picture books and singing away to the radio. Now she cannot bear to be left alone and if she is, she calls out plaintively, "Nursie! Nursie!" until someone comes. They will often wheel her down to sit in the office with the caregivers and she seems more comfortable there. The other day when I saw her she gave me a big smile and wave. She took my hand, kissed the back of it and when I said "How are you Ivy?" she just looked at me and said, "I don't know. There's something wrong with the company and I don't know what it is. I'm so frightened."

Mom and I had our walk around the grounds, ended up at the little putting green they have for the residents of the retirement Village. We sat there a while and said hello to some people walking by. Mom loves to visit with anyone - in spite of it all, she still gives a very strong "Hello!" whenever she see people and tries to engage in some conversation with them when they speak with her. All the residents of the Villlage are very friendly and always speak to us as we walk about.

Dad was commenting that sometimes Mom seems to make more of an effort with people she doesn't know than with the ones she does. We wondered if it could be her southern heritage of fine manners. When we were growing up, Mom told my sister and I that we should always speak to people, say hello or good morning, even if we didn't know them. "That's good manners," she'd say.

14 April 2010
"Look at all those ladies!"
Mom has always enjoyed sweet things - candy, cakes, ice cream - and I arrived at lunchtime yesterday to see her tucking into a bowl of chocolate pudding and cream. She was so intent on scraping out the last little bit that she didn't notice I'd arrived. One of the caregivers was wheeling the food trolley back down the hall and stopped to pick up Mom's bowl. "Would you like another one?" she asked. "I have one here that's not been touched." So the answer was, of course, 'yes' and Mom got going  on the second one.

While she was finishing that, I went into her room to take some photos. Here's one of the view from her window. It's quite nice. She can see the hills, trees, the sky and clouds, birds and cars going by on the nearby access road.

She also has her photos lined up where she can see them from her bed - a large one of her and brother Bob when they were little kids, another of me and Mom together, one of my sister when she was a baby and a small one of Bob from the war, standing next to a jeep called 'Betty Jane.' Her little stuffed tiger Bengal sits in his wooden bowl amidst it all. He has been with her since her first long stay in hospital, early last year.

Speaking of sweet things ... Mom was a great baker in her time and the creations she was most famous for were brownies. A very special recipe, handed down over the generations, rich and dark and full of chocolate and nuts. She was also renowned for an apricot and prune cake which she made for me every time I visited home from the US. I'd be flying over the Pacific, heading for NZ and dream of the first bite I would have with a nice cup of tea, on arrival back home.

Her attempts at making dill pickles were not quite so legendary - perhaps more noteworthy for her persistence at trying and consistency at failing. Back then, we were living in Churchill Rd, Murrays Bay and there was a vacant section of land next door. All the pickle failiures were buried in the dirt over there.

I took Mom out for a short walk yesterday as it was threatening rain. We did our usual turn around the complex, stopped to watch the lawn bowls, went down to check for the cows ("Look at all those ladies," Mom said), watched the geese honking and foraging, then returned.

She wasn't too talkative. Another friend had visited just before me. "She talked alot," said Mom, "wore me out." So after our walk she was going to lie down and sleep it all off.

Dad told me it is their 61st wedding anniversary this coming Saturday, 17 March. Wow. He would like to take her out somewhere special for an early lunch so we're figuring out how we can make that happen.

7 April 2010
"Bring gin and tonics next time."
Yesterday when I arrived for my visit Mom was sitting in the lounge with about ten others, all in their wheelchairs, gathered around a whiteboard thinking up as many words as they could using letters from the word CONSTANTINOPLE. They'd thought of heaps, three columns full but when Mom saw me arrive, she said, "Get me out of here."

Her chair was pulled up next to Ivy's. Lately Ivy has been looking very unhappy. She doesn't call out "Nursie!', nor does she call me 'sunshine'. She just reaches out her hands to pat my cheeks. Her face is sad and she doesn't sing in the alcove any more. When I was getting ready to wheel Mom out yesterday, Ivy took my hand and she held it so tightly I had to prise her fingers off. "I'm frightened," she said. "It's OK Ivy," I said. "You're here with all your friends." The activities director helped me move Mom's chair and she said, "Ivy says that all the time now."

Mom and I went off for our walk and it was the most gorgeous afternoon, a little breezy but warm. Mom said she didn't mind the word game - it was just that she could see the blue sky and clouds outside the window and wanted to be out there, so I came just in time.

She wasn't too talkative yesterday but commented on the bedraggled state of the petunias - we'd had a hard rain the night before - and pointed out the flock of geese in the paddock across the way. We walked down to the small putting green to sit on the bench. There was an older fellow their practicing and he said hello to us when we arrived. When he got a hole in one, Mom said, "Good Lord, how 'bout that." and then said, "I'm ready for my Mountain Dew." So back we went.

It's still pretty hot in her room so we turned on the electric fan, got her settled and she enjoyed her drink. "How is it?" I asked. "Terrific," she said.

We started talking about our birthdays in July and I told her how old I would be and we both examined the abundance of grey hair I now have. "You'll be 84," I said and she gasped, "Really?" she said. "I thought I was going to be 60." Ooops.

She mentioned again how much she'd enjoyed the margarita party. My friend and I took all the trappings and margarita making paraphernalia in to Mom's room last Saturday for the long-awaited and much anticipated event.

We had thought of making the margaraitas at home, freezing them and taking a container in - but then I remembered how much Mom enjoys all the fuss, the bags of ice, the bottles of booze, the whirring of the blender, the pouring of the drinks - so we loaded everything up and entered the hospital looking like packhorses.

We set up the 'bar' on Mom's hospital table - the tequila and margarita mix, the blender, the special glasses along with the treats we'd brought to eat. My friend who is quite the bartender blended all the ingredients with a flourish and a dash of fresh lime juice, threw in the ice and hit the blender which gave a roar that attracted the caregivers from far and wide.

All who entered BJ's Cool and Groovy Mobile Bar were entertained by the jazzy music and the sight of Mom enjoying her first margarita in about 6 months. "Ah nectar," she said.The caregivers came in to dance with us (they couldn't drink!) and to enjoy the magic of the moment.

Mom had some tasty dips and guacamole, two margaritas and when it was all done, she said, "I think I'll lie down and take a nap." We packed up all the gear and got ready to go. Just as we were leaving, Mom said, "Bring gin and tonics next time" and fell asleep.

28 March 2010
"Lord knows."
It's all about the music at the care facility these days. When I arrived to see Mom today she was recovering from another grand session of singing and clapping along to the sounds of another old fella and his music machine - this time it was classic oldies and good old wartime sing-alongs that everyone enjoyed. Mom was reclining on the couch, drinking her tea, one of the last to be taken from the lounge back to rooms and other parts of the facility. "Your Mum was singing and clapping," said one of the caregivers. "She's worn out." They've figured out that Mom does better on the couch because she tends to slump over in a wheelchair after a while. By reclining she can really get into it all.

Mom really enjoys the music. It seems to uplift her like nothing else can. I had brought some more CDs from home which she shuffled through - Nat King Cole, Strauss Waltzes, Erroll Garner - the delight on her face was obvious when she saw them.

After she finished her tea we placed her in the wheelchair and went out for a quick walk. The days are much cooler now and there was a brisk wind blowing so we didn't stay out too long. Mom has a special fondness for the petunias. There are three or four huge pots-full, pink and violet and velvety-red. We stop at each pot and Mom fingers the blooms very carefully, has a good look. "These have lasted well," she said.

As it was a bit too cold to be outside, we wheeled around some of the long, wide hallways inside the retirement village next door. Couple of times I pushed her fast and we zoomed up and down, checking out the artwork on the walls, the little statues and ornaments residents place outside their doors, the stuffed toys sitting on chairs along the way. Don't know what that's all about. We ended up on what I call Mobility Row, a hallway packed with mobility scooters lined up along the walls.

Then it was back to the room and time for a lie down as Mom was quite tired after all the singing and the wheeling about. We had quite a good chat about things, she was responding well and listening, asked me to tell her again about my adventures at the East Cape and we talked about the upcoming margarita party. Two caregivers who came to help get Mom into bed said they'd like to come too and Mom said, "The more the merrier!" One asked how old Mom was. "I'm 82, 83 in July," said Mom, to which the caregiver replied, "I hope when I'm 82 I'm still drinking margaritas like you."

We got Mom settled in her bed for a nap before dinner and I asked her what she thought they'd have to eat. "Lord knows," she said. I don't think she's too enthralled with the food - probably because so much must be pureed for her to swallow and it doesn't look too appealing. However, the desserts are just fine. Strawberry  ice cream is her favourite.

Now that the afternoons are getting cool, I asked Mom if she'd like to start watching movies more often. "Oh yes," she said, "something scary and gory." She's gradually working her way through my horror movie collection and today Dad will take that famous scream classic Halloween. Mom said she'd not seen it before but when I said, "Don't you remember the bit where she's in the clothes closet and he's sticking the knife through the louvres in the door?" "Oh yeah," she said, "and all the clothes hangers are swinging around everywhere."She's seen it before but she'll enjoy it again.

23 March 2010
"Hello my sunshine!"
Yesterday afternoon when I arrived all the residents were lined up in their wheelchairs enjoying a man and his karaoke machine in the big lounge. Even the tropical fish in the big tank there were rockin' and rollin'. This older fellow is a regular visitor and has a very good voice, singing all kinds of songs from Neil Diamond to Elvis Presley and when he sang Tom Jones' 'Say You'll Stay Until Tomorrow', well that got the whole room going. "I like coming here to sing for you," he said. "I might even end up here one day."

Actually it was great. The residents thoroughly enjoyed the music and most of the caregivers were in the lounge as well, going from one of their charges to another, swinging their hands, singing with them and generally having some fun. Jack sat at the back and after every song he clapped heartily and said, "Good boy. Well done."

Mom was in there because she just loves the music sessions. I leaned in to say hello to her when I arrived and she patted my head like she does and gave me a big smile. I sat down next to her and we sang a couple of songs together and clapped in time to a few more.

The Charge Nurse wandered through the rows of wheelchairs, handing out the medications because it was that time of day and as she went by, she would gently touch the heads of some as she passed and she ran her fingers through Mom's hair, the most natural thing but so lovely to see.

After the music Mom and I had our walk down to view the herd of cows in the field and the flock of big geese. It was very warm, the wind very dry and quite strong so we soon worked up quite a thirst which drove us back to the vending machine and Mom's usual can of soft drink - the fav of the moment is Mountain Dew.

Mom was quite talkative yesterday. I think the activities they have stimulate her and she loves the music and the singing. She always has and I know it brings her alot of joy and pleasure. During our walk she pointed out the flowers, saying "those petunias have lasted well" and "stop here so I can see these lovely hibiscus."

When we got back, we sat in the alcove with Jack who was stretched out on his bed having a nap after all the excitement of the karaoke man., Ivy was wheeled in by a particularly lovely caregiver. Ivy reached out her hands to cup my cheeks and she said, "Hello my sunshine!" and the caregiver started to sing "You Are My Sunshine." I joined in and Ivy sang a high harmony and then provided some 'bum-de-de-bum' percussion. Jack slept through the whole thing in his bed under his blanket with the teddy bear on it and Mom drank her whole can of Dew plus a chocolate Fortisip drink. All that singing sure takes it out of you.

20 March 2010
"What a bummer."
I've just come home from a good visit with Mom this morning. She was having the day in bed because yesterday afternoon she had a little mishap and ended up with some bruising to her left arm and side. Just one of those things. "What a bummer," she said.

I was telling a friend about this last night and she said, "Oh yeah, my mother used to keep leaning forward all the time and kept tipping herself out of chairs onto the floor." It's always scary when the carers ring us at home to say Mom had a fall, 'but she is all right'. Immediately you feel it's your fault, irrational, I know - yesterday Dad had a cold and couldn't visit and I had my eyes checked - they put those drops into your eyes that make your vision all blurry for hours so I couldn't drive. When I heard she'd had a fall, I thought if only I'd been able to get there, maybe the course of her day would have been different and she wouldn't have fallen.

When I was out walking earlier this week, I happened across one of our neighbours working in her garden and she asked how Mom was getting on and we agreed how sad it was that the strokes meant she could no longer live at home. "Well, something had to happen," she said, "it always does." At first I was kinda put out when she said that - but then I realised we always knew it would be that way too, something would happen eventually but when it did, we were so surprised.

So Mom was having an easy day in bed today. We looked at a magazine then I put on a CD of Chopin Nocturnes for her. I know she used to play some of these on the piano when she was a young girl. As the music played, she was looking out the window and I wondered: does she imagine herself playing these again? Does she remember how that was, the joy of making music, of playing the piano? Does she think about these things? If I ask her, she just looks at me and is unable to answer, or doesn't want to. I'm not sure. Her eyes are still that grey-blue, clear as always but I cannot look into them and know for sure what she is thinking or feeling.

Lunch in bed for Mom today - four piles of pureed things. One definitely mashed potato, the other carrot - one was some kind of meat and the other ... well anyone's guess but Mom found it all very tasty and slowly and carefully managed to feed herself the whole plateful. Great to see! I think she was just in a hurry to get to the dessert which she always enjoys - today it was some kind of pudding but she ate all that too, announced she would have a nap and wthin a few seconds was sound asleep.

13 March 2010
"Hello dahlin'!"
I've been away for a bit - on a trip to the East Cape. Wild and wonderful!

Before I left last week, I stopped in to have lunch with Mom. When I arrived she was in the dining room, in her wheelchair, laboriously feeding herself with a spoon and when she saw me she looked up and smiled. "Hello dahlin'!" she said.

The caregiver who was looking after her said Mom was doing really well today and offered to take her to her room so we could have lunch together. So we sat in her room and had a good visit. Mom ate very little which is an ongoing concern. Mind you, the food is now pureed and looks all the same - four little piles of stuff but different colours. Mom was intent upon feeding herself so I let her have a go at this while I ate my sandwich and chatted away.

Watching her struggle with the spoon made me feel helpless. It was all I could do to hold back some tears of sheer sadness, frustration – but then she laughed and said, "Well that's enough of that stuff" and started to tuck into her dessert. She always eats all the sweets, they tell us! The ice cream was melting a bit so I offered to spoon it up for her and she ate every bit.

She had a ring if red bruising around her eye and I asked her what happened. "I walked into a wall," she said. We talked some more and I asked her again what happened. "I poked myself in the eye," she said and then she said she had a fight and the other person got off much worse. I asked the caregiver later and she said they thought Mom had bumped herself in the eye with her cup while trying to drink her tea - quite possible given the the degree of difficulty she has attending to her own needs.

While we sat quietly in the room, the caregivers were running hither and thither, "Like hot and cold running Maids," Mom said, attending to the residents. Ivy was quite distressed in the alcove and we could hear her calling out, ‘Nursie!’ in her high pitched voice. "Oh that mad woman!" Mom said, most unusual as she and Ivy are best mates. I wondered if maybe they'd had a tiff. Then there was Maddie shouting, ‘Dear!’ and more action up and down the halls as they settled everyone down for a post-lunch nap.

I told Mom I was going down the line to visit my friend in Te Puke and then on to do some work in the East Cape. "Be sure and take your friend something for the house," she said.

I had to get on the road so I said goodbye. Mom was meticulously folding her napkin, taking the corners, matching them up carefully and was so engrossed in this activity I thought I could take my leave without her noticing but as I was going she said, "Drive carefully - see you when you get back."

 

28 February 2010
"The secret signal for having fun."

When I visited Mom yesterday she was lying in her bed and the caregiver was propping her up with several pillows. Mom has a 'list to starboard' as Dad puts it, so we have to keep her upright so she doesn't get tangled up in the bed railings.

My hair is getting long now so the first thing she said was, 'You need a haircut' and started brushing the hair away from my eyes.

I raided the coin supply that Dad keeps in the drawer and went down the hall to buy her usual can of Coke. On the way, I passed Ivy looking distressed in her wheelchair. "What’s the matter Ivy?" I asked. She put her hands to her head and said, "I don't know. Generally speaking, I just don't know what to do." So I asked her if she'd like to come with me down the hall and she said yes so we wheeled down there, bought the drink and I brought her back with me to Mom's room.

A friend of ours had arrived to visit Mom too so we put the music on and we all hung out in there, Mom lying in her bed sucking up the Coke, Ivy singing, snapping her fingers and waving her arms about in time to the music, alternately grasping our hands in delight or placing hers on our cheeks to pat them gently. "This is the secret signal for having fun," she whispered to me, touching her finger to and then tapping her knuckle against her nose with a mischievous wink. "And don't tell anyone but I was born in 1922!" She blew Mom a kiss. Mom blew one back, laughed and waved.

24 February 2010
"We're off to Africa."
Mom was alot like her old self yesterday, how she would have been on a quiet day at home. There was no shaking with the Parkinson's, she was calm and relaxed and she was talking, not just the occasional word, but full sentences so we had quite a chat together.

When I arrived she was drinking her Coke and eating a big piece of chocolate cake, mostly the thick frosting, but thoroughly enjoying it, so much so that the caregiver gave her another piece. The radio was on in the alcove, Elvis Presley was Heartbreak Hotel-ing and Ivy was jiving away to the song, singing and clapping  her hands while Jack was snoring on his bed.

Mom said she's enjoying her new portable DVD player. The other day she and Dad watched The African Queen and she asked if I would bring in Psycho, one of her all time favourites. I was talking about the movie and the well known bit at the end where the guy goes down the stairs into the fruit cellar... and we all know what's down there. "Don't go in the fruit cellar!" Mom said, drawing her finger across her throat in a 'cut-throat' manner.

The hospital DVD library has a copy of Singing in the Rain. "Tell Dad I want to see that one when he comes next," she said.The plan is to show it in the alcove so Ivy can watch it too. "She loves old movies," Mom said. "Especially Shirley Temple." So it sounds like afternoon matinee time in the alcove with Coke, cake, Ivy, Mom and Dad.

It was warm and breezy outside so we decided to head out for a walk. The caregivers were getting Mom ready in her wheelchair and the preparations can be pretty full on - a pillow for her arm, leg wraps to protect the skin on her delicate shins. Ivy was watching all of this and I said, "We're going on an expedition to Africa!" She thought for a moment and then said in her quiet voice, "Well, if you like it there, you may as well go."

Mom and I went on our usual circuit down the back of the retirement complex to sit on the little bench by the creek. There we can watch the flock of geese who live in the field across the way. As we were making our way back, Mom waved her arm out towards the hill and said, "Look at all the cattle!" and I thought wow she's seeing things - but sure enough, there was quite the large herd of cattle meandering along in the field.

When we returned to the alcove, I told Ivy that we'd had a great trip to Africa, caught a couple of lions and startled a herd of giraffes. She gave a big smile, clapped her hands together and said, "That's wonderful!"

 

20 February 2010
"I'm looking for my girlfriend."
Yesterday Dad and I bought Mom a little portable DVD player. It's the neatest thing and will sit nicely on her tray table so she can watch it while in bed. It's all charged up and ready to go.

After purchasing the player, we walked by this great little flower shop in Orewa and I said to Dad, 'You need to buy Mom some flowers to go with the present.' He said, 'You sound just like Mom, telling me what I need, wanting to spend money.'I said stop grumbling - let's go.

So we went in and started looking at the flowers and the lady came up to help. Dad showed her the DVD player in its box, told her it was for Mom in the retirement hospital and she said, 'Oh we need a couple of these fragrant pink roses - she'll enjoy those in her room - and I'll wrap up the box for you and tie the flower arrangement on the front - how's that?'

Perfect! So she kindly wrapped the box and arranged the roses in a lovely way and fastened them to the box with pink ribbons.

'No woman has ever given me flowers,' Dad said to the lady, to which she replied, 'You never know your luck nowadays - women give men flowers all the time. It's a different generation.'

We drove to the hospital and Dad was cradling his gift very carefully, getting progressively more excited about giving it to Mom. 'She always loved to buy nice things,' he was saying. 'When we were overseas on our European adventure, she'd see a bracelet or necklace that she wanted and she would say ,'isn't that nice?' and then look at me with those big blue eyes as if to say, 'Well, go on and buy it for me!'

When we arrived there was no where to park so Dad said, 'Just drop me at the door - I want to go on up and give this to her.' So I let him out and he was off in a flash.

I got up to the floor a few minutes later and could hear all the exclamations from down the hall. I came into the alcove and there he was, on his knees before Mom in her wheelchair, proferring his gift and two of the caregivers were watching, hands to faces with smiles and 'oh isn't that the sweetest thing?' Dad saw me and said, 'I proposed - and she accepted.'

Apparently he walked into the alcove with his gift and said to Mom, Ivy and Jack, 'I'm looking for my girlfriend - have you seen her?' and Mom said, 'I'm right here.'

We set up the DVD player and Mom watched a little of her favourite movie, The Wizard of Oz. But now she's keen to see horror films, of which we have a plentiful supply here at home. Dad will take in A Nightmare on Elm Street today which he will have to sit and watch with her. The little DVD player is so compelling in its technical and compact brilliance that he'd probably watch just about anything.

19 February 2010
"It's been perishingly hot."
It's been really humid and hot here - Auckland at its February worst - and so all the residents in the hospital have been affected by the heat. Fortunately there are fans in all the rooms and the staff watch everybody really closely to make sure they're not getting overheated.

'It's been perishingly hot,' Mom said the other day. With her Parkinson's, she seems to feel the heat quite acutely so this has been a real problem for her. Most afternoons she reclines on her bed with the fan blowing all over her and she'll doze off, listening to her music.

Lots of activities are planned for the residents to keep them lively! Mom has played bingo, joined in the after lunch quizzes, goes out to watch the lawn bowls, has physio twice a week and the other day Dad heard all this loud guitar music coming from the lounge. All the residents were in there enjoying a session with a singing guitar playing fellow, clapping hands and singing along. Mom was having a great time. The caregiver was crouched in front of her, swinging her hands gently to the beat of the music and Mom was smiling - and that's something we haven't seen her do much over these last weeks. It was wonderful to see, Dad said. He sat down with her and joined in the festivities as well.

Often they'll show movies in the lounge. When I arrived yesterday they were all in there with the curtains drawn, watching 'The Wizard of Oz', gasping over the wicked witch and cheering Toto and Dorothy - but Mom finds it hard to sit that long in a chair so we're looking into those portable DVD players. That way she can watch her favourite horror movies whilst lying in bed.

Yesterday I noted that Ivy had a fetching new haircut. 'You've had a haircut!' I exclaimed. 'Oh!' she said, 'Have I? ''Yes,' I replied, 'and it looks really nice." 'Oh, does it?' She was sitting in her wheelchair waiting for the nurse  to take her down the hall to the alcove, holding a couple of those long plastic cylinders that tennis balls come in. There was one bright green ball. 'Are you going to play tennis?' I asked. 'Oh yes, I think so,' she said.

Mom has been pretty good the last few days, apart from the heat. Last weekend, my car was broken into as it was sitting in a downtown parking garage. They smashed the driver's window and there was glass everywhere and they took two dollars in change from the ashtray. Dad told Mom all about this incident and when I walked in to visit, the first thing she said was, 'Dad said someone broke into your car and smashed it all up and took two dollars.' So I told her the whole sad story again and afterwards she patted my head as she does and said, 'Poor Jane.'

'She doesn't miss a thing,' Dad said later. "You think she's not listening to you but she really is - especially if it's something dreadful like the car or some piece of thrilling news.'

The caregivers laugh and say Mom gets this twinkle in her eye and she doesn't fool them one bit. 'She always knows what's going on,' said one. 'She's a clever girl but a real sweetheart.'

14 February 2010
Valentine's Day chocolates and flowers
It's rather a grey, warm, humid and drizzly Sunday morning here in Auckland - very typical February weather for us. Hopefully it will clear up a little and the sun will come out.

It is Valentine's Day and Dad will take Mom a box of her favourite chocolates - those Belgian seashell chocolates that she simply adores. We feel quite confident she'll be able to eat them OK. Her swallowing isn't that good now so we have to be careful.

Some days she's been joining Ivy to play bingo in the dining hall after lunch. The other afternoon Mom won two small chocolate bars that she was happily consuming when I arrived for my visit.

Mom doesn't really talk much and some days are better than others. Usually I can get a 'yes' or a 'no' and we're gradually developing some crafty ways of talking to her and asking questions without making her feel overwhelmed. Talking slowly, keeping it to key words and phrases (it's amazing how much 'filler' we use sometimes when we're talking!), speaking clearly and leaving her ample time to come up with an answer. Takes alot of patience which Dad and I have been slowly developing over the last few weeks, because we were impatient at first - terribly so. Now, as time has passed, we are more relaxed, take it easy, proceed at her pace when we are with her. If conversation is too hard some days, we listen to the music and the CD player is currently thrashing The Blues Brothers and Frank Sinatra.It was quite the orchestrated effort the other afternoon when the two caregivers were changing Mom's clothes, all to the beat of Aretha Franklin singing 'Think.'

I met Maddie recently. She's over 90 years old and the caregiver said she'd been playing lawn bowls right up to her 90th birthday. Maddie is often wheeled into the cool and groovy alcove to hang out with Mom, Ivy and Jack. She falls alseep, dozes for a bit, wakes, calls out very loudly 'Dear!' then falls asleep again. This pattern is repeated several times over an hour. I wonder if she is calling for her husband, who is long dead. Perhaps she wants him to bring her a cup of tea because when she calls out, the word has an upward questioning tone at the end as if to say, 'Dear - where are you?'

Ivy is enjoying her role of importance as the Charge Nurse's secretary. Ivy gets bored sometimes so the Charge Nurse will wheel her into the Nurses' Station office where she can see people coming and going, welcome visitors with her characteristic wave and hello and 'help' with secretarial duties which she takes very seriously. Because Mom is so into folding things, she's been given a job of helping to fold the residents' laundry. She's really getting into it. One afternoon this week I came in and Mom was literally barricaded into her chair by a heap of beautifully folded washing stacked on her table. All I could see was the grey wispy hair on the top of her head over the piles of men's undershorts.

I'll take Mom some flowers today for Valentine's Day. She simply adores them - loves to look at them in her room, comments on them and when we're out in the wheelchair, she points out colourful plants and can name them all.

7 February 2010
The Coke Can Mystery
The mystery of the Coca Cola has been solved ... and contrary to what Dad said, Mom hasn't been conning the staff into buying cans from the machine for her. They've just been doing it themselves.

I popped in to see Mom yesterday and when I walked into the alcove, Ivy was sound asleep (that makes a change - usually she gets very lively, waves, grabs hands and starts to sing) and Jack was getting ready to lie down in his bed (they bring it into the alcove so he can rest there). Mom was drinking Coke through a straw and when I exclaimed, 'Who bought you that?' she got this sheepish look in her eyes but kept right on sucking it up.I gestured to Ivy, fast asleep and Mom said, 'Big night out dancing.'

Mom was into folding yesterday. She folds the large blue cloth napkins they hand out, pieces of paper, clothing, whatever she can get her hands on so last week I brought in some small kitchen towels for her to fold and stack. I went into Mom's room to get them and there on the shelf was yet another can of Coke, almost full and still cold. So I took that out and said, 'You've got Coke stashed all over the place!' and she smiled again, gave me the empty can, took the full one and set it down on her tray. 'For later,' she said.

I put the towels on her tray and said, 'There you go - can you fold them for me?' and she set about the task with great enthusiasm, folding them all with corners matching and stacking them in a neat pile. I brought towels that were particularly colourful and she's most fond of one that has all these leaping frogs all over it.

She'd had a visitor that morning, one of her very good friends. 'How was your friend today?' I asked. 'Talkative,' Mom replied. Then we got onto the subject of lunch, how was that. 'Average,' she said and I asked what she'd had. 'Irish potatoes.' Hmm - what could that be?

One of the caregivers came by and said she'd bought Mom the Coke today - and another one of the lovely staff had bought her one yesterday. 'She adores cold drinks, your Mum,' she said, 'and it has been so hot that we just think, oh well, she'll enjoy it so much and we buy her one for afternoon tea.'

We can't say enough about the care Mom is receiving - and the kindness of the staff is extraordinary and heartfelt. They're very fond of Mom. Dad is determined to pay them all back so we might just leave a small change purse, label it 'Betty's Coke Fund' and put it in the drawer.

 

6 February 2010
'Hello darling sweetie gorgeous!'

Mom has been a little better this week, more like her old self. It was my sister's birthday on Wednesday so we went to visit. My sister can be quite entertaining. On this day she was wearing a brightly coloured blouse (green, pink, white, red), a black full length skirt and her enormous hiking boots. Gave the residents something to look at.

When we arrived in Mom's alcove, Mom was reading her crime and murder paperback, still on the same page she's been on for a few days now. They'd set her up there with her little radio, her book, some magazines and Jack. Ivy wasn't there so when the caregiver came by, we asked where she was. 'Playing bingo!'

My sister and I took Mom outside for a walk as it was a lovely afternoon. She especially enjoys going round the back of the complex to a small putting green (for the retirement village residents) where we sit on a shaded bench, look out over some hills and countryside and watch the flock of resident geese foraging about. She has been more talkative this week, coming out with complete sentences like 'What is Dad doing today?' and answering with more confidence, a stronger voice and a few more words.

We wheeled her back and bought her the daily can of Coke. As we were visiting, the caregiver brought Ivy into the alcove. 'Hi Ivy!' I said. 'Where have you been? We missed you.' She sighed, put her hand to her forehead and said, 'I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing or where I am.' She then held out her hand for me to hold and within moments she was singing along to the radio with the Carpenters, 'I'm on top of the world lookin' out on creation' and then Jack woke up and he started singing too. So of course we joined in and the caregiver came down the hall to see what was going on. 'Hello darling sweetie gorgeous!' Ivy said to her, grasping her hand and kissing the back of it, as she usually does.

Dad saw Mom yesterday and said she'd been slipping back into silence again. When he arrived she was already having her can of Coke. 'She's pretty quiet but must have been able to con one of the nurses into getting a Coke for her!' he laughed. 'They really like Mom and seem very fond of her - she's like their little pet!'

 

1 February 2010
'Music!'
My friend Liane has offered us the use of a great compact sound system that plays CDs and cassette tapes and has a radio too. This past Saturday, she brought it up and we installed it in Mom's room.

When Liane and I arrived, Dad was getting Mom ready for a burn around the grounds in the wheelchair. We walked in with this huge box and Liane said, 'We've brought you something Betty! Music!'  I think she was more intrigued by the size of the box than what it contained!

While Dad took Mom out for a walk, we set the system up, tested it and when they came back, we were playing some Glenn Miller. As soon as Mom came in the door, she said 'Music!'

I had the feeling it must have been a bit like the parched person in the desert who finds an oasis of water to quench thirst. Mom loves music and up until now, she hasn't had much to listen to. In the afternoons, she and Ivy and Jack will hang out in their alcove and groove away to the Irish Tenors ... which isn't really Mom's scene (no offence intended to the Tenors!). She prefers Glenn Miller, Bossa Nova, Chet Baker, Bobby Darin, Barry Manilow (!!) Stevie Ray Vaughn, classical .... her tastes are wide ranging. I had brought a selection of her favourites from home and as we can load three CDs at once into the player, she can now listen for an hour or two - and the system has a 'Sleep' function so it will switch itself off at a preset time which is handy if Mom falls asleep.

The music seemed to relax her and she was smiling. She was a bit more responsive on Saturday, able to answer in short sentences and when I asked her if there was a CD she'd particularly like me to bring, she said, 'The Blues Brothers.' The soundtrack to this movie is one of her favourites.

 

29 January 2010

'If I'd had another coat of paint he would've taken it.'
Last night I dreamed that I visited Mom in the rest home. In my dream, she was riding about in a motorised lawn mower, you know, one of those 'ride-on' things, and she was driving about the hallways whooping it up and having a great old time. Best of all, when I finally caught up with her, she did look very much as she does now, but she was laughing and talking in full sentences, loud and strong. She motored into the dining room, narrowly missing another old fellow in his wheelchair going the other way. 'My goodness,'she said, 'if I'd had another coat of paint, he would've taken it.'

The reality is somewhat different and in my dreams I hope for more than can be possible. But having hope keeps us all going at times like this. Every day I go in to see Mom I hope that she can talk to me. I hope that I can make her smile. I hope that she has been able to eat something and I hope that she isn't too hot (our weather has been exceptionally warm the last few days).

I visited her yesterday and when I arrived she was in the usual alcove, hanging out with Ivy and Jack. They were listening to the radio and looking at books. Ivy waved to me, then took my hand and kissed the back of it like she always does. Mom has been having alot of trouble swallowing now so they are feeding her pureed food which I'm sure she isn't too keen on. She had a nice haircut, looked really great so I told her how good she looked and she managed a smile.

Ivy had some books on her table so I asked if Mom and I could look at one on Ancient Egypt. 'Of course,' said Ivy, handing it over to me. Mom and I looked through the pages - we've always been very keen on ancient history and thought we'd like to go to Egypt together. I was reading some of the headings to Mom and then she started reading them too, only the big letters, but coming out with the words. She enjoyed the photographs, was able to name some of the things she saw.

There's another old fellow who brings round copies of the local newspaper on his walking frame, every Tuesday and Thursday. He moves very slowly and asks each resident if they would like a paper. 'You're doing your paper rounds,' I said to him. 'Yes,' he said, to which I replied, 'Well you're the best looking paper boy I've ever seen!' and he said, 'Yes I am - but I'm the slowest.'

 

25 January 2010
"My eyes feel like two burned holes in a mattress."
When I visited Mom yesterday afternoon she was sitting in a small alcove where there are large comfortable chairs and plenty of things to watch. The caregivers pass through the alcove as they work and Ivy is usually in there too.

Ivy is one of the residents. The caregivers wheel her into the alcove because she likes to wave to everyone as they pass by. She has a sweet, lovely face and a gentle smile, doesn't say a whole lot but if you stop to say hello, she will grasp your hand, pat it with hers and say a few words. When she needs something, she calls out in a high pitched voice, "Nursie! Nursie!"

I took Mom through to her room where I chatted away about my walk on the beach and my sore thumb. I was sitting quite close to her as I was talking and when I told her how painful my thumb was, she reached up and patted my head like she always does when I moan about something, saying "Poor Jane."

She didn't say much during my visit, mostly a 'yes' or a 'no' but then she surprised me by coming out with a few complete phrases. "You need to comb your hair" was one and then as I wiped her eyes (they were watering) she said one of her old-time standards, "My eyes feel like two burned holes in a mattress."

The caregiver came in to give her some medication. She was talking to Mom, asked her a question and Mom said, "You have the loveliest blue eyes" to which the caregiver replied, "Thank you Betty - as I get more tanned by the sun, my eyes get bluer."

When I left, she was sitting in her armchair, watching the music channel on TV. I waved to her, she lifted her arm in response. "I love you Mom," I said. "I love you too," she said.

24 January 2010

My sister and I visited Mom the other day and I took along a teddy bear.

When Mom was in the public hospital (November - December 2009), she had three little stuffed animals with her: Prudence the fat ginger cat, Hector the tiger and a little pink teddy wearing a hat bearing the words 'I love Mum.' After the second stroke, the nurses would place the toys in the bed with Mom and often when I'd come to visit, she'd have them on her lap, sitting together in a group.

When I gave Mom the latest teddy bear, she sat it on her lap, poked it a bit, began to stroke its furry head and then she and the teddy contemplated one another for a while. After they'd checked each other out, Mom set the bear on the bed, against the pillows.

I remember my Grandmother, Dad's Mom, was quite senile towards the end of her life. Dad brought her to New Zealand from the US to be closer to us. She was cared for at a local nursing home until she passed away. Mom gave her a stuffed toy - a cat with grey fur. Grandma Bissell would brush it with a hair brush, talk to it and always sat it on a paper towel. One day she said, "This is the damndest cat I've ever seen. Doesn't eat and it doesn't pee."

I was speaking to a friend of Mom's the other day. She's a retired nurse and told me that when people suffer a stroke, often they can remember the names of things (like Mom can with all the flowers) and can respond to 'yes' or 'no' type questions but they cannot formulate answers to other sorts of questions.

So now we try to just ask questions that she can answer yes or no to and that seems to be working quite well. It is less frustrating for her. I've also started taking in some picture books. We sit together and look at the photos and I'll ask her, 'What's this?' and she will invariably respond with the name of the animal or plant we are looking at.

21 January 2010

Thank you to all who have written to me since my summer posting on The Writer's Life , sending their best wishes, prayers and thoughts for my Mom. I am most grateful for your kindness. Although we have never met, we do share an experience that is part of life and hearing from you has been so comforting and reassuring. Sadly, since my Writer's Life posting, Mom has declined. Each day she seems a little bit less active.

Just over a year ago I started working on The Book About Mom and the Journal on this page describes the process of writing the book.

It's a story about her life - her childhood, parents, her family - her history. It's about our arrival here in New Zealand and growing up as 'kiwis'. I put the book away in July last year, to simmer away for a bit and I'd taken it back out in early November, to read it.

In late November Mom had a stroke. Her right arm and leg were affected. Thankfully her speech was OK but her thought processes slowed down and the mental confusion she  had been experiencing with her Parkinson's condition worsened. She regained the use of her right arm but the right leg was slow to improve. She was unable to stand or walk without the assistance of two people.

After a week or so in hospital, Mom was showing some improvements with her rehabilitation therapies. We attended a Family Meeting with the hospital team to hear their recommendation. Even though she had shown improvement, they felt the level of care needed for her was much greater than before and Mom would require full time care in a private hospital. She would not be able to return home.

This news was very hard on Mom. Being able to live at home meant so much to her - indeed I think it was her motivation to keep trying, keep walking, keep moving.

Two days later she had a second stroke and has deteriorated markedly since then. Her mental confusion has increased, sometimes she doesn't speak at all. She cannot get up, take a drink or eat too well without help. Some days she knows us, others she doesn't seem to. Most days she can manage some conversation - yes and no, a comment sometimes, and can answer simple questions.

Dad wanted to care for her at home for as long as he could and to be told that this was no longer possible was terrible for him. It took some time for him to accept the team's recommendation. Mom would ask us, 'When am I going home?' or 'Can I go home tomorrow?' and we would leave the hospital, go to the car, drive home, have a beer and then cry and cry some more.

Mom is now being cared for in a wonderful private facility about 15 minutes from where we live. She has a very nice, large room overlooking trees and countryside, a TV, her small radio, all her photographs and some other treasures we brought from home. The care she receives from the staff there is wonderful to see - they are so kind, gentle and I cannot say enough about them. There is a very relaxed feel. We can visit whenever we like, wander about, help ourselves to a refreshment, visit with the noisy parrot in the lobby, take Mom out in the wheelchair for a walk around the grounds and just generally hang out.

We visit every day and stay for about an hour or longer if Mom is doing well. If the weather is nice, we take her out in the wheelchair along the many paths and garden areas in the complex. As we go along, I ask Mom, 'What's the name of this flower?' and she will come right out with it, correct every time!

When Dad visits, he will buy her a cold can of Coke and sit beside her, patiently holding the can while she sips through a straw, stroking her head, her hand, her arm.He still wants to do what he can to help so will share some very simple exercises with her, comb her hair, go to the store and buy talcum powder. He will visit her every day unless I say, 'Why don't you have a break today? Go sit on your boat for a bit.'

When I saw Mom the other day, I was telling her about my first swim. We had planned to take our ice-breaker swim together this year and had sorted out a special life-ring for Mom to take into the water so she could float about and kick her legs. I was prattling on and she appeared to be listening but I wasn't sure. 'The water was real cold Mom,' I said. 'I came out shivering and my heart was popping about like a ping pong ball.' She looked me in the eye and said, 'You need to wear a fur-lined bathing suit.'

11 July 2009

I've now been working on my book for almost 6 months and whilst progress hasn't been as rapid as I'd hoped (is it ever?) I am very pleased with the results so far.
It would be true to say that the book I am writing is somewhat different to the original concept but I think that's often how it goes - the best laid plans etc - and the outcomes can be unexpected. That's half the fun of creative writing - never really know where it's going to take you, the journey that you will have.

It's been great to have the time and space to let the story meander along and find its own way; a luxury to let it branch off when it wants to, follow it along a path that may or may not lead to anything I can use in the final draft, but even these diversions serve a purpose to clarify the main story or to help add dimension and depth to a character, a place, a time.

I'm getting close to the point where I'll put it away for a while. I can do that now. It will rest easily by itself for a time whereas a month or so ago it would not have settled down. It would've been kicking its heels about, clamouring for attention, throwing its toys from the cot, generally frazzling me with its behaviour.

I find this 'putting away time' valuable because the story simmers quietly by itself, distilling out the fine ingredients and letting some of the rough stuff float to the bottom. In a month or so, I'll come back and siphon off this valuable quantity on top, then sift through the rougher elements at the bottom and see if there's anything there I wish to keep.

The book is nowhere near being finished - much to go yet - but it is time to let it 'sit for a bit', as we say, see what simmers out.

21 June 2009

It has been a while since I last wrote in here!

The winter days are cold and fine with sunshine at the moment. Makes a change from the wind and wet. We've had 4 degrees or so in Auckland and that's nothing compared to down south where they're having minus temperatures. My new heat pump is making all the difference on these cold mornings so I am up early and at the desk, typing away.

The days go something like this: get up early - work on Mom's book; then do other work and various projects.

It's been fine enough to sit out on the deck and have lunch - great to get some sunshine!

Then usually a walk after lunch if it's a fine day (or pull on the raincoat if it isn't), run some errands, visit with Mom and have a cup of tea - so it goes.

Not very exciting for anyone! Mom tends to stay indoors with her heat pump and books because it 's just too cold for her.

Before the age of heat pumps and all of this fancy heating stuff we had fireplaces and funny old standup electric heaters that had those fake plastic coals that would glow when the thing was on - do you remember them? That's what we used to heat our house in Murrays Bay, the funny little bach we lived in when we first arrived from the USA in August 1963. We inherited the stand up fake coal heater with the house.

Mom took great pride in her fire-making and when Dad remodelled the Murrays Bay bach into our house, getting the fireplace in was of great importance to her. It was large and featured prominently in the sitting room/kitchen area.

Every winter she would order her firewood and we helped her stack it in the garage. Winter evenings about 5pm, she would make a mighty fine fire and would urge us all to come around it. Sometimes my sister and I preferred to hang out in our rooms, doing whatever but usually the cold would drive us back to the warmth of the hearth - and of course Mom would persist with her invitations, tapping on our doors saying, 'I've made this lovely fire - come and enjoy it with me.'

Sometimes, after dinner, we would turn off the lights and watch the ash glowing on the sides of the fireplace and Mom would say, 'That's soldiers marching' and indeed the glow would look like battalions of soldiers marching along as if seen from way up high.

Those firelit evenings were a time for visiting, catching up, all being together.I recall my sister would mostly read her books and Dad the paper or Time magazine but I would chatter away, inventing stories with Mom and sharing our daily adventures and escapades, real and fictional.

On Friday nights (before we had a TV!), we'd listen to this series on the radio called 'The Uninvited' - dreadful scary ghost stories - and it always began with the sounds of doors banging,wind sighing spookily around the eaves, inexplicable footfalls and the annnouncer saying , '.. the sound of a creaking board - is it just the wind, or ... The Uninvited!' - words similar to that.

Man, that radio show would scare us to death and I would be so afraid to leave the warmth and safety of the fire and go down the long, dark, cold hallway to my bedroom.

21 May 2009

Mom is in the rest home and enjoying her three week stay. She's still been getting over the really nasty flu that everyone seems to have right now - cough, congestion, feeling generally lousy - and it hangs about for weeks. She receives excellent care at the home and they call us whenever she needs any more medicine or they're worried about something.

I've been spending some time with Dad while she's been gone, getting his side of the story on a few things.

He told me how he met Mom in Fernandina Beach when he was stationed there with the Coast Guard during the war. He thought she was the most gorgeous creature and could not believe she wanted to 'go out on a date' with him.

He was expecially impressed when Mom agreed to go sailing in his little boat one day.

To ensure there was no 'hanky panky', Mom brought along her friend who eventually became my Aunt Pat because she married Mom's brother Bob.

Apparently they set out up the waterway for nearby Cumberland Island (the photo is of Dad (up forward), Mom (clinging on side for dear life), Pat (at the helm) and Brave Little Boat as they embarked on the voyage) and made landfall there but were becalmed on the way back, arriving home after dark and so late that parents were in a tizzy and highly disapproving of this young seaman from Cleveland, Ohio would had come down to Florida not only to defend the coast (which was honourable) but to keep their young womenfolk out to all hours on the high seas (most dishonourable, especially to young Southern ladies 'of breeding.').

Dad was indeed so delighted with Mom's interest in boats that after they were married he continued to include her in all of his nautical activities and the story of how he wished to sail to New Zealand with Mom, my sister (10 years old at the time) and me (7 years old with a startlng tendency to fall overboard) is well documented in our family history. Of course this didn't happen - Mom said 'the crew mutinied' and we immigrated to NZ on board the P & O liner Orcades on its last voyage to the South Pacific before it sailed to Asia to be scrapped.

Most auspicious.

Mom and Dad have been together for over 60 years and I think I'm not alone these days when I say that's really something. Men and women of their generation really did mean ''til death do us part' and of course to tell Mom's story is to tell the story of their marriage as well.

 

6 May 2009

We were to have a writers' group meeting tonight but two of us are still poorly with flu, a third is putting the last editorial touches to her next book, ready for publication and that leaves only two to attend - so we've had to put off our meeting for a while.

I am much better but still not too good going out at night. My lungs are delicate and sensitive to the cold night air ...poor Jane.

I will look forward to our next meeting because I do have some writing to share - a few pages of Mom's book which are ready to be revealed for feedback.

I mentioned in an earlier entry that I don't show my work to many people in the 'formative stages' but I do trust my fellow writers (featured in my Hall of Fame) - Deborah, Jocelyn (she has her own entry in the Hall of Fame already!), Fredrika and Anne - and value their opinions. They have extracted me from many a tricky spot where I've either been totally stuck with no forward (or even backward) motion or have had way too many words on the page.

Mom is staying at the rest home again for a three week stay. We settled her in on Monday and they welcomed her back like an old friend. She is very happy to go there and hang out and has a room that does not open out onto the deck this time - she said that would be better because the old fellow who kept trying to get into her room from the garden won't be able to do that any more.

I'm getting busier with other work now so must get out of bed earlier to carry on with Mom's book. Trying to get to my computer at 530am is pretty grim. It's cold, dark, the cats are darting hither and thither, dazed by the lights coming on and me stumbling about but delighted with an earlier breakfast.

The things one does for one's art, dragging oneself from the warmth of bed to the cold, hard reality of a blank computer screen on a seepingly damp winter's morning. Simply cannot be done without that first hot, strong cup of black coffee. Ah yes.

26 April 2009

After writing the last entry I came down with a cold. Not just any cold - a truly dynamite head cold with a twist. It started as head colds do - runny nose, sneezing, aching head etc - but then it morphed with insidious speed into something far more sinister ... fever,chesty cough, escalated runny nose and sneezing. A higher level of head cold, a notch above the rest.

My bedside table looks like a pharmacy.
Today I am still coughing but much better. The cats have thoroughly enjoyed the whole malaise, following me from bed to the living room couch or chair and back to bed, cossetted with warm blankies and pillows.

Now Dad has it. Ooops.

Being sick reminds me of when we were little kids and we'd 'pull a sickie', or try to, with Mom. Of course my sister and I were genuinely ill on occasion but, as with all kids from time to time, we tried it on sometimes because we just didn't want to go to school.

'Mom, I have a sore throat and a fever,' I'd say when she came in to get me up.

'Hmm - you don't feel hot,' she would say. 'Why don't you get up and get going and see how you feel then.'

That meant she was not convinced by my charade, insisting that I get up, get dressed and get moving.

However sometimes it would work. Perhaps she couldn't be bothered putting up with my carry on - or my acting was so convincing that I had really made myself believe I was very sick indeed. And then of course there were the times when I was really ill. And anyway - who could deny a cute little face like this?

Triumph would be snuggling back down into bed and 'languishing' until my sister and Dad had left for their days in the world and then Mom would come in to see what might 'taste good' for breakfast.

We would then listen to the morning radio soap operas (we had TV but often transmission didn't start until later in the day) like Dr Paul and Portia Faces Life and I'd spend the afternoon in bed, listening to the radio and writing stories. As a little kid I loved colouring books and comics so on those occasions when I was sick, Mom would go out and buy me a couple of each.

15 April 2009

We've had the loveliest Easter holiday here with fine, warm days and gentle breezes - such a perfect transition into Autumn! Easter weather can be unpredictable so I am happy to say we've been very spoiled this year.

Mom enjoys these holidays - Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving - all have great significance because they embrace values that are fundamental to her: family, enjoyment and appreciation of life, and a strong faith. These values were instilled in Mom very early on, during her upbringing in Florida. She regularly attended

church and Easter was a special celebration for her as a child.

Every Easter, Mom and her mother, Mama Harry, would drive into Jacksonville with the express purpose of buying Mom a new Easter hat and dress. Mom looked forward to this because she loved new clothes and going into the city to shop - but this anticipation was balanced by a tinge of dread because BJ was known for her large head and it was difficult to find a hat that fitted properly. Upon their return from shopping, Mom's brother Bob would invariably say to her, 'You look funny in that hat' which increased her discomfort over what was, most probably, quite an ill-fitting Easter bonnet.

My sister and I both have large heads too but Mom persevered and with great stoicism, she continued the Easter tradition with us.

Here are two photos taken at Easter time. The first is of my older sister Margaret and me in our new outfits and very special hats. The second is a photo of Mom, my sister and me in our Easter finery, ready for church. As you can see, Margaret and I are now wearing quite basic hats - as we got older, Mom had greater difficulty finding hats that would fit our large heads.

I remember this particular dress because it had a very scratchy built-in petticoat that I loathed and detested. However, such apparel was important at Easter and my sister and I did our best to wear jolly faces and please Mom because we knew how much the holiday meant to her.

5 April 2009

This week I've been working on a section about Mom's Parkinson's disease. Have a look at the Parkinson's NZ website to find out more about this condition. She's lived with it for about twenty years and manages extremely well. However she is deteriorating, year on year. She'll go along at a certain level of mobility for a while - many months, sometimes a year - as if on a plateau and then she'll drop down to a lower one where she has less physical ability and mental acuity. Each 'drop' is very noticable.

However, in a typical Southern Belle fashion (as befits her southern upbringing) she just gets on with her life and never complains and never gives up.

As her physical condition declines, her needs increase. My Dad is her primary caregiver and his role is not easy. Some days, they both look pretty doolally with it, as the picture here shows! While she can still get around the house OK and go for walks with her walking frame, she does need more care these days.

She must be given her medications (and with Parkinson's these need to be administered two or three times a day at scheduled times) because she cannot remember them herself; she needs help to get dressed; she gets confused with things - for example, how to turn on the televison set with the satellite TV connection (even I get muddled up with that sometimes!). Some days she is very quiet, withdraws within herself, something which is so unlike the mother we knew growing up who was always talkative, social, laughing, vibrant. But on other days, she is active, humourous, talkative, alert, taking everything in and enjoying herself. So these changes in mood - and indeed her level of mobility and her balance when walking about - are difficult to manage and look out for.

Here in New Zealand we are very fortunate to receive government assisted community home care designed to help families look after their older folk in the home for as long as possible. We have a really lovely young woman who comes in Monday to Friday to shower Mom and get her dressed for the day. She also cleans the house once a week. Mom has many of her mobility needs supplied - her walking frame, walking stick and certain things in the house to make life easier, for example, some extra handrails in the bathroom. She also works with a physiotherapist on an exercise programme designed to reduce the likelihood of falls, a very real and daily concern for people with Parkinson's.

Dad receives a respite care allowance from the government too. This enables us to place Mom in a rest home for a week or so and Dad can have a break to go sailing. It gives Mom a break too - you may remember reading about her stay in the rest home last month - she loved it, was up dancing and singing and made some new friends.

It is hard to see our parents ageing with diseases that have so transformed their lives and seemingly 'robbed' them of all those qualities that made up the Mom or Dad that we used to know. Writing about this is difficult. But in spite of it all, Betty Jane finds something to enjoy in every day. She still likes to walk on the beach, read her murder mysteries, drink a gin in the late afternoon and visit with friends - simple pleasures that we are so happy to share with her.

27 March 2009

I always have the best of intentions when it comes to keeping this journal up to date - and the blog too - but can't always manage it ... especially when I have my deadline looming, 31 March to have the first three chapters of the first draft completed.

Getting up at 6am to work and it is dark now. The cats look at me funny and I creep about the house like a disgruntled spirit dislodged from the warm coziness of her bed way too early. Daylight saving ends on 4th or 5th of April or something - anyway it isn't long to go and we're all upset about that because it means our descent into winter has officially begun.

Every year my Mom makes a famous pronouncement. One day she will awaken - and it will be soon - and she will say, 'Summer is over.' She has been making this announcement every year for as long as I can recall - matter of fact, one of my best and oldest friends, Louise, says she remembers Mom saying this when we were at high school and she dreads it every year but still wants to know when Mom has uttered her dire words. The effect of the words on Louise is so profound that I must go to her house and drink a bottle of wine or something considerably stronger to help her cope.

Fortunately we have had several days of gorgeous weather - those divine Autumn days with crisp air, the clearest of skies, calm, deep blue water with scarcely a ripple and the sun still very hot when you find a nice sheltered spot to hang out in for a while. So it doesn't look like Mom will make her announcement for a while yet.

Of course this annual declaration of summer's end will go into the book, not simply because it is a tradition of Mom's but also because she is, without fail, stunningly accurate - hence Louise's sadness and distraction when the announcement is made.

How Mom knows when summer is over remains a mystery. 'I just know,' she says.

14 March 2009

I'm determined to have the first three chapters of Mom's book completed, as an initial draft, by the end of this month - that would be Tuesday 31 March.

There's nothing like a deadline to get things going.

Having three chapters done would be excellent progress. The concept will be there, well defined and it's sufficient to use as a 'calling card', to gauge interest, see what people think.

In these early stages, I don't show my work to many people. There's really only a few that I know will provide me with some strong and useful feedback. My writer's group is so helpful at this sensitive and delicate time. I use those words because that's how the writing feels - very new, very vulnerable - one off-the-cuff comment or a funny look from someone is all it would take for me to think 'I've failed! Oh woe!' and then give up.

It's like a critical turning point. No one has seen any of this work yet - indeed, my friends ask 'Are you actually writing something or just pretending? We haven't seen anything' to which I reply, 'Patience litte friend - bear yet a while' and I assure them I am in fact working quite hard.

Don't get me wrong. I can take the criticism (we always say that) and when it comes, I'll bounce back (after hours of hair tearing and wandering about wringing hands and feeling like a writing disaster) so there will be no giving up on this project, no dramatic throwing of the manuscript into the fire or over the cliff, no, nothing like that.

When writing something you feel strongly about, you have to be equally strong in standing up alongside it, taking the criticisms (and they may be very helpful or just downright horrid), extracting from those comments what you can use to improve your work and discarding the rest. Oh yes - one must be thick-skinned and have detemination - and that's hard when you spend so much time on your own, tapping away, with no one to keep you jogging along except two manic cats and a margarita at the end of the day. It's enough to make your hair stand on end ...

2 March 2009

Mom came back from the rest home this past week, very happy to be home again, enjoying the sea and view and her flowers on the deck. All in all it went very well in there. She became  good friends with Jenna and when it was time to leave, Mom said to me, 'It's hard to make friends and then have to leave them.' She and Jenna said good bye as best they could, with their walking frames nose to nose, maneuvering along so as not to knock each other over.

A couple of days before Mom came home, I  I had a phone call from one of her oldest friends, my Aunt Frances. She and Uncle Jim live in the USA. They have moved from Florida to be closer to their daughter further north. Here is an old photo of her taken with Mom - Frances is on the left - two 'very lovely young ladies', the best of friends.

Frances is not really my aunt. As is customary in the south, my brother, sister and I have always addressed Mom's dearest girlfriends as 'Aunt' which meant I actually had several 'Aunts' in my life for quite a period of time. Aunt Frances would be our closest Auntie, almost a sister to my Mom. They have known each other since they were teenagers, hanging out on the beach at Fernandina. Frances had two sisters. Both have sadly now passed away but we always knew them as Aunt Margaret and Aunt Gloria.

Mom treasures her old friends as they do her and I know it was very hard for Mom to leave America in 1963, to move to New Zealand, leaving all her good friends and everything that was familiar, far behind.

Aunt Frances and I had a great talk on the phone. 'Tell your Mom that I love her,' she said, 'and I think of her so often and remember all the good, fun times we had together.'

As I write the book about Mom, I understand that friendships are great treasures in her life that she values beyond measure. The theme of enduring loyalties and deep bonds, whether forged in childhood or in adult life, is one of the strongest in the book so far. At 81, she takes much enjoyment from meeting new people. 'You're never too old to make friends,' she says.

22 February 2009

I’ve been visiting Mom in the rest home, every other day or so. I’m getting to know the routines there, the other residents (it is a small facility with about 30 people), the staff, the daily menu of food and the animals – one poodle and two cats.This week I've been writing about Mom's stay ...

She says she misses sitting on her deck amongst her flowers, looking at the sea but can walk up to the corner of the road and enjoy the water view from there.

The other residents of the rest home are very friendly and she is enjoying their companionship and the social activities.

There is an old fellow who wanders about the garden and the decks, picking up leaves and other detritus. Mom said he keeps trying to get into her room because he is confused as to which room is his. ‘I just say to him, ‘This isn’t your room’ and he goes away.’

One lady gives the staff a hand to fold laundry and distribute it back to the residents, welcomes visitors and escorts them to their respective family members. Another dresses beautifully in stylish, expensive clothes – she is well groomed and has a faded elegance and glamour that must have, at one time, stopped traffic. She is often standing at the top of the drive with her handbag and coat, looking expectant, waiting to be collected for an outing but no one ever comes and she goes back to her room, only to venture out again about an hour later, back up the drive with her bag, ready to go. She stopped by Mom’s room the other day to speak with us and all she said, over and over, was how ‘gorgeous’ Mom was, how ‘beautiful’ I was, until she wandered off to ‘have a sleep.’ 

Mom has made a very nice friend, Jenna. They talk about their kids, their lives and share common interests. The staff placed Mom beside Jenna at the lunch table on her first day at the home. Dad and I were getting ready to leave, having set up Mom's room with all her things. It was time for lunch - apple and pork casserole. We took Mom out to the dining room and she sat in her place beside Jenna who patted her hand and said, ‘You’ll like it here.’

The residents are well looked after and happy. It is an older home but clean, tidy and well managed. Mom’s room is small but, being a typical Cancerian, she likes the compact nature of it, having her own ‘little possie’ where she can do as she pleases, watch her TV whenever she likes and view whatever she wants without Dad hijacking the remote. She takes herself out for daily walks, up the drive with her walking frame and off around the block. At first she was heading for adventure and not telling anyone so I suggested she mention her expeditions to one of the staff, just in case, and now she does. 'Wouldn't want to end up in a ditch,' she said.

15 February 2009

BJ has settled into the rest home really well. I visited her there this past week and the first thing she said to me was, 'I really enjoyed the Happy Hour on Thursday'! .
It was a special Happy Hour that day because they were celebrating two birthdays as well. The staff had arranged a special treat - a man with a karaoke machine. Mom said he was playing all kinds of really good music.

While Mom was telling me about this party, the Charge Nurse came in to give her some pills and joined in the conversation. 'Oh yes it was great,' she said, 'and your mother was leading the charge!'

After she left, I asked Mom what that was all about and she replied, 'The music really got to me so I just leapt up out of my seat and started to dance. I forgot all about my Parkinson's. I didn't need my walking stick or my frame. I just got up and danced.'

Mom has always loved music and dancing. One of the best New Years Eve parties I can remember was at her friend Lorna's place.I was probably only about 12 or 13 and we'd all been invited to the party.

Lorna and her husband were two of Mom and Dad's dearest friends, some of the first they made when we moved to NZ from the USA in 1963. They lived down the street from us in Murrays' Bay. We used to play with their kids so the two families have always been close.

Lorna was from a large Maori family and she and her sisters had always loved to dance and sing. So that New Years Eve, her sisters were there too and that's all we did, all night - dance and sing. I can still remember dancing barefoot on their lovely, soft carpet in the lounge, laughing and having a right good hoolie until after midnight. Mom remembers this magical evening too.

For Mom to leap up and dance about these days is quite remarkable as she finds it hard to keep her balance upon standing and needs to hang on to someone or something as she jitterbugs about. So the spirit must have seized her, the joy of the moment, and all else was forgotten.

That's really living life 'in the moment.'

8 February 2009

We had such a nice celebration for my sister's birthday on Feb 3rd. It was a fine, warm evening and we sat out in Mom's Cool and Groovy Garden Bar and had two of her favourites, pizza and  champagne and my sister's favourite, chocolate cake. The photo is of Mom and my sister taking a stroll to the beach.

Writing a book is an organic thing for me - changes all the time. I started out with an idea for how it would all hang together, a structure - but life has thrown some new things at us this week so naturally, the book about Mom reflects this.

Mom is going to stay in a local rest home for two weeks so that Dad, her primary caregiver, can have a good break. We are fortunate here in New Zealand to have government subsidised Respite Care so that those looking after older family members can have a break, knowing their loved ones are being well looked after while they do so.

We visited the home this week, a 'tour of inspection'. We arrived about 11am and all of the residents were in the lounge room, having a singalong. Mom wasn't too thrilled about this - but when we noticed they were being offered champagne, wine and beer, soft drinks, tea and coffee, she perked up considerably. Apparently on this particular day of the week, they have a 'happy hour' with song and drink and even the most sedentary of residents manages to come down the hall and join in the merriment.

It's been quite the process, arranging this stay for Mom - not so much the organising, but rather the gentle coaxing to encourage her to give it a go.

I think most of our parents see The Rest Home as the Last Outpost before they venture on to the Pearly Gates and so, for all kinds of reasons, they do not look forward to going there. It's only for two weeks though and she knows it is best for her and for Dad. They can both have a break from each other!

This two-week stay will change the structure of the book somewhat because it is a challenging step for Mom, one that she sees as a milestone on her life path. I'll visit her often while she is there and I have no doubt we'll sit on one of the benches, under the shade of this delightful, leafy tree which dominates the garden area, have a cup of tea and some good chats about Life in the Rest Home and Life in general.

1 February 2009

In two days time, on 3 February, my older sister Margaret will celebrate her birthday. She is the first of Mom and Dad's three kids (I'm in the middle and my brother Scott is youngest). They were living in Houston, Texas at the time, moving about the country in the 50's like many young post-war families. My Dad was getting his degree in architecture at Rice University and after receiving that, they moved up to Seattle where Dad worked for Boeing and then eventually went into partnership with another architect.

My sister is staying with us for the summer, so she will be able to celebrate her birthday with Mom and that's always an occasion - Mom will make one of her 'wacky cakes' (a very simple chocolate cake that she can make with ease).

My Mom was born on 1 July 1927 in Florida, birth parents unknown. She was adopted from an orphanage in Jacksonville by my grand parents, Papa Lewis and Mama Harry and grew up in the small town of Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island. When they traveled to Jacksonville that day, Lewis and Harry Klarer had in mind to adopt two children and they returned home with my Mom, Betty Jane and my Uncle Bob. Here's a photo of BJ and Bob.

This week I've been looking through Mom's old albums and boxes of pictures. My first visit to Fernandina was in1978 and it was still a quiet and relaxed place then, somewhat reminiscent of how it was when my mother lived there. Now Amelia Island has become quite flashy, busy and touristy with shops and million dollar condos and resort developments and much of the 'old stuff' has vanished or been given a facelift! But Fernandina is still a charmingly beautiful place, rich in history with many of the wonderful old homes lovingly restored, the long, Atlantic beach stretching as far as you can see.

So I'm refreshing my memories of Fernandina with photos from Mom's era and from my visits because the story about Mom will begin here.

25 January 2009

I'm about to start writing the book about Mom. It's going to be a book about her life - her childhood in Fernandina Beach, Florida, our family, the move we made to New Zealand in 1963 ... there is plenty to write about!

I plan to keep a weekly journal on how it all goes - the process of writing this book.

No doubt there will be good days - and tough days - and the days where nothing seems to happen and I sit in front of the screen and would rather listen to i-Tunes or go for a walk.

As they say - writing is 90% perspiration and 10% inspiration ...

Andre Gide said: 'One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.'  

I'm about to embark on another writing journey that will take me to places I've not been before. A voyage of discovery.

Wave me farewell!

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