A Day in Dementia (Gary)

                                                            

It’s 1p.m.  My  husband has been up since 6:30 a.m. I helped him out of bed, guided him to the toilet, then to his red recliner chair . Gave him his meds. I assumed he’d fall into his usual early morning ritual and go back to sleep for an hour or two.  Instead he started talking, talking, talking . Some might say rambling, and  hasn’t stopped talking. I don’t exaggerate. He’s talking now as I write this blog.  Sometimes he includes me in the conversation, but mostly he’s talking to people I can’t see; imaginary to me, but real to Gary. Talking about a variety of things. Things to the average person that wouldn’t make much sense. And while he’s talking his hands are constantly moving, like he’s pulling thread though a needle, stitching a garment.  Then he cups his hand as though holding a gem . He calls me over, wanting to place it - whatever it is, in my hand. I take it. Gary tells me to be careful not to lose it. I assure him I won’t.  

After a few minutes I step out of the TV room to get coffee in the kitchen when Gary yells out in a loud voice,  “Mom,  (I‘m never sure if he means his Mom, my Mom or me) I’m hungry for eggs and bacon”.  I tell him, “Great! I’ll fix breakfast”.  No, he says , I already did , I’m keeping it warm right here, under this”, and he points to the blanket on his lap.  

It’s a new, sad development in Gary’s Dementia. One that is happening more frequently , usually during the night, but now more often, during the day, too.  Amy, his Hospice nurse says Gary is hallucinating, that it’s not uncommon with Alzheimer’s patients. I decide I hate that word,  and all it implies. 

4:10 p.m. - The shower aid has been here and gone. It required both Christina and I to navigate Gary into the bathroom , to help situate him onto the shower chair. He cannot stand on his own, and where just a couple months ago Gary could execute directives about lifting his leg over the tub, or moving this way or that,  now he can’t.  After the difficulty in maneuvering Gary in the bathroom today, and the risk to his safety,  the shower aid strongly recommends bed baths for Gary, and emails her concerns to the nurse.  I take a deep breath, and sigh. Another sign of my husband’s decline. He’s not eating much either,  or drinking much, and hardly ever asks for an ice cream bar, a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup or Pepsi. When he does eat, I put a bib on him and help feed him or the food will get all over his shirt, the chair and floor.  We go through this as if it’s normal. It’s not, but it is the journey my husband and I travel together right now. A journey we hadn’t planned on, or wanted to go. The road has  been bumpy, bruising yet we are making our way; trying to adapt, accept and persevere. But to be sure, I’m not always a happy camper. It’s not easy. At times I’ve been angry, impatient, frightened having to deal with the all consuming, aggressive, irrational, ever changing moods and needs of Gary’s Alzheimer’s. The sorrow of watching my dear one - his mind and body slipping away. And nothing I can do to make it better. Except love him, and reassure him I am here.    I expect other care givers whose spouse or  parents suffering with Dementia feel the same way.  Helpless; Hopeless at times, yet praying often to serve the one we care for  with a happy heart, and for them to have peaceful days.  To be grateful for the tender, lucid moments shared -  a few days ago Gary, waking from his nap looked up  at me, and sweetly said he’d like a hug. I bent down and wrapped my arms around him, and he hugged me back. One of the nicest hugs ever! 

I don’t understand why my husband, or anyone has to suffer with Dementia - the purpose or reason. It’s a hideous disease. Robbing one of cherished memories of people and places,  movement and bodily control, participation in the simple, daily activities of life.  But I do trust our Heavenly Father with Jesus, His son , and the Holy Spirit is always near. I believe Jesus’ words to us, I am with you always. Cast your cares on me, because I care for you. And with the Psalmist I pray,  You are my rock and my salvation, an ever present help in time of trouble . 

I’m thankful, and blessed in family and friends - for their encouragement, prayers and visits; for their kindness and love for Gary, and me.  I encourage all primary care givers to seek out a support group, or open yourself to a trusted family member or friend. Not to close yourself up, and think you can do this on your own. To find quiet time for yourself - to renew, refresh ; to breath deeply, and relax. Because if we don’t take care of ourselves, we won’t be able to take care of our loved one in need of us.

 

My Dad’s Fishy Tale

My Dad has always been a good writer.   In high school one of his teachers was so impressed with an essay he wrote titled The Red Menace , about the dangers of Communism  she encouraged him to take journalism , which he did, and even became editor of his Thomas Jefferson high school newspaper. Upon graduation, the Omaha World Herald offered him a job. While Dad declined the offer, he never stopped writing . Creative stories, poems, letters.

Today, Father’s Day to honor my Dad, I’m sharing one of his stories, A Fishy Tale of a Special Day 

about an afternoon he and I spent at Seattle’s Pike Place Market. Dad and I have taken other trips together - the first when I was just 8 years old when we drove to Salt Lake City in our new ‘57 Chevy to attend my uncle’s wedding.  Little did I know then  the red ‘57 Chevy would one day be a classic! And that road trip a sweet memory of a little girl with her Dad.  Our journey to Marin County to see about my college entrance, and  in my early twenties, our visit to Hawaii - a first for both of us.  

Our time  in Seattle July, 2010  took on a special meaning as my brother, Walt passed away a couple months earlier - in May,  and it gave Dad and I special time together , to help in our healing process, and making new memories. Including this fun memory  Dad wrote about (written as Dad said, with a little literary liberty)

                                                       

                                                           

                                                                 

                                                                       

Dad and me with street musician at Pike Place Market

         Note: I’m pretty sure Dad signaled the fishmonger to throw that fish at me , but I did catch it , and was mighty surprised !  Thanks, Dad for all our great times together - always exciting and fun! 

                                                Happy Father’s Day! I love you, always                        

                                                    

                                       

My Brother Walt, Tony & Slot Cars

Walt. You’ve been so much on my mind, always on my heart. Today, May 30  marks 10 years since you departed this earth. My first thought was to write about the overwhelming sadness of your sudden, unexpected passing;  the shock, the despair, the anguish I felt when Mother told me you had a massive heart attack,  and didn’t survive .  And how like Mama to comfort me, when her heart was shattered  in a million pieces . Of  the deep sorrow, and anguish both   our parents felt.  And so, too , your many friends and family.  But then images , and memories of you at 10 years old began to swirl around in my head.  And I smiled thinking of that time .  So dapper and darling were you , even then.
                                                               
                                                                   

Dad was getting ready to relocate to St. Louis , and Mom, you and I lived on Heliotrope Ave. , next door to the fabulous , faithful , large , joyous MacInnis family ; fellow parishioners at
St. Rose of Lima, such a delight they were ! You and Brian particularly  had  fun  playing together .  And across the rail tracks, Don Wagner’s  5 for a Dollar Hamburger stand- the best Burgers in town  (Susan Wagner and I were friends since early grade school , and remain the dearest of friends to this day).
Two years prior , when we first moved to Heliotrope from our more sheltered SouthHall Lane  Cul  de sac  duplex  in Bell , and the train come roaring through our first night there , you jumped out of bed and ran into Mother’s bedroom crying out , “Mama, is it the Russians ? Are they coming?”  A cute, funny story now, but then, when Drop and Cover drills at school were the norm , pretty scary for a little boy.  Thankfully, Mama was there to reassure, and gather you in her arms.

                                                                       

                                                                           

I think about my brother , Walt and his best friend, Tony Moore. Tony was two years older than
 Walt , and like an older brother to him.  They enjoyed each other’s company;  riding bikes , talking boy talk, laughing, playing at Bell Park, going to movies at the Alcazar , wrestling in our front yard. When Tony got a new surf board for Christmas that year,  they shared their first surfing adventure. But mostly, they spent hours together working on, and racing their slot cars.  Every Saturday, come rain or shine,  Mother would drive Walt and Tony to South Gate, another bedroom community not to far from where we lived, to the slot car track  on Atlantic Blvd. There two young boys shared many happy hours racing , tuning up and adjusting the mechanics of their cars to make them go faster.  I think Walt’s future car hobby, and admiration of  muscle cars stemmed from his early love of Slot car racing.  Walt kept those cherished Slot cars all through the years , with Mom .  At different times  Mom would ask him if he wanted to take them. Walt would always reply, ‘No, Mom,  I don’t want anything to happen to them,  they’re safest with you’.  And now, my brother’s slot cars,  once so special to him are still here in our Mother’s/my house.  Special to me.    
                                                                 
                                                                     

Five years later, when Walt was 15, it would be the first , but not last time my brother would be Pallbearer for someone he loved very much . Tony was only 17 when he died of a Brain tumor.
I don’t have a hard time imagining Walt and Tony together again , laughing and talking and being happy in each other’s company.  Maybe even racing their slot cars.

Walter Rod Cooney Rip +
Anthony Edward Moore Rip +

A Mother’s Love

It’s a blessed soul

who knows so dear 

a Mother’s  friendship

and unconditional love,

the bounty of her goodness;

her kindness of heart ,

the generosity of  spirit 

she bestows on her child 

To know her joy, hear 

her laughter, to feel her embrace 

when the world seems tough 

To witness her faith in God , 

And her faith in you, to choose wisely

and believe. Even when the road is hard. 

A Mother’s love encourages, uplifts, gives 

wise counsel and is constant. Not demanding,

never belittling. Solid and secure.

 Fortunate are we in the words of St. Augustine 

a Mother’s love doesn’t end at the grave 

*** For my beloved Mother, Lenora Cooney for giving herself  unto me;  Thank you , Mama for making me one of the blessed ones, and for my sons, Gavin and Garrett for the profound joy of making me a Mom 


                                           

                                                                       

my Mother (Lenora Cooney) April 24

Loyal and true
Steadfast and kind
Generous of self
( she was always 

giving of her time and talent to 
someone in need 
a listening ear, an encouraging word,
a caring deed)

my Mother
So easy to laugh 
and have a good time
Ever hopeful and full of joy 
my Mother
Hard working, persevering
steady at the helm, calm in a storm
She weathered great sorrow 
Trusting  the Lord
was always near, 
and imparted that to 
me and my brother 
We knew her faithful,

unconditional  love for us 
( in sacrifices made, she didn’t complain)
She gave us joy of life,
and her sweet self 
my Mother 

Happy (Heavenly) Birthday, Mama
I love you so very much, always and forever 

Your daughter, Kathy

* photo of Mother & grandson, Gavin 1984

Easter Past , Easter Present

     Yesterday I received an email from a dear friend living in Spokane saying she remembers the days when Easter meant fancy clothes, new shoes,  the perpetual white gloves.  She then recalled one Easter buying  her four girls  and two boys matching sailor outfits (dresses for the girls, suits for the boys); a precious memory my friend said she will forever carry , and said she was sure I had similar memories in my own mental scrapbook . 
     And indeed I do . The excitement, and anticipation of Easter morning ! Getting ready for church , and wearing  the new spring pastel colored dress, and matching  hat  my Mother and I had shopped for , and seeing my brother sharply attired in his new Easter suit -  and  like my friend, I wore white gloves! 
I can’t help but smile when looking at our photos from that time , as though we were ready to step onto the rotogravure. And the same for my sons , and how special it was each year to browse the department store to find the perfect outfit for them to wear Easter Sunday , and how adorable my sons looked .  Sweet memories! 
    This Easter, like so  many who have written and reflected upon it, is very different for most of us .  There was no shopping for Easter clothes as the stores are all closed . Most importantly, we’re separated from family and friends , and from our churches; our place of worship - where we gather together to join our voices on Easter morning to sing Alleluia! Alleluia! The Lord is risen! Alleluia! 
      One thing discovered, or perhaps, rediscovered is God’s way, His purpose will prevail.  Easter is eternal. Jesus suffered, died and is risen.  Nothing can change that.  Not war, or poverty, pandemic or passing of time.  When Jesus says He is with us always , He means always! Not only in the pews of our church , but wherever we are - with a congregation or home alone; whatever we’re going through. This Easter so many of us are are separated one from the other, but it seems God gave us another way, a different way to worship! By via streaming our Holy Thursday, Good Friday , Easter morning church services, and connecting via the internet. Incredibly, millions upon millions of folks throughout the world are streaming worship services . And the awesome outcome? The internet used not for evil, but for good . Not for division , but to unify.  Separated by distance, yet together at the same time - for one purpose; to pray together, to praise together , to petition in common for the needs of all. 
    With the physical separation we must endure right now ,  let us continue to be spiritually connected, remembering we are called to:
     Renewal
      Restoration
       Rebirth
        Hope

Christus resurrexit 




       
    
     

Living the 6ft Rule

                                                 

   7 a.m Sunday morning .  Standing at the front room window I look out at what seems perfectly natural and normal; a ray of sun shining though a clouded sky, two doves sitting on the telephone wire - I always think they’re looking back at me , waiting for their morning hello, and two squirrel’s chasing each other across the street.

     But nothing is normal. The world is in crisis, at war with an unseen enemy , except in in the death and illness of thousands of people . 

     Here in Washington state , we along with  citizens of other states and countries have been mandated to Shelter at Home. 

Retail, restaurants, pubs, schools, the library, and churches are closed. Employees working from home, others have lost their job .

We read about hospitals being overwhelmed, even doctors and nurses succumbing to the enemy, the cruel and unrelenting Coronavirus,  Covid 19 .

     One friend described being at the market like watching a Science Fiction movie. Customers wearing protective gloves and distancing themselves from one another , and shelves empty of all cleaning supplies , bread, soups, pasta , toilet paper, and other grocery items.  My Dad’s wife, Susie likened the shutdown of their community in The Villages - all the empty streets , closed stores, Bistro’s  , clubhouses, Dentist’s and Barbers to a Stephen King novel - strange and eerie. 
     I think for me, seeing the picture of Pope Francis standing alone in the evening rain , at the Vatican to give his Urbi et Obi (to the city and the world) message was most surreal. St.Peter’s Square when on any given day prior to the Covid war would be filled with thousands of the faithful, and happy tourists awaiting the Holy Father’s blessing. 
      Churches, Synagogues and Mosques have always been a place for believers , and even  non-believers to gather in time of national crisis to seek comfort, to pray together, to petition God’s intervention.   Now our churches are closed. We feel isolated and alone. Separated from the freedom of our  daily coming and going.  Not able to give or receive a hug, or reach out to take someone’s hand. It brings uncertainty and fear.  We are a communal people and need physical contact.  Country singer Dolly Parton says our travail right now is a lesson from God to keep the faith and don’t be too afraid.   And while our brick and mortar churches may be closed, a curious happening is taking place; hundreds, maybe thousands of churches are live streaming, and millions of people tuning in, hungry for God’s word and message of hope. Just this morning,  Pastor Joel Osteen in an empty Lakeland Church in Houston, Texas live streamed to over a million people words of encouragement. 
    Pope Francis said we may feel afraid and lost , but we are all in the same boat, in this together . He admonished us to choose faith over fear and call out to the Lord as the disciples did in Mark 4:35-41 when on the stormy sea, asking for Him to calm the storm. 
    Having faith doesn’t mean to disavow the rules and guidelines, the orders given us by the medical experts , and authority to stay at home, to wash our hands , distancing , and the 6ft rule. I believe  just the opposite. By following the guidelines we are doing our part in answering God’s healing prayer , for ourselves and others.  
And whenever we sign off with a Be Safe, Wash your hands, I like to think what we’re saying is you matter to me, I care about you.
     Last night I studied Psalm 27 and read and re-read verses 13-14. I hope they bring meaning and good cheer to all who read as they do me.
     I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thy heart: wait, I say on the Lord
              

Be safe , and remember the 6ft Rule 

     
     

   
     
   

      

     

     

A Picture of Dementia

                                                         

This day ....

    At 7a.m. I help my husband out of bed, into the bathroom , then to his recliner chair across the hall in the  den ; I cover him with his favorite blanket  (as he’s always cold ) . He asks  for a Pepsi , he takes one sip , and within 10 minutes is sound asleep. 

At 10:30 a.m. Sam, the shower aid  arrives , at 11:00 a.m. the Hospice nurse,
and  later the Chaplain stops by just to check in to see how Gary is getting along, and
how I am doing. He prays  over Gary. At 12:30 p.m. I give Gary his lunch .  

   Being such a lovely, sunny day I think Gary will enjoy getting out of the house .  I help him get his jacket on , out the front door , down the ramp , into the car .  We drive past Rick’s Family Market on Highland  to  downtown 6th St. , over to Bridge, back up 13th .   And Gary did enjoy.  Streets, 

and places we’ve driven by hundreds of times . But within a short time , Gary said he was confused , and didn’t know where he was , asking if I knew where we were , and where we were going .  I assure him I did . But as all those caring for Dementia patients know , emotions, memory process, mood can change for the one being cared for with a snap of the finger .  

Gary asks me what is my last name . Dobbs, I said.  He looked blank. Then asks me my first name . Kathy .  Another blank look .   

    I would be lying , and venture to say the same of any caregiver  not to admit , even though fully aware of this horrible, progressive disease  that it’s still a shock , and sad , numbing and surreal that the one we have loved for so many years , and loved us in return no longer knows who we are , even our name . 

    Back at home , Gary asks if know anything about him. Yes , I say,   and  related where he was born,  the Kansas city of his childhood and the grammar school he attended there , the Junior and Senior High School he went to after he and his family moved to Compton, California ; his time in the 

Army, and afterwards college. His years working with his family’s auto parts business, and Nutritional Data, inc, the company he founded in 1979 , and successfully operated until his retirement when he sold the business in 2008. Our marriage , and two sons.  Gary  said well, that makes me feel good , if that’s true ,  that someone knows me.  He focused again on the house , saying he was just amazed I knew about this house . He asked who my grandmother was . And about my Mother . Then about the Dobbs’ , trying to remember about his Dad , and uncles .  So sad to see how he struggles with trying to fit the pieces of his life together.  I put my arm around him , and pray silently for the Lord to help my husband , to ease his path. 

    Gary wouldn’t eat all his dinner tonight because he insisted there were mites in his meal , he saw them moving . As he was becoming agitated ,  I take his plate away. 

 Soon after , it was time for his evening meds , then I help my dear one undress , and get him into bed and kiss him goodnight . 

    Sitting here now, in the quiet of the night I  must remind myself , there are  times - a few sweet moments of clarity and recognition , at least for now , I’m so grateful for  when Gary seems content , and I don’t feel so all alone 

And I can smile ,  remembering when ..... 

The Fabric of Life , & End of Life

October 25. Today is my birthday.  and a year ago today my Mother’s last day on this earth. Throughout my adult years every October 25 I would send Mom flowers with a note that read ,

                                                                          

     Congratulations, Mother ! 34 (44,54, 64) years ago today you gave birth to a brown haired, brown eyed baby girl . Thank you , Mom. I love you . 

     I think of my darling Mother that last day, laying  on the hospice bed , opening her eyes; her body tired and worn out, lovingly looking into my eyes as I swab her mouth and take her hand. She draws me near and whispers  Happy Birthday, Kathy. I kiss her cheek . 

     This day, my 69th birthday, memories of my Mother flood my heart; I picture her happy smile and think  of her goodness, her joy of life and genuine kindness, and care for others . I think of her deep, abiding faith in Jesus. How she  would say, He will never let you down, no matter what.

     I know how blessed I am to have had Mom for 68 yrs.  My Mother , my first friend ; always my best friend.  

     I reflect on the intersection of my birth date,  and Mama departing this life - two hours past midnight , 2 a.m. October 26.  Although , our trials and heartaches not always easy to understand , or accept; the anguish sometimes so sad , and overwhelming,  I believe there are no coincidences, only Godincidences , that He threads the needle and weaves the fabric of our life. For His better plan and purpose.   With the date of my birth , and the date of my Mother’s passing from this life to be born anew in the Heavenly kingdom so closely linked ,  I am ever thankful for the eternal, loving, special bond my Mother and I share 

     So, as I remember my Mother today .. I say, 

Congratulations, Mom! ! 69 years ago today you gave birth to the brown eyed, brown haired girl 

you prayed for.  Thank you , Mom ! I am so very grateful!  I love you forever and always, Kathy.

                                                                   

Confused Memory, but forever love

i sleep next to the same man i have slept next
to for over 40 years , although he doesn’t
always know who i am . We sit together in the
TV room and he’ll ask where his wife is, i say
i’m right here, dear. No, no, says he, and points
to our Wedding picture hanging on the wall ; that’s
my wife . Yes, i say. That’s me . Just a long time
ago.  He wonders aloud whose house this is,
where’s the bedroom , and asks the time.
7 o’clock  i tell him. In the morning ? No, at night.
i mention our two sons, Garrett and Gavin
and he smiles . A minute or two passes, then a clear
moment of recognition, and he says, such good
men are they. The best part of me . I am so
proud of them , and love them so much.
Another minute or two pass, and again he
asks, whose house is this ?
And my heart in its longing , weeps for the
memory of how my husband used to be ,
but grateful for the moments we still share

a Party in Heaven

     I wonder what he’d be like at 65. Perhaps ready to retire after years of working hard. Collecting Social Security. Riding his Harley. Fishing. Likely more white than grey headed, and still holding things of the heart close to heart. But forever young at heart, with the same kind spirit and happy, playful  smile he always had, like he knew the joke better than anyone.
     Today, another remembrance and celebration of my brother, Walt Cooney born September 4, 1954.
     This year different than last, as this year I picture our  beloved Mother celebrating with him - both overjoyed at being together again . With grandparents , aunts and uncles and long time friends.
In Heaven there’s a party going on .

                                                                         

                                                                       

                                                 

(Happy Birthday, Brother ! Give Mom a kiss from me, I miss you both more than words can say)
     

a summer rain

i sit in a favorite wicker chair
under a natural canopy
and can see in the distance
a brilliant orange blooming
from the Trumpet bush,
and listen to rain softly tapping
the broad, heart shaped leaf
of the Red Bud tree;
birds nestled between branches
adding their sweet song
to this lovely moment
Beautiful
Peaceful
Tranquil
and i think of the loved ones,
family and friends
who once sat in this place, too;
my mother and brother
with their love and laughter,
and am grateful.

Mama’s Backyard

                                                                   

                                                                 

    May 12. Mother’s Day. I sit outside in my Mother’s backyard. The yard she worked so lovingly in, planting and weeding; decorated with pink flamingos and angels. The yard she enjoyed so much with  her beautiful flowers , the Rosebud tree, squirrels scurrying about  and birds on wing .
     Twenty five years of friends and family who gathered here laughing and talking . My brother, Walt and Jim, Gavin and Gary and Patty. The Howell’s . Jeanne and Brenda , Karen and Mary Lee; the Chapin girls, PaddleFest pals, and many others who graced the backyard with their presence.   Birthday celebrations,  4th of July fireworks , summer luncheons , gentle conversation at twilight .   Little vignettes, now passing moments in time . Happy times, peaceful times in what we thought of as a magical, enchanted place and started calling it, Mom’s Secret Garden.
     Last year at this time  when Mama and I were sitting out back, she looked around and talked about  how lucky she  was to have this backyard, it brought her such joy. "God is so good to me", said Mom, " I think of all the wonderful times with loved ones here, and it makes me smile.”  Along with  the many loved ones ,  the solitude of being  in her backyard,  and the tranquility it brought her lifted Mom’s spirit.  Especially in the last few months of her life.  She loved watching the Morning Doves and Hummingbirds,  and was always so grateful for what she had .
     Mom and  I laughed about a time Walt was here. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we were enjoying the outside.  Walt knew I had been doing some weight training so he wanted to see my ‘body building’ pose . He pressed on , even demonstrating how I should bend forward, pull my arms inward and flex my muscles . Then I did , to All That Jazz playing in the background, and Walt taking pictures like I might be featured in some muscle building video.  There’s no doubt I looked pretty silly,  which got my brother to laughing out loud ,  and our Mom , and all there , including me. It was  one of those   fun, memorable moments in Mom’s backyard !

                                         

      As sons and daughters honor their Mother’s today , I remember mine with an everlasting love and deep gratitude for her unconditional love and friendship, for all that we shared . For being everything good and kind , for being the very best of Mother’s, always . And I give thanks to God for making her mine.   I think the endearing, tender note my brother wrote to Mom on Mother’s Day 1991 sums it up pretty good.

Mom , this is your day, but it is also my day, for you are here with me to share it with, if ever a person is more deserving of a day designated to only Mother’s of the world, then there isn’t a finer mother I can think of than you . You’re the best Mother and friend a guy could have . All my love from the beginning of time til the ending of time . Love, Walt. 

                                                                     

              

     So here I am , Mama, carrying on. Feeling blessed in your backyard for all you were, and all you provided - for your nearness still so close. And for my sons, that they will know my love for them always and forever. A legacy of love from you to me to them.  Happy Mother's Day, Mom ! I love you.


                                                                                 

      

Easter Sunday and my Mother's Birthday

     Last Sunday, Easter Sunday millions of Christians commemorated the Risen Jesus. Holy Family church was packed, standing room only , filled with worshipers coming to sing Easter alleluias and give glory to God. While it was impossible not to observe the joy and festive spirit of those gathered , many dressed in cheerful, spring colored clothing , I sat like a pouty child not getting her or his own way - missing my mother and husband being  with me. Wishing I could reach out to touch my Mother’s hand , to give Mom and Gary a kiss at the Sign of Peace. On this day of great joy I was using all my self control not to cry , and can only hope Father Root didn’t notice the gloomy look  on my face as he proclaimed the Gospel and gave a homily on the Easter message.
    I wondered if my mother and brother  received Holy Communion from the wounded hands of our dear Jesus; I gave thanks for 
friend , Jeanne sitting with Gary allowing me to attend Mass , and for family and friends so dear to me. I followed the prayers of the liturgy , but with a melancholy heart. Then something amazing happened , after receiving Eucharist I decided to leave and was walking down the aisle towards the back of the church when the choir began singing the hymn, Be Still And Know That I Am God.         It was as though a heavenly presence had tapped me on the shoulder.  I immediately stopped , turned around and this time didn’t hold back the tears that welled in my eyes. My mother’s favorite bible verse from  Psalm 46. Be still and know that I am God .  How many times had I heard Mom recite , and direct me to that verse whenever  I was troubled, hurt or worried over  
something .  I knelt and bowed my head giving thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ for the glory of his cross and resurrection, for his faithfulness and tender mercies , and  for my mother with her continuing presence in my life and her loving reminder Easter morning, to Be still and know that I am God.

    Now it's Wednesday April 24. My mother's birthday. Surely the stars twinkled brightly the day she was born, and her presence graced the earth. I  think of Mom's genuine goodness, her sweetness and strength; of her unconditional love of my brother and me, and I am grateful. One of my favorite things was when Mama would tell stories about her youth. It seemed Mom always  had a love affair with life, reflected from the days she was very young,  and the joy she found in her family and friends.
                                               

     Mom shared how when she was a little girl, Great Grandma Norton would ask her what she wanted for her birthday. Each year Mama would say, your Applesauce cake, Grandma.   Mom said she never ever tasted Applesauce cake that was as good as Grandma Norton's, and that when she (Mom) got to Heaven that was one of the first things she was going to ask for  - a piece of Grandma Norton's Applesauce cake.  
    Well, my darling Mother, I have no doubt you're in Heaven. And today's your birthday.  I'm smiling thinking of you celebrating with all your Heavenly family and friends, and once again enjoying Grandma Norton's  homemade Applesauce cake ! and yes, missing you, too, and our sitting in the backyard laughing and talking, and  listening to music as we liked to do. But I rejoice in this day, Mom, the day you were born; for from  that very day the fate was sealed you would one day be my Mother. Lucky me !

     
 * In eulogy for Walt i quoted e.e. cummings - the words i spoke for my brother then,  hold the same meaning and truth for you, Mom
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in. my heart)

Happy Birthday, oh Mother of mine ! I love you. 


    

THE THIEF ( ALZHEIMER'S)

He was half sitting up on the bed when I walked into the room.
Staring  in the dark.
What are you doing I asked .
I don’t know where I am he said. I don’t know how I got here.
Why didn’t you call for me?
I didn’t know who to call for; whose house this is. Who would come.
I gently patted his hand,  and wiped his brow. It’s okay, honey  i’m with you  now.
I'm glad you're here he said. It was scary.
Whose house is this , he asked.  What city are we in?
It’s our house I tell Gary,  my husband of forty years.
 We live in Clarkston.
Oh. I thought I drove my truck to Huntington Beach.
Are  we close to the beach?
No, dear. But we are near a river.
Wonder if I have to use the bathroom. Where is the bathroom?
And on and on it goes until he’s more calm and falls asleep.
Alzheimer’s is like a thief who comes again and again,
at first stealing just a little bit, then more and more
until nothing’s left but
confusion
sadness
forgotten years
fear
and tears

Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia have touched the lives of many families, robbing
loved ones of memory, vitality, a sense of well being.  But like all journeys , there are sign posts along the way to help guide our  path;  family, friends, Alzheimer's support groups, faith.
Along with God's word  in the Bible, that He is with us always , I have found the following books  helpful in understanding more about the disease, how to better relate to my husband as we travel this road together, and the importance of finding some  quiet time for myself.

* The 36 Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace, M.A and Peter V. Rabins, M.D., P.P.H.

* My Two Elaines
 Learning , Coping, and Surviving as an Alzheimer's Caregiver by Martin J. Schrieber

* where Two worlds Touch 
A Spiritual Journey Through Alzheimer's Disease by Jade C. Angelica

*Learning to Speak Alzheimer's 
A Groundbreaking Approach for Everyone Dealing with the Disease by Joanne Koenig Coste

Three Months

                                        

    Three months can seem either a long or short time.  Depending on the circumstance I suppose. I recall when I was in school in the 1950’s and 60’s we would get three months summer vacation.  I spent three months in the hospital one year laying in traction due to a broken back and crushed right femur. In my twenties I toured Europe for three months with my friend, Mary Kay.  And today it's been three months since my Mother passed away. Three months of  Mother not being here seems a long time not to hear her voice, see her smile; to sit with her drinking our morning coffee, listening to music, watching birds at the feeder, to feel the touch of her hand.       Sometimes I let myself be fooled  and it seems Mom just away on holiday , and she will soon return home to resume our daily routine,  and all that was familiar and comfortable.  That she would sit again in her prayer chair to read a verse or two from her devotional or poetry book to Gary , Gavin and me.  Something she thought was important to share, and hoping we’d let soak in.    But then I realize my Mother’s not coming back. She won’t be walking through the door, or asking me to get her purse, no more our going to St. Vinny’s together , or out to lunch with  friends. No more laughter and long talks we shared. She’s gone.  Some days I can barely stand it. The pain is so great.
   It’s called grieving. I’ve been reading a lot about it, the process, and have concluded grieving for a loved one never ends , we will always be missing,  and longing for that dear one who was such a vital, loving  part of our life; a void,  an emptiness is there now . How can it not be ? We are lonely, homesick for the one we love.  But I'm learning  we can also find solace in the Lord's word to us, His promise of resurrected life; that  one day we will be reunited with our deceased loved one(s) ; transfigured, made whole. Renewed.  Restored. Never to be separated again.  That is our hope. And  our trust in Him who is ever faithful. All in God's good time. Until then with the help of His  grace, and tender mercies we persevere and carry on, thankful for  caring friends and family who help nurture and love us;  cry with us, give encouragement, and listen with their heart.  I am so very  grateful for my dear family and friends who have done  this for me - giving me their time, being present to me, praying for me as I journey through the grieving process, missing my Mother.
    Mary Kay, the same Mary Kay I traveled Europe with for three months in 1974 believes past generations when families were inclined to be together and visit that conversation about the deceased more often, and perhaps more  easily would include stories and memories of the dead. Mary Kay says she  remembers even as a kid listening to the grown ups talk and hearing the conversations that kept departed loved ones in their life, sometimes even ones she'd never met became a part of her.  I share that experience. My Mother often talked of deceased great aunts and uncles, and others she loved and cared for  who had died before I was born, bringing them to life in her stories.  I learned to know them through Mom. And through the years as other family and friends died,including my darling brother, Walt we would think of them and talk  of them with sweet remembrance. 
    I don't recall exactly when but sometime during Mother's senior years she began inviting the deceased souls of beloved family and cherished friends into her front room to pray her morning prayers with her. Putting into practice her belief in 'communion of saints'. When Mom shared this with me I pictured  the dear ones she mentioned, and couldn't help but smile. As I reflect on this now, I am comforted in knowing Mother is with her circle of heavenly friends and family praying for me and her loved ones here on earth. True love is everlasting. It knows no boundaries;  not time, space or distance.  I miss my Mother's physical presence but her enduring love is ever present and eternal. 
    When Edgar A Guest wrote the following poem he said he always felt Mother's Day should be observed every day of the year . Good as it is to set aside one day in her memory, it is never enough. 
I agree. 

Never thought for self had she. 
   Never for herself ambition.
Goal of all her dreams were we,
   Holding us her earthly mission.

We were first in every thought.
    Friend or foe could not divert her.
Failing her in what she taught,
    We alone had power to hurt her.

Looking back, we know today
    We were source of all her gladness,
And whene'er we went astray
     We were source of all her sadness.

This the  mother that we knew !
    Never any life was purer.
Gentle, tender, brave and true,
    Never any love was surer!





   

a Christmas Letter to my Mother 2018

Dearest Mother

     It's Christmas Eve. I'm sitting here in your prayer chair, thinking of you,  and missing you so very much.  I was just two months old when we celebrated our first Christmas together, as we did every Christmas after . Now I'm 68 yrs. old celebrating my first Christmas without you.
     I have to say, Mama it's a little harder for me this year finding the peace and solace of Silent Night, Holy Night without you being here, and am unable to listen to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, but I'm remembering your delight in the  Christmas season, how you enjoyed everything about it ! The shopping, the crowds, the caroling, the gift wrapping, the decorating; you'd always say we're decorating, getting the house ready for the birth of Jesus.  
     I'm thinking of your excitement in picking out  just the right present, your delight in giving , and welcoming family, friends and acquaintances into our home, making each one feel special and loved. Your joy was contagious, Mom, and lifted our spirit. 
     I'm thinking of Tiny Tears, and Betsy Wetsy, Butler's Lives of the Saints,  a Bubble Head  Barbie doll; and a collection of Este Lauder Solids. All gifts from you, Mom. Gifts I still have. Did I ever tell you, Mom how very much I appreciated your working so hard to provide for my brother and me, to make our Christmas morning wishes come true ? Did I ever tell you what it meant to have a mother like you to share Christmas with, a mother who loved us so much, and we loved in return.
     I'm thinking of you standing at the stove making your famous  Christmas fudge. It became a staple for us at Christmas time. Gary swore it was the best fudge he ever tasted, and always thought you should market it. I'm thinking of Christmas eve dinner, and the fun and laughter; you reading to us a favorite poem and prayer. And going to  Christmas Mass. 
      Right now I'm looking at the gold leaf Nativity, the one you had since early days of my youth,  and treasured. There's something comforting to see that same Nativity still displayed in our home, especially this year,  giving me pause to reflect, and remember  about the Christ child, His Mother Mary, and Joseph.
      I'm thinking of one of your favorite Christmas songs,  The Little Drummer Boy, and how you would say you identified with the little drummer boy, thinking you had no gift to bring , that's fit to give to our king. But I say you brought Him so many gifts,
Mom, not just Christmas, but every day by the way you lived your life, and loved others. I'm envisioning  you now in the Heavenly realm  singing for Him  with your sweet soprano voice,  Gloria in excelsis dio. And your son, Walt standing near. 

Merry Christmas, Mother. I love you.
Your daughter, 

Kathleen Rosalie


     

WORDS OF REMEMBRANCE (Eulogy) Lenora Cooney

My Mother, Lenora Cooney. Words of Remembrance.
 November 7, 2018 by Kathy Cooney Dobbs

   When my brother, Walt passed away in 2010 and I stood to give his eulogy my eyes filled with tears & I couldn’t seem to speak - it was only when I heard my Mother call out , ‘Kathy, take a deep breath’ - I was able to collect myself and carry on.
That’s how it’s always been for me, my Mother has been the wind beneath my wings.
Right now , I’m missing the sound of my Mother’s voice, seeing her face, feeling her loving embrace more than words can say.
   When I had to go into Mom’s room to tell her what the doctor said, “that there were no good options” , my head dropped to her lap, my tears streaming ; Mama reached out, patted the back of my head , & gently said don’t worry, honey; ‘it’ll be okay. That  was my Mother! - comforting, consoling even then. And her last words so sweetly whispered on October 25 about her grandson, ‘Gavin said such beautiful things to me ‘
   As one friend wrote, your Mother had love in her voice, love in her heart, she had a gift to make whoever she was talking to feel special. And indeed she did . No matter where Mom & I went- to the market, to the bank , to the thrift store the clerk or teller would always come from behind their desk or counter to visit with Mom, to give her a hug ; many times another customer would be drawn to Mom to engage her in conversation – a lonely woman , or man, or disabled child - Mother would always take the time to listen, & give an encouraging word, and tell them she would pray for the them.
   Mom was caring and kind , gracious, giving , forgiving; and she
 loved to laugh- in fact, Mama thought it was our responsibility to be joyful, that our Lord wanted us to laugh and not take everything so seriously. One of her favorite books in recent months was 
Laughter Was Created for Days Like This- Prayers, Chuckles and Reminders That God Really Has Things Under Control.
  Mom made everything fun, like when I was 8 yrs old , and Mom and I dancing the Polka all around the front room of our small duplex, the record would end and I’d say, ‘Mama, let’s polka again’, and round and round we’d go laughing out loud, or sitting on the floor cutting out paper dolls. Both Mother & I liked dolls, and in our later years would find much pleasure collecting vintage dolls together. Actually, Mom and I simply enjoyed each other’s company and enjoyed doing so many things together.
   And over 50 years ago while I was still in high school, it was great because so many of my friends, and Walt’s friends , too liked hanging out at our house, some of those friends here today, because they liked being around my Mother , talking with her because she was such a good listener. Mom once said she never got to watch the end of any TV program because Kathy & her friends would come rushing through the front door 10 minutes before the show was over to tell her about whatever we were doing . Never once did Mom say, not now girls , or wait until the show is over, or I’m busy - she always made us feel whatever we had to share was of prime importance, and would give us her full attention .
We were a small family, my mother, brother and I, and Mom thought  it would be more festive for Walt and me to have others join us on Christmas Eve , so she began inviting friends, relatives, and co-workers to our house for one of her fabulous Turkey buffets, exchange gifts and have a merry ol' time.  Mom wouldn't get off work until noon on Christmas eve; I look back now and am amazed at how she got everything done so perfectly.   I recall one year everyone wore House on the Prairie type clothing , and the only light in the house came from oil lamps. It was a sweet time. Mom made Christmas Eve at our house magical, and memorable, like she did everything . For several years Christmas Eve at our house became a favorite happening for Mom , my brother and me, and for many a friend.
   From the time Walt and I were very young , Mother read poetry to us, poems about Wyken, Blyken and Nod sailing off in a wooden shoe, The Gingham Dog and Calico Cat, and Little Boy Blue - the sound of Mother's voice reading poetry every night was so calm and peaceful, her presence so  reassuring it often lulled us to sleep. Because of Mother influence, and love of poetry, Walt and I grew up liking poetry, too. Throughout all our years Mom continued to read poetry to us, sometimes over the phone; or often she'd say, 'Kathy, sit down, honey, I want to read this to you. It won't take long', including one from Ted Malone's Scrapbook  Mom had marked  as the last poem she ever got to read to my brother and me when we were all together in 2009 – one that touched Mom’s heart about a young Mother setting out on the path of life, guiding her children along the way –
And the Mother said: Look up. Lift your eyes to the light. And the children looked up and saw above the clouds an Everlasting Glory, and it guided them and brought them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said, This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God.
   Mother always looked up , pointing toward our Father in Heaven, his beloved son, Jesus and the Holy Spirit – Mom had a deep abiding faith she gave witness to every day by the way she lived her life, through joy or heartache. Mom trusted the Lord would provide.
   Mom has made her home in Clarkston for the past twenty five years , she would often say with endearment, Clarkston reminded her of Council Bluffs, where she was raised. Mother has been blessed with many close and cherished friends here; dear friends she loved very much, and shared so many wonderful and happy times with. Special times involving the Doll Club, Festival of Trees, Moose Races, Birthdays with the B.’s; Going to the Tin Can grocery store; and so many gatherings and get to-gethers, sometimes in her own beautiful backyard. Mom so enjoyed her backyard, watching the birds, and her solar lights at night. We called it Mom’s ‘Secret Garden’.
    Whenever  Mom looked back on the fullness of her her life , she would always say she had a wonderful life, a blessed life; it was a good time! And I say to Mom, being your daughter, it was the BEST time ! It was a party just being  near you!

I love you , Mama more than words can say.
Heart to heart. Forever 
and always.