Beautiful Transitions
This story is about how my use of meditation techniques helped carry me through a challenging time. My Mom and I were to spend a week together in her home, with me as the caregiver. During that time we had many opportunities to experience the healing effect of these simple, powerful spiritual techniques. Here’s a bit about our first twenty four hours with each other.
June had just been checked out of a long-term care rehabilitation facility. Three months previously, she had had a stroke during elective open heart surgery. After two weeks in intensive care, then four weeks in the hospital’s physical therapy wing, she was moved to the long-term care facility. There she had received six more weeks of physical therapy with the focus on functioning at home. She was fitted with a brace that slid into her left shoe to support her ankle. She could walk with a walker and had taught herself a walking mantra for every other step, “Pick it up, June, pick it up.” She could dress herself but needed help getting in and out of bed. She could talk! Her short term memory worked sometimes. She was weak, exhausted and in constant pain. She was cleared to go home with round the clock care. She was given countless pages of written instructions, exercise drawings, follow up appointments and home care resources. She had a cute tote bag filled with yellow therabands, a waist grip strap, 18 different prescription bottles and her giant red autographed heart hug pillow. Her favorite therapist, Bill, showed us how to get her into and out of my truck. We promised to take good care of her. They both cried a little as he hugged her goodbye. She gabbed and laughed most of the way home. She was so happy to be going home.
June’s home was in her words her “pride and joy.” It was the home where my sister and I had grown up. June had last seen it in early winter, on the morning we had taken her from it to her 6:00 a.m. heart surgery appointment. This day was in mid-spring. Her gorgeous flower garden was in full-swing. My sister and her family had cleaned up the yard to June’s normal high standards. My husband had fitted the house for safety, installed grab bars, removed doors and so on. My sister had cleaned it to a sparkle, set a bouquet of flowers on the dining room table and opened windows to let in the garden fresh air. As we pulled into her driveway, June said, “Oh, Honeys, you brought me back home . . . look at my roses!” She walked from her driveway to her front steps, up the steps one at a time, resting in between, then onto the porch and through the front door, with the two of us supporting her. We were so happy she was home.
All she needed from me was reassurance that I would help keep her body safe while she healed herself, that I would help monitor her medications and exercises, help her bathe, plan and cook her meals and remind her to pick up her left foot. She needed my reassurance that she could do it. She needed my smiles, laughter and encouragement. This strong, stubborn, hilarious woman who took care of everyone else was confused by her own body’s frailty and pain. For the first time in her life she did not have the confidence in herself to know that she could fix it. She was terrified. And so were we.
I was to stay with her for the first week. My sister would take over for the second week. During those first two weeks at home, we would help June set up her new routine, including in-home and out-patient physical therapy, a paid caregiver to come mornings and evenings to help, with my sister, myself and other family members trading off staying with her full-time.
That first day, I focused on Mom’s physical comfort and on creating what I felt was necessary to help her recuperate. My goal was for her to get better, to regain her strength and resume her routines. I let my body take charge with its best super power, problem solving. And I went for it! I got busy creating a spreadsheet for her medication schedule and numbering her prescription bottles to keep us all on track. During one of her naps, I created another spreadsheet of her dietary and food portion requirements, complete with daily menus and recipes, so her other caregivers would do it right. This took my focused attention. She kept interrupting me.
She wanted me to go through her china tea cup collection, pick out the beauties I wanted and take them home. She wanted me to find, wash and iron the pretty wedding linens she had embroidered for her granddaughter, who was about to become engaged. These activities seemed to me like a frivolous use of time on Mom’s first day home. I wanted her to try meditation and gentle seated yoga to help her connect with her body and help her relax and release some of her pain. I wanted her to try small glasses of prune juice, which in my world was a healthier choice for dealing with the uncomfortable side-effects of oxycodone than the two additional prescription drugs she was taking for that. She did not want to hear about my solutions for her complaints.
June was preparing herself for death. One of us was in denial about that. She needed consistent, simple instructions about food, medication and appointments because she could not remember. She needed reassurance while exercising. She did not need new ideas to add to her confusion. I was busy being determined that she not have a physical set-back. I gave her what I thought she should need rather than what she did need. My entire focus was on her. And she was way ahead of me. A full plate of food overwhelmed her. She would not eat. I became frustrated and more stressed. I forgot to smile for her.
That evening, my husband joined us at Mom June’s home and cooked dinner for her – poached salmon, a scant spoonful of buttered mashed potatoes, about five green beans cut up tiny, and a mini strawberry milkshake. She cleaned her plate! I heard June say to him, “I’m making your wife nervous. I wish she would meditate to calm herself down. I’m worried about her.” Then she bragged to him about successfully doing all her exercises, the walker steps and the theraband sets. With him listening to her and keeping watch over her, I took her laundry to the basement, loaded the washer and sat down to meditate. I figured I had three minutes before she called for me with another request or question. I started to cry.
I was numb and could not feel my reassuring grounding. I asked for an Angel to help me know I was grounded, to help me have my space, to help me validate and use my spiritual techniques that were my usual strength. I knew on faith that I was receiving help, but did not feel better, could not think straight. I took a deep breath and went back upstairs. Still in the kitchen, Mom asked me to give her an aura healing! I had practiced on her many years before when taking the Healing Class at CDM Spiritual Center and she had remembered liking the healings. So yes, of course! Within a few minutes into her healing we were joking around and cracking each other up. After the healing, we walked together from the kitchen to the living room and back, a full lap. She had completed her exercises for the day.
Mom got herself ready for bed. We sat down on the bed together. She was in her striped soft pj’s and in a cozy codeine haze. She looked like a little kid, so young and trusting. I hugged her gently, amazed at how much pain she was in. She leaned against me for a long time. We were quietly saying goodbye. Then she said that it was my turn to take care of her now, like she had taken care of me when I was little. I reminded her that when she had taken care of me I was a baby and she was a young strong woman. At this moment, I was fifty four years old and could not lift her, though I wished I could. “So we’ll keep doing your exercises to help you get stronger, ok Mom?” Yes, she agreed to that. She liked the idea of being stronger. “And maybe we can get you a big strong male nurse caregiver, how about that?” That made us both laugh and lifted us from the sad moment. I got her tucked in for the night, with nightlights in her bedroom, the hall and her bathroom, just in case. She was to get in and out of bed only with assistance, never unaided, per one of her written instructions. There was so much concern about her falling. She was also to have her shoes on at all times when walking, and she needed help to put them on. She would not wear a diaper. So I gave her a brass bell to ring to summon me if she needed to get up in the night. She pulled the covers up to her chin, smiling, happy to be in her own bed.
I sat down to meditate in the quiet familiar living room and began to release the day down my grounding. I saw that I’d been bombarding my dear stubborn mom with my ideal methods of healing, in an attempt to keep her. The only benefit to this was to provide a short break for me, to avoid and deny my own body’s emotional disturbance. Mom and I had spent most of the day trying to heal each other, resisting each other, sharing space and experiencing each other’s realities. She experienced my fear about losing her and tried to help me with that. I saw that the china cups and embroidered wedding linens were her way of leaving something of herself behind for us. She had her own way of healing which was just right for her. She didn’t need me to remake her into my version of a healed person. She needed her Deb to be present with love, smiles, hugs, laughter and goofiness. She needed my acceptance and support as she went through this final phase of her life. She needed my willingness to do as she asked. She needed me to let her go. We each needed our own clear energetic space to learn and to enjoy our unique personal lessons. I increased my grounding, continuing to release the fear and disturbance, both mine and hers. I prayed that should she decide to pass in the night I would wake up in time to be with her. God told me yes, you will be with her, but not tonight. I was aware of my Angel and asked for a healing. I was instantly aware of my own energy flowing, along with some of my natural amusement. What a relief! I asked my body what it needed. It asked me to be real with Mom, to laugh and cry with her and to enjoy her. It also wanted to go outside. Ok, great, that’s easy! I checked on Mom, then went out to the backyard for a few minutes to watch the moon and stars.
She got up twice in the night to take herself to the bathroom. I slept through it. Did she ring the bell? No. She put her own shoes on and took them off again each time. She bragged about it later to her other caregivers. Stubborn! She made me laugh!
The next morning, she ate her honeydew melon and scrambled egg beaters like a champ! After breakfast, when we were both dressed and her dosed, I was able to meditate for a few minutes in the living room with her there, while she hummed to herself and wrote greeting cards to leave for the mail man. I did a few minutes of stretching on the living room floor, with one eye on her, as she did her arm strengthening theraband sets. She had her phone close by and answered calls. Folks knew she was home and she enjoyed telling them about her droopy mouth and about how her daughter was taking such good care of her, like a little mother hen. It was a gorgeous warm sunny May day. We had the front door open to enjoy the birds tweeting. We could smell the roses in her garden.
She asked me again about the china cups. I suggested, “Yes, we have a lot of things to do and remember. How about if you start a list? That way we won’t forget.” This idea appealed to her. She had been an office manager and bookkeeper, always organized. She started her list. For the rest of my time with her and for the rest of her life, her response to any suggestion was “Put it on my list!” She went back to writing her cards and talking on the phone, happy that I had finally listened about the china cups. The mail man came by and took her cards. They were happy to see each other. She remembered his name! She invited him in for coffee and they visited for a minute. I closed my eyes to meditate some more, hoping for more than one or two minutes at a time. Mom suggested that I put in the Healing CD I had given her, saying, “Maybe that will help you” and that she would like to listen to it also! Great idea! Yes, that helped! We had ten whole minutes.
I asked her, “Mom, it’s so pretty outside . . . I’d like to sit out on the porch, how about you?” Her reply, “Yes! And I want to see Henry.” Henry was the little boy who lived across the street. He and Mom were good buddies. And he had a new baby sister who had not yet met his Junie Bug. She had me fix her hair first, then did her own eyebrows and lipstick. I set her comfy dining room arm chair on the front porch next to the railing and propped the screen door open. She walked herself and her walker through the door and settled into the chair with her heart hug pillow and phone. She smiled so big. Within moments, the first neighbor spotted her and ran across the street to see her. Henry and his mom waved and blew kisses from their front porch, holding up the new baby sister. More friends and family called and Mom was too busy to talk with them. I told them, “If you want to see June at home, now’s a good time.” They showed up. Folks sat on the steps and visited with her while she laughed and held court. She forgot about her pain for a time. I relaxed and listened to the birds.
