Hard Truths & Soft Landings

Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Cookies, photo by "honey drizzle" @ flickr.com.
 I could not co-exist peacefully in a house with these.

Hard Truths

1. Sometimes it's impossible to co-exist with a treat in the house. Maybe Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, whipped salted butter and fresh semolina bread, or tall chocolate layer cake. Tonight, I took a wedge of pumpkin pie back from the lobby Halloween party--ostensibly for Figgy, who announced that she loves all things pumpkin this month. I already ate half of it. It's me or the pie, but not both of us. Might be healthier if I realized that going in. Figgy was at art class, dabbling in oil paint, while I was dabbling in that cool custard filling.
2. Working at home takes discipline. And great strength, to resist the urge to: make a broccoli Swiss quiche with homemade butter crust [using part whole-wheat flour]; prune the pink and white petunias in the window boxes; write thank-you notes; read a book or magazine; nap; do laundry; walk the dog in the rain; talk on the phone; visit Dad; watch a movie; or even clean the floor [anything vs. park butt on chair and work]. But the truth is, I don't let myself watch TV or movies during what should be work time....that, I fear, would be the point of no return.
3. Nursing homes are a lonely last stop. No matter if the staff is hardworking and cheerful, the activities well planned, the administrators' hearts big and brimming. When it comes right down to it, the old people do not want to be there. I wish I could say otherwise. I can't. 
4. Stress is a beast. Yes, sometimes it can work in your favor--like a shot of espresso to pump you up and help you complete something. But mostly it's bad, and jittery, and scary. Heavy to hold and daunting. A lot for your little heart to bear. Yet really, that's the outer monster of stress. Inside, it's just layers and layers of fear, feelings and tasks to peel back, face, handle. Then you can manage to smile along the way without gritting your teeth.  

Soft Landings

1. Nurses are knights in white cotton. They engage in hand-to-hand combat, but gracefully. They attend to catheters, hook up feeding tubes, insert IVs in tired veins, change the Depends. They lift and roll, transport and bathe. They nobly bring medicine in tiny white pleated cups. They preserve dignity, by helping someone brush his teeth, or comb his hair. They call an old man honey, or babe. They make him smile. He is so grateful when someone hears him, and pays attention to his wants and needs.
2. We're all in this together. Like yesterday, when I met a woman going up on the elevator at Mountainside Hospital and a man going down. I admired the woman's immaculate, snow-white fleece vest, the long pearls over the red shirt. You look pretty, I said. I like what you're wearing. Thank you, she said, with a smile. Except my hair. They left the toner on too long and it's orange. I told her I thought it looked pretty anyway, which it did. I didn't notice any orange tint. On the way down to the lobby later, I met a very nice man about a foot shorter than me. I hate this place, he said, but not bitterly. I've spent way too much time here. Turns out his dad was there, and later died, and now his mom was there. Life can really get ugly sometimes, I said with a sigh of resignation, as we dropped our badges in the basket. I dread the day my father dies. Yes, he said. It can get ugly and it DOES get ugly. We both laughed lightly. It's either laugh or cry, sink or swim as you carry on. I felt boosted up, knowing I'm not alone. We're all shouldering part of the burden, part of the sadness and regret. We are the witnesses, standing by and observing. Witnesses to the part of the journey that's rocky, unsteady, uncertain. To the part that is so much harder for an older person to navigate. Dad designed and tarred his own winding garden path, changed his own oil, cleaned his own gutters. But now--now--that's just a glimpse of what was.
3. Family makes a difference. Yes, your hand on your dad's shoulder while he waits 15 minutes on a stretcher in the hallway, your time by his bed [talking to him about President Jimmy Carter, who's on the TV], your parking on the street and walking to the hospital and getting a badge and going up the elevator matters. It all matters--Will's Saturday morning visits from NYC and black licorice deliveries; Sis and Don's dedicated Wednesday shifts, coming all the way from Connecticut; H. and Figgy popping in; Sug settling in for a nap with the Grandpa she loves; Punch stretching out on the bed beside him. It counts. Even [or especially] when you're tired, and pulled in a few different directions and worried about your responsibilities as a mom to the teen at home. It really does matter.
4. Even in Jersey, drivers can be nice. Someone pauses, waits and blinks their lights to signal after you instead of barreling by, so you can turn onto a busy road. Small gestures of kindness can make a big, big difference in your day.

Good night.