Just Around the River Bend

My mom used to close her eyes and whisper to herself, “choose your battles, Lynette.”  This was typically in reference to something my sister, Bailee, wanted to wear.  Bailee had an… eclectic… fashion sense and liked making serious statements with her clothes.  One time my mom came home from work to find Bailee dancing on the front porch in a ruffled bikini and yellow rubber rain boots.  Bailee also went through a phase where she literally refused to wear anything that wasn’t yellow.  Mom didn’t choose that battle.  She let Bailee wear yellow every single day for two years.

“Choose your battles…” when we wanted to “help” with a school project that was way over our heads.  “Choose your battles…” when someone would cause a scene in the grocery store because they were told, “no” after asking for junk food.  “Choose your battles…” when we wanted to watch cartoons in the living room instead of a grown up channel (even though we had our own television). 

   

There were a few battles mom did choose though…  no light up shoes, no shoes that Velcro and don’t tie, must wear matching outfits for Easter and Christmas, must have coordinating- homemade- Halloween costumes, no using the words “hate,” or “shut up” under any circumstance, and absolutely do not use God’s name in vain.  But one of the most constant battles she fought was clothing and other paraphernalia with cartoon characters on it.

I specifically remember having a drawer of “play clothes” that I could wear when I wanted to finger paint, or dig for worms in the back yard.  That entire drawer was made up of t shirts (mostly gifts from people unaware of my mother’s dislike) donning familiar faces from Rugrats, The Wild Thornberrys, and countless Disney movies.  Naturally, I looked for reasons to sport the clothes in that drawer every chance I got.  What kid doesn’t love a good tacky cartoon shirt!?  I had my favorite t shirts and cheap pajama sets that were only allowed on what I considered special occasions, but my all-time favorite cartoon piece was not an article of clothing, it was a plate.

We had a set of plastic plates, bowls, and cups, each featuring different Disney characters.  We also had a set of dishes that were an exact plastic replica of my mom’s expensive nautical china- so cute, right?  But given the choice, we always wanted those hideous, worn, over used, Disney plates.  My personal preference?  Pocahontas. 

Pocahontas wasn’t my favorite Disney princess by any means (Cinderella all the way), but the Pocahontas plate was the prettiest.  The plate featured Pocahontas looking off into the distance (probably gazing at a cool tree or something), with bright turquoise, pink and yellow leaves entangled in her perfectly wind-blown hair.  She looked brave, and strong.

My mom and Pocahontas have something in common.

One of the recurring conflicts Pocahontas faces is choosing the smooth, easier path (making a few personal sacrifices along the way), or taking the road less traveled (likely resulting in consequences or challenges).  Grandmother Willow insists, "listen to your heart," which is usually screaming, “don’t do that easy thing, do the other harder thing because it’s probably better anyway!”  Thanks, Grandmother Willow, but that’s inconvenient.

Recently, my mom found herself sitting at a fork in the river asking, “should I take the smoothest course?”  Her boat was pulling her towards the still, calm waters, but ultimately she paddled towards the rocks and rapids ahead.

Mom chose a great battle: her parents are moving in with her.

My grandparent’s health is declining.  My grandpa suffers from dementia, he forgets more every day, and he’s just weeks away from having his second knee replacement.  My grandma hasn’t been the same since her heart attack and stroke five years ago- her balance is all kinds of crazy, and she has very little use of her left arm/hand.  They’ve reached a point where they can no longer take care of each other, and it’s heartbreaking.

 

It was just over a year ago that Mammy and Papaw made the decision to down-size from their split level home that sat on a double lot with an in-ground pool and big, beautiful back yard to a small, charming condo.  The last 14 months were spent redecorating their cute new space and trying to get Papaw acclimated to his new, unfamiliar home.

Also just over a year ago, my mom got remarried (to Rob- a rock star of a man, I might add), moved from London to Canal Winchester and has spent the last year putting her personal touches on their home and learning to navigate a new city.

Now it’s time to leave behind all things familiar and settle in to a whole new “normal.”

A beautiful house in Grove City will be home to my grandparents, parents, sister and step brother (when they’re not away at college), my step sister (when she’s not away in Cambodia on missions trips), and Layla- the cat.

Growing up, my mom was a constant demonstration of selflessness.  She gave us the last bite, the bigger piece of cake, the better seat at the movie theater.  She took off work to make it to everything we did, she loved hosting all of our friends for school dances, she got up extra early to draw spirited doodles on our lunch bags for game days.  But in the last couple of years, I’ve seen her soften, relax, and handle her stress with care.   She’s enjoying her time away from school, sports, and theater committees.  She gets to enjoy my step dad’s company and she doesn’t have to take care of people.

But she’s chosen this new battle- and she’s going to be great.

Easy would have been finding an assisted living facility.  Easy would have been hiring someone to come to the condo once a day.  Easy would have been letting them try to live on their own for a bit longer.  Mom and Rob’s hearts are too big, so God’s called them to share their grace with two people who couldn’t deserve it more.

By the second week of September, everyone will be settled in Grove City- embracing sacrifice, establishing a new meaning of “home,” and wrapping each other in love.

Now we pray for each other.  We pray for softer hearts and open minds, patience and understanding, and for peace and harmony.  Because we’re about to find out just what’s around the river bend.

She is Patient. She is Kind.

I’ve inherited a lot of traits from my grandmother (thank you, Jesus).  She’s a rock star speller- thanks to her devotion to crossword puzzles, and I got first runner-up at the spelling bee in seventh grade.  She loves to shop, and well… it’s no secret that I’m in my element at the mall.  Her style is simple and classic and she carries it with her everywhere- even the golf course.  I’ve adopted the simplicity of her favorite looks- I’d choose a strand of pearls over extravagant diamonds any day.  We’re both perfectionists and we love to dream up a project and see it completed exactly the way we pictured it would be.

I’d love to be just like Mammy when I grow up (if I ever do), and although we have a lot in common, there are some aspects to her personality I have yet to master.  Mammy has a serious back bone.  I’m serious, don’t mess with her.  If Mammy thinks someone is ripping her off or treating her differently because of her age or because she’s a woman- buckle your seatbelt.  Don’t get me wrong, she’s not mean, she just demands respect- because she deserves it.  I’ll get there…

If I could be one thing that Mammy is, it’d be patient.  I pray for patience a lot, but you know how God teaches us patience?  He puts us in situations where we need to be patient when patience is the hardest thing.  Married to a man with dementia, Mammy is faced with those exact situations every single day.  And she chooses patience.

My husband and I were visiting my grandparents- we were all sitting in the living room snacking on literally anything Mammy could find in the kitchen to feed us- when my grandpa started laughing to himself.  Mammy asked him what was so funny.  He was cracking up- tears rolling down his cheeks!  Finally he said, “Remember we had that pet rabbit before the parrot?”  We all just looked at each other… there was once a parrot- a red and green Macaw named Jolly Bird- but I had never heard of pet rabbit.  

“We never had a rabbit, George,” my grandma said.  “Oh yes we did!” he retaliated.  Mammy rolled her eyes, “honey, no we didn’t.”  He was frustrated.  “Mary, yes we did.  It was a little white one and it’d hop around the living room, you must not remember.”

Oh, the irony.

And like a trained actress, Mammy said, “Oh yes, George!  You’re right!  We had a pet rabbit, I remember.”  She was so convincing that I believed her until she winked at me and mouthed the words, “we never had a rabbit.”

“Bingo!  Two points for George Burke!”  Papaw said.

He basked in the joy of being right and proving her wrong for several moments as he recalled very specific details about this rabbit.

In 2011, Mammy was raking leaves in her back yard when she felt some discomfort in her chest.  She thought nothing of it and finished the job.  When she came inside the pain had intensified and Papaw insisted she go to the hospital.  Within minutes of arriving to the hospital, she flat lined, was shocked back to life, and boarded a helicopter to be transported to Columbus.  At Mount Carmel, Mammy underwent quadruple bypass surgery, and just days later a blood clot caused a stroke. 

Mammy went from raking leaves, golfing everyday, shopping on her lunch break, and sewing her own pillows and curtains to not being able to use her left hand, having to learn to walk and talk again, and needing assistance for even the simplest tasks.  Her heart attacks, surgery, and stroke were the ultimate tests of patience… or so she thought.

 She is stubborn.  She should probably use a walker, but only uses a cane.  She insists on driving when it’s probably not safe for literally anyone.  I’ve walked in her house to find her standing on a ladder trying to hang a picture because she doesn’t want to have to ask for help.  Her persistence is admirable, of course, but it’s made taking care of her that much more of a challenge.  Enter Papaw.

When Mammy came home after months in a rehab facility, Papaw was so elated he cried.  He went out and bought all the best equipment to make getting around the house as easy as possible for Mammy, he told the family how ready he was to take care of her, he even stocked up on Diet Coke- her favorite. 

And take care of her, he did.  For a little while… until suddenly when Mammy needed particular things at the grocery store, he’d forget them, or she’d ask him to throw a load of laundry in only to find he’d put the clothes in the washer and never started it.  She was the one reminding him about doctor appointments and bills that were due… and before long, the tables were turned.

Not only did this woman have to come to terms with the fact that she would never physically be the same again, she had to take on the role of caretaker for a man literally losing his mind. 

But she is patient and she is kind.

I’ve seen Mammy cry and angrily ask why all of this has happened to her.  I’ve seen her get so frustrated she throws her arms in the air in defeat.  But I’ve also seen her hold my grandpa when he’s brought to tears because he can’t remember something.  I’ve watched her let young grandkids put their fingerprints on her windows even though it absolutely kills her inside.  I’ve seen her set mouse traps because my grandpa swears they have mice (seeing dark spots on the ground is a symptom of dementia).

The familiar text on love from Corinthians reads:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

Mammy is love.  Mammy is love every single day, even when it’s the hardest choice to make.  She is so much more than patient.  She is love.