A Celebration

Today we had a wonderful celebration for worship. It was Pentecost, so we celebrated the birth of the church and the coming of the Holy Spirit by recognizing our graduates, welcoming new members, sharing communion, and then eating cupcakes at a birthday party. It was fun. We had a big crowd, and I managed to keep the service from running too long....

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I thoroughly enjoyed leading worship today. The church is growing, and it's exciting. I'm glad to see one area of my life that is going well. It's great to see the way God is working in the congregation. Perhaps the highlight of my morning was when one of our men, who is on disability, asked if he could begin accompanying me on nursing home visits. He wants to get involved in that caring ministry. I'm delighted, and promised I would call him so he could go with me. It's wonderful to see someone seeking to explore their spiritual gifts and try new things.

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The Wrath of Mom

I am a very patient, even-tempered individual. I rarely get angry and yell. One of the things I tell Daughter repeatedly is that I don't yell at her, and I expect her to show me the same respect.

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A couple of weeks ago I found a coupon for reduced sugar cake mix and frosting. Since Daughter and I are both diabetics, I clipped it to save for an appropriate occasion. Tomorrow we're having a reception after church in celebration of Pentecost, new members, and graduates. I volunteered to make cupcakes, so when we went to the grocery store last Sunday, I purchased reduced sugar cake mix and frosting. I put them in the pantry and didn't think any more about it.

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Last night Daughter's blood sugar was very high before bed.

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"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

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"I wasn't into anything!"

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"I wonder why your blood sugar is so high...."

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"I don't know, but I wasn't into anything!"

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I began speculating on whether I had miscalculated the carbs in supper. I considered the possibility that her insulin pen had gotten too close to the computer and the heat had fried it. I made a mental note not to make nachos again, because even though I had weighed and measured, it was obviously bad for her blood sugars. This morning her blood sugar was still high. I asked her what she'd been into. She insisted she hadn't been into anything.

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We had to get up and moving early this morning so she could get her blood draw. I worried at breakfast about whether her insulin would cover the pancakes she was having. I knew the carbs on her breakfast, but if the insulin had gotten hot and gone bad, she was going to go very high. I was kicking myself for not getting out a new insulin pen before we left. By the time we went to the lab and IHOP, I'd lost most of the morning.

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We got home and I was sitting in the recliner working on my sermon when I checked my watch. We have a graduation open house this evening, so I was watching the time. "I need to go get those cupcakes in the oven for tomorrow."

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Daughter came in and sat down across from me. "There's something I need to tell you."

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I hate it when she says that. It's never good news.

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"I was into the frosting."

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Into it? She ate the entire can! That was why her blood sugar was so high last night and this morning. It's bad enough that she was into the frosting, but if she had told me the truth, I could have stopped at the store to get some more while we were in town.

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I was no longer a patient and even-tempered individual. I was furious. I yelled at her. I told her that if she had told me the truth last night or this morning, I wouldn't be taking 45 minutes out of my Saturday to run to town for another can of frosting (there are times when I hate living this far from civilization). I told her that if she'd been honest with me, I wouldn't have been questioning myself about carb calculations and insulin. I told her I couldn't believe I was so dumb I actually believed she was telling me the truth.

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We are back from town. I discovered I was short on cupcake liners, so I had to grease 4 of the cups. I took the top off some of them when I hit them on the rack above them when I took them out of the oven. Daughter wisely retreated to her room when we got home. I'm sure she's gone back to sleep. I'm trying to decide whether I'll be able to salvage enough of these cupcakes for the reception, or if I'm going to have to make another trip to town.

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Whatever my decision, Daughter would be very smart to stay as far away from me as she can for a while. We were just beginning to recover from last weekend, and now we're back to square one. Daughter has now heard my wrath. It doesn't happen very often, so it had a powerful impact on her. I wish I thought it would result in her getting her act together, but I'm not optimistic.

The Reason

This morning I took Daughter in for another blood draw for lithium and depakote levels. She can be a hard draw, and this morning she was especially challenging. I knew from the length of time she was in the lab that it wasn't going smoothly today. When she came out, she had huge bandages on her arm and hand. It had taken four attempts before they were able to get blood from her. I didn't have much sympathy. "If you hadn't stopped taking your medication, you wouldn't have needed to have blood drawn today."

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We went to IHOP for breakfast, and she voluntarily told me why she had stopped taking her medication. "I was stressed about Grandma and Grandpa, so I stopped taking it."

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"Hmm. How did that work for you?"

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"It made the stress worse and now I am dizzy and don't feel good because I had to start it all back up at once."

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Will she remember and learn from this? Maybe. Therapist regularly helps her think of good ways to deal with stress, but she still does things like OD on insulin.

I haven't told her that Grandpa is in the hospital again. He was moved out of ICU this morning, so it looks like he'll survive this one.

Another Never

A month ago I told Daughter she could never have contact with her birth family. We've added another never. Yesterday Therapist talked to Daughter about how every time she begins talking about living independently she does something to prove she can't live independently. Daughter readily acknowledged this. So, every time Daughter begins to talk about living independently now, we're going to tell her she can't do it. Ever. I'm no longer going to remind her of the things she needs to be able to do to live independently. I'm just going to tell her it isn't possible.

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I understand and agree with this. I also find myself exceedingly frustrated by this. It goes against everything I believe in. I believe in hope. I believe in growth. I believe in God's power to bring transformation in our lives. To tell Daughter never just feels wrong-- it feels like I'm giving up on her and cutting off possibilities.

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I want Daughter to have goals. I want her to continue to learn and master new things. I'm much more comfortable saying, "Not now." I don't like saying, "Never." Yet I am realistic, and I recognize that each time she sets out to prove she isn't ready to live independently, she does things that are dangerous. I'm also aware that each time it seems to be something more dangerous. Daughter is a very concrete thinker. For her, she either can live independently or she can't. She doesn't understand the concept of not now.

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I also need hope. I want to look forward to the empty nest, not life with a perpetual 8 year old. I want the freedom to make plans without having to make arrangements for Daughter. It's not easy, finding sitters for a 22 year old. I am very much aware of the fact that there are many who are judging the way I parent, and who think I'm too protective and that I'm holding her back.

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Daughter can present herself quite well. She can be very articulate. She can explain what she needs to do for her diabetes perfectly. Talking to her, you'd never know that she knows what she needs to do, and then she'll intentionally not provide appropriate care for her diabetes. She is a very convincing liar.

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I am going through another grieving process. Just as I grieve as Mom slowly slips away from us, I'm now grieving the loss of my hopes and dreams for Daughter. Grief is never easy....

Living Big

I buried a World War II veteran this morning. He was 90 years old. He was injured during the war. On his 5th trip across a minefield to retrieve soldiers, a landmine went off, killing the soldier he was helping and severely injuring him. He was told he would never walk again and would never be able to hold down a job. Eleven months later, he walked out of the hospital.

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As I listened to his family talk about him, I realized that he was a man who lived big. In addition to his farm here, he owned vacation homes up north and down south. He was also a talker. He could talk to anyone about anything. I would walk in to visit him and he was obviously exhausted or not feeling well. He'd light up when I walked in, and be disappointed when I told him I was leaving and he needed to rest.

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His wife died over 10 years ago. Not content to be alone, he fell in love and married again when he was over 80. He had 9 good years with his second wife, who was devastated by his death. He lived big, and didn't accept the limits of medical people or society. He could have more friends, more homes, more family.

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He was a good man. He was delighted when he told me he'd chosen me to do his funeral. I told him then I would be honored to do it. So I buried him today, and it was, indeed, an honor.

Saying No

I've said no twice today. Once was easy, once was hard. Daughter called as I was on my way to the funeral home. She wanted to know what I was doing. She thought maybe I could come pick her up, because she wasn't feeling good because of her medication. I informed her it wasn't her medication, it was the box she'd gotten herself into and she needed to make a plan to begin getting out of it. When she heard I was on my way to the funeral home and then the nursing home, she knew she'd have to ride the bus.

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I was visiting one of the saints at the nursing home when my cell phone rang the second time. It was Sister. She wanted me to come. Dad was being admitted to the hospital, Brother is out of town, and she was feeling overwhelmed. It was harder to tell her no. I explained I have a funeral tomorrow morning, and couldn't leave. I felt guilty. An ambulance took Dad to the hospital, and Sister made arrangements to go over to the hospital after she picked up Niece from daycare. They will be giving him blood. Apparently, he was on too much blood thinner, and so when he started having bleeding problems, he quickly became severely anemic. The visiting nurse sounded the alarm when she visited him today. I'm glad today was a day she was scheduled to see him.

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After I said no to Daughter and Sister, I stopped by the grocery store. In addition to the bananas and sausage we needed, I bought some chocolate. I decided I needed that. At some point, I'm going to have to make another trip up there. But not today. I have a funeral tomorrow. I'm not going to run out on a funeral.

A Hard Morning

Daughter is stuck on stupid right now, and I'm finding that I'm not dealing with it real well. She didn't complete any of her work yesterday. My work load has increased because of the extra supervision she needs and her refusal to do her work. This morning she made her breakfast, and I came in and asked her if she'd had her sausage (she needs them for the protein to even out her blood sugar until lunch). She said, quite perkily, "Yes, Ma'am!"

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"Will I find evidence?"

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"Okay, fine I didn't have my sausage."

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From there, it was downhill. She wanted me to make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. I informed her she could make her own lunch, since she seemed incapable of carrying her work and I was tired of doing everything for her. She began spreading the peanut butter without measuring it out. All of her food has to be measured so that we know the carb content and can figure the appropriate amount of insulin to cover her meal. I reminded her she needed to measure it. She got out the 1/8th cup measuring cup and began moving in slow motion. She hadn't gotten up when I first called her, so she was already running late. Looking at the clock, I saw that the bus was due, so I took over the sandwich making.

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I told her I loved her and she needed to get her act together and turn things around. She informed me I was a b***** and flipped me off on her way out the door.

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I am so tired of the lying. I am tired of her telling me she has completed a task when she hasn't. I'm tired of having to go behind her and double check everything she does. I'm tired of her blaming me when she hasn't done her work properly. I hope she manages to turn it around today.

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On another front, once again Mom did not receive appropriate care this morning. The incompetence of her caregivers is unreal. We had hoped she would be able to stay where she is until she died. Now we think we need to get her moved ASAP. I suspect that whole mess may be contributing to my lack of patience with Daughter, and I certainly don't have any patience for her right now. This latest round all began Friday when she admitted she'd been lying to me and pretending to take her medication while she was really throwing it away. She wanted me to put her in the hospital then. I refused. I suspect she is punishing me for my refusal.

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For now, I need to finalize a funeral, visit a family, and go to the nursing home.

The Relationship between Noise and Effectiveness

Daughter came home and decided maybe she should do some chores that she's been refusing to do. Daughter can be very dramatic, and when she's feeling put upon by my unreasonable insistence that she do some work, she likes to show how much she is suffering by producing sound effects. She decided she would dust and vacuum in the living room.

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With much grunting and groaning, she managed to empty the vacuum cleaner, put it back together, and plug it in. I have discovered there is an inverse relationship between the level of noise she makes while working and the effectiveness of her work. After she spent 10 minutes getting the vacuum cleaner ready to use, she ran it for maybe 20 seconds. I very unreasonably pointed out that wasn't adequate. I also think that one should put the vacuum cleaner away when one is done with it, but then I'm just so unreasonable....

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She also decided she would finish the bathroom she was supposed to clean on Saturday. She told me she was done, but I pointed out she couldn't have done the floor, as she didn't take any cleaning supplies upstairs. She went back upstairs, and then came down and claimed she'd finished it. Being the unreasonable perfectionist that I am, I rejected her work since there was still toothpaste on the counter and blood on the floor. I'm just unreasonable that way.

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When she hasn't been dramatically showing me how hard she is working or telling me how unreasonable I am and how I'm ruining her life, she's been sleeping. I suspect she was fine at the workshop, as I didn't get any phone calls, and if she'd been holding onto walls to stay on her feet and falling asleep whenever she sat down, they'd have called me. I made her an appointment with Therapist for Thursday. She's currently sleeping on the steps. I just heard her grunting and groaning, so I suspect I'm about to hear again how unreasonable I am and how it's all my fault she's in this situation.

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Until she gets some work done, I have custody of her cell phone. She has now accumulated 8 voice mails. She has heard the phone ringing, and every so often I tell her who is calling and how many voice mails she's collected. She's pretty deep in her box, because she's told me I should turn the cell phone off since she won't be getting it back. Have I mentioned how unreasonable I am?

At Least the Mania Is Gone

Daughter spent much of yesterday sleeping. I think that she's still adjusting to the medication to some degree, but I think she is also depressed. She did fine yesterday when we walked to the services for Memorial Day. She was standing and walking for over an hour. Now on the way home there were some sighs, but overall she managed without any drama. Once she got home, though, she was very helpless. She was having difficulty walking and staying awake. Being the heartless individual I am, I ignored the drama.

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I have reminded her that she's getting herself deeper in her box, but right now she doesn't care. Last night she informed me she wasn't going to the workshop today. She went. I haven't heard anything, so hopefully once she got there she perked up and began to engage with people instead of sleeping and moping. If nothing else, it has given me a break.

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The depression is hard on her, but in many ways, it's easier on me than the mania. As long as I ignore her, she is quiet and leaves me alone. She isn't verbally abusive or raging. I hope that the day at the workshop will shift her focus and begin to lift her out of the depression. I will call Therapist and see if she can see Daughter this week. But for now, I'm going to be glad that she's no longer manic.

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I met with a family today about a funeral. I have to run to City this afternoon to visit a woman with a broken hip. I fielded phone calls from Sister and Brother. Aide held Mom's nose today in an attempt to get her to swallow. Nurse is livid. She's stopping all medication and making it clear that they are to stop trying to force Mom to eat. Brother is taking Dad to the doctor with bleeding. He may be admitted to the hospital.

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I haven't told Daughter the latest, though she probably knows. I'm not in the mood to comfort her, and I don't want to deal with anymore acting out. Brother and Sister are dealing with Mom and Dad. The workshop is dealing with Daughter. I'm going to deal with ministry.

Grieving, Again

Just when I think I'm through grieving Mom, something else comes up and it starts all over again. Quite to the distress of the staff at the cottage, Mom is having increasing difficulties eating. Before Easter, a swallow evaluation was done and we were told that she shouldn't be eating anything because of the risk of aspiration. Since Mom didn't want a feeding tube, we said that she could eat as she desired, but we didn't want food forced on her. We called in hospice.

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So she's been eating some. She's been losing weight, but until the last couple of weeks, it was gradual. Now, she's showing less interest in food. They are going through all kinds of contortions trying to get some nutrition in her-- they offer her food chopped up finely, pureed foods, yogurt, ice cream, ensure, anything that will entice her to eat. When she does take a bite, she often has difficulty swallowing it, and just holds it in her mouth. They have been spending as long as 2 1/2 hours at each meal trying to get food into her.

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Sister keeps telling them this isn't necessary, and they only have to offer food. If she doesn't want any, that's fine, don't force it. They just aren't comfortable with that. Today, Sister heard from the aide that she got Mom to take some ensure, but then she held it in her mouth so long she had tears in her eyes. She was unwilling/unable to either swallow it or spit it out. Sister called the hospice nurse on call. She is going to call and clarify again-- they are to keep Mom comfortable, and that doesn't involve forcing her to eat.

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I also received a call from the funeral home yesterday. The man I visited in the hospital yesterday afternoon, who seemed better, and was alert, coherent, and eating, died at 4:00 this morning. I wasn't particularly close to this man, and don't really know his family, but it still hit me hard. It hit me hard because soon, I know, that phone call will be coming about my parents. Dad is still out of the hospital, but he is getting weaker. He is more confused. Mom's death will hit him hard, and we don't anticipate him living long following it. We are moving him to assisted living on June 1. If Mom is still alive, she will move with him. We don't anticipate her being alive, but then, we can't predict life and death. I keep reminding myself of that fact. The call from the funeral home served as a reminder of our inability to predict life and death. We live one day at a time, and each time Mom moves closer to death, we grieve a little more.

Heartless

Daughter is on some pretty heavy duty medications. When she is taking them regularly, she doesn't have any problems with drowsiness or side effects. Since she had not been taking them regularly and has started back up on them all at once, she isn't feeling very well. I don't have much sympathy for her. By the time she goes back to the workshop on Tuesday, she should have adjusted and be feeling better, but for now, she's dizzy and drowsy.

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This morning she came downstairs and told me she couldn't eat because her stomach was bothering her. I didn't offer any sympathy, so she went back to bed. I went upstairs and told her she needed to get up and get in the shower. She came into the bathroom holding onto things and being exceedingly dramatic about her dizziness. I told her if she was having trouble standing, she could take a bath instead of a shower.

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Whenever I wasn't watching, she was maneuvering just fine, so I wasn't overly concerned. When we got over to worship, I noticed she sat through the second hymn. Part way through my sermon she headed to the bathroom, and the woman she was sitting with followed her. I knew she was getting lots of sympathy, and I wasn't real thrilled about that.

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During the offering, I stuck my head in the women's restroom. Daughter was laying down with a cool paper towel on her forehead. M assured me she was fine, just dizzy. I asked her if Daughter had told her why she was dizzy. She looked surprised. I told her why she was dizzy, and then I left to finish the worship service.

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This afternoon I dragged poor, suffering, Daughter with me to town. We had lunch at a fast food place she doesn't like. She asked me if I could figure out a small chocolate shake for her. I told her that before she started asking me for favors, I thought it would be a good idea to start making amends.

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I dragged her to 2 hospitals where she waited in the lobby while I went up to do visits. I ran into some of the saints at the one hospital, who were quite concerned about Daughter. I told them not to offer her any sympathy, it was her own doing. I am heartless. After the hospitals, I dragged her through the grocery store. She asked for special treats. I reminded her that she needed to make amends first.

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We didn't get home until 4:00, and after she unloaded the car and put away the groceries, she went to bed. I woke her up for a late supper. I think she's beginning to feel a bit better, but I'm not going to ask. She brought this on herself, and she won't get any sympathy from me. While she's sleeping, her work is piling up. It will be waiting for her tomorrow. We're going to walk to the Memorial Day service tomorrow. It's about half a mile from here. I'm sure she'll be quite dramatic, but she can walk fine when she wants to, so she'll just have to walk fine tomorrow morning. I'm heartless.

Patience vs. Endurance

As a result of a podcast I listened to this morning, I find myself contemplating the difference between patience and endurance. Through 19 years of parenting a special needs child, I have become a very patient individual. As a result of yesterday's discovery, though, I feel that I have moved from patience with Daughter to endurance. What is the difference? Right now, I don't have hope. In the past, I was patient because she was learning, and I could nurture and teach.

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Today, I feel like she will never learn. I feel like I am sentenced to a life tethered to this young woman who will never be able to live independently and will never be trustworthy. Today I feel like she will continue to find new ways to lie and sneak. Today I feel like eventually the time will come when I won't be able to keep her safe, and she will die. Today, I feel like my task is to endure. To endure her mood swings and irrationality. To endure her verbal abuse.

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Part of me protests: I shouldn't have to put up with this! Where are my rights? But then reality hits me. She is no more capable of living independently than my 4 year old niece. The waiting list for supported living is long. You see, supported living is funded by medicaid. When the government runs into budget problems they cut medicaid. I love her. I have dedicated the last 19 years of my life to her needs and her safety. That's not something I can quit. So, for today, I endure.

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Maybe tomorrow I will find hope again, and can be patient again. But for today, I endure.

Self Sabotage

Wednesday morning I took Daughter to the lab to have blood drawn for lithium and depakote levels. This morning, I received a call from the nurse at the psychiatrist's office. Daughter didn't have any lithium or depakote in her blood. I was asked if I was sure she was taking her pills. I was fairly sure. She told me she was. I thought she was.

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She wasn't. Her pills are now in the little red pouch I carry around with her insulin and the keys to all medication. She will now have to take her pills in front of me. She will have to show me that her mouth is empty after she takes them. She is now one step further away from the independence she claims she wants. In another week, I will take her in for another blood draw.

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I've told her to stay away from me right now. Right now, I don't want her near me. She retreated upstairs, telling me, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just want to hurt myself."

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I'll provide the increased supervision. I fear, though, that all it will accomplish is to teach her once again to become sneakier. I may win the battle, but we both lose the war.

Nightmares

Daughter was very much on edge yesterday. She was irritable, then depressed. She alternated between yelling at me to never speak to her again and sleeping on the couch. She refused to do any of her chores, or even eat fajitas with me for supper.

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At bedtime, she came into the TV room and announced that she couldn't find the charger for her cell phone, which was dead. She informed me that since her cell phone was dead, she was going to have to sleep in my room because she wouldn't have a clock in her room.

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"Where's your alarm clock?"

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"In the guest room."

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"Go get it and I'll set it for you so you'll have a clock in your bedroom."

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I heard her rummaging around in the guest room with a sinking feeling. We keep that room closed to keep the cats out, and apparently she had once again cleaned her room by dumping anything she didn't know what to do with in the guest room.

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"I can't find it. I'm sleeping in your room."

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I was slightly puzzled that after spending all afternoon and evening being ugly to me and pushing me away, she now wanted to sleep in my bedroom. I also wasn't thrilled. I was to the point that I really didn't want her near me, but I didn't object.

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I walked into my bedroom to do something, and she had all the lights on. She was in my recliner, which was pushed too close to the wall to recline completely.

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"You aren't going to be able to sleep like that. Go get in your bed and I'll wake you up in the morning."

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"I can't sleep in my bed."

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"Why can't you?"

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"Because of the nightmares."

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"What are the nightmares about."

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"I keep dreaming about J (birth brother) searching for me and finding me."

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"Do you want him to find you?"

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"No."

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"Did you tell Therapist about this?" (She saw her therapist yesterday afternoon).

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"No. I was too afraid to tell her."

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"You do a very good job of keeping yourself safe, and if J were to show up, I know you'd be able to handle it."

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She slept in my recliner all night in what looked to me like a very uncomfortable position. She was up with the alarm this morning for the first time in quite a while, and was very pleasant and cooperative.

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A couple of weeks ago she had insisted she needed to see J. I pointed out that she had sent him 2 letters 2 years ago, and he hadn't respected her enough to respond to either one. Being an adopted child isn't easy. I think she will always be haunted by her birth family. Her attitude is different than it was a month ago, but the pain hasn't vanished, just transformed into fear.

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I wonder how long she'll be sleeping in my recliner this time around....

A Progressive in a Conservative Community

I live in a very conservative community. Very conservative. I am not conservative. A few people have figured that out, but not too many. I'm here to minister to the people, not promote my brand of politics. The election last year was hard on me. When I once again received the email about how Obama was a Muslim and thus could not be president, I wrote back to the young man and encouraged him to campaign for McCain, but to do it on the basis of McCain's experience and politics, not on the basis of a story that had been discredited repeatedly. (I sent him all the links proving the story wrong, and encouraged him to do his own research). The young man never responded, and vanished from worship for a couple of months.

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I was once criticized because I forgot to pray for our troops. That is a normal part of the prayers of the people, but that Sunday I forgot. I was told I was anti-military (anti-American) and didn't support our troops. I pointed out that my brother and father were both veterans. I was told that it was shameful that I was anti-military with those family connections, but I obviously was. I apologized and explained that I had overlooked it several times, but my words were ignored.

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I have been told that worship close to Memorial Day and Veterans Day should celebrate the military. I offered to help plan services in honor of those holidays for other times, but refused to make that the entire focus of Sunday morning worship. I always talk to the children about those days and include it in the prayers of the people, but I am a lectionary preacher who believes (foolishly, according to my critics) that the focus of worship should be God. I was told my insistence on focusing worship on God those Sundays was going to result in the loss of members.

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Another time I was criticized when I prayed for peace between the Israelis and Palestinians. I was told that God hated the Arabs, and I should not be praying for them. I pointed out that was news to me, and that my understanding was that God had created them and they were God's children, too.

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Today we scrambled in the office, trying to find someone who could tell us about the community service for Memorial Day. I wanted to put an announcement in the bulletin, but the organizers hadn't provided us with the information and weren't returning phone calls (the mother of the organizer finally gave us enough info to have something in the bulletin). The irony was that I knew that if we didn't have anything in the bulletin, the organizer of the event would be exceedingly critical, even though it was his responsibility to get us the information, and he didn't. (I wish I hadn't slept through the class on mind reading at seminary).

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I write all of this as introduction to the real story: Some months ago, I was asked to write an inspirational column for a weekly regional agricultural newspaper. My column was to appear the week of Memorial Day. I approached the task with much fear and trepidation. How could I write something that recognized Memorial Day and didn't compromise my beliefs? It really felt like a no-win situation for me. I finally sent in an article which I called "Prayers in a Time of War." I suggested we need to pray for our leaders, our troops, their families, oh, and our enemies. I sent it to my brother the vet, to make sure that I wasn't coming across as anti-military or anti-American. With his reassurances, I sent the column in, along with another column about facing the challenges in the economy with faith in God. I told the editor I wasn't sure when he would be recognizing Memorial Day, so he could use whichever one was most appropriate.

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I received an email from him telling me he was going to use the Memorial Day column and print it this week, rearranging the schedule to accommodate it. He had forgotten that Memorial Day was early this year. He asked for permission to save the other column for emergency use. I agreed. Today, I received a copy of the newspaper. There, at the bottom of page three, over my smiling face, is the column I wrote, complete with a new headline: "Pray for Our Enemies, Too!" Sigh.

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It won't matter to some people that I talked about supporting our troops and their families or the tremendous stress they are under. The sympathy and support, my admonition to pray for and thank our soldiers and veterans will be forgotten. It won't matter that I quoted Jesus' instruction to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. All that will matter, all that will be remembered, is the headline. It will be offered as proof that I am anti-American. Some days I just can't win.

Decisions

In less than 2 weeks, Mom has lost 7 lbs. Sister was talking about how well she ate on Sunday: several bites of cake, and one bite of each of the other items on her plate. If that's eating well, the weight loss is easy to understand. My sisters were speculating on how long she could last while losing weight at this rate. I reminded them we can't predict life and death. We didn't think she'd live until Easter, and she's still with us.

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Dad went home to his apartment from rehab one week ago today. He still has his live-in aide, which was just going to be for a week. He's keeping her for "just one more week," because he thinks she's good with Mom, and she goes over to the cottage twice a day to feed her and care for her. In the week he's been home, he's gained over 6 lbs of fluid. He's given his live-in aide the password for his bank accounts (Far Away Sister quickly changed them again). He's had Brother withdraw $800 through the ATM. (We've explained to Brother several times that Dad can't have that kind of cash around the apartment, and doesn't need it, but Brother doesn't listen-- we can track less than $200 of that money.) He gets short of breath if he stands for any length of time. He sleeps much of the day, and can't remember that he's eaten, so every time he wakes up he thinks it's time to eat again. His confusion grows with each passing day.

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Last night I had a long conversation with my sisters. We know it's time to move him to someplace where he can receive a higher level of care. If Mom is still with us, we'll probably move her, as well. It's very hard on him to visit her, but we suspect it would be very difficult for him to move some place where he couldn't visit her. It would also be too hard on Brother and Sister to have them in two separate facilities.

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I'm struggling with a desire to rush up there and try to fix everything and the knowledge that I'm going to have to choose carefully when I go and help. Far Away Sister has done some preliminary screening of possible facilities, and Sister is off Friday, so she intends to go check them out. Brother will not be happy, because they are closer to Sister than they are to him, but the service Far Away Sister used couldn't locate options close to him. Sister has said she'll want help from me with closing out the apartment.

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I don't look forward to any of it. The apartment is small, but we're going to have to make some difficult decisions about some of their things. There is some potential for some conflict. I'm in the process of registering for summer continuing ed events, and find myself wondering if I'll be able to attend them. I also know that we can't predict life and death, and they've both surprised us many times before. They could continue a long, slow decline indefinitely. Mom now weighs 98 lbs, but for much of her adult life, that was her normal weight. So while she's lost a significant amount of weight, she's not emaciated-- yet.

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I think that in many ways, our thinking that death is imminent is wishful thinking. It is very hard, watching this slow decline. Mom is becoming less responsive. While communication has been hard for some time, when we were up there in February, she'd clap her hands and give us huge hugs when we arrived. She could still lay a guilt trip on us as she clung to us and cried. Even in March, it was obvious that she knew us and we could interact some. Now, she doesn't respond much to family members. Sister thinks she still recognizes them, she just isn't able/willing to interact much.

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Sister has convinced me to make the trip up for Niece's recital on June 17. Of course, when I agreed, I thought I could go up, watch Niece dance, and be home that same evening. I figured that since Niece is only 4, her class would be among the first to dance. Now I hear that Sister has gotten us front row seats for the 3 hour long recital. I'm not thrilled about the idea of heading home at 9:30 or 10:00 at night-- we wouldn't be home until 1:00 or so.

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This is just such a hard process. Fortunately, Dad seems to recognize that he needs more care than the live-in aide can provide. I think he will go willingly to the facility that we select for him. He has seen all of his daughters step up and be strong advocates for both of our parents. About a year ago we moved him out of a nursing home just a couple of days after he went there for rehab. They weren't taking care of his diabetes, and so I went in and informed him that he was being moved that day. He sat their grinning as I ordered the staff around and made arrangements for him to move.

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We know that their death will bring healing for both of them. We just don't know how much longer they are going to have to suffer, or how much more of their dignity age will steal from them. Daughter was lamenting how unfair it is for them to have to go through this last night. She thinks assisted suicide is a good idea. We put pets to sleep so they won't suffer, why not grandparents? That's her reasoning, anyway. I explained (again) that their life and death are in God's hands. There are times, though, when I understand her perspective. I'm grateful that both of my parents have given us clear instructions, and that we know that they are both ready to meet their God.

The Desk and the Concert

Here is a picture of the desk Daughter cleaned off for me on Saturday. Notice that it's Monday, and it still is clean. I'm posting it so that there will be evidence that it was once cleaned. Notice the cat bed in the window behind me. I haven't opened that window, so Cat and Kitten are off snoozing in windows that are open.

Daughter is nothing if not predictable. We went through our usual concert routine. She didn't want to go; she didn't feel well. As we left, I asked her if she thought we could make it throug intermission this time without her asking to go home. She wasn't pleased with my request.

We were pleasantly surprised to find that the director of the concert venue didn't come out and do his usual 10 minute speech. Daughter was mesmerized as soon as the music began. The music was upbeat, and she was dancing in her seat. (I felt bad for the gentleman on the other side of her). There was a vocalist who closed out her set with one of Daughter's favorite songs. Then we approached the reason I bought the tickets (which were not part of the Community Concert Series we subscribe to)-- Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue with piano and orchestra. As they were moving the piano into place, I saw people moving 4-5 rows in front of us. Some of the saints were sitting in that row, and I was concerned that one of them might be sick. Someone was sick, but it wasn't anyone I knew. Unfortunately, she was sitting in the center of the row. All the people to the left of her stepped out of the row, and ushers began scurrying in and out of the row.

As the music began, the excitement continued. People all around me were speculating about who was sick and what was wrong. They finally got the poor woman out of there, but people were still whispering. Soon, it didn't matter. The music was so awesome I wasn't aware of what was going on around me. With the last notes, the audience was on their feet and the pianist did two encores before the intermission.

Daughter didn't ask to leave during intermission, but she did punish me following it. She began putting her head on my shoulder, and pressing down hard. She was mad because I refused to put my arm around her. She'd sit there with her head against me, pouting, and then the music would captivate her and she'd begin moving again. I finally whispered for her to cut it out. She did, and we left before the encore so we could get home. I did have to finish my sermon, after all.

I'm still trying to decide whether I'm going to purchase tickets for next year's community concerts. I don't know how much longer we'll be here. This year we missed a couple of the concerts. One because I forgot, the other because I had a meeting at the same time. When I think of how much I enjoy them, I will probably order the tickets. They're always worth the hassle Daughter gives me.

An Interview with Mom Priest

I've joined the RevGalBlogPals webring, and was invited to answer the following interview questions. Hopefully the rest of you will find it somewhat interesting, as well.

1. Where do you blog?
I blog at Ministry and Parenting. I'm usually at the desk in my study at home or the dining room table-- whichever flat surface has room for the computer....
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2. What are your favorite non-revgal blog pal blogs?
My fellow adoptive parents of special needs kids friends-- check out my blog roll. Also, unclutterer and cakewrecks.
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3. What gives you joy?
Waking up in my tent to the sounds of early morning at a campground.
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4. What is your favorite sound?
The windchimes on my front porch-- the sound of summer.
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5. What do you hope to hear once you enter the pearly gates?
Well done, good and faithful servant.
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6. You have up to 15 words, what would you put on your tombstone?
She made a difference.
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7. Write the first sentence of your own great American novel.
It was a good thing she didn't know what she was getting into when she agreed to do it.
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8. What color do you prefer your pen?
Blue gel pen.
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9. What magazines do you subscribe too?
Christian Century, Leadership, Guideposts
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10. What is something you want to achieve in this decade?
The decade is almost over, but before it is I'd like to move to a new ministry in an area with more opportunities for Daughter.
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11. Why are you cool?
Who said I'm cool? According to my daughter and youngest siblings, I'm an old fuddy duddy.
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12. What is one of your favorite memories?
The first time my daughter came up behind me when I was at my desk and put her arms around me (it was several years into the foster-adopt process).
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13. Anything else you've always wanted to be asked?
Not that I can think of right now, but then, it is a Monday. I only have half a brain on Mondays.

The Good Part about Being Slightly Manic

Daughter has had an interesting few days. There have been some very challenging ones, but there have also been some good things. This morning she woke up and announced she was going to clean my study. I immediately volunteered to work with her. It was in desperate need of a good cleaning and I hadn't been able to work at my desk in a couple of months. The thought of working together on it was very appealing. Nope. She wanted to do it alone. She'd sort the papers into piles, and then I could deal with them.

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I was upstairs on the computer, and heard her singing. I figured she was in her bedroom and had forgotten about my study. Wrong! I came downstairs, and not only did she have the very large desk surface empty, she had the glass top off and was cleaning under it! I am now on the computer at my clean desk! I still have a few more things to sort through, but I've even done most of the sorting! She found some important papers that had gone missing along the way. I'm very impressed.

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Tonight we are going to a concert. Part of what motivated her to clear off my desk was that I wasn't sure what had happened to the tickets. We found them. I'm once again resolving (for the 1,278,432nd time) to be more organized and not let papers pile up on my desk.

Finding Answers

Daughter has had a rough few days. Tuesday she called me in hysterics from the workshop, insisting I come and pick her up immediately. She claimed she was being harassed again. I had her take some deep breaths, wash her face, and told her to listen to the Christian music on her ipod on the bus ride home.

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When she got home and told me the story, I told her it wasn't harassment, but teasing, and she needed to develop a thicker skin. She had another play date after supper. I was on the phone, so wasn't out there to referee. They hadn't been here long before she burst into the house screaming and insisted I send the boys home immediately. They were getting on her nerves. She then took off, saying she was going for a walk, but was back in the house almost immediately. I told her she needed to go for a walk to work out some of her adrenaline.

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I asked her if her period had started, and she said, "No, but it must be due, because I'm so emotional." Wednesday night she was irritable again. I don't even remember what the issues were. I decided that maybe it was because it was the night we change the catapres patch she wears, which is supposed to slow the adrenaline from her PTSD.

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Today she's still irritable, and she seems to be hearing voices again. Now I suspect she is manic again. I have an order for another Depakote level for her, but of course I can't find it right now.... If I don't find it this evening I'll call and ask them to fax one directly to the lab, and we'll get it drawn on Saturday morning.

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Even with all of this, she's still much better than she has been some years in May. This is often the time of year I'm wondering how much longer I'll be able to manage her at home. This year, I'm just seeking to find the answers that will help her maintain a more even keel. I am confident that someday we will find the proper mix of medication, and Daughter will learn how to cope with her remaining symptoms.

A Belly Laugh

Daughter had an appointment in Big City over 100 miles from here this afternoon. As we were coming home, I got a report from Sister about Mom. There was a mix-up today, and the Aide didn't get over to assisted living to get her up and feed her breakfast until 10:00. Daughter heard me talking and was furious.

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"That person needs to be replaced! They could find her dead in her bed!"

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"From sleeping in until 10:00?"

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"Without any food? Yes! She could have died!"

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"How many Saturdays have you stayed in bed until after 10:00 with no food?"

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"But Mom, that's on Saturday! Today's Wednesday!"

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I burst out laughing. "Wednesdays are different from Saturdays?"

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Fortunately, Daughter was in a good mood and able to laugh at herself. We spent the next several minutes laughing. I thanked her, telling I hadn't laughed that hard in years! Even now, I smile at the memory....

Being Environmentally Responsible

I have 2 plastic baskets sitting on my kitchen counter: one with clean washcloths and rags and one for the dirty ones. I have them right where the paper towels were at one time. I decided that paper towels were expensive and not good for the environment. So, we've stopped using them (for the most part).

As I was fixing supper last night, I then began to consider the contradictions in my life. I've stopped using paper towels and purchased reusable grocery bags. But I still use lots of resealable plastic bags and use deli sheets of wax paper to cover food in the microwave. I still put foil or parchment paper on cookie sheets when I use them.

Giving up paper towels was relatively easy. We're still trying to remember to take our grocery bags into the store with us. We use reusable water bottles. We recycle plastic, metal, paper, and cardboard. We do all of those things. I'm not sure I'm willing to give up resealable plastic bags or my deli sheets of wax paper yet. I am to the point that I feel very guilty, though, when I use them. Our box of deli paper is running low. I don't know if I'll be able to bring myself to buy another one....

Duh....

This morning Coordinator returned my calls from Friday about staffing to take Daughter to Special Olympics on Saturday-- a little bit late, to say the least. Anyway, I told her that the staff person had not been up to speed on Daughter's diabetes, and that Daughter had guessed rather than calculate her carbs, which led to high blood sugars.

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The woman had signed off on having read Daughter's plan, so she should have had all the information she needed. Coordinator was not pleased, and will be following up on this. The amusing part, though, was her question to me, "Will Daughter take advantage of new staff and manipulate them?" I refrained from all the comments I could have made and simply said, "Yes."

Mother's Day

I know Mother's Day is hard for many adopted kids, but it generally hasn't been a problem for Daughter. This year was an enormous exception.

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Daughter came home last night from Special Olympics and continued her lying ways. Her blood sugar was running high, so I knew immediately that she hadn't calculated her insulin correctly at lunch time. I asked if maybe she'd guessed on the carbs. She became belligerent, of course. She ended up slamming things around and retreating to her room. She refused to help fill pill boxes or cooperate in any way.

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She also refused to take a shower or eat a snack yesterday evening. She did at least take her pills and her long acting insulin. I went to bed exhausted, and woke up vomiting in the middle of the night. I'm not allowed to be sick on Sunday's, so I was very relieved when I woke up feeling okay this morning. I decided I wasn't going to wake Daughter up this morning. I was tired of being yelled at for speaking to her. I didn't want to hear one more time about how I'm destroying her life. I was rather noisy, though, so she got up on her own. She came into the bathroom and slammed a gift bag on the counter, "Happy Mother's Day."

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I will admit I wasn't in the best of moods, but I quite politely said, "No, thank you."

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She was shocked, to say the least. I simply told her I wanted the truth more than anything else. She stormed back to her room. After much throwing, stomping, and yelling, she finally came down and told me the truth. I thanked her for telling me the truth and asked her what she'd learned. She came clean about ordering the pizza, refusing to work Friday, and about guessing on her carbs yesterday instead of looking them up. Of course, part of the fault lies with the staff member who had not received training on managing Daughter's diabetes. If the coordinator ever responds to my voice messages, we'll have to talk about that.

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I accepted her gift: a votive candle with a cross and a CD of classical music. She has worked hard at making amends today, and has completed all the chores she refused to do the two days she spent pouting. I pointed out to her that every time she talks about moving out on her own, she does something like this to prove she can't handle it. Today, she recognizes that. Tomorrow, she may not remember any of it and may be back to accusing me of destroying her life.

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She has spent the last 90 minutes filling her pill boxes. I'm supervising, but she's doing the work. Last night I filled mine for the month and filled today's for her. She now swears up and down that she'll never refuse to help me fill the pill boxes again. When the pill boxes are done, I'll give her back her cell phone. That was what finally prompted her to tell the truth-- she wanted her cell phone back. I'll have to remember that the cell phone is the best motivator I've yet to find.

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Daughter and I recorded greetings in a card for Mom for Mother's Day. It's impossible to buy her anything because she doesn't have room, and isn't able to do anything anymore. Sister, Niece, Dad and Brother visited her yesterday. She knew them, but was withdrawn and wouldn't engage them. Sister thought she recognized our voices on the card.

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Sister and Niece went back over today. Mom couldn't stay awake, and hadn't eaten much for lunch or breakfast. She hasn't had any urine output today. We suspect that she's dehydrated. Since she is on hospice, if they can't get her to drink, she won't be with us much longer. We've already ruled out IV's and a feeding tube.

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It has not been one of my better Mother's Days....

Wind Swept

I am so glad I had an excuse not to go sit in the bleachers at the college where the area track meet is taking place. We have been under a wind advisory all day. The wind is 30 mph with gusts to 45 mph. The committal at the cemetery was challenging, as there was nothing to break the wind. I had the service carefully placed in a notebook and held on tight.

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A stranger showed up at 7:00 this morning to take Daughter to the track meet. The supervisor who does the scheduling never returned my calls. The Special Olympics coordinator made some calls, and someone found a note in one of the group homes to the staff member who was taking one of their residents telling her she needed to take Daughter, as well. I didn't know if she was picking her up or I was taking her, but fortunately, she showed up before I left to take Daughter to the bus. I asked her if she knew how to handle Daughter's insulin, and she didn't know what I was talking about. I gave her the pouch with the insulin pen and supplies, wrote out the scale, and told her to call me if she has any questions. I think I need to have a conversation with the supervisor next week.

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From our phone conversations, Daughter is doing well. She won a gold medal in the soft ball throw and silver in the 100 meter dash. I'm so glad I'm not sitting in those bleachers.

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I'm also very glad that the family decided not to have the entire service at the cemetery today. For a while I lived on the shores of Lake Michigan in an area notorious for strong winds. This flat farmland has much more wind.

Lying

I think lying is the RAD residue I hate most. Daughter is such an accomplished liar that I can't tell when she is lying. It makes it impossible to believe anything she tells me.

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I had a call from Case Manager this afternoon.

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Yesterday Daughter ordered a large pizza in for lunch for all her friends. I have no idea where she got the money. She told staff she was celebrating. She took lunch in with her, but apparently threw it away and ate the pizza.

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There hasn't been any work in at the workshop. The only work Daughter has had has been cleaning an apartment building one hour a week. She told staff she didn't want to go today, and that she didn't need the money because she had a job outside of the workshop that was paying her lots of money.

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When she got home I asked her how the cleaning had gone today. She said it had gone well, and she'd done bathrooms and floors today.

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She's been pouting since she got home. I asked if there was anything she wanted to tell me, and she insists there isn't. She suspects, though, that I know something. She will continue to deny everything, of course. Case Manager asked that I not tell Daughter what I know.

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I have not been able to find out anything about someone to take her to the area track meet tomorrow. Right now, I don't want to be around her, so I want her to go to that track meet without me. If there isn't someone to take her, I then will have to talk to the coach and figure out if I can get her there and back before the memorial service I have tomorrow, or if I even want to try....

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It's going to be a long evening. Secretary's foster sons are coming to town to play games with her. She, of course, wants nothing to do with that. She'd prefer to pout.

Balancing

Daughter has a track meet tomorrow for Special Olympics. I have a memorial service. When the family set up this date for the service and made their travel arrangements, I didn't know that the track meet would be tomorrow. Obviously, I can't be in two places at once, so hopefully I have a respite provider lined up to go to the track meet with Daughter (I say hopefully because the coordinator hasn't called me back yet to confirm-- but I requested it a month ago.)

This week Daughter's been telling me how much she'll miss having me at the track meet. I keep assuring her that I will miss being there, too. Fortunately, this doesn't happen very often, but there are times when she has events at the same time I have responsibilities at the church. She knows that she is my top priority, and she also knows that there are times when I have to put the needs of the church first.

It is especially difficult for her because most of her friends have extended family in the area. They have grandparents who can step in and pick up the slack, or aunts, uncles, or even siblings. They don't understand that Daughter doesn't have other family in the area, and so they ask her questions. I know she feels bad when I'm not there.

I'll take some extra time with her and find a way to show her that she's still my priority. She'll take her cell phone, and I'll tell her to call me and tell me how she does in her events. It won't be the same, but it will have to do.

Celebrating Life

I will soon be leading a memorial service for a woman who was a longtime member of the church. I knew her, but not well, as she had moved to be closer to family members shortly after I arrived here. She died last fall, but the family decided to wait until now to bring her cremains here to be interred beside her husband.

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In the past week, I have had the pleasure of talking with all of her descendants by phone. They called to share memories of Grandma, and I am grateful for all they shared. For me, the opportunity to celebrate the life of one of the saints is a distinct honor. J was over 90 years old, and she had a great impact on the lives of those she met. Each time I spoke with one of her grandchildren, I felt like I must be talking to her favorite grandchild, as I couldn't imagine her having such a close relationship with all of her grandchildren.

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Each described a woman of deep faith who listened to them and accepted them where they were, while encouraging them to move to a better place. They knew that she loved and accepted them, no matter what. She could talk to anyone, as she had so many interests. She was always eager to learn, and technological advances fascinated her. She was a student of the Bible, and would have deep, long discussions about various passages. She wanted to learn more, and had an open mind. Too many people view the Bible as a rule book, and use it as a weapon against those who they disagree with or who are doing things that they view as evil. Her approach was much less rigid. She was always willing to learn and modify her opinion. She saw the Bible as a love story, not a rule book.

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Her daughter told me that she was always reading at least two books: a trashy novel and a devotional book. As she grew older and less able to do things for others, she found new ways to minister. She had a long list of people for whom she made cards. She was especially concerned with her older friends, who might feel isolated and lonely. If anyone had a right to feel isolated and lonely, it was J, who had moved several states away from all her friends. She was happy, though, and her family loved her as much as she loved them.

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It will be an honor to celebrate her life here on earth and her life in heaven and offer comfort to her family and friends. I wish I had known her better, as she truly was a remarkable woman. I hope that people will remember me as someone who accepted and loved people as they are while encouraging them to move to a better place. I hope that I will always be able to reach out to those who are in need, and find new ways to do it when I am no longer able to get around as much. I hope I will never use the Bible to beat anyone up, but will always point to it as the story of God's great love for us.

Why I Need a Sippy Cup

For years, I have kept water handy on my nightstand for times when I woke up thirsty during the night. I began this practice when some medication I was taking made my mouth especially dry. One night about 12 years ago I woke up dreaming that it was raining and the roof was leaking. I quickly determined that it wasn't raining, the roof wasn't leaking, but I was feeling drops of water on my face. Cat was sitting on the nightstand, dipping his paw into the mug, and then splashing me with the water. He's very lucky I don't move quickly when I'm half asleep!

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I then began using a reusable water bottle, and quickly grew to love it. I carry my water bottle with me every place I go. This past week, I have begun making iced tea, and have been drinking quite a bit of it in the morning. I was using a regular glass for my iced tea. Yesterday morning, I knocked it over, spilling it into my laptop computer. I quickly turned the computer over and mopped up the mess, rescuing various important tables and an expensive commentary from the tea (which fortunately was not sweetened).

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Yesterday evening I returned to my laptop and was delighted to discover that it seemed to be working well. At least, it was until I tried to type the letter r. I had no concept how important that particular letter is until it wouldn't work. Not only did the letter not appear on my screen, but it somehow told internet explorer to open a new window. By the time I figured out what was going on, my computer was very slow and I had 18 internet explorers open, each with two tabs.

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I am hoping that when it dries out completely, the letter r will remember its function. I don't think I can learn to write without the letter r. My iced tea is now safely ensconced in a sippy cup. I think I may just donate all of our glasses-- or maybe just keep a few for guests. It's obvious I'm not coordinated enough to use one without making a mess.

A Play Date

Secretary and I had arranged for her foster sons to ride their bikes into Tiny Village to play with Daughter. O & D are 15 and 16 and come from backgrounds similar to Daughter's. They were both in a residential treatment center before graduating to foster care. Like Daughter, both struggle to fit in with their peers, so we find ourselves arranging play dates for them.

I offered them several options, and they chose to play croquet. It had been so long since we'd had the croquet set out that the zipper was corroded shut. But we got it open, I set it up, and I even decided to play with them. (I've always loved croquet). The grass was too long and the yard too uneven, with lots of little holes and dips to make the game more challenging. Everyone had a good time. I kept O from cheating (he tried hard). I answered D's questions about ministry (he was kind of freaked out about playing a game with a minister).

Daughter was cool to the idea initially, and informed me she would spend no more than 15 minutes with them. Once the game started, she relaxed and enjoyed herself. It was nice to see them encouraging one another and having a good time. For an hour or so, they were normal teens/young adults having a good time together. We're probably going to set these up for twice a week during the summer. It will be good for all of them. Hopefully it will help Daughter be more content here, and ease her frustration with our isolation here in Tiny Village.

I'm Impressed

I took Daughter to see Therapist this afternoon. I explained to Therapist about New Guy, and asked her to help Daughter with setting boundaries on what is appropriate and inappropriate physical contact.

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It wasn't necessary, and Daughter didn't see the point of discussing it. She has informed New Guy that they can be friends, but until he works out the paternity issues, she won't date him. She is not interested in getting in the middle of his mess. She isn't willing to be a stepmother, and he's on his own with child support.

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There are times when her wisdom and maturity amaze me. There's still some rapid cycling going on, but her mood is leveling out nicely.

The Down Side of a Working Brain

Daughter continues to show great improvement, and it is obvious that the last increase in medication has enabled her to think much more clearly. She's making plans again, and looking to the future. All of this is good, and to be celebrated, but it does complicate life.

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She wants to be more social, and not just at the workshop. She recognizes the limitations on her ability to connect with friends in the evening and on weekends that are created by living 12 miles from Town. Yesterday evening she informed me that she wants to live in her own apartment in Town. I pointed out that her meds are kept locked up and she has difficulty managing them on her own. Rather than arguing with me, she modified her goal to getting into a supported living situation more quickly (the waiting list is very long, and not going to move very quickly given the current economic realities). I also don't want to set her up in supported living here if I'm going to be moving out of the area within the next year or so.

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Secretary is going to send her foster sons into Tiny Village on their bikes a couple of nights a week. They will play games with Daughter and the socialization will be good for all of them. Hopefully this will help meet her need for socialization apart from the workshop.

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I can see that she will continue to push against the limits that are a reality of life in Tiny Village, and I am going to have to find creative ways to meet her needs. I'm also going to have to make more opportunities for her to spend time with her friends in Town, even though that is not convenient for me.

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It also seems like her improved brain function may enable her to sustain her relationship with New Guy for longer than she has been able to in the past. That will also require me to find creative ways to allow them to spend time together in safe settings. NG is going through paternity testing right now, so we're again going to have to deal with a guy who has been sexually active and Daughter's PTSD with anything sexual.

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All of these are good problems to have. Unfortunately, they will also complicate our lives. It will take some planning, but I will support and provide opportunities for Daughter as she seeks to spread her wings.

New Guy

The romance survived the dance yesterday, and today he asked her to join him at the reservoir where he and a friend are planning to go out fishing in a boat. Being the mean mother that I am, I told her she wasn't getting in a boat without a life jacket.

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While the string of romances hasn't dampened Daughter's enthusiasm for each new boyfriend who comes through her life, it has made me more wary. This particular guy lives on his own in an apartment. He's a little younger than Daughter, and he doesn't drive. I'm not sure how he has been managing on his own, or what the family circumstances were that led him to get out on his own. Apparently he isn't able to hold down a job in the community, since he is at the sheltered workshop with Daughter.

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NG and Daughter spend quite a bit of time on the phone, and I think I overheard portions of one rather heated conversation. There has also been laughter. I was rather noncommittal about whether I would drive Daughter the 12 miles to the reservoir so she could hang out with NG tonight. She thought she could jog while he was out fishing. It doesn't sound like fun to me, but then I'm old.

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I'm hoping that his plans for the evening will fall through, and I won't have to decide whether or not to drive her to the reservoir. There are certain disadvantages to a working brain-- she now is more social and wants to get out and do more.

Day 2 with a Working Brain

It is so nice to have Daughter back on track. She had a busy day today, and handled it all well. After worship and Sunday School, I dropped her off at the workshop's dance. I ran errands while she danced with New Guy. After we got home, she got ready for track practice and cleaned the bathroom. The respite worker took her to Walmart after practice so she could get a Mother's Day gift for me. (Daughter's idea).

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She got home from that just in time for the youth group cook-out at the park. The weather cooperated and we had a good time. It's been a long day, and I'm tired, but I can't believe how much easier life is when her medications are doing their job and her brain is working properly. She is cooperative, thoughtful, and generally pleasant to be around. I hope that this will continue.

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Tomorrow I am getting a real day off. It will be the first Monday in quite a while I haven't had something scheduled. I intend to take the day completely off-- I'm not going to do any church work or even stop by the hospital. I may even stay home all day! I'm looking forward to a quiet day here at home.

"Somehow My Brain Works"

Daughter just said those words to me. She volunteered to clean the kitchen today to earn some money. She is also organizing several storage areas in the kitchen (that need organizing because she has been dumping or hiding things she didn't want to deal with in those particular places.) She has worked diligently, and has been receptive suggestions and corrections I have offered.

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She has asked for help (appropriately). She has taken pride in her work. She has asked if we can go to town to buy a new dress (the workshop is sponsoring a dance tomorrow afternoon-- in the gym where one of the local high schools has their prom tonight). She accepted my suggestion of where to begin her shopping.

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In short, she has been cooperative and pleasant. She recognizes that this is an improvement, and that she is thinking more clearly and acting more rationally. I am grateful to Psychiatrist and the modern pharmaceutical industry. I am even willing to make the journey to town to shop for a new dress for her dance tomorrow with New Guy. I wonder if this romance will last beyond the dance....

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Danger, Will Robinson!

Yes, the title shows that I am old. But it seems appropriate. Only it should actually be, "Danger, New Guy!" This morning Daughter showed me her new wall paper on her cell phone. It is a picture of New Guy. NG just started at the workshop. According to Daughter, it's okay that she likes him because he liked her first.

I really feel sorry for these guys. Daughter is not going to be able to maintain a relationship with any man at this point in her life. Just yesterday Psychiatrist told her to stay away from men. I reminded her of this this morning. Daughter assured me Psychiatrist was joking.

I wonder how long this one will last....