Remembering to Be a Husband

I was rather disgruntled when I woke up to find that Dean had forgotten to take his pills. Today was one of the three weekly days that he goes by medical van to an adult day structure, and normally the only thing I do physically to help him get ready is put on his socks.

This morning was one of the few times I was lazy and went back to sleep after putting his socks on, thinking that for once he'd make it out the door on his own alright. But alas, it seems about 90% of the time I don't remind him to take his pills, he forgets. This meant I had to drive all the way to the rec center, a couple of miles away, to give him the pills myself.

Just last night I was marveling though at something Dean always manages to remember. He never neglects to lock the front door of our house at night. I always check, just to make sure, but invariably he gets it done. It must be some manly, protective activity that he has held on to all these years. It's so sweet that he has honed in on that important duty. Well, I guess he does remember to put the trash can out to the curb once a week too. Very seldom does he forget that husbandly chore either.

God appears this way to me sometimes too. When it seems He's forgotten about taking care of me and I'm left in charge of getting it all done, I know in my heart there are some vital protections He still provides, including taking away my sin/trash. Lord, help me accept your never-failing love and mercies, and know that they are of far more value than my mere "busyness" of life.

I've always liked this picture. Is he leaning on me or protecting me? Maybe a bit of both!

Passwords

The past few days I've had the pleasure of having our oldest granddaughter stay with us. She and Grandpa get along somewhat better than the youngest one, who's three, right now. They don't butt heads quite as much, and I'll let you come to your own conclusions on that one.

Nevertheless, having a five-year-old around this week brought out my old schoolteacher vibes, and I was anxious to test her reading powers. Their weekly library visits seem to be making them quite the literary types already. But I was curious about whether the oldest was ready for any sight words.

My sister, a substitute teacher, told me about an idea for sight words that seemed quite effective. A teacher put their sight words on the doorpost of the classroom and each student had to say them as they came in the room.

So we tried that method here at home and had some surprising results. The words we chose were put on the bathroom and kitchen doors, and all family members had to remember to say them before entering these rooms. Lorraine and I both thought Grandpa would need to be reminded the most to say the "passwords" because he's so forgetful; but we were amazed that he almost always remembered to say them. And not only that, he reminded us to say them more than we had to remind him!

This activity reminded me of a similar one that the children of Israel were instructed to perform during the Passover. They were told to put blood on the doorposts of their homes, as a reminder of the blood that was sacrificed for them to be freed from the bonds of slavery. The "password" for them was special indeed, and we are still told to be mindful of Christ's blood that was shed for us, which frees us from sin.

What a teaching tool that must have been for the Israelites, and still is for every follower of God today. It should be on the mind of every Christian as they participate in the Communion Service, instituted by Jesus at the Last Supper.

We all need a reminder now and then.

Food Hide-and-seek

I have become an expert at food hide-and-seek lately. With Thanksgiving last week and Dean's birthday celebration this past weekend, there are sweet treats hidden all over my house. I have to hide them from Dean, and I'm sure he's been hiding them from me so I don't hide them from him.

As a matter of fact, there is a can of mixed nuts in such a good hiding place that neither of us will find them for quite awhile. Dean, because he doesn't remember that he has them, and me, because I can't remember where I put them. They must be in a very secure location. Either that, or Dean has found them and finished them off. Like he did with the box of chocolate-covered cherries the other day.

This impulsivity or lack of self-control is a typical symptom of someone who is brain-injured or has dementia. It has resulted in some weight gain for Dean lately, as you might imagine. I even threatened to send him to a "fat farm" today, when he was complaining about my tight restraints on the food pantry. But probably we'll just end up readjusting his medicines at some point.

Do I complain about God's restraints sometimes too? I'm sure I do. It seems like He's hiding all the good things in my life in very secure locations, and leaving me without any of the luxuries that make life sweet. I must stop complaining and remember that God is doing it all for my best eternal interest. He's a caregiver I can really trust.

Remembering Me

We had a super good time with in-laws tonight. The Thanksgiving food was great and the visiting was lively. We met in a different venue--the community room of my daughter's apartment complex. So, the setup was a bit complex with multiple trips to transport food and other items.

As often happens, we vastly overestimated how much we would eat, so several families went home with leftovers. But that's alright. You kind of expect that with holiday meals. It just seemed more daunting, because of the work of transporting the food all over again.

I usually find myself taking pictures at family events like this, and consequently I am seldom in any of the shots, which is kind of nice, as I don't feel I'm very photogenic anyway. But today my husband asked to take a picture of me when my two granddaughters were sitting on my lap. It was just the kind of shot I would love to have, so I got up, went clear across the room and gave him the camera to get our picture. It didn't come out the best, but I was grateful for Dean, thinking of me not being in any of the pictures.

For a man with dementia, he remembers me. And I'm thankful for that.

That's me and the two girls, clear across the room. He just took it from his comfortable spot on the couch.

Remembering the Best

For a man who can't remember if he just had dinner five minutes before, my husband has remembered all week that we discussed going to church today. So I couldn't deny him the opportunity to attend the early service at the large college church this morning. I purposely only mentioned it that one time and waited to see if he would remember our conversation.

He mentioned it last night again for the first time in many days since we first discussed it, so I knew we would be going. I just couldn't deny him something that he has missed so much. Church attendance with him has proven very stressful for me in the recent past, and he has basically stopped attending our home church because of it.

But he wore his dress pants, street shoes, even tucked his shirt in today, like I requested. As a matter of fact, he was on his best behavior the whole time. We got there just as the service started, and left immediately afterward in order to meet the bath aide who was to arrive at the house at eleven o'clock. I, for one, breathed a sigh of relief when we pulled back into our driveway at home. All potential disasters averted.

What thrilled me the most though was the fact that he remembered that we talked about attending church today. For a man who forgets almost everything, even important things like food, it shows where his priorities lie. There is a portion of Dean's brain that isn't damaged or showing signs of old age. And that is his desire to worship God.

Oh, that we all had that priority straight in our lives. Forgetting all else, let's all remember God.

Dad's Desk

A much overdue "to-do list" task got completed yesterday. I totally cleaned my dad's desk area. It was surprising all the office supplies I discovered I had available. When my dad, who passed away two years ago, went to the office store, he purchased enough to last, well, for more than his lifetime.

I keep the top of his desk for mementos of my dad. So many memories came rushing back as I rearranged and dusted the items. He spent many happy hours at his desk, getting to know his computer, but more importantly, keeping in touch with friends and family. Eventually their dining room turned into his computer room, much to my mom's dismay. But she was willing to sacrifice it for the worthy cause of keeping dad happy.

No matter how hard I try, I will never think of it as anything other than "dad's desk". In my mind, it will always belong to him. And shouldn't I likewise view all my possessions as belonging to God? It makes me pause to thank God for entrusting me with so much. And that's why I try to have "mementos" of God in every room too. Pictures of Jesus or books about Him on every shelf, even a framed poem about Him in my bathroom, to remind me of the real owner. I don't want my earthly father's influence forgotten, and the same goes for God's, the Giver of it all.

Dad's corner

A Clean Heart

I hate it when I let too many meals pass without doing the dishes. This afternoon I looked at the huge piles of dirty dishes in both sinks, and knew I'd have to tackle them right away, so I could enjoy the women's dinner at church tonight without visions of a dirty kitchen plaguing me the whole evening.

While I was administering the cleaning touch to the dishes, I pondered how hard it was, doing a lot of dishes compared to doing them when there are just a few. Even though that means doing it more often. It's like another task most people don't like. Namely, asking forgiveness. Or even offering forgiveness.

Because the longer you wait to ask forgiveness, the harder it is to do. And likewise, the longer you wait to grant forgiveness, the harder it is to accomplish. Sometimes, I let the little hurts and annoyances that come with taking care of a man like mine just pile up too high. So I need to consciously be forgiving him a little at a time.

Fortunately as a reminder for me, Dean asks for forgiveness many times during the day. Does it count when he can't remember what I'm forgiving him for? You bet it does. I think it counts even more, because I know it's coming from his heart, and not just his mind. And it's easy to forgive when it's a heartfelt apology like his.

I like a clean kitchen, but I probably like a clean heart even more.

Fond Memories

Today is a day of importance in our family. Not only was it the day my mother died two years ago, but it's also the birthday of my niece, a grandchild my mom was especially fond of. She was her first grandchild, but she and her little brother were also the only two grandchildren that she actually lived in the same town with. Even if it was only for a couple of years when they were preschoolers many years ago. As you can imagine, she and my niece developed a special bond for each other, as over the years she would connect on the phone with her grandma for comfort and advice. To feel that amazing grandmotherly love that we all crave.

All the grandchildren experienced it at one time or another, but especially Tammie, the first. As mom slipped away from us in the hospital room that day two years ago, our first thoughts went out to Tammie. How devastated she would be to learn of this event on her birthday. But then again, how fortunate that it did happen on her day. It illustrated the closeness they had, and I pray that time will heal Tammie's wounded heart, but that she will also remember her grandma fondly each year, as perhaps none of the other grandchildren will.

For now, you still have your parents, aunts and uncles, and cousins to share your loss and remind you that your grandmother's love lives on in the rest of your family members. We are all healing together, Tammie. But thanks to your birthday, your grandmother will be remembered for generations to come.

 

my parents--what a "show" garden they had! (fond memories we share today, Tammie)

Early or Late?

Dean's "Meals on Wheels" dinner had not arrived when I got home from church today. At least it appeared that it hadn't arrived. Either it had arrived and he forgot he ate it, which was a possibility. Or they neglected to bring it. I was almost ready to call to find out because it had never come that late before, when the doorbell rang.

There was his meal delivered by a totally new person, who apologized that we were last on the list. He said it was his first time to deliver, and he discovered that he had started from the wrong end of the list. So, Dean's lunch which usually comes on the early side, first on the route, came last, rather late. We were still happy to see it, even though it needed a bit of warming in the microwave.

Whether we come to the Lord's table early in life or late, it doesn't matter. It's nice when you're early. You are nice and hot, ready for service. But those who are there late are welcomed with open arms too, even though you might need a bit of warming up, in order to be ready for service.

The important thing is to just come. Someone is waiting for you, hungering for the Bread of Life.

The Team

I can't help but think of my mom today. This was her birthday and birthdays were always so important to her. She would be 81 today. My dad's day was just two days before hers and I think they rather enjoyed celebrating their birthdays together. Mom usually made Dad's favorite cake. Yellow with chocolate frosting. Then she might follow with a special dessert that she liked. She made great cream puffs.

One thought I had of my mom today though was how she was able to cope with life. Of course, Jesus was her constant confidante, but she also felt comfortable sharing her burdens with her children. My sister usually had a handle on her aches and pains, from her swollen hands and feet to the pain in her eyes. Even though my sister lived hundreds of miles away, I could find out from her how mom was feeling, because I knew Mom shared that with her.

My brother was her sounding board when it came to marital matters, the many hurts and frustrations that came with living with a high-maintenance man like my dad. He gave her much needed comfort and understanding of those issues from his unique male perspective.

And finally I was there to share her frustrations with being blind those last ten years or so. I was the only one who lived close and was taking her to doctor's appointments and listening to her heartbreaking concerns of not being able to see and how much quality of life it was taking from her.

We were a family team all along and didn't recognize how our combined efforts were lightening Mom's load. But I'm sure it was. Thank you, Lord, for helping us be there for our mom. And she felt our combined presence, I'm sure, right to the end.

"A Spit and a Promise"

This day has been full of memories. It was my dad's birthday today. He would have been 83. What a coincidence that my nephew would think of washing the car today. It's my dad's car that I inherited two years ago. My parents kept it immaculately washed, waxed, and detailed numerous times a year. Often by their own sweat and muscle.

I feel close to my mom and dad whenever I use their car. They used it to drive to a local truck stop every evening to relax and socialize with friends. It was more than a vehicle for them. It was a link to the outside world. I know they were more proud of it than they were their old house.

Thank you, Jason, for reviving some memories for me today. Mom and Dad may be gone from this world, but their car lives on, as do our memories of them both. They live on in our hearts. We look forward to seeing them again on that glorious Resurrection Morning. God has promised a grand reunion for His people.

Here they are at the truck stop a few years ago...

After a good wash, it still shines!

The Pill Organizer

Having just retrieved Dean's new pill organizer that his nurse filled earlier in the week, and replaced it with the empty one I am reminded that today, Sunday, is truly the start of a new week. When you look at most calenders I also find that Sunday does not come at the end, but at the beginning. It's even referred to as the first day of the week in dictionaries.

When I read the Ten Commandments, it's like having a pill organizer. In the very center of it, we are told with great detail to remember something that involves a weekly reminder. The Sabbath reminds us of our Creator. The world was created in six days, and we are invited to share a time of rest with the Creator of the universe. We are able to rest on that day, because it was the day God blessed.

Daniel 7:25 speaks about a world power that will change times and laws. Don't underestimate the power of the master Deceiver. I believe he has been at work on this for a very long time, with much success.

God's Zip Code

The other day when the nurse came over to dress Dean's wounds from his little fall in the driveway, as a part of her examination she asked him what day it was. Then what his zip code was (I assume to check for a possible head injury when he fell).

He quickly gave a zip code that I vaguely remember as the one we had in Idaho, and told him so. So he gave one that I was sure was when we lived in Iowa. I barely remembered either one of them myself and was surprised that he did. The nurse gave him another chance and he slyly looked over at some mail sitting on a table by his chair.

The nurse and I exchanged glances, smiled, and she made some notes. I thought he should have at least gotten credit for thinking to check the envelope for the zip code. He may not always know the answer, but he still knows the right place to find it.

Often I need answers for problems in my life. I pray that I will first remember where I've been, and then look in the right place for the answer. There's a letter from God in several places in my house. Bibles are everywhere. I have no excuse for not knowing God's "zip code".

A Sacrifice Worth Remembering

This morning my stomach is growling. I am purposely skipping breakfast, because Dean has forgotten to ask for it and I think a bit of a morning fast will be good for him. He overate last night, some of the wrong foods too, by the way, so maybe his body isn't telling him he's hungry this morning. Either that or his short-term memory mind is working to his benefit. In any event, I haven't offered to fix him anything or asked what he'd like for breakfast, so it looks like we BOTH may be fasting.

And why do I have to fast with him, you wonder? Well, if he sees or hears me eating, his fast will be off. The sight and sound of food speaks louder than his body growls, totally overruling even his brain's desire for food. (Don't have to worry about smell--he lost that sense when he had the brain injury.)

It's a sacrifice for me to refrain from eating. I'm counting the minutes when I can sneak in the kitchen and get a bite to eat. I'm quite a breakfast person, so this IS rather hard. But I will do it for my man. He's worth it.

I'm so glad I was deemed worth it to God. So worth it that He gave the supreme sacrifice, His very life, for MY benefit. No sacrifice can compare with that. That is one thing I don't dare forget. And the sacrifices that come with caregiving remind me of it daily.

Remember to Forget

It seems like there is something I forgot to tell my daughter the last time we talked on the phone today. How annoying to not remember something that might be important. It feels like it was something important, but for the life of me, I can't recall what it was I wanted to tell her.

Imagine what it must be like for people with dementia, brain injury, or anyone with short term memory loss. How totally disabling for my husband to not be able to remember what he had at his last meal, or even whether he had a meal. To constantly have to remind himself what day it is by posting it in several places around the house, looking at his watch, or asking me, his caregiver.

There is something Dean will not let himself forget though. And that is to tell me and show me his love. He does it multiple times throughout the day with hugs and kisses and verbal and written I love you's. When something is that important to you, you don't let your memory be an excuse for not getting it done.

God has asked His people to remember something too. A day when He wants us to love Him multiple times, just like Dean. Sabbath is a day we've been asked to remember, a day to draw especially closer to Him and forget that we have a care in the world.

Now that's something we would all love to forget...the cares of the world.

Forgetting to Remember

I have come to the conclusion that it is a waste of time getting DVDs for Dean at the library. I painstakingly chose some today that I thought he might not have seen. He is on the second go-round for one of them that I brought home. I told him when it started the second time that he had already seen all of it. He said, "Oh, well, I can't remember it."

That is just one change in Dean's dementia. There are other subtle things, but fortunately it is all very gradual. He used to notice if he had seen a video within the last year or so, then it was anything in the past week or day. Now he's watching them back to back!

Isn't this how we fall into sin though? Rather gradually? It can creep in without our knowing it, but not without our permission. What a careful watch we must have on our senses. Satan is looking for a way to cause us to forget God. That is one kind of dementia none of us can afford to have.

Drought?

One has to wonder about the incredibly hot temperatures we've been having. Everyone mostly worries about how uncomfortable it is outside, but no one is thinking much about how this will affect our water supply.

In this country we haven't a clue what kind of suffering a drought could mean. Drought is what happens in poor countries, and is followed by intense thirst and hunger by a large share of the population. Surely our water that comes so effortlessly through our water taps would never be affected by such a force of nature.

This is how most of our disasters fall on us though. We think it will never happen to us. Including Dean's tractor accident. Who would have thought that one careless moment could be such a life-changer for him?

The Sabbath makes it easy to identify blessings though. By slowing down the pace of life and looking at nature--after all, it is a celebration of creation--you are forced to see things in your life that would otherwise go unnoticed. Like that cool water pouring into your glass at the kitchen sink. Think about it next time you pour. Along with your ability to remember five minutes later that you drank it.

We are surrounded by blessings, even when it's 100 degrees out.

A Piece of Cake

Dean is at our brain injury support group by himself tonight. I didn't feel anyone would want exposure to my cold, so I dropped him off--with name tags and refreshments (it was our month). I'm sure he'll do alright there by himself. We've known these people for ten years. Same meeting place, same time, same night of the month. We give reminder calls just before the meeting night though. I called my list just today, rather late. No excuse, I was even reminded to do the reminding. Oh, dear. Is my memory slipping too?

I remember one elderly couple who used to come to our meetings years ago. He had a head injury and the wife was his caregiver. Over the course of a few years, however, it became obvious to some in our group that she was having memory problems too. What a sad affair! Neither of them being able to remember appointments, etc. I was hoping they had family who was ready to step in and take over her caregiving duties when it got bad enough. I believe they finally did.

Who knows what the future holds for any of us? I'm just barely in my sixties, and these things do weigh on my mind. Probably because I have dealt with Dean's dementia and memory loss for so long already. My family and I are pretty much professionals by now. So, it should be a piece of cake for us. Right?

Not so fast here. If there's one thing I've learned as a caregiver, it's that no one has all the answers or skills needed to deal with the hard issues of life. No one, that is, except God. The thing I fear most is not being dependent on others, but not having God to depend on. And of course, that will never happen with our awesomely faithful God. His promise was and is: "And lo, I am with you ALWAYS."

The Price of War

My mother's favorite holiday was Christmas. But as much as she loved that holiday, my father hated the one we celebrate today, the Fourth of July. Not for what it stood for, of course. A World War II veteran, no one was more patriotic than my dad. He flew a flag in front of his house all year round. What he dreaded about the Fourth was the noise that accompanied it. All the firecrackers that seemed to plague their peaceful world for days before and after the designated day.

I thought for years that all the noise just made him nervous. Their little dog was jittery too, and there was fear of sparks landing on their roof, like they did one year. Besides, as a former law enforcement officer, it bothered him that city ordinances about safety were overlooked, and he couldn't abide anyone getting by with breaking the law.

But then one year my dad told me the main reason fireworks bothered him. He said he had heard plenty of noisy gunfire when he was in Japan right at the close of the war. I never thought of my father being in that much danger during the war, because his ship arrived right after the bombing of Hiroshima to help with reconstruction of the country. He had enlisted at the end of the war, when he was only fifteen (he didn't need a birth certificate for the Army, if his mother signed some papers). After some thought though, and reading more about the history of the times, I realize he was in quite a bit of danger there in Japan. We Americans were still the hated enemy for years following the destruction caused by the atom bomb.

So, now it makes more sense to me why my dad did not like firecrackers. And I'm sure that anyone who has been in a war-torn country feels the same. The noise and sparks represent war. I know they bring enjoyment for their beauty and are something to look forward to during a long, hot summer, but let's not forget what they represent. They represent the price that a few have had to pay for all of us to have the freedoms we have. The price of war. There's no glory in the trenches, even today. Let's remember.

my dad in Japan

Finding the Lost

I couldn't believe my good fortune when we made our regular visit to the library on Sunday afternoon. Without expecting a favorable response, I asked if anyone had found my flash drive that I lost in the computer lab there a few nights before. The librarian went straight to the lost and found shelf and came back with my precious "memory" stick! I reported in my blog earlier that it was about the size of a lipstick, so here's a picture of it. I'm just so happy to have it back.

Now, my next responsibility is not to lose it again. Let's see now. I must put it somewhere that I can remember where it is. I know. It'll be safe on my dresser...right next to the lipstick!

I'm so thankful to God for helping me find something twice. I feel even more attached to something lost, because of its miraculous return. God must feel the same way about us. We belonged to Him because He created us. But how much more precious we are when we return to Him after being lost to the world. I intend to stay right where God wants me too, so I won't be lost to Him any more.