WhatTheCluck

That’s What She Said

This one is to the teachers. You are my people. Well … most of you. Some of you are way more dedicated than I am, and I applaud you from my seat in the back of the room where my feet are up on my desk and I’m reading Twitter on my phone while I drink on my sweet tea/lemonade combo waiting for that final bell to ring so I can take off to the farm for the weekend.

This school year has started off hard. (Side note: “That’s what she said” is always hilarious. Try it in the nursing home when you overhear old-people conversations. You won’t regret it.)

This school year has started off hard and I don’t know why. I have a supportive administration, they encourage me and have my back – so it’s not that. It’s not the kids; they are as smart and funny and hardworking and awesome to be around as ever. It’s not my colleagues; they are dedicated and fun to work with.

It has felt like everything is harder than it should be this year. And I’m not alone in thinking this. Just in the last week or two I’ve had conversations with six different teachers who all said the same thing: it feels harder than it should be. Maybe it’s the technology changes; maybe it’s because we have piles of work to grade, a pile of college recommendation letters to write, new units to plan, and new tests to write. But that’s just normal teacher stuff. Maybe it’s because the world feels more awful every day, and hatred and injustice seem like they’re winning. Maybe it’s because until last Friday – MID FREAKING OCTOBER – it was still 99 degrees and we’re all just over it being sweaty hot in Texas.

But here’s what I do know. The October funk happens to me every year. The honeymoon period of the beginning of school is over and we’re in the grind. Kids are sick of me and the feeling is temporarily mutual. No good holiday is in sight. BUT. IT. ENDS. Every year, it ends.

The cool front came through Texas a few days ago and proved that we survived yet another Texas summer. Yes, it will get hot again next week, but we got a break and we know the bigger cold fronts will start showing up. Eventually we get to wear the cute sweaters we bought last year and people will compliment us and we will not see a sheen of sweat anywhere on anybody.

The piles of work to do will still be there, but we will decide what needs to be done immediately, what doesn’t really even have to be graded at all, and what can we move to the pile for the next grading period. We will whittle them down and get them done. Like we do every year.

The world will still be in chaos, but we can choose to look for the good news instead of the bad. The guy who just became the first person to ever run a marathon in under two hours (just anyone who finishes a marathon is worthy of miracles, but this guy is a whole other level). We can leave town, go for a walk outside, read a book just for fun, meditate and just sit quietly with our eyes closed for 5 minutes, ask for help, OH MY GOODNESS LOOK AT THIS BIT OF PRECIOUSNESS:

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All of this is to say, you are not alone, teacher friends. You don’t need to feel like it’s just you. It’s never just you. (Unless you’re the sub-2-hour-marathon-guy and then yeah, it’s totally just you.)

So one day at a time, one pile of papers at a time, you’re normal and it’s not just you.

And seriously, “that’s what she said” will always bring a smile. Maybe don’t say it out loud – it could elicit a disapproving look from the “People Who Don’t Get Humor”, or the “That’s Not Appropriate” Crowd, or the “You’re Supposed To Be More Mature Than An Eleven Year Old Boy” folks … but say it in your head and you’ll giggle a little inside.

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National Daughter’s Day

What does it mean on National Daughter’s Day that I’m no longer a daughter? My mom passed away from her Alzheimer’s disease on December 31, 2018. I didn’t blog much in the last year of her life – it was just too hard. I tried to find the funny moments to share, but there weren’t many. If you’ve read past blog posts, you read about my mom’s journey with this disease, my journey with her, the hilarity that can often ensue with someone who has Alzheimers and/or dementia, and the impact of it on us both. When she died, it was a relief, it was a release for her. I wasn’t as sad as I thought I might be, until I realized that I had already done most of my grieving throughout the four years she slid further and further away from me. In the end, she was a tiny, frail wisp of her former self, and I wanted her to go, to be with Jesus, reunited with my Dad again, who (as I told him several times in the years after he passed away but my mom was still with us) had gotten his alone time away from my mom and it was time for them to be together again.

The morning she died, my best friend Carol came to hang out with my sister and I, but I realized I needed to buy new bras, so we went up to the mall to do some “grief shopping.” This was on New Years Eve. We were buying lingerie. The sweet girl behind the counter said “Oh I hope you’re having the best New Years’ Eve plans and get to have a great party tonight!” Carol was standing behind me whispering in my ear “tell her your mom just died an hour ago, tell her. It will really freak her out. Tell her.” I didn’t’ tell her. I couldn’t do that to anyone.

And now, nine months later I’m still trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be, and who I’m supposed to be. I’m no longer a daughter. I’m not a wife, I’m not a mother, I don’t want my primary role identifier to be a teacher – that’s my job, not who I am. I don’t know who I am.

I miss my mom so much. I miss holding her hand. I miss every time I would go see her in the Assisted Living Center she would hold my hand and tell me I was pretty. I miss having someone hold my hand and tell me I’m pretty.

What I do know is that I feel happy again after a long long time of trying to remember the last happy day I had. I feel optimistic more often than not, and now can count more hopeful days than hopeless moments that were a struggle to make it through. I have a necklace that I sometimes wear that says “hope” on it, and over the last year, I find myself holding that necklace in the middle of the day – literally grabbing on to hope. I believe in hope, I believe in healing, I believe in restoration and new beginnings, and I’m starting to believe in optimism again, if only a little at a time. But that’s what healing is, right? Little baby steps forward one at a time.

Dear College Freshmen …

Dear College Freshmen:

1. Call your mom. Real call – no text. She needs to hear your voice.

2. If you need to go to the bathroom during class, just get up & go, then come back to your seat. You don’t need to raise your hand and ask permission.

3. Never, EVER, EVER accept a drink from anyone unless you see them make it with your own eyeballs. (credit to @andylassner)

4. This is your chance to be whoever you want to be. No one gets to tell you who to be – be you.

5. Those nights when you’re leaving to go out at 10 or 11 ? Remember them. There will be adult nights when you’re asleep by 8 and you can’t imagine how you ever lived that college life.

6. Always make sure your laptop is muted during class.

7. If you ever need advice, ask for it. From someone older who has done this.

8. No means no and “passed out and asleep” does not constitute consent.

9. You have more discretionary time in college than you will ever have again. Fill your discretionary time wisely. (Discretionary time = the time that YOU get to decide how to use it; Nondiscretionary time = time you are committed to but dictated by a boss, family, beyond-your-control force)

10. Call your mom. Right now.

Puppy.

This is Puppy. (Puppy’s the one on the left.) Puppy is a stuffed animal. Puppy is not real.

Several months ago, my sister and I realized it was time to move my mom from the assisted living floor of her Senior Living center to the more structured, protected area designed specifically for residents with dementia and memory-care needs. Moving to this area meant that my mom would not be able to keep her dog Bonnie with her anymore. My mom had reached the point where she wasn’t able to properly care for Bonnie and she was going outside and wandering around more frequently with Bonnie which caused fear that her “sundowning” (Alzheimer’s patients have a tendency to wander in the evening hours, often becoming lost and/or incapacitated) would lead to a scary, dangerous situation. The only downside to moving her would be the loss of Bonnie who had been her only source of constant, 24-hour comfort.

With the advice of the staff at her residence center, we decided to make the move, whereby Bonnie would live with me, and my mom would move into the secure wing. It was a difficult transition as we knew it would be, but within a week of her move, my mom had transitioned into her new room and living situation and adjusted better than I’d ever expected.

A few days after the move, my sister and I decided to get her a stuffed dog to ease with the loss of Bonnie. Alzheimer’s patients eventually regress to a childlike state, and many times, patients are comforted by things like baby dolls, so we decided a stuffed dog couldn’t hurt. Little did we realize what a life-saver this toy dog would become.

During the first week after her move, my mom would carry Puppy (because we couldn’t land on a name and Puppy seemed as good as anything) around and would say things like “I know she’s not real but she’s just as cute as can be and so soft.” The second week, Puppy’s story became “She used to be a real dog but she’s not anymore and she’s just as cute as can be and so soft.”

By the third week, Puppy was real. Not just “formerly real” but real. Live. And still “as cute as can be and so soft.”

Here’s what I know about Alzheimers and dementia: you just go with it. Reality doesn’t matter to them anymore, so don’t correct them. Embrace their reality. When people ask me how my mom’s doing, I tell them she’s doing really well. And she is. She isn’t in any pain. She isn’t angry. She isn’t suffering. She doesn’t know that she’s lost who she was. She lives day to day.

Alzheimer’s sucks. It is an awful disease that has taken away my mom. She thinks that my sister and I are her cousins, she doesn’t remember that my dad died, and she doesn’t remember her grandchildren’s names. But she’s not in any physical pain, she’s not in distress, and for that I’m so very grateful.

The plus side of this is that now we have Puppy. Puppy has become a very real part of our new normal lives. Puppy has become a source of hilarity for my sister and I.

Puppy has brought an entirely new creativity to text conversations between my sister and I.Puppy is a vital part of the family and plays the most important role in my mom’s life. Puppy is so important that, in addition to Original Puppy (the O.G. Puppy) who lives with my mom, Backup Puppy 1 and Backup Puppy 2 are riding around in the back of cars to be brought into the game in case OG Puppy goes missing.

Backup Puppy 2 (Or maybe 1. Does it really matter?)

Here’s the other thing about my mom’s Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t know that I’m her daughter, she doesn’t know that her husband of 55 years died a year and a half ago, but she still has foundational relationships. She may think I’m her cousin, but when she sees me or my sister, she knows that she trusts us and we will take care of her. She can’t follow a story line or plot in a book or movie anymore, but she still writes down Bible verses in a notebook. She carries her Bible with her almost as much as she carries Puppy with her. Those foundations in her life remain, despite so much else in her history that has fragmented away. So when people ask me how my mom is doing, I say she’s doing really well. She’s carries around a stuffed animal that she talks to and thinks is real … but when I walk in as she’s taking a nap and find Puppy at her side, I know she’s doing really well. I remain grateful.

P.S. You can follow more of Puppy’s hijinks on Instagram: @alzpuppy.

Lobby Napping

My mom is a Lobby Napper. This is a good thing. An amazing, answer to prayer, hand-to-Jesus good thing. Last Saturday, my sister and I walked into my mom’s building to check in on her, and she was sitting in the lobby with her gang of friends (yes, she has a gang of friends. This falls under the category of “Miracles Answered”) napping happily away in the lobby couches around the fireplace.

Let me reiterate why this is so important: it means she is comfortable and secure. She has friends. She has settled in to this new phase of her life. This. Is. Huge.

For the first few months of my mom’s transition into Belmont, she would call me and/or or my sister up to 18 times a day. 18 TIMES A DAY. She was scared and unsure, and her only foundation to connect with something that she knew to be true was Christi or me. Alzheimers is a progressive, one-way disease. There are times when she asks where my dad is and she may leave notes for him if we go out so he won’t worry about her. She thinks that her mother and father and husband all died on the same day. She often thinks that I’m her cousin instead of her daughter and she thinks she can talk to the birds outside. (Since I don’t speak Bird, who am I to say they don’t understand?) She’s not going to get better and she’s not going to go back to being the mom I grew up with.

But a year ago, to this day, I was going into surgery to repair my shoulder after falling out of my car while vomiting from carsickness. Within the space of 5 months, I’d torn my labrum, my father died, my sister and I moved into my mom’s house, and I was about to spend Spring Break recovering from shoulder surgery. Today, when I went to see her after school, she was sitting with her friends at dinner, eating a cheeseburger & happily chatting about newspapers. Her conversations often don’t make sense … but they don’t have to. She’s happy. She’s content. She’s well cared for by the staff at Belmont Village.

I say all this to my friends who I know are going through hard times. They. Will. Pass. They will get better.

I’ve been listening to the Harry Potter audiobooks since Thanksgiving as a way to cope – okay, escape – what I knew would be a difficult holiday season. I’m not overselling it when I say Harry Potter got me through. I found escapism that I was expecting and wisdom that I wasn’t. I discovered truths about myself by reading the words in the characters of JK Rowling. That’s me. That’s been me for many many years – scarred by my own thoughts and misconceptions and insecurities.

HP2 The descriptions of Harry trying to cope after the death of Dumbledore mirrored my own feelings after my dad died. It felt like – still feels like on some days – that the grief comes out of nowhere and knocks me flat.

All of this is to say to my friends that are going through their own hard times – because we’re all going through our own hard times of some form or another – that you are not alone. You will get through this. And it will get better.

I ran a 5K last weekend. A year ago, 5 years ago, 20 years ago I wouldn’t have thought I would even want to run a 5K, let alone enter & finish one. But here I am. I’m on the other side of a really difficult period in my life, and I’m doing okay. That means that you can get on the other side too. You are not defined by this period in your life; you are bigger than the hard times.

And if you need a coping mechanism, I highly recommend Harry Potter. Seriously.

What I Would Do Over

I’m not a big believer in regrets. I think I’m where I am for a certain reason even if I don’t understand why at the time. But if I could go back to my high school world, there are a few things I’d do differently.

(1) I’d take the classes I really wanted to take, but didn’t want to leave my friends or take a class that was “uncool.” I wish I’d been in FFA and raised a goat or a cow or something. I have a weird dream of moving out to the farm and becoming a cattle rancher at some point when I give up on teaching. I could have learned how to to do that in FFA.

(2) I wish I hadn’t always been so scared of rejection. I was always sure that I’d never get asked to Homecoming or to the Prom, so I made sure to make plans that wouldn’t allow me to go to Homecoming or the Prom when the weekend came around. Of course, I never got asked. I don’t know if it was the tail wagging the dog – maybe I wouldn’t have gotten asked even if I hadn’t already presumed that I wouldn’t, but I’ll never know. I was too scared to be rejected so I just took myself out of the game. I was insecure and scared and created a situation for rejection.

(3) I wish I’d spent more time with my dad watching football games. In high school, I was too cool to hangout with him every Sunday, and in college I was too busy. After college, I was trying to build my own identity separate from his. I’d give anything right now to be able to sit and watch a football game or March Madness or the NBA playoffs and let him school me on the game.

I don’t regret any of my choices because they’ve made me who I am today. Well, except for the whole Shoulder Pad Period of the Early 2000s … I clung on to that moment for way too long after it was out of fashion. But I do wish I’d taken a few more risks: put myself out there instead of assuming rejection, taken that class that deep down I know is weird but I would probably like it. And at least I got unconditional love in my dog. Because how can you not see this face and know unconditional love.

Adventures in Alzheimer’s

Okay.

We’ve reached a new level in this whole Alzheimer’s thing with my mom. She’s fully in the paranoid/conspiracy/hallucination phase. That’s common in the later stages for Alzheimer’s patients, by the way.

Last week, she wouldn’t let me touch her sunglasses case because it had a note on it that said “Do Not Touch.” (the note was in her own handwriting, but whatever) There might be poison gas in it. Or a bomb. Or a severed finger. Still not sure, although we inspected for wires – because, you know, a bomb – and there weren’t any, so we’re leaning toward poison gas. Maybe the severed finger, although there is a historical lack of Mob Hits at the Assisted Living Center, so severed finger isn’t as likely.

You do NOT want to know what was in here. (Sunglasses. It was her sunglasses.)

I started laughing. Couldn’t help it – I just started laughing. Loud, wheezy, almost wet-my-pants laughing.

Paranoia is a common stage of Alzheimer’s. Since she moved into Assisted Living, “They” (the people who work at the Assisted Living center) have taken many things that have mysteriously reappeared under her mattress or stuffed in the back of a bathroom cabinet or hidden in some other hidey hole that she’s created for herself. (How many hiding places can there be in a 500 square foot studio? You’d be surprised.) She is hiding things that seem valuable (dog leashes?), then when she can’t find it, she’s certain They came in and took them. Most times, They come in the middle of the night (she swears she sees Them, although her dog Bonnie never barks at Them, because, you know, THEY’RE NOT REAL) and take the “valuables.” When my sister or I get there the next day and discover the “valuables” in one of the hidey holes, my mom swears They came back in and put the valuables back.

Last night, she called to tell me she was worried because A Man came in her room and stole some of her dog food. When I got there today, she said that he came in the middle of the night, rearranged the dog food from the top shelf to the middle shelf in her kitchenette, and she didn’t like that a strange man was coming in her room in the middle of the night to take/rearrange her dog food. I told her I agreed. I mean, who wants strange men coming in their home and rearranging the dog food? Not me.

My sister and I have decided the best way to deal with an Alzheimer’s patient at my mom’s level is to just go with it. Don’t tell her she’s wrong or crazy or hallucinating. Just agree with her. I keep reassuring her that Bonnie will bark at any of the bad people. As long as Bonnie doesn’t bark very long at someone, then they’re ok. We told her that the nurses and the aides who walk around in the facility shirts are also working as guards to ensure no bad people can get in and bother the residents.

We told her we’d have the locks changed so that That Man couldn’t get in anymore. Today, one of the nurses pulled me aside to talk to me and was very concerned that my sister and I might believe someone was really in her room. I assured her that we have always found the “stolen” items hidden somewhere in her room. Since her dog didn’t bark at the non-existent intruder, I feel confident that it was a hallucination and completely trust the facility’s employees to keep taking great care of her.

I took her to the grocery store this morning and on the way out, I gave her room keys to the receptionist at the front desk, asked her to give them back to my mom when we came back in and tell her that they have changed the locks to her room. Thankfully, the receptionist gets it, and when we came back in, the receptionist gave my mom her keys and told her the locks have been changed and no one can get in her room without her permission. My mom was so grateful.

What have I learned so far from my mom’s Alzheimers? It’s a forward-progressing disease. She’s not going to come back from this. Some things you can’t fix, you can’t reverse, and you can’t make it better. You just have to put your head down and get through it as best as you can. Many days, that means just taking it one day at a time.

Secondly, and probably most important for my sister and I: we have to laugh. We have to laugh at all the crazy and the bizarre and out-of-the blue comments that come out of my mom’s brain. When she thought her glasses case had the poison gas/severed finger, I couldn’t stop laughing. I finally told her that since her glasses case isn’t airtight, we should leave it, and by the time she got back from lunch, the poison gas would probably have dissipated and it would be safe to open.

I have no idea what neuron synapses are firing to get her brain to do what it does, but you have to laugh. I do, anyway. The alternative is to tilt your head at the sympathetic angle, lower your voice to Grief Level, and say – in a serious, hushed tone – how sad it all is. You can do that if you want to. I just don’t want you to do that around me. I choose to laugh. It’s my mom and it’s my grief, and if you don’t think my way of coping is appropriately mournful enough … well just keep it to yourself. I get to have my own way of coping and unless you’ve been with me to the Assisted Living center or the police station or the doctor’s office, I don’t want your suggestions. I may want you to listen to me or let me cry in front of you or hug me, but please don’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong.

Thirdly, you will have the breakdown days. Last week, my mom called me thinking she was talking to my sister and had an entire conversation with me, about me. She wanted my sister to team up with her and pray for me. She thought there were things that the two of them could pray about for me … and she’s telling me her prayers and reasons. I played along as if I were my sister, and told her that I thought that was a great idea and Cathy would really appreciate it. I realized that even in her advanced level of dementia, she still loves me so unconditionally and so fully that she is aware enough to want to pray for me.

At the end of our lives, mental or physical lives, or both … when most of the material things you’ve collected over your life become irrelevant and you’re only surrounded by a few people … will you have built relationships that exist even when your mental faculties are fading? Will you still know that even though everything else in your world is confusing and sometimes scary, you still have certain people that you love and trust so deeply that they remain a solid foundation in your world? My mom loves me that much. She loves my sister that much. I have no doubt about that. And that has become the most important thing in life for me. Developing those few, those vital, those so very solid relationships.

Well … that and hoping for more severed-finger/poison gas episodes so I have funny stories to tell when I get back to work every day after visiting her. Every day is an adventure.

Football without my dad.

Cluck Boys — My dad, 2nd from left, with his 3 brothers. Their poor mom … bless her.

Allen B. — My dad on the left, sticking his tongue out. Always sassy.

A friend of mine whose dad passed away several years ago recently posted “I wish my dad had taken his phone with him.” I feel exactly the same way. For no discernible reason, I’ve really been missing my dad lately. I haven’t taken his number out of my phone even though he died over nine months ago. He was the wisest person I know with the greatest sense of humor. He was my biggest cheerleader and encourager. I miss him calling me after Aggie football games to talk about the games. He gave me my love of football when we’d come home every Sunday after church and watch the Houston Oilers. (If you know the history of the Houston Oilers, those were not always winning years.) Several years ago when Westlake was playing in the playoffs, he would drive with me to San Marcos or San Antonio to go to the games. I miss seeing him every morning when he’d come over to pick up my dog and take her to his house so she wouldn’t have to be alone all day. I miss seeing him sitting in his chair when I’d come over to his house to pick her up. I miss my dad. I’m scared going into the holiday season without him for the first time. I know this is normal, and I know that missing him won’t ever really go away. I know all these things but I still wish he’d taken his phone with him and I could pick mine up and call him. I heard a really inappropriate joke the other day that would have made him double over and do the wheezy laugh.

In the last two months, I’ve had one friend come into my home and steal medications, and another person I thought I could trust enough to live in my mom’s home, steal property from her and sell it. We live in a world filled with broken people. We live in a world filled with bad people. But we also live in a world full of good, loving, kind people. I’ve reached the age where my true friend group is relatively small. My dad used to say that you really only needed six friends in your life – enough to act as pallbearers at your funeral. My dad was definitely one of the good guys. When my sister and I discovered the guy who had been stealing from my mom’s house, I got really frustrated with myself and thought that my dad would never have let that happen. Then I remembered a man who my dad had trusted with some investments many years ago, who squandered my dad’s money away. My dad told me that, while he was angry at the guy and frustrated that he’d allowed himself to be taken advantage of in that way, he’d learned a lesson from it. My dad was a big believer in learning lessons. He used to say making mistakes was part of life, screwing up was part of life, and even when – especially when – it hurts, make sure you learn something from it. Make sure you learn the lesson so you don’t repeat it in the future.

What is the acceptable amount of time before you take your dad’s number out of your phone? If there’s any kind of rule for that, can you let me know?

Do-overs

I go back to school this week, and I’m reminded of one of the greatest things I love about teaching. The kids are the best and my favorite part – as cheesy as that sounds – but I love the fact that teaching allows for do-overs. Every new school year brings a chance to change what I didn’t like from last year; I can close the chapter of a bad year and start brand new with a new group of kids. It’s the same way I feel about Mondays and new months and new years … we always get a chance to start over.

Football started back this week (photo courtesy of KXAN news), along with all the other fall sports, and the start of a season means the kids and coaches have the chance to start the season brand new. Whatever happened last year doesn’t matter, they start keeping score from right here, right now.

My kids who graduated are going off to college to start a whole new life. Some of them are excited; most of them are terrified whether they’ll admit it or not. College represents a chance to start over & be whoever you want to be, create whatever identity you want & leave behind those parts of your high school self that need leaving behind. You get a do-over.

Even Blue Bell ice cream gets a do-over and is coming back to the shelves of Blue-Bell starved Texans who have suffered through #Summer2015 without the sustenance of the best ice cream in the land. But it’s coming back people, and we are on the road to normalcy.

A few summers ago, I decided I was going to have the Summer of Cathy and embrace all that the summer had to offer. I took a horseback riding class, cooking class, yoga class, photography class. I took road trips, spent time at the Farm reading books and watching tv and movies and going where I wanted to go and doing what I wanted to do. I didn’t get that this summer. This summer was a little more Real Life where I took care of my mom as best as my sister and I could. By the time she seemed to settle in to the Senior Living center and we were down to about 2 phone calls a day (from the 12-14 a day we got in the early days) I felt like I was actually going to get a summer. Not a full summer … but two weeks of summer. A Fortnight of Cath if you will. Enough to sit by the pool, and take a road trip, and finish reading a book, and see Mission Impossible. Plus, I got to stay in an Airstream with Gracie. It was enough. It was plenty.

On Thursday my do-over for teaching begins. That means that my do-over for reconnecting with grown adult humans & co-workers is also starting, and frankly terrifies me. I’m socially awkward on my very best days but take me out of circulation for 8 months, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if I can have a real-life conversation with someone other than my dog or my sister for more than 5 minutes. That will be my personal adventure. I’ll be sure to update on all the awkwardness that I have no doubt will ensue.

For now folks, go embrace these last days of summer if you still have some; college kids, reinvent whatever that part is of you that’s been wanting to be reinvented. Everyone else, go buy some new pencils and a notebook and remember what it felt like to start a new school year fresh and unencumbered by any mistakes from your past. What is it you’d like a do-over on? Go for it.

Operation Life Reconstruction, Take 2

A week and a half ago my sister and I moved my mom who has Alzheimer’s into an memory care center. We thought this would be the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. That was not to be. After four miserable days (heartbreaking sobs from a woman who is not a cryer) begging us to get her out of there because “it’s not a happy place and no one smiles,” a few altercations between my mom & the nursing staff (and a few pieces of furniture), and my sister and I being unable to get past the feeling that this was just not a good fit, we decided to pull her out of one assisted living center and move her into a new one. When I asked for prayer last week as her transition was not going smoothly, one of the things I prayed for was a friend for my mom by Friday. As it turns out, she did have a new friend by Friday … just in a totally different facility. God is funny. We were able to move her out of one place & into another within a 24 hour window. She is much happier in the new “hotel” and has already made friends to sit with at meals. Clearly that feeling of walking into a lunch room not knowing anyone and wondering who will be nice enough to ask you to sit with them never goes away.

So I would ask you this, in honor of my mom: when you meet someone who might need a welcome or a hug or an invitation to sit with them … be bold and invite them to sit down with you. You might make someone’s day. You might give that person a reason to come out of her room the next day and struggle past her own insecurities and fears and loneliness. You might get a hilariously wacky story that involves wading through words that often don’t naturally string together, but come out “pleasantly confused.” Or you might get a real friend.

I am still trying to figure out how to live my “normal” life where I’m only responsible for my dog and I only live in one house instead of a few. I went to the grocery store a few days ago since I haven’t had real groceries in my refrigerator in months. (Real groceries are the ones that you remember you have in your refrigerator and they haven’t spoiled or gone rotten or have funky fur growing on them.) I walked up and down the aisles of HEB trying to figure out what I needed to buy when one eats real food instead of takeout or prepared meals from the deli. I ended leaving with spinach dip and pita chips. Clearly, reconstructing my life is going to take some baby steps.

Reconstructing my life also means I’m about to wage an all-out homicidal no-holds-barred war against the fruit flies that have become drain squatters in my absence from my home. It shall be a blitzkrieg which has not been witnessed since Hitler rolled across Europe and took a vacation photo in front of the Eiffel Tower. Because even Hitler takes a vacation photo in front of the Eiffel Tower when he goes to Paris.

If you are of the “fruit flies have rights too”mentality, your opinions are dead to me. I shall soon be whistling happy tunes as I flush out all the dead fruit flies, and clean my home with the joy of Mary Poppins. I have a dark side.

In the meantime, my mom is happier, and I’m praying that her friend circle grows and grows until she doesn’t want to live anywhere else. I’m also praying that I move beyond spinach dip and pita chips into actual healthy meals; that I go to a movie, maybe eat lunch or dinner out, and that at some point this summer, I just float in a pool or down a river like the normal people do.

Thanks for the prayers, y’all.