So long, Harvey

I went to a visitation today for the father of some longtime friends. 

Harvey's oldest daughter and I have been friends for nearly six decades, and I've known his other three daughters for almost as long. 

I didn't know their Daddy very well when we were growing up, but I was blessed to get to know him as an adult while I worked at the senior center. Most weekdays, Harvey would come in for lunch, and if I could, I would join him for a meal.

We visited about happenings in town and, of course, he caught me up on what his beloved daughters were up to. He was tremendously proud of the girls and their families. On occasion, when the out-of-town girls were home for a visit, Harvey would bring them in to the senior center for lunch and a visit with me. It was always good to see them. 

Despite the solemnity and sadness of the occasion, it was good to see them again today. 

Harvey was a good, hard-working man with a wonderful sense of humor. He usually teased me about something when he saw me. When he ate lunch with a certain humor-loving group of seniors, Harvey could hold his own and give back as good as he got. There were a few times I was nearly in tears from laughing so hard at their banter.

Sometimes, during special occasions, we would give away prizes to seniors during lunch. During one Earth Day celebration, Harvey won one of the specially made desserts. He so didn't want his photo taken, but, because I had asked him, he acquiesced, and posed with his prize and a smile on his face.

When my Mom died earlier this year, I immediately felt the aloneness of adult orphanhood. I'm still dealing with that, but it is getting a bit better. 

After visiting with the girls and a couple of their spouses, I learned that the girls and I are not the only ones who have suffered loss this year. It has been a helluva year for many of us. 

I came away from our visit with a bit of a different perspective about what has happened to us this year.

While we have lost loved ones and are transitioning to being the seniors in society, those of us who remain continue to move forward one step at a time. But we do so together with love, grace, and compassion. 

Remembering Christmases past

I've been thinking a lot about Christmas this year, partly because it will be my first year without both of my parents. I've also, however, been thinking about how much the Christmas season has changed over the years.

When I was a little one, the Christmas season was full of awe and wonder. The lights. The decorations. The music. It all created a wonderous time filled with joy. In Sunday school, we sang songs about the birth of Jesus. In school, we sang about Santa and Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. It seemed perfectly logical to have both, and both blended together to create one joyous, eagerly anticipated season.

The season was filled with a series of much anticipated events, starting with receiving the Sears Christmas catalog. Each year, I looked through the catalog multiple times, in awe of all the fun toys and Christmas gifts to be had. 

Once the Sears Christmas catalog was out, it was time to think about and then write my letter to Santa with what I would like for Christmas. 

When I was growing up, my folks didn't have a lot of money. I didn't realize until I was an adult that we weren't wealthy because they always made sure that the holidays and birthdays were special.

Many of my gifts were books, and I would spend hours in my room reading. 

I also, however, got a number of gifts that challenged my mind and sparked my creativity. Games such as Milton Bradley's Feeley Meeley in which players had to identify and retrieve from a covered box items shown on game cards. We had to determine the correct items by how they felt in our hands. The person who correctly retrieved the most items won. Today, I doubt that I would stick my hand in a hole in the side of a box to retrieve anything, but it was a great deal of fun then.

Another creativity sparking gift was Spirograph, which used a variety of hoops and disks, as well as multiple colored pens to create a plethora of geometric designs. The hoops and disks had teeth, which enabled them to work like gears, albeit on a flat surface. How the designs turned out depended on which pens and disks were used with which hoops. Another variable was where the pen was inserted into the disk as the disk was twirled around the hoop. I spent hours creating geometric designs and no two of my designs were the same.

One year, either my uncle or my grandparents got me a small reel to reel tape recorder. My friend, Laurie, and I spent hours recording a mixture of commentary and songs, many of which we made up as we went along. To this day, Laurie will remind me of a rewrite we did of the words to the theme song for Here Come the Brides, a late 1960s TV show that included my heartthrob, Bobby Sherman! 

Of course, there also were crayons and coloring books and other crafty type gifts that sparked creativity as well. To this day, I enjoy coloring and once this blog post is done, I think I will dig out my Christmas coloring book and gel pens and color a page or two. 

As I got older, but before I was old enough to be hired for a job, I used to do extra chores around the house to make money so I could buy my family Christmas presents. One year, Mom told me she would pay me five cents for every piece I ironed. Unfortunately, she didn't anticipate my ingenuity and drive. I ironed everything I could think of, including tablecloths that weren't being used and my Dad's shorts!

Another eagerly anticipated Christmastime event was baking and decorating Christmas-themed sugar cookies, or cutout cookies as we called them then. We had a variety of Christmas cookie cutters, including a star, a Santa, a Christmas tree, a snowman, a stocking, and a present. The cookies were decorated with a variety of colors of frosting and sprinkles.

Then there was the decorating of the Christmas tree. At the time, Dad insisted that we purchase a real tree. Back then, we had to wait a day or two for the tree to get rehydrated before we could decorate it. The wait seemed like an eternity. The house sure smelled good, though! Additionally, for a number of years, my grandparents had a tinsel tree with a rotating multi-colored light. When I was little, I spent a great deal of time in awe of the twinkling tree.

There also were the school and church Christmas programs and the class Christmas parties, filled with music, goodies, and the Christmas spirit.

I also eagerly anticipated riding around town with my parents to look at Christmas lights and decorations. Now keep in mind that this was before parks were decorated with drive-through light shows and an over abundance of inflatable decorations were created. A highlight of the excursion was stopping at a house that each year showed cartoons on its large front window. Cars could pull up and tune their radios to a special frequency to hear the audio from the cartoons. People were respectful and didn't stay too long so that others also would have the opportunity to watch the show.

And then there was the Christmas music! It was on the radio and in the stores from Thanksgiving to Christmas.  These were songs by Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, Brenda Lee, Burl Ives, Perry Como, Dean Martin, etc. We also played Christmas music at home. I would have played it for a longer period of time than we did, but I suppose it wouldn't have seemed as special then.

Because of family obligations and conflicting schedules, we had four gifting sessions. Christmas Eve was spent with my Dad's parents and brother, as well as my Great Aunt and Uncle. Christmas morning was for Mom, Dad, and I. Then we headed to Lincoln County to "have Christmas" with Mom's side of the family. Somehow, Santa managed to leave presents at all four locations!

As I have gotten older, some traditions have lost their luster or are no longer a part of my world.

I rarely bake cookies any more. Now that I no longer have a gallbladder, I suspect most Christmas cookies will be forbidden. And I'd rather eat no Christmas sweets than try the low-fat versions. They just wouldn't be the same. Sorry, but I am a Christmas sweets snob!

While I still try to listen to some of the Christmas music listed above, I prefer classical Christmas music. 

Jorgie guarding the presents while we wait for
Mom and Dad to get up.  This was several years
ago. © Leslie Eikleberry 2024

Our Christmas tree has changed to an artificial one that has remained in the box for the past several years, at my Dad's request, out of fear that our dog might damage it. Now that Jorgie is gone, I doubt I will put the tree up. It just seems like too much of a hassle. I did, however, hang the Santa on the front door and may even put the wreath on the porch!

Up until they died, I drove my folks around town to look at Christmas lights, but the fun wasn't in seeing the decorations. It was in being together at Christmastime. I don't plan to look at lights this year.

I am curious to see what future Christmas seasons hold for me. I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me because my immediate family is gone. I know there is something out there for me. I just need to work through the grief of losing my folks and my Jorgie before I can figure out what it is. 

In the meantime, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Hug your loved ones tight and eat a Christmas cookie and piece of fudge for me! (Those calories don't count!)

I am thankful

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I have been reflecting on why I am thankful.

Now given the events of the past couple of years, I'm sure some of you are wondering what sorts of drugs the doctors have me on. Afterall, both my parents, my uncle, and my best buddy (dog) all died within the past two years. Additionally, I am still recovering from two major surgeries in October: removal of a large blood clot from my lungs and removal of my gallbladder.

Despite all of that, I remain thankful.

I am thankful that I still tear up when thinking of my departed family members. There was/is a great deal of love between us and I am holding on to it as tenaciously as I can. So what if I cry, even ugly cry, at the oddest or even most inopportune moments. It means that I care and that while my family members are gone, the love remains. 

Don't want to see me ugly cry? Then don't look because it is going to happen.

I am thankful for my good friends and family members who have continued to check on me through it all and help when needed. Despite sometimes feeling lost and lonely because my core family has departed, I have found a new sort of family, one partly of blood relatives and partly of those I have chosen to be in my family. I love you one and all!

I am thankful for the Apple Watch I purchased a few months ago so I would have a way to call should I have an emergency. (I think a life-threatening giant blood clot counts, don't you?) I used the watch to call for an ambulance when I had passed out on the hallway floor and was so weak and winded that I couldn't even crawl to the table by my chair where my cell phone was. An hour or so later, the ER doctor told me that if I hadn't come in when I did, I would have died.

I am thankful for the EMTs who broke into my house to get me and whisk me off to the hospital, where a few hours later, medical personnel were removing the blood clot. Thank you, fellas, for only busting out the locks and not totally destroying my front door! And thank you for securing the door until I could return home and replace the locks.

I also am thankful for the EMTs who came to my house a week later to take me back to the hospital, this time to have my gallbladder removed. There was no breaking in this time. Despite it being about 4:30 in the morning, I shut and locked the door and waited for them on Mom's glider out front.

I am thankful that while I was sitting on the glider, I got to see the neighborhood fox scurrying across the yard. I said hello to him, which caused him to pause. He seemed somewhat befuddled that a human was sitting outside at 4:30 in the morning and talking to him. He then went on his way, probably hunting food before returning to the safety of his den.

I am thankful for the medical personnel at Salina Regional Health Center who saved my life and helped me begin to recover from two surgeries in as many weeks.

I am thankful, despite its exorbitant price, for Eliquis, the blood thinner I now take to help dissolve the tiny bits of blood clot that were not able to be removed and to help keep new blood clots from forming. I don't ever want to feel again like I did that morning that the EMTs had to break into my house.

I am thankful for the people God has put into my life to help me navigate through selling my childhood home and getting Mom's estate settled. What a daunting task, especially with everything else going on.

I am thankful that I am able to find foods that I like that will not cause me digestive problems in my new gallbladderless world. Nearly all the foods I used to love are now out as I attempt to embrace a new, lower-fat diet. At first, I was devastated that I would no longer get to eat pepperoni pizza, tacos, cheeseburgers, all the stuff I shouldn't have been eating anyway. But you know what? I haven't had pizza in more than a month and I don't miss it a bit! And on the plus side, the new, lower-fat diet will help me to lose weight and will overall be more healthy for me.

I am thankful, of course, for a roof over my head and warm clothes to wear, and a car to get me around town.

I am thankful for those of you who bother to read my blog posts. While I write for me and to keep writing, I do appreciate hearing from those of you who read my digital chicken scratches!

Most importantly, I am thankful that with all the crap that is going on in the world, the good Lord is taking time to look after me.

What are you thankful for this holiday season?

Is there really a new normal?

Since early 2023, I have been working to establish a new normal for my life. I've come to the conclusion, however, that establishing a new normal isn't a real concept. 

When I first moved back to my hometown in 2003, my folks insisted that I move in with them. Then, as time passed, it became apparent that I needed to continue living with my aging parents to help out. That was our "normal" for nearly 20 years until my Dad died in early 2023.

At that point, I officially became the primary caregiver for my Mom, who had Parkinson's and the dementia that goes with it. Mom and I navigated a new life without Dad. All went fairly well until the fall of 2023, when our Shih Tzu developed irreversible kidney issues and had to be put down. 

Losing Jorgie like that was a gut punch that still prompts tears at times. Jorgie's kisses and snuggles had helped me work through my grief for losing Dad. Mom, through no fault of her own, was little help as her dementia had taken away her ability to empathize.

Nonetheless, we continued on until Mom died in August of this year. For the first time in my life, all of my immediate family members were gone and I was alone. 

I began to rely on my first cousins and my chosen family of close friends and neighbors as I once again tried to establish a new normal. 

A month after Mom died, my Uncle died. While I knew my cousins would still be there for me, I also knew that they now had even more on their plates.

Then, in October, my body rebelled and I was hospitalized twice in two consecutive weeks for two different health issues. In the first, I arrived at the hospital via ambulance mid morning and by 4 p.m. a surgeon was removing a giant blood clot from my lungs.

Shameless promotion: after passing out three times, I found myself on the hallway floor and unable to get up. I used my Apple watch to call the ambulance that first time. I had gotten the Apple watch after I shut the landline off in case I had an emergency and was not near my cell phone. It did its job well. If you have a smart watch synced to your cell phone, learn how to use it to call for help. It may save your life!

Nearly a week after I first went to the hospital, I rode an ambulance back to the hospital after a sharp pain in my lower chest/upper abdomen would not go away. 

I had been told the previous week that there were still some small pieces of the blood clot in my veins that were going to be treated with medication. I was concerned that the pain I was feeling was related to the blood clot pieces still in my system. The doctor had told me that if I had any issues, I needed to get back to the hospital quickly, so I called an ambulance a second time. 

As it turned out, the pain was caused by a bad gallbladder that needed to be removed. That surgery came a day after I arrived at the hospital the second time. 

Since then, I have been recovering from the two surgeries while working on issues related to Mom's estate. 

I've also been thinking about the concept of establishing a new normal. 

I've decided that establishing a new normal isn't real. It seems clear, as I have outlined the past couple of years above, that instead of establishing and living a new normal, we just continue to evolve, reacting and adapting to whatever life throws at us. 

And what if we don't? I suppose that either we die or go insane. 

As for me, it is a comfort to view the rest of my life in through this lens.

I choose to keep evolving. How about you?

And it was back to the hospital for me

Two trips in two consecutive weeks is enough!

Apparently my body had too much fun at the hospital last week and decided it wanted to visit again.

On Tuesday, I observed the Taco Tuesday ritual Mom and I had partaken in weekly for the last year of her life. A bit after eating, I started feeling unwell. I decided it was bad tacos. But when the pain in my stomach continued more than twelve hours after I ate, I became concerned that the pain was connected to the giant blood clot that was removed from my lungs last week. 

I called for an ambulance and took another ride to Salina Regional Health Center with Salina Fire's finest about 4:30 a.m. Wednesday.

I spent a good part of Wednesday in an ER room, partially waiting for a room to open up in the hospital. While there, I had blood tests and more CT scans. It was determined that there was a large stone blocking the duct in my gallbladder and that the gallbladder needed to go. 

So early on Thursday morning, I was in pre-surgery waiting for a very kind and upbeat Dr. Gray to remove the offending and somewhat useless organ from my body.

The procedure went well and I was sent back to my room on 5 Surgical West. 

Once again, the good folks at Salina Regional did a great job taking care of me. I especially appreciated the efforts of Lynnette and Miranda who went above and beyond to calm my fears and helped me through what turned into an emotional time for me.

Have you ever had to have someone wipe your butt because you were not able to? It was embarrassing and the last straw in what has been a tough couple of years for me. I lost it. Lynnette and Miranda got me through it with kind, upbeat attitudes.

I also appreciated the folks who showed up more often than I would have liked to draw blood. I have an aversion to being poked with needles that goes back to my youth. All of the Salina Regional folks who poked my arms were kind and understanding when I told my story about the blood draw long ago. They did their best to put me at ease and apologized each time I winced when they poked. 

Then there were the friends who picked up my mail and gave me a ride home, and the family and friends who knew I was in the hospital again and offered prayers and support from afar. 

Thank you all!

Aside from healing from the surgery, my immediate goal is to not need to go to the hospital for a third consecutive week. Please pray that I achieve that goal.

So, it wasn't COVID after all

 

About a week ago, I wrote that I thought I had COVID and that my illness was causing vivid dreams.

Well, it wasn't COVID.

I won't go into all the gory details, but after passing out on the toilet three times, I used my Apple watch on Wednesday to call 911. Salina Fire's finest broke into my house (though they left the door intact) and whisked me away to Salina Regional Health Center. Thanks, fellas!

After a CT scan, it was determined that I had a massive blood clot on my lungs. I also had whatever bug is currently going around. 

The ER doc told me that had I not come in when I did, I'd be dead. I got to the ER early afternoon and the procedure to remove the clot was scheduled for 4 p.m. that same day. 

The procedure was interesting. They wheeled me into an operating room where classic rock was playing in the background. I found myself singing along to some of the songs. 

They made an incision at the top of my leg and went up through an artery to the vessels in my lungs and sucked the clot out. I was too busy jammin' to realize when they finished. The whole procedure took maybe an hour.

They showed me the clot, which they had laid out on a card that had a line drawing of the vessels in my lungs. It was a massive, multi-tentacled monster that stretched seven to eight inches across and approximately five inches deep.

I was told that my clot set a record for the largest clot every removed at Salina Regional. I always thought It would be fun to be a record holder, but not like that!

They gave me a photo of the clot on the card. It was suggested by some at the hospital that I use the photo in my Christmas letter! We'll see.

I was sooo pretty in the hospital. ©

As they did with Mom, most of the people at Salina Regional took good care of me. A big shout-out to those who did and assisted with the procedure. You made it seem so easy. Also, a shout-out to the hospitalist, the nurses, and the aides/techs on 3SE. Your kindness and caring during a scary time is most appreciated. (And thanks for listening to and laughing at my goofy and probably not-as-funny-as-I-thought comments!)

Also, a big thank you to my longest-tenured friend, Laurie, who picked me up at the hospital this morning and took me to drag Fe before taking me home! Additionally, thank you to my friends and neighbors who picked up my mail and brought me freshly made chicken soup and a beautiful bouquet of roses.

Finally, thank you to my family and friends near and far for your support, prayers, and good wishes. Each one of you has played a part in helping me through this!

In looking back at the vivid dream I wrote about in my last blog post, I think it was a message from my Mom. As you may remember, in the dream I found myself in the ESU Memorial Union, eventually eating with my Mom, although I never saw her face. All I saw of her was when she was walking away down the long main hallway of the Memorial Union. 

I think she was trying to tell me it wasn't yet my time. 

I guess God still has plans for me here.

Dreaming in the time of COVID

 

I haven't been feeling well for the past few days. 

At first I thought it was the usual fall bug going around, as I was feeling a little out of sorts. But after I suddenly got winded walking to the bathroom and had surprise diarrhea, I decided to see what the symptoms of the latest version of COVID-19 were. I have had, over the course of the past few days, eight of the eleven symptoms.

Now before you start playing armchair doctor, as well-meaning and kind as it may be, I will be fine. The windedness has subsided a bit, as have the chills, and, thankfully, the diarrhea. I'm managing the congestion with Mucinex, and it seems to be easing a bit as well. The coughs are less frequent. And I promise, if things get worse, I will seek medical help.

I was fortunate that not all of the symptoms hit at the same time. One effect of the illness that has been consistent throughout the past few days is one that doesn't appear on the CDC's COVID-19 symptom list. My dreams have been incredibly vivid and weird as heck.

Most recently was one I had today. I had intended to watch the Lions-Vikings game at noon. I had sort of watched the New England-Jacksonville game from London earlier and turned the channel to the Lions-Vikings pregame as soon as NE-JAX concluded. Then I promptly fell asleep in my chair.

The part of the dream I remember was set along the main, long hallway of the Emporia State Memorial Union, a place I have not been in quite some time. As is true with many dreams, the Memorial Union in my dream, while resembling the real building, had a number of enhancements, most notably, a huge cafeteria to the east of the bookstore.

For those not familiar with the real Memorial Union, such a culinary enhancement in that location would have put the east entrance to the real Memorial Union in the parking lot across the street.

In the dream, Mom and I were going to have lunch in the cafeteria. Although neither of us lived in Emporia in the dream, we somehow managed to arrive in separate cars at different times. 

I went in search of Mom and was told that a friend was looking for me on Mom's behalf. (In reality, that friend is one from my days working at the Hays Daily News, not ESU.)

While looking for Mom, I encountered a number of people who, at least in my dream, were people I knew or knew of, though I couldn't remember their names. Whether they all were from ESU remains a mystery.

I approached the cafeteria and discovered that ESU staff members were there having a sit-down strike for better wages and better working conditions. Thinking that may have scared off Mom, I went to another part of the cafeteria (remember: it was huge) and apparently found Mom, though I don't recall ever sitting down with her and having a conversation while eating. During that time, not once did I see her face, yet she was there.

I do remember eating fried chicken. (Probably a KFC original chicken tenders commercial was on my TV during that part of the dream.) Then Mom got up and left, walking down the long hallway toward the west entrance to the Memorial Union, while I scrambled to figure out what to do with our trays while not disturbing the employees' sit-in.

I looked down the hall and could see Mom walking away. She was wearing the polo top that she wore in the photo I used for her obituary, though she had a coat over it. Ironically, in the dream, I said to myself, "Look! She's wearing the same polo shirt she wore in that photo I used for her obituary." Now keep in mind, in the dream Mom was not dead.

Part of me wonders whether it was Mom checking in with me because I was sick. I'd like to think that was the case. 

Nonetheless, that dream was weird as heck. 

I pray you never have to deal with dementia

In whatever form it manifests itself, dementia is callous.

Whether it be the inability to find the correct words to convey what one is thinking or the inability to recognize loved ones, the ability to converse with people who aren't really there or the loss of memory, dementia takes its toll on not only the person it afflicts, but also family and friends of the person. 

Perhaps the most well known of the dementia diseases is Alzheimer's disease. Celebrities such as Rita Hayworth, Ronald Reagan, Charlton Heston, Glen Campbell, Burgess Meredith, Perry Como, and Eddie Albert were among the millions who have suffered from Alzheimer's.

Although Alzheimer's disease usually is top of mind when "dementia" is mentioned, there are many other forms of dementia. For instance, an autopsy revealed that Robin Williams was in the advanced stages of Lewy body dementia at the time of his death by suicide in 2014, according to information on the Lewy Body Dementia Association website (https://www.lbda.org/blog/robin-williams-and-lewy-body-dementia-2/).

Actor Bruce Willis has been diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, according to a family statement published on the Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration website (https://www.theaftd.org/mnlstatement23/ Feb. 16, 2023).

About seven years ago, my Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease (the same disease that actor Michael J. Fox has). We had noticed that her hands shook while reading the newspaper, so much so that I could hear the pages rattling from across the room. She also was having trouble sleeping, partly because her legs shook in bed. 

Mom's primary physician at the time referred her to a neurologist, who made the Parkinson's diagnosis and prescribed medication to help lessen the tremors. After the initial couple of visits, Mom had to see the neurologist every six months. While there, she had to take a scored one-page cognitive test, an eyes and limbs movement test, and a walking test. 

Initially, Dad and I split doctor duty. He took Mom to appointments with her primary physician and I took Mom to her appointments with the neurologist. During the first several years, Mom's scores on the cognitive tests were fairly close. 

Several years ago, however, her score took a nose dive and her neurologist prescribed medication that could slow the progression of the dementia. During that time, Mom's mobility also decreased and she was forced to use a walker, something she absolutely hated. She tried her best to not have to use the walker, moving around the house by holding on to furniture or the walls. I never knew for sure whether, because of her dementia, she didn't understand why it was safer for her to use the walker or she just didn't want to and was being stubborn. (Stubborn runs in the family and I inherited it from both sides!)

After a while, however, Mom decided to quit taking the dementia-slowing medication as it made her light-headed and dizzy. The neurologist said it was her decision, and we moved on knowing that her cognitive abilities would decline more rapidly than they had been.

She still asked me daily what day it was, though those questions rapidly increased to multiple times in the same day. Some days she had trouble remembering or understanding what I had just said to her, while other days we could chat as we had for years. 

The past few years, Mom increasingly made notes about almost anything. For instance, if I had gone to pick up supper while we were watching a baseball or football game, she would make notes of who scored while I was gone so she could tell me about it when I returned. If there was something on the news that piqued her interest, she would make a note about it. 

Her cognitive decline really began to take a turn for the worse while Dad was recovering from cancer surgery in the fall of 2022. My normally chatty Mom did little more than sit by Dad when I would take her to see him while he was rehabbing. At the time, I thought that, perhaps, the whole situation was too overwhelming for her.

After the ICU nurse called the night Dad died a few months later, I woke up Mom to tell her. She said "Oh my," cried for a couple of minutes, and then went back to sleep.

Shortly after Dad died, Mom developed an affection for one of our dog's stuffed toys, a stuffed baby deer. Now Jorgie's toy wasn't really a dog toy. It was made for a child, but Jorgie was my child, thus he got the baby deer. Jorgie loved that baby deer and didn't understand why his Grandma kept taking it away from him. She finally put it on the back of the couch behind her where Jorgie couldn't get to it.  

Later in the year, for the first time in my life, Mom forgot my birthday. That was tough, though I knew she forgot because of the dementia. The day after my birthday, she had an inkling and asked when my birthday was. 

Last fall, when I had to have Jorgie put down because of kidney disease, I came home from the vet's office with nothing but his collar and tags. Mom asked if Jorgie was staying at the vet's for a few days. I told her, while tears streamed down my face, that Jorgie was dead and wouldn't be coming back home. I sat across the room from Mom, ugly crying for what seemed an eternity while she stared blankly at me for a couple of minutes and then went back to her book.

The neurologist later told me that sometimes people with dementia lose the ability to express emotions and to empathize with others. (That also explained her reaction when I told her Dad had died.)

Shortly after Jorgie died, Mom began placing the baby deer next to her on the couch and petting it. At night, the baby dear sat on the back of the couch. Each night, as she got up to go to bed, she would pet the baby deer and tell it "goodnight."

By far, the worst moment, however, was when Mom looked me in the eye and asked, "Where's Leslie?" I knew I couldn't react the way I felt inside, so in the calmest voice I could muster I said, "Mom, I am Leslie." She cocked her head a bit and looked at me, and then she said, "well, you are," and went back to reading her book. Thank goodness that only happened once. 

Fortunately for Mom and I, she never developed the ability to see and converse with people who really weren't there.  That is a condition that also sometimes afflicts persons with Parkinson's and dementia. 

Through it all, I tried to remember what a friend whose father had Parkinson's once told me: that instead of trying to correct Parkinson's patients for their inability to comprehend what we know to be real, it is better and less upsetting to them to just be present in their version of reality.

I think I did that. At least I tried to do so. Despite the challenges posed by the Parkinson's and dementia, I tried to make Mom's final years happy ones. 

I hope she saw them that way.

Looking at dangerous hurricanes from the safety of Kansas

I can't even begin to imagine what the people of the Florida peninsula are going through right now.

How scary to be facing potentially one of the most powerful and deadly hurricanes to hit the west coast of Florida. Not only that, but Milton is so strong that it also is expected to strike the west coast of Florida as a hurricane and exit the east coast of Florida as a hurricane.

Milton is predicted to be the second hurricane to have its name retired in as many weeks. That's what happens when a hurricane is incredibly deadly or costly.

Folks were still cleaning up from Hurricane Helene, which roared ashore further north on the Florida coast on September 26, when they had to turn their attention to preparing for Milton. While crews frantically work to remove debris from Hurricane Helene, they are not expected to get all of it before Milton hits. The debris that remains will become deadly projectiles being flung about by the strong winds and storm surge.

Forecasters believe Milton will make landfall somewhere between Tampa Bay and Fort Myers late tonight or early tomorrow morning. 

I have several friends living along the west coast of Florida in the area of Milton's predicted landfall. I pray that they remain safe.

In Kansas, we have the threat of tornadoes and storm-related flooding. That is scary enough. What we don't have is sustained winds in the 145-165 mph range, wind gusts in the 175 mph range and storm surge of 10-15 feet of sea water. The storm surge is so deadly that several days ago, Tampa Mayor Jane Castor warned people in the evacuation zones to leave or "you're going to die."

What an ominous warning. I can't even imagine.

Remembering a good man, my Uncle

My Mom dearly loved her "baby" brother, Jere. 

Her face would light up whenever he called and she eagerly anticipated those times when they got to be together.

As of yesterday, they are together once again. I imagine she was waiting for him with a big smile on her face, ready to give him a big hug.

Mom and Uncle Jere when they were kids.

I tell you this not to gain your sympathy. I would prefer that you direct your thoughts and prayers toward my two cousins who lost their Dad. I can relate to what they might be going through, though it is all new to them.

Rather, I want you to know what sort of person my Uncle Jere was. He was a good man, the type of person you would want as a relative.

After my Dad died last year, Uncle Jere stepped in, checking on me occasionally and providing fatherly advice. Those who know me well know that I might have bristled at that, after all, I am fiercely independent. But coming from Uncle Jere, it was okay. I knew he cared.

He loved to text me photos of family, which, of course, I would share with Mom. I got to know a couple of generations of cousins, many of whom I had never met, thanks to those texts.

Uncle Jere also had a great sense of humor and liked to tease those around him. Like Mom, he had a keen sense for finding the funny in situations. I loved listening to him when he was telling a story about someone because I knew, at some point, there would be something funny.

He also was ornery. According to Mom, a great deal of his orneriness in his youth was directed at my Grandmother. It apparently was great fun to hear her shriek at his hijinks!

Despite his ornery streak, Uncle Jere cared deeply about his family. While I am missing him terribly, I take comfort in the fact that he is with Mom once again.

Taking a musical break from the news

I decided to take a break from watching news this afternoon, and I couldn't be happier with the channel I found.

Don't worry! I'm still a dyed-in-the-wool newsie. (More on that a bit later.) For a good part of this afternoon, I have been enjoying the Music Choice Yacht Rock channel on Cox. According to the info about the channel, I am "feeling the vacation vibes with a light mix of soft rock, pop rock, R&B, and smooth jazz from the '70s and '80s."

As I was writing this, Peter Brown was singing Dance With Me. I've also heard America's Sister Golden Hair, Earth, Wind & Fire's After the Love Has Gone, Starbuck's Moonlight Feels Right, Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, and a couple from Christopher Cross, including Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do).

Other artists I've heard from include Fleetwood Mac, Dave Mason, Ambrosia, Billy Joel, Jackson Browne, Peter Frampton, Bread, The Pointer Sisters, Carly Simon, Little River Band, Steely Dan, Kool and The Gang, Player, and Hamilton, Joe Frank, & Reynolds.

I am usually skeptical of listening to a decades-specific channel or station as I usually hear a number of songs I haven't heard of or don't care for, but Yacht Rock is making my soul happy!

As for being a newsie, I image I always will be. News has been a part of my life since I was a child. Back in the dark ages, the Salina Journal ran a multi-chapter Christmas story for kids. I started reading that as a grade schooler. From there, I branched out to reading Cuff Stuff and some of the shorter stories in the Journal.

By sixth grade, I was hooked and convinced our teacher to let us do a class newspaper. The "newspaper" was one of the bulletin boards in the classroom on which we could put stories and pictures. I don't remember it lasting an entire year, but it was fun for a while.

In eighth grade, I signed up for the journalism class, and continued to do so each year once I got into high school.

My senior year, I was one of three high school seniors selected to write a column for the Salina Journal. The Journal selected one journalism student from each of the three high schools in town, and we were the first group. (I think the program only lasted a few years.) We were paid $15 per column to write about what was happening at our school. We alternated weeks, so my column appeared every three weeks.

I even had fans (besides my parents). I worked at Dairy Queen and had developed a friendly rapport with an older couple who were regulars. Once my first column, complete with headshot, appeared, they came in and waited for me to be free to wait on them. I smiled and asked them what I could make for them. They both got big grins on their faces and said, "we know who you are!" They were my groupies for as long as I wrote the column!

In college, after flirting with a couple of different degree options, I settled down and completed a Communications-Journalism degree. My first job out of college was working in the composing room at the Hays Daily News. It wasn't because I wasn't qualified to be a reporter. I was just having too much fun in college and didn't decide to pursue a job in the "real world" until it was too late and all of the reporting openings were filled.

I bided my time until a reporting job opened at HDN. I did that for a few years and then was promoted to assistant news editor. But all good things must come to an end, or so I thought. Because of some personnel issues, working at HDN became unbearable, and had me questioning whether I wanted to stay in journalism. 

I started looking for other work opportunities at which I could use my God-given talent for writing, and ended up with a PR position at Emporia State. Those were fun times!

After doing more PR and marketing, and a little executive directoring at other places, I went back to my first love - journalism - and ran a local news website for several years. 

Now I'm retired, but still greatly miss writing, thus I subject you all to this blog on a now more regular basis.

Remembering 9/11

Twenty-three years.

It hardly seems that it has been that long since the events of September 11, 2001, shocked the world, changing it forever.

"The 9/11 attacks killed 2,977 people. This was the single largest loss of life resulting from a foreign attack on American soil. The attacks caused the deaths of 441 first responders, the greatest loss of emergency responders on a single day in American history," according to information on the 9/11 Memorial & Museum website (911memorial.org).

In the days since, a number of first responders and others have died as a result of breathing in the dust generated by the towers' collapse.

A timeline of the attacks as provided by the 9/11 Memorial & Museum (911memorial.org):

8:46 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash American Airlines Flight 11 into floors 93-99 of the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. Seventy-six passengers, 11 crew members and hundreds inside the North Tower were killed instantly. The crash also trapped hundreds of people above the 91st floor.

9:03 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash United Airlines Flight 175 into floors 77-85 of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Fifty-one passengers, nine crew members, and a number of people inside the building were killed instantly. The crash also trapped a number of people located above the impact zone and inside elevators.

9:37 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash American Airlines Flight 77 into the Pentagon in Arlington, Va. Fifty-three passengers and six crew members were killed. Additionally, 125 military and civilian personnel on the ground were killed in the crash and the fire that followed.

9:59 a.m. Eastern: The South Tower, which had been burning for 56 minutes, collapses in 10 seconds, killing more than 800 civilians and first responders inside the building and in the surrounding area.

10:03 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash United Airlines Flight 93 in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Thirty-three passengers and seven crew members were killed. Hijackers were flying the plane toward Washington, D.C., however a number of passengers and crew members forced the hijackers to crash the plane near Shanksville.

10:15 a.m. Eastern: A section of the Pentagon's west-facing outer ring collapses.

10:28 a.m. Eastern: The North Tower of the World Trade Center collapses after burning for 102 minutes, killing hundreds of additional people.

5:20 p.m. Eastern: 7 World Trade Center, a 47-story building, collapses after burning for hours.

If you are unable to visit the 9/11 Memorial & Museum in New York City, I encourage you to visit the organization's website (911memorial.org) or follow the organization on Facebook (facebook.com/911memorial).

It is important that we remember September 11, 2001, where we were, what we felt, and how we came together as a nation. 

After running a errand, I had just gotten to work at Emporia State. Some of my coworkers were watching TV in the conference room next to my office. I popped in to see what they were watching and found out the North Tower had been struck by a plane. A short time later, I stared in horror as the South Tower was struck.

Nothing like this had ever happened in the United States. The attacks of 9/11 prompted a myriad of feelings and reactions from the United States citizenry. Among them, shock, horror, disbelief, and anger. The attacks showed us and the world that the United States was not invulnerable to attacks by extremist groups. Eventually, many of those feelings were channeled into a united patriotism.

A decade or so after the attacks, I and a group of coworkers at another workplace were remembering and discussing the events of 9/11. Another colleague happened by and began pontificating that all of the vows to always remember were hollow and worthless. We couldn't, he claimed, remember 9/11 because we weren't there.

Those comments were such BS. I don't know whether he actually believed what he was saying or he was just trying to provoke us. Either way, I lost a great deal of respect for him that day.

While it is true that we were not physically in or near any of the sites that were attacked, we were able to see what had happened in those locations thanks to numerous journalists and photographers. Thanks to video gathered by journalists, we were able to see the towers being struck. We also saw their collapse. We saw wreckage at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania. What we saw stirred a multitude of emotions.

One of the more haunting images from that day, at least for me, was Falling Man. Associated Press photographer Richard Drew captured the image of a man falling headfirst from the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

In a story marking the 20th anniversary of 9/11 and republished last year by the Associated Press (https://apnews.com/article/entertainment-health-talk-shows-newspapers-bc2d6b72e8733f2065ee8979ce2ef9c2), Drew wrote, "I was below the north tower that morning, on the corner of West and Vesey streets. The smoke was so thick, it was tough to see and tougher to breathe. Rubble was falling, and when I heard the first of a series of loud cracks, I thought it was the sound of concrete debris striking the ground. But I was wrong. It was the sound of human beings hitting the pavement."

Drew noted that he focused on one person falling from the North Tower, shooting eight frames. That person became known as Falling Man.

While Drew shot a number of photos that day, Falling Man is probably his most well known photo. While he got a number of compelling shots on 9/11, Drew also battled Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome because of his 9/11 work to capture moments in history for the rest of us.

In the 20th anniversary story, Drew contrasts his Falling Man photo with photos he shot when Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1968. It is an interesting read and I encourage you to do so.

Drew's work, and the work of many other journalists, help us to remember the events and aftermath of 9/11.

We do remember and we will remember.

I'm doing OK

Over the past two weeks, numerous people have asked me how I am doing. My response has typically been, "I'm doing OK."

It's difficult for me to believe that two weeks have passed since Mom's funeral. The past 14 days have been a blur. The spontaneous tears still hit on occasion, though not as frequently.

I am mourning the death of my mother, though truth be told, I began the grieving process months ago when dementia really took ahold of Mom. While physically, she was still my mother, mentally she was not Mom. I desperately wanted my Mom back, knowing full well that it would never happen. 

I tried to heed the advice of a good friend whose father had, like Mom, battled Parkinson's and the dementia that comes with it. He told me that the best thing to do was to be present in the world of the person with dementia. I tried, and I hope that my efforts in some way made Mom's journey easier and happier.

Within the last year, Mom found a new activity that brought her joy: coloring. Late last fall, I found one of my Christmas coloring books and began coloring. (I've always enjoyed coloring, and took particular delight when coloring for adults became a thing several years go.)

Mom asked what I was doing, and I told her, "coloring." Her response: "Well I want to color, too!" 

Now keep in mind, I had gotten Mom several Victorian/Edwardian coloring books back when the adult coloring craze was all the rage. She loved Victorian dresses and decor. At the time, Mom shrugged them off, but I dug them out last fall and set her up with her own tray of color pencils and a sharpener.

She had a blast!

Initially, Mom tried to copy the colors of the Victorian dresses on the cover of the coloring book. Eventually, however, she decided for herself what colors to use on the dresses. Her color choices were exquisite. In that small way, she was keeping her brain active. (She also read a lot.)

The most surprising thing, however, was that despite her hands shaking from the Parkinson's, she stayed within the lines and did a really good job! I made a point of checking on her coloring progress and complimenting her on her work. 

There were times when I would catch her staring off into space and I would ask, "Mom did you ever finish that picture you were coloring?" More often than not, she would reply, "I was just getting ready to do that" and she would get her coloring book and pencils out.

After Mom died last month, I lamented that I had never felt so alone, as my core family was gone. While that is true, Mom's death has heightened my awareness of a new family: family members and those friends with whom I am close who I have chosen to be a part of my family. 

This new core family in what is becoming my new normal has truly been a blessing. They regularly check in to see how I am doing. Sometimes it is a call. Sometimes a text. Sometimes it is a quick chat in the yard. They give me the space to grieve, but they also provide support and love. 

So how am I doing? I am OK and I will be fine, thanks to my family and friends. Some day, I might even color again!

Turning a deaf ear to removal requests

Exciting news! Apparently the Miracle-Ear Center in Salina is now servicing the dead. 

I have asked them multiple times to remove my father's contact information from their mailing list as he has been dead since early last year.

Today, a piece of mail addressed to Dad arrived. It started with "You have received this invitation today because you best represent the segment of the population which is most likely to experience hearing loss and tinnitus - ringing and other sounds in the ears."

OK. I can see how Dad's segment of the population is most likely to experience hearing loss. Not sure about the tinnitus, though. Might just be from the bugs, worms, and other critters in the ground.

I will have to take this piece of mail out to the cemetery tomorrow. I know Dad will be so excited to find out that he will be able to hear once again. 

What on God's green Earth is wrong with companies that don't honor removal requests?

Do they just not care? Are they incompetent? Or are they lazy?

Do they think that constant bombardment of survivors with mail for a deceased person is going to prompt the survivors to purchase something? I guarantee that this survivor will not.

As for Dad, I think it might be a bit difficult for him to make it to the "FREE Video Otoscope Exam" and "FREE Hearing Evaluation."

You know, Miracle-Ear folk, if you'd quit wasting money mailing offers to dead people, you might not need to charge as much as you do for your products. Consider that FREE Advice!

Wishing you all a little ba-dee-ya

A friend texted me this morning and wished me a Happy September, complete with a little "ba-dee-ya." Those who know me well know that Earth, Wind, and Fire is my favorite group. And while I will make my annual posting of EW&F singing September, I will wait until the 21st, so you all have that to look forward to!

I, for one, am glad that August is history and we have begun a new month. Mom's death in August hit me hard. For the most part, I have holed up in what is now "my" house. I haven't wanted to interact with people any more than I have to. That included missing my 45th high school reunion.

While, as I have told some, August sucked, it is important to note that a number of my classmates brought a happy end to the month this weekend. Thanks to all of you who posted reunion photos on our class Facebook page. It was fun to see people I haven't seen in years, and even more fun to try to figure out who some people were. Kudos to the reunion committee who pulled together a fun couple of days of activities in such short order. It looked as though everyone had a great time.

Some of my classmates. Photo courtesy Sara
Thomas

September has, for the most part, been a happy month for me. It teases that fall is almost here, and given our current temperatures, it is doing its job well.

It signals the beginning of the football season, which as many of you know is my favorite sport.

September also brings a particularly pleasing light, as the Earth adjusts and the sun appears to move more toward the south. Days become cooler and crisper, while remaining bright and shiny with a light only autumn can provide. Yes, I am aware that we still can have some quite hot days in September, but until those come along, I intend to enjoy the 80s weather we're having.

As my friend did with me, I wish you all a Happy September! May each of you find a little ba-dee-ya in your life this month!

Small steps sometimes feel huge

I don't feel like I've done much of anything since we buried Mom on Saturday. In fact, more often than not, I have been in a fog the past six days, except for spontaneous bursts of tears that have soaked my clothes and caused me to clean my glasses.

I've tried multiple times to write thank you notes and have yet to complete them. All of the memorials, plants, flowers, and other instances of kindness deserve personal thank you notes. I will get them done, just not as soon as I would like.

I need to do some laundry, but the pile of dirty clothes remains.

I need to put away a few groceries that I bought several days ago, yet they remain in the bags they came in. (Don't worry. Nothing perishable. Though I did buy some fruit cups and fruit snacks, which for me is huge!)

Having lost both parents and my dog in the past 20 months, I have tried to give myself permission to just be for a little while, yet the nagging voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that there is much to be done and I need to get to work.

Perhaps that is why the few small things I have been able to accomplish, that under normal circumstances might seem trivial or insignificant, have seemed like huge accomplishments.

Yesterday, before our trash was picked up, I managed to trim some branches off of one of the trees out front. They were hanging low enough that the young man who mows for me had to duck to get past them. I got them cut off, cut up, and in the trash cart with an hour to spare before the trash truck came by. Not a big deal, but it felt hugely significant.

The day before, after getting yet another scam call for my Dad, I called AT&T and scheduled to have our landline canceled at the end of the period for which I had already paid. Not really a big deal, but Mom and Dad had that same number longer than I have been alive. It is the first telephone number I learned as a kid, back when we used letters in front of the numbers and rotary phones. 

I mainly use my cell phone now, so I just couldn't see paying as much as we were for a line that we used little more than for receiving scam calls. The only reason I kept it after Dad died was because it was the only phone Mom knew how to use. Initially, I transferred Dad's cell phone over to Mom, but learning and remembering it were just too much for her dementia addled brain to grasp.

Getting AT&T to shut down the line took all of five minutes, but it still felt like a huge endeavor.

Today I made an appointment with the family lawyer to start the legal process for Mom's estate.

That is basically all I have accomplished in six days, yet it feels as though I have done a lot.

My goal is to do a little here and there until I can get some major tasks completed. I know the spontaneous tears will continue, but I believe I have at least made a start in creating what will be my new normal.

I am not a rock

I shared a meme on Facebook this evening (I know...hard to believe) that seemed appropriate for my current situation.

You're allowed to be happy, hurting and healing all at once. You're a human not a rock.

I shared it because it applied to several of my friends, but it also applies to this 60-something orphan trying to navigate a new normal.

We celebrated my Mom's life well lived on Saturday and buried her next to Dad at the Brookville Cemetery, where many of my Eikleberry family are buried. And during that end of one chapter, beginning of another in my life I was surrounded by loving and supporting family and friends who I have chosen as family, including longtime family friends, my two besties, and two of my former ESU student employees who are friends. I had no clue that Meg and Jamie were coming to Mom's funeral, but I was sure glad to see them. They did my soul good! It also was good to have my longtime friend, Jim, preside over the service. We have known each other for about 50 years.

Each and every one of those people were a comfort to me, and I am so grateful that they were there for me. Many others were with me in spirit from locations throughout the world. Thank you one and all!

I'm sure some of the old gossips who were in attendance were wagging their tongues because not everyone sitting in the reserved family section were my blood relatives. They were my chosen family. (I only wish all of my chosen family who were there had been able to sit in the family section.) 

It occurred to me on the way to the cemetery that some may have thought that my one bestie, who had been sitting next to me, was my lesbian lover. Nothing could be further from the truth. While I do have LGBTQ friends, neither my bestie nor I swings that way.

For those who have felt the need to gossip about me never marrying, the fact is that I have not done so because I am too damned picky when it comes to men. I've had too many friends who have been hurt by bad guys, and I just don't want to go through that. (I know that all men are not bad.) And no, I do not own cats.

So now we are several days removed from the funeral, and I am trying to establish a new normal.

I've seen several posts on Facebook over the past few days that made me smile, if not laugh out loud. Initially, I was concerned that I should not respond with a laughing emoji as I was in mourning. Then it hit me: just a few days ago, we celebrated my Mom, who loved to laugh and find the funny in life. Additionally, being concerned about the appearance of my laughing really goes against who I am. I am too old to care what other people think of me. If you like me, great! If not, your problem.

I know that I will never get over the loss of my Mom. As I mentioned in an earlier blog post, she was the one person who loved me the most throughout my life. What I will do is work through my loss, establish a new normal, and move forward. And I will do so with humor.

Thank you for your inspiration, Mom!

So long, Mom

And just like that, she was gone.

The person who loved me most for more than 63 years, my Mom, died today after suffering from a fall-induced brain bleed nearly a week earlier, and I have never felt more alone.

It's not a matter of now living by myself. I lived alone for a number of years when I was in Hays and Emporia. No, this alone feeling goes much deeper. It's an "I'm an orphan now" sort of alone. Sure, I have an aunt, uncle, and cousins, and well as a number of good friends who have been quite supportive through Mom's most recent health issue, and I know they will continue to be so. Nonetheless, my immediate, core family is gone.

I will quit feeling sorry for myself, however, as this post is about Mom, not me.

A good life

Despite hardships, Mom's was a life well lived. 

She was a product of north-central Kansas. She grew up on two different farms on the outskirts of Barnard, a small farming community in northeastern Lincoln County where during her senior year, she was elected homecoming queen. 

Even as a youngster, her infectious laugh and ability to find the funny in life was on full display, often getting Mom in trouble with her teachers. It did, however, garner her many friends throughout her life.

Friends and family

Mom's community of friends came from all walks of life. She made friends at a number of jobs, including working in several offices in the old Saline County Courthouse (now the senior center), where she met my Dad. Mom swore that Dad was the driving force in their courthouse romance, but Dad always insisted Mom chased him around the building. Mom also worked for First National Bank (now Sunflower Bank), Morrison Grain, and a debt-collection business.

When I was young, Mom was a stay-at-home mother and parttime child care provider, however, she went back to work after I was in school. We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, but I never realized that until I was an adult. Both my parents made sure my childhood was a happy one. 

One expenditure they agreed on was buying books and subscriptions to kids magazines for me. In fact, my love of reading can be traced to when I was still in the womb, as Mom used to read to me then from her own Winnie-the-Pooh books. She always said that once I was born and old enough to talk, I more often than not requested the Winnie-the-Pooh story, Heffalump and Things to Eat.

Like a number of women of her generation, Mom navigated the delicate balance of working both in and outside the home. She worked her butt off to make sure everyone else was happy. Mom was once accused by a distant relative of thinking she was better than everyone else. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mom always sacrificed for the betterment of others.

I'm not sure how she did it, but Mom also found time to participate in a number of clubs and organizations. Some were professional women's organizations, while others were religious in nature, including Bible studies. Mom even led a Bible study. She also participated in the Piece Makers, a sewing group that makes quilts and meets in the senior center.

Mom was attracted to like-minded people who shared her love of laughter. There was one neighbor friend from the neighborhood I grew up in who, when she and Mom got together, watch out! They could laugh uproariously for hours. Even in her later years, Mom would recall some of those laughfests and burst out in laughter once again. The neighbor's daughter, and my dear friend, and I do the same sort of thing whenever we get the chance!

Mom also developed long-lasting friendships with neighbors who over the years have become family. I spoke with some of them recently and they all mentioned Mom's contagious laugh. A couple of them talked of trying to get Mom laughing. Once they did, everyone was laughing the rest of the night. There were trips with neighbor/family members, and many nights of playing cards and celebrating family milestones. Those were good times!

It was family that meant the most to Mom. She was definitely a daddy's girl and thought the world of my Granddad. Once Granddad passed in the mid-1970s, Mom held onto her memories of him, sharing them often, especially with me. Although I resemble my Dad's side of the family, Mom saw a lot of her Dad in me...a mantle I shall continue to wear proudly. Mom dearly loved her younger brother and his family. In later years, when one of the girls (my cousins) or my uncle shared family photos on Facebook or via text, I made a point of showing them to Mom. They quickly brought a warm, loving smile to her face.

Health concerns

While Mom had some health issues throughout her life, for the most part, she was healthy and happy. About 13 years ago, however, she was misdiagnosed by her then doctor's PA, and developed a particularly nasty case of shingles, which required her to be hospitalized for a week. She never really ever recovered.

It seemed that her health went downhill from there. A few years after the shingles incident, Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's, a "progressive disorder that affects the nervous system and the parts of the body controlled by the nerves." (Mayo Clinic, April 5, 2024) It's the same disease that actor Michael J. Fox has. Parkinson's also comes with dementia. I started going with her to her neurology appointments.

We were fortunate that she didn't develop the hallucination component of Parkinson's. Medicine helped control most of Mom's shaking from Parkinson's. It was the dementia, however, that proved to be more of an issue. Mom's short-term memory had all but disappeared by the time she died today. She also had some not-so-short-term memory issues. About six weeks ago or so, Mom looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Where's Leslie?" It took all I had to not burst into tears. 

In a strange twist, Mom's food preferences also changed. Suddenly, my salad/veggie loving mother requested tacos, pizza, cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets, and Cozies.

After Dad died last year, I became Mom's primary caregiver. She didn't want home health help. The thought of anyone else in her house agitated her greatly. 

We each had our own chair in the living room, where we spent many of our waking hours. Mom liked to watch the news and she enjoyed Wheel of Fortunate, both of which we watched nearly daily. Despite her cognitive disabilities, Mom was fairly good at solving the Wheel of Fortune puzzles and we had an unofficial solving competition. She also loved to watch the Royals and all sorts of football, especially the Chiefs. We also spent time, when the weather was nice, sitting out front; Mom on the glider and me on the edge of the porch.

She was able to get around OK, especially if she used her walker, which she sometimes forgot to do. I doubt her walker would have done her much good Monday night. When she fell, she hit her head twice. Once on the wall and then on the floor. When I got to her, her eyes were mere slits and she was unresponsive. She also was tightly clutching a package of toilet paper that I was unable to wrestle from her. 

I called an ambulance, something I have had to do multiple times over the years for my folks. The EMTs were so nice and caring. Once they got here, she began responding a bit, but I asked them to take Mom to the emergency room anyway. I am glad I did.

I don't know which station they were from, but thank you Salina Fire for sending such wonderful young men!

Once at the hospital, Mom was responsive and chatting, though a bit slow. Her poor hearing accounted for some of it, I think. I explained to each new medical person which was the better of her two ears.

Mom had a scan while in the ER that revealed a small, but manageable brain bleed. The attending neurosurgeon told me that he thought they would be able to manage the amount of blood on her brain without surgery. He said that they wanted to keep her for a couple of days for observation.

While we were still in ER waiting for a room to open upstairs, Mom, who had been complaining of her head hurting, laid her head back and closed her eyes. I thought she was just resting as she had been through a lot, but suddenly, her arms and one leg began moving in strange ways and then she settled down again. A room opened up in ICU and they took Mom up. Two of the ER personnel escorted me up on a different elevator and told me to wait in the family waiting area outside of ICU.

A short while later, two ICU nurses came out and said that Mom had been sent back downstairs for another scan as she was unresponsive. I could tell by the way they phrased what they were telling me that Mom's situation had become much more serious. Once Mom was in her ICU room, I was allowed in. A short while later, the neurosurgeon came in and told me that in that short amount of time between scans, the amount of blood on Mom's brain had tripled. While the next course of action normally would have been surgery, he believed that because of her health and age, her chances of surviving were about five percent. He also said that if she did survive, she most likely would be in a vegetative state. Mom, he said, was in a coma.

As I had power of attorney for her, I had to decide whether to pursue surgery and a 95-percent chance of death or make her comfortable until she passed. Some choice, huh? Choose surgery that might kill Mom or choose to keep her comfortable until she died. Either way, she was not coming home. It was the toughest decision I have had to make in my life.

I chose to keep her comfortable, which was what the wonderful Salina Regional Health Center staff did for almost a week.

I can't begin to express my gratitude to the folks at Salina Regional who took care of my Mom, especially the nurses and specialty technicians. Salina Regional sometimes catches flack from the bitchers and moaners, but the folks who took care of my Mom were wonderful, especially the nurses and specialty techs in ICU and on Fourth Medical. 

The doctors, both the neurosurgeon and the hospitalist, checked on Mom daily and made sure I was updated as needed. They also checked on my wellbeing. 

I am thankful for what the doctors, nurses, and specialty techs did for both my Mom and me. The nurses and specialty techs in ICU and on Fourth Medical were especially wonderful in helping me navigate through Mom's final journey. They checked on me multiple times and, when time allowed, stayed and gave me the opportunity to talk and ask questions. They truly cared.

When the neurosurgeon told me Friday that Mom only had about 24 hours to live, I made the decision to stay in her room with her. The nurses and specialty techs got me a pillow and blanket and gave me three options for a place to sleep. (I chose the reclining chair beside Mom's bed, but I didn't sleep much.) They also ordered comfort trays with tea, water, coffee, and snacks for me during my two-night stay with Mom. (Ever the stubborn woman, Mom decided to prove the doctor wrong and lived nearly 48 more hours. She was more tough than she ever knew.)

The nurses and specialty techs also comforted me when Mom passed.

Thank you, Salina Regional medical staff and caregivers! You are the best!

As I write this, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom's chair and for a brief instant, it seems like she is still sitting there. I know she has gone on to a better place, but I already miss her terribly.

Gully washers, eerily quiet darkness, and Queen

Continuing with the storm theme (see most recent previous post: "Camping, a tornado, and a fierce creature"), I am writing this by screen light, as our power has been out for just under an hour.

We lost electricity when the second of two gully washers blew through town this evening. With the first, there was a lot of wind and some heavy rain. Some people in other parts of the city lost power then. The second round of storms, however, were quite intense and knocked out power to more than 18,000 people in town, including a good chunk of the southeast part of the city, according to Evergy's power outage map. It even knocked out our cable/internet provider, as I received a text from them as well. 

Even with Mother Nature throwing a hissy fit outside, the darkness inside the house was eerily quiet. No TV. No internet. Fortunately, my laptop switched over to battery power so I briefly amused myself with a game on my computer and then began writing. I also had the company of Queen singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" in my head. As of me writing this, they are still singing.

I even sang along (all the parts, of course) for a bit, but whenever I, or they, forgot the words, the song reverted back to "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me," where they had started singing in the first place. 

It reminded me of grade school days when my friends and I used to sing popular music of the 1960s while on my swing set. At least we thought we were. The Beatles were one of our favorite groups to "cover." While we thought we were singing a Beatles song, in reality, we were singing a mash-up of every Beatles lyric we could remember. There were at least four different Beatles songs represented. I'm sure we drove most of the old folks in the neighborhood crazy as we sang at the top of our lungs, but the nice old fella across the alley from us found our swing set shows amusing.

Well, after approximately an hour of darkness, the power is back on and all seems well so far. I think I will wait until the morning to see what sort of tree and other outdoor damage we have. Goodnight!

Camping, a tornado, and a fierce creature

For whatever reason, various posts about camping have occupied a good portion of my Facebook feed this season.

They range from those posted by true camping folk who excitedly await the end of winter and early spring so they can head to the lake, to those posted by folks who are adamant they would not camp, but begrudgingly admit that they might succumb to the uber luxury of glamping.

When I was a kid, my Dad had a boat that we took to the lake often in the summer, mainly to fish, sometimes to ski, but we never ventured into the camping scene.

When I was four, my Dad bought a tent big enough to sleep four people. He also got all of the accessories needed (camp stove, new cooler, etc.) 

That next weekend, Dad, Mom, and I loaded up all of our gear and supplies, and went over to Milford Lake for our first camping excursion. The trip started off well and we were having a good time.....until the storms came. 

Not only were we camping in a stormy area, but our part of the lake was immediately put into a tornado warning. Dad literally stuffed us and all of our gear/provisions into our old Pontiac Bonneville and we headed for home. 

The quick departure from the lake seemed somewhat exciting to four-year-old me, but I quickly caught on to the seriousness of the situation because of the looks of concern on my parents' faces. Dad told me much later, when recounting the adventure, that the tornado had lifted when the storm went directly over us, but later dropped down again.

We made it home safely in the middle of the night.

Later that summer, we used the tent for my fifth birthday party sleepover. I and several friends spent the night "camping" in the backyard. We had snacks and a cooler full of drinks. 

My poor parents took shifts watching over us from the back porch. Dad rigged up a portable work light to shine on the front of the tent. And while those were simpler and safer times, we kids in the tent did have a bit of a scare in the middle of the night. 

All of a sudden, we saw the shadow of a fierce animal stealthily creeping up to the tent, and, of course, we all screamed. Turned out it was only a kitten who was more scared of us! Nonetheless, the kitten joined us for a bit.

All in all, it was a fun sleepover with little sleep! It also was the last time the tent was used, as the first-camping-trip-tornado jinx put a damper on our desire to experience the great outdoors.

The Bloody Bat House

I don't like waking up tired. Usually I do so because of tossing and turning much of the night, but last night was different. I had strange dream and it was a doozie!

In the dream, I was doing PR for a small university in a small midwestern city. (What a shock, huh? Considering a good part of my adult life was spent doing PR for universities.) 

Oftentimes, my dreams are set in cities and at universities with which I am familiar. This one was not. The buildings were not familiar. The neighborhoods were unlike any I have seen before. Most of the people in the dream were not familiar. Those who were I have not been particularly close to in real life.

In the dream last night, a media friend of mine and his family had purchased an old, three-story Victorian home near the campus at which I worked. Their intent was to rent out rooms to college students as a side gig.

One day after work, I decided to drive by the house, as I wasn't familiar with it. I was shocked at what I saw.

The house was covered with black goth symbols and bloody Ozzy Osbourne bats.

Surely my friend had scheduled painters to give the house a new look, but no. He and his family had purposely painted the house that way. As it turns out, his wife was a closet goth and had convinced him that the paint job would attract lots of renters.

Neighbors were none too pleased with the paint job and demanded city officials do something about it. The city officials tried to blame the university, as my friend's wife claimed the house would bring lots of new students to the university, boosting city coffers.

The city became divided as to whether the "Bloody Bat House" needed to be repainted. Some were pleased that the family had decided to do something to help boost the number of students, as the university was the biggest employer in the city. Others, however, were determined that a cult had moved into the Bloody Bat House and wanted it gone. 

Needless to say, I spent many long hours dealing with media and concerned citizens. I even had a vendor trying to get me to have Bloody Bat House t-shirts made.

I'm not sure how the Bloody Bat House issue got resolved, but I believe it was somehow settled as I was thanking people for their help.

Then I woke up.

I'd love to know what triggered that dream. In some ways, it was entertaining. I am, however, so very tired because of it. Hoping for less entertainment and more quality sleep tonight!