"Pina" the "Perfect" Mom

This year will mark the 14th anniversary of my mother's death. In those 14 years, so very much has happened; events I know my mother would have loved to attend, milestones achieved with which she would have wept with joy, and even some little moments that I sincerely wish I could have shared with her in person. There are other moments too, where I just wish she were here listening or talking me through my thoughts. Moms can be so very good at that.

My mother would have been 80 years old this month. I would always tease her, if her birthday happened to fall on Mother's Day, by telling her that she would only receive one gift. She would give me her famous response, "Maria, I don't care. You don't have to get me anything." Anytime a mom says that, she is fibbing. Everyone loves to receive something, sometime, and more so on special days.

My gifts were always small and affordable, yet endearing. One year, in an attempt to beautify her backyard, I purchased a petite azalea bush. Afraid that we would both kill the flowering poof if it were planted outside, it thrived in her windowsill overlooking the backyard for many years. Eventually it succumbed to our brown thumbs; we were terrible gardeners. Today, my mother would delight in the many flowers and plants that are thriving in my yard, under my green thumb.

My youngest son will graduate high school this summer. While my mother was living, my youngest son was the baby in the family. I have a beautiful picture of the two of them taken on his 1st birthday. She is beaming with her beautiful electric smile, while he is looking on with his cake smudged face and hands. The baby she knew is grown and about to enter the adult world. How I wish she could be here; how I wish I could have one more beautiful photo of them... It rained during my college graduations and during my other son's graduations. In my heart, I have told myself the rain is my mother crying her tears of joy in heaven. I hope the tradition repeats itself, and it rains during my youngest son's graduation.

14 years seems like a long time, long enough to heal a wound. Truth is I do not want that wound to heal. I want to miss her, to remember her, to cherish every moment I had with her. She was my "perfect," beautiful, silly, understanding, heart of gold mom. As I am typing this, my youngest son has called to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. It is going to be a beautiful day.

Frailty

I am still trying to piece together the emotional events of my weekend spent caring for a critically ill patient. Over the years, I have heard the phrase "Life is fragile" uttered repeatedly. I have often wondered why life is so fragile? Life should be resilient and long lasting; after all, we were made in the image of God, if you believe the Holy Bible. God is not fragile, but I find that faith is. My faith has wavered several times over the years--I do not understand why God chooses to allow some people to suffer greatly, while others do not. How does that get measured out, doled out, how is it evened out? Somethings, I realize, I may never understand.

What I have noticed over the years is that God sends us unkind reminders on the frailty of life by taking it away. That leads me to another phrase that I have heard uttered many times, "Life is not fair." That one I understand.

When life ends

Tomorrow, 11/23, 12 weeks will have passed since my brother's death.

Since returning to work, I find that I am more emotional when dealing with a patient who is transitioned to comfort measures only. From just this past weekend, one of my patients who desperately needed an organ transplant was never going to receive one for various reasons. This patient was transitioned to comfort measures, and it was my understanding that the patient's family understood what would happen in the next few hours. When my patient passed away, his/her spouse began screaming, wailing, throwing his/her self to the floor in total disbelief. I stood shocked by this behavior and eventually had to excuse myself from the room because I found it too upsetting.

Once I left the room, I began to reflect on why my patient's spouse acted in such a manner. He/she had known for sometime that it was coming to this; there was ample time to prepare. My patient passed away within several hours of the transition, quietly and appearing to be at peace. This was not a drawn out horrific event, like others that I have been witness to. I simply do not understand his/her behavior--it made no sense to me and it still does not.

I then began to think about my brother's passing. I believe Maurice had a good death; he was made comfortable and passed surrounded by family. I took the night watch, with my brother that is closest to me in age (Noel), and we sat with Maurice talking about his past exploits, all the while laughing and remembering better times. When Noel would take a break, I propped my feet up on the sofa next to a sleeping Maurice, and I worked on Sudoku by candlelight. I believe that when you sit with someone who is dying, it is ok to talk and laugh about life. We are celebrating and remembering that life.

When my life comes to an end, and if my family has a chance to be present, everyone please surround me with stories of our life together. Do not wail or scream, and no throwing yourselves on the floor--that is just ridiculous. Honor me with your smiles and laughter.

I miss you my brother.

Life Lost?

Tonight, after receiving grave family news, I have started to reflect on my life and wonder how I will be remembered. We are given a very short time on this earth to make an impression, to do something good, and to give back to the world. That is how I believe life should be remembered. What good deed did this person do in his or her life?

Looking back on how my brother, Maurice, lived his life and how he should be remembered is very difficult. If there is such a thing as a "black" sheep of the family, ours is Maurice. There are so many events in his life where I believe he deeply wronged someone. I have been trying to push all those depressing events to the side, in an attempt to remember the good times. Those good times were few.

I remember the brother who was my mother's prodigal son. When I was approximately 13yo, I was the one who asked her, "Why don't you want to see your own son." Driven by the guilt that I laid upon her, my mother allowed a then 25yo Maurice to move into her home. In the late 70's, Maurice was a Vietnam veteran and a hippie with a thick Italian accent. My hippie brother introduced my ears to Cat Stevens, Jim Croce, and Ted Nugent. He was going to "stick it to the man." Unfortunately, at times, his family was "the man." During this time, Maurice indulged in street drugs and alcohol, and he served as my cautionary tale. I made a note-to-self, "never try street drugs or become an alcoholic."

In rolled the 80's, with Maurice's continued dizzying wild-child ways. Sometimes I attribute my stubborn ways to him. I wanted to be wild like him, but I would not dare do things that he had. He and my mother would have sternly corrected me (beat my ass.) He married, but never "settled down." I remember the brother who could have a wicked sense of humor. I, too, can be just as wicked. Maurice was the type of person who could charm or bullshit his way through many things. I envied this skill of his. I could not bullshit my way through anything--still cannot. Maurice liked to cook, and at times, was an excellent chef. I detested cooking and wanted no part of it, though deep down, I envied this skill too.

After the death of our mother, in 1998, we eventually stopped communicating with each other. It would take years and his poor health for me to even make an inquiry into his life. Even with several more inquiries, I kept Maurice at a distance. Maurice never stopped indulging in street drugs and alcohol; his life had become a mess and I wanted no part of it. I find myself asking was I being selfish?

Now Maurice is dying. No medical treatment can help him and I remain shocked that his end will come when he is only 57yo. I know how it has come to this, but it is still hard to understand how my brother could have allowed this to happen. Years of neglect and living wild have caught up with him; his body has given up.

It is very hard to lose a family member. I keep struggling to remember the good times with Maurice. I want to remember him as more than a difficult person, contradicting and manipulative. An ass when he was drunk, and funny when he was high. I want to remember him as the big brother who looked out for his baby brother and sister, and eventually taught them a thing or two about life. The only thing that I keep coming back to is my note-to-self so many years ago. There just has to be more, but I cannot see it.

Life's Tragedies

It is odd how the news of something that seems irrelevant at first, will make me ponder and reach a dreadfully gnawing truth. When I saw the flash headline news of the death of Amy Winehouse I thought, “I saw that coming.” When I saw her age, 27yo, I then began realizing the tragedy of the situation and how this tragedy could very well happen in my own family. Set aside the fact that Amy Winehouse was a star, and instead look at her addiction to illicit drugs and alcohol, her failed rehab attempts and eventual return to vices that would shorten her life.

To be a family member or close friend of someone who cannot admit there is a problem, or have the person admit the problem but be unwilling to change the bad habits is devastating to observe. I liken it to watching someone you love commit suicide; you watch as your loved one walks closer and closer to a high ledge. You are able to talk, yell, and listen to this person, but nothing ever sways him or her away from the ledge. And then there is the fall… the devastation that is left is heartbreaking.

I currently lay witness to a loved one walking closer and closer to a ledge. I talk to him, telling him what I observe; I listen and watch as he tells lie after lie, he ignores advice and careens carelessly closer to the edge. Will his end come sooner, like Amy's? He will be 21 soon; will he actually make it to 21? Will he ever admit there is a problem?

It is easy to pass judgment on others, so I try not to do that. Bystanders to tragedies like to lay blame on close family and friends; “Why didn’t someone step in and make her..." do this or that. Truth be told, you cannot make an addict do something he or she is unwilling to do. I cannot make my family member enter rehab. I cannot make him quit his vices. He has to do be willing to change and commit to the change. I am sure Amy’s parents and friends reached this same realization.

My biggest fear, after pondering on Amy Winehouse’s death, is that I will be the family member who gets the late night call telling me my loved one is dead. I will be the one who will have to be strong enough to face other family members and say, “Yes, he had a problem. Yes, I tried to help him. No, he never cared to change.” Why is it that he will not show this same strength in defeating his vices? There is but one of life’s great tragedies.

I feel deeply for Amy’s parents; the grief they must be experiencing I imagine is overwhelming. It is but a tragic end to what could have been a promising life and career. I remember watching Amy perform the year she swept the Grammy Awards, and I thought, "Here is a woman who is going to show the world that she can overcome anything and become stronger. We will hear her roar in song!" I now think about my family member and hope that he will overcome his problems and show his family that cares about his life. I will continue to carry hope for him; as a parent sometimes that piece of hope is all our children will allow us to have. When that hope is gone, there is only heartbreak, devastation.

Nostalgic Memorium

The passing of Sargent Shriver, saddens me greatly. Though I was a child of the 60's, I was much too young to remember Camelot and the assassination of one of my heroes, Bobby Kennedy. With Sargent Shriver's death goes the passing of a great man from a great era; an era that I wish I had been old enough to experience and remember. While reading the many tributes to Shriver, I came across this posting by a man who was a child during the Camelot years. He remembered...

http://www.politicsdaily.com/2011/01/18/sargent-shrivers-death-severs-the-last-major-link-to-the-kenned/

Stupid is as Stupid does

Even nerdy girls have their not so bright moments. Tonight, I had one of those moments, only this one is going to be rather costly.

Everyone knows that you should never attempt to catch something sharp, if it slips out of your hand, for fear that the falling object could cause injury to a body part. Knives, widgets, and blades are prime examples of what you should never attempt to catch.

My stupid moment began while I was cutting tulle with a rotary cutter. The rotary cutter has an extremely sharp 45mm blade and is supposed to have a functioning safety mechanism to prevent injury to users. While I was cutting tulle, the cutter slipped out of my hand, soared in to the air, and my immediate reaction was to grab it. Not so bright, I know, I know... Regardless, I grabbed for the cutter, only it came down blade end first, and the safety mechanism failed. I was left with a 1.5" laceration that extended from the base of my palm to the inner aspect of my wrist.

At 1:00a.m. I find myself in the waiting room of the local ED, feeling like a complete idiot with a dirty kitchen towel pressed against my wounded palm/wrist. The triage nurse asks, "What is the nature of your visit?" I wanted to say, "Stupidity," but instead opted for the other ridiculous response, "Laceration from a sewing accident." Imagine how that sounds to the ED worker...completely ridiculous. A question that was asked more than once, "Were you intentionally trying to hurt yourself?" Seriously, when the laceration was not over my radial or ulnar artery? I chuckled to myself, because of the hilarity of the whole situation. Yeah, this was my grand idiot moment where I wound up with three sutures and a sore hand and wrist. When I receive the bill from the ED, it will be excruciatingly painful.

Note to self: Do not catch rotary cutter when slips out of hand.

Lesson learned.