My Mother’s Jewelry Box

Posted on June 16, 2016 by Deborah Newell

My mother always had one when I was little. In my first memory of it, it was filled with all kinds of bright colored baubles to pin on her blouses and coats. In fact, I don’t remember her or my grandmother ever not wearing a big sparkly pin in the lapel of their heavy winter coats. It must’ve been the style then. But to me, they were just pretty. One of her favorite pins reminded me of a fountain of diamonds, even though it was all rhinestones, of course. It always fascinated me for some reason.

When my father was still alive, her jewelry box was alive with bright colors, sparkling synthetic gemstones which reflected the happy times of her life. Although it was mostly costume jewelry, the vibrant pins and necklaces always looked beautiful on her, and made her whole face smile. She also had a few special necklaces that had been her mother’s, and had already been entrusted with them for safekeeping. I used to go in her jewelry box from time to time and play with the pieces, under close supervision of course, lest the pieces become lost or broken. They may not have had a lot of monetary value, but to her, each piece had a special meaning.

After my father died, and my mom started teaching kindergarten, all of those sparkly pins were gradually replaced with ones little children would like. Christmas trees, angels, and Santa Claus. Enameled birds and butterflies. Funny little kids’ faces, and a treasured collection of “#1 Teacher” pins she’d been given as gifts by her students. She usually wore one of them every day, and her students were always excited to see which one she had on when they got to school, in case she was wearing one they’d given her.

When her granddaughter Ashley came along, suddenly there were a dozen or more #1 grandmother pins, along with the enameled kids’ faces and other jewelry children would especially like.

You could actually see the stages of her life by going through that jewelry box.

But the box itself was quite plain. It wasn’t pretty at all. White simulated leather with faded gold embossing. And a lock that was never locked. (I don’t think she ever had the key.) Over the years pieces of jewelry broke and some of the parts were lost, and other worn out pieces were sadly discarded or given away. Favorite items remained, although sometimes shifted toward the back of the box to make room for newer pieces.

I never knew what special pieces of jewelry I’d find when I opened that box. The older pieces always had a distinctive charm about them, though, and usually a story to tell about who had given it to her, and why, or special events they’d been worn for. And the older the pieces, the more stories they had to tell.

Similarly, we are like precious jewels in the Lord’s very own jewelry box. The jewelry box itself, the earth we live in, may be getting old and a bit frayed around the edges, but within it still lies precious sparkling jewels, each one of us uniquely crafted, and created to fulfill a specific need, and a specific purpose. We were each designed by the Master jeweler who took His time creating each of us as a unique work of art to be treasured forever; each with a wonderful story to tell. A unique work of art which does nothing but become more valuable with age.

Although He created each of us in our own unique style and design, in our own unique colors and shapes, there are times some of us break, or become worn and tarnished. We lose our shine and luster because of the wear and tear we’ve gone through. We sometimes feel we’ve been relegated to the back of the jewelry box because we’re older and we’ve lost our sparkle, and it seems no one wants us anymore.

But like those older and treasured pieces of jewelry that found themselves living in the back of my mother’s jewelry box, we’re pulled out by the Lord’s hand, and placed back in the front of the box. We’re cleaned and polished and shining once again, ready to help make someone else’s life a bit more beautiful with our stories, advice, and encouragement.

And when our purpose here is complete, these earthly jewels will finally join the other majestic jewels in the gates of heaven, forever beautiful, and forever loved and cherished.

And shining like that sparkly rhinestone pin of my grandmother’s…..

Treasures in a Junk Drawer

Posted on June 6, 2016 by Deborah Newell

Most of us, if not all of us, have a junk drawer. At least one. It’s usually in the kitchen where we all tend to congregate at least once or twice a day. We actually have two of them. Even my husband, who can’t stand not being organized, knows the importance of having a junk drawer.

It’s amazing what things you find in there. Things you’ve been looking for for years, shoved all the way in the back. Things your child put in there when she was probably eight years old; now she’s twenty-seven. Things you put in there months or even years ago, because you don’t really know where else to put them, but you didn’t want to lose them either. Bits of something broken that you know you’ll get around to fixing eventually…when you find the other pieces. Pieces that are probably hiding in the other junk drawer.

But my junk drawers aren’t nearly as interesting as my mother’s was. She’d had over 50 years to fill it. I’ve only had 20. Hers was a miniature repository of selected family history that only she truly understood.

Part of cleaning out her house was cleaning out her kitchen junk drawer. Although I’d gone through it off and on for years, looking for, and often finding, just the thing I needed, that last time I discovered countless little treasures, some I’d never knew existed, and never thought could ever bring back so many memories.

She certainly had the “normal” junk drawer items…a broken green crayon from one of our daughter’s many coloring marathons.

A matchbook from a long closed grocery store with just one match left in it, in case she needed to light candles if the power went out.

A pair of old sewing scissors with a piece of frayed twine tied around the handle. (I’d asked her about that once, and she said her mother always did that. So she did, too!)

Of course there were the usual collections of all sizes of batteries, many of them expired; scattered pennies that had probably been found under chair cushions or on the floor; and a collection of old rubber bands, many which broke when I tried to use them.

But some of the items I really didn’t anticipate, and were most likely saved in there because they had a special meaning, and she didn’t want to lose them.

There was a piece of ribbon that looked too short to tie around anything, but then I remembered it had been tied around a special gift from her granddaughter, and she thought it was too pretty to throw away.

There were probably 50 or more game tickets from the boardwalk games in Ocean City that Ashley had left there over the years. I could hear my mother thinking, “She’s going to want these the next time she visits!”

Then there was the old hotel key on an old key ring from a long ago trip to Chicago with my father just a few years after they were married. I could hardly believe she actually brought the key back with her! Knowing her, it had to have been accidental, because she would’ve considered that stealing!

And a broken pencil from a company my father had worked for some ten years before he died…and a note pad to match, bearing the same logo from Arcady Feeds; a company long ago out of business.

An old ration book from WW II was all the way in the back, with a few coupons still left in it. It served as a stark reminder of how difficult things had been at one time. Obviously she didn’t go in that drawer much to clean things out, or else she forgot it was there.

But the most meaningful thing I found was a piece of broken jewelry which read simply “Grandma”. I remembered when Ashley had given it to her several years ago. I’m sure she must’ve been heartbroken when it broke, and couldn’t bear to part with such a special reminder of her granddaughter’s love.

Maybe her junk drawer was a memory drawer instead. Maybe those items in it were not discarded, but saved. As the saying goes, one man’s trash is another’s treasure. These were some of her treasures, and each meant something to her. And it took me awhile to understand it.

Similarly, we sometimes feel discarded, like a piece of broken jewelry, a lonely crayon whose box of friends has long since been thrown away, or a key that can no longer open any door because that door is long gone.

But we must remember that there’s still a heavenly drawer full of, not junk, but treasures…pieces that are broken, mismatched, forgotten, or deemed unusable by others. When often look at ourselves that way, but that’s when the Lord reminds us He’s looking at us like His carefully guarded treasures.

He takes us when we’re broken and feeling useless, and uses us for something more…something better. He never discards us, but saves us and gives us rest until it’s time for our talents to be put to use once again.

Feeling like a piece of junk? That no one wants to deal with you? Get ready, because you’re getting ready to be shown you’re a piece of priceless treasure, and you’re going to be amazed at what’s ahead for you!

No, you’re not in the junk drawer! You’re in the treasure drawer! And you’re about to discover the difference!

Mom, Did You Know…?

Posted on May 26, 2016 by Deborah Newell

Did you know I’m a grandmother now? Our precious Ashley and her wonderful husband Chris initiated us into that club Monday morning. They presented us with the most beautiful baby girl we’ve ever seen.

One of my friends, and yours, told me, “Now you know how your mother felt when you had Ashley!” I hadn’t thought about that. But she’s so right. I guess I never really understood.

Until now. Until I saw her little face; looked into her beautiful blue eyes; and held her in my arms. At that moment I saw pure love. And I saw your eyes in hers, just like you probably saw your own mother’s eyes in Ashley’s when you first held her.

Mom, I really, really wish you could be here. Even for just a couple of minutes. I wish you could see your great-granddaughter. I wish you could hold her in your arms. Because I know how much you loved your granddaughter, and I know how very much you would love your new great-granddaughter.

There have been so many times I’ve started to pick up my phone and call you, just to tell you what little Rachel is doing. How cute and adorable she is. How much Ashley loves her new baby daughter, and what a wonderful mom she is already. How it’s already second nature for her to take care of her. She’s enjoying every minute. The love on her face when she holds her and snuggles with her…I just want to cry.

I wish you could be here to see Chris, Ashley’s husband, and how wonderful and loving a dad he already is. He’s changing diapers; he’s feeding her; holding her; loving her and just talking to her all the time. I know how happy you’d be. Because I am, too.

And then there’s the new grandpa. I’m sure you remember how excited Ben was when we had Ashley. How much he loved her, and how he would do anything he possibly could for her. Well he’s already the same way with little Rachel, and she’s only three days old. The look of love on his face when he holds her is beyond anything I could imagine. She has him wrapped around all of her fingers…and toes!

The only thing missing is you.

I wish you were here so I could share my thoughts and feelings with you, and ask questions. Because I don’t know how to be a grandmother, but I guess it’s something that comes naturally. I know how nervous I was as a new mother, and how you told me I’d be a great mother. That I’d learn very quickly what to do. And you were there to help me that first week every step of the way. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You were such a natural at being a grandmother, like you’d been preparing for it all your life. And I guess in a way, you had been.

And now I’m getting ready to do the same thing with my daughter. And Mom, I’m not really sure I know what to do, but I’m going to remember what you did.
Because you were the best mother in the world to me, and the best grandmother to Ashley that she could ever have had. I only hope I can be half that good.

And now that I’m a grandmother, that makes you a great-grandmother.

And you are just that. A wonderful, as well as a great, grandmother. And I still miss you every day. But I believe in my heart, and in my spirit, that you know what’s going on. I believe you and my father both have been given the gift of being able to see a little of what’s going on in our lives during this wonderful, precious time. And I can feel you both smiling down on us all, happy as you can be, on our new family.

But I still miss you. And I always will. Thank you for all you did for me, and for Ashley. And thank you for letting us give your name to our new granddaughter.

I love you, Mom. And we’ll all continue to make you proud of us.

The Tears Still Come

Posted on May 10, 2016 by Deborah Newell

Saturday, the day before Mother’s Day, I did something that I haven’t done in ten years. I went into my favorite card shop, which in itself is not unusual, but going to the Mother’s Day card section was. I had no idea that going in to buy a Mother’s Day card for the first time in ten years could be so difficult. Even though it was for our daughter

Looking at the display of Mother’s Day cards that were still left I was suddenly overwhelmed. Especially since I had just written two other blogs about Mother’s Day. I thought after ten years I could handle it. And I did, but not without the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. And sensing that familiar feeling of sobs forming in the back of my throat. You’d have thought my loss was much fresher than ten years ago.

I had just talked to a good friend a few hours previously whose mother passed away two years ago, actually on Mother’s Day. That was still fresh sorrow, fresh grief. She was crying for her mommy, and I felt her pain, and I was crying with her as I tried to comfort her and encourage her. When I told her that her mom knew how much she loved her and was watching over her, that helped some. But such pain takes many years to be healed.

And now here I was. Standing in the middle of that card store in front of a display of cards I couldn’t even begin to read. I’d already picked out the gift for our daughter, which also made me start to tear up, since it was a Willow Tree angel of a mother holding her new infant. I certainly had to get her a card, but how many would I have to go through before I found the perfect one for her? Before I could get out of that store before I started actually crying and the other shoppers thought I’d lost my mind?

It’s not that I’m sad our daughter is getting ready to have her first baby. On the contrary, I am thrilled beyond measure. But suddenly in that store, I realized once again that my own mother was no longer around, and I missed her more than ever! I wanted to share my happiness with her that I was going to be a grandmother, and she was going to be a great-grandmother. I wanted to see the smile on her face, and the sparkle in her eye, hear the excitement in her voice as we talked about all the wonderful times ahead for all of us. Four generations of amazing women.

But only three generations are still alive. Which includes our soon to be born granddaughter.

Yes, the tears still come on Mother’s Day when you no longer have your mother with you. It doesn’t matter how long ago she left. Ten or fifteen years, two years, two months. It still hurts. It doesn’t matter how old we were when we lost her. I was 56. Another friend was 68 when she lost her mother. Another was only 26, and another 18. We all had more memories we wanted to make with them, but now we can only make them in our dreams.

There will always be reminders of her, and I shouldn’t be surprised at my reaction that day. I’m sure I’m not the only one who had similar experiences.

But I am thankful for the years we had with her. I am thankful for her love. And I am thankful for the promise of spending eternity with her.

Will I have that same reaction next year when I go to buy our daughter a Mother’s Day card? I have no idea, but if I do, I know it’ll be okay. Because we never stop loving those we lose.

Mom, I hope your Mother’s Day in heaven was wonderful! And I still love you.

Memories of Mother’s Day

Posted on May 6, 2016 by Deborah Newell

I still remember the last Mother’s Day we spent with my mom. Ten years ago. I remember it vividly, and I also remember thinking at the time, “this may be the last one we have together.” But I quickly dismissed it, because I didn’t want to think about that possibility. I made sure we took several family pictures of us all, even a few including her beloved dog Angel. But then again, I’d done that every year. But something about that particular year told me I had to make sure I had enough pictures.

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And by the next Mother’s Day, it had all changed. Drastically. She’d only been gone for six months, and of course I still hadn’t gotten used to it. All I could remember was how we’d all been together last Mother’s Day, just a short year ago.

That first year it seemed everywhere I went there were Mother’s Day cards, Mother’s Day gift suggestions, Mother’s Day flower arrangements, and ads for special Mother’s Day brunches. It was a stark reminder that things had forever changed. Even when you’re a mom yourself and you’re being honored on that special day by your children and grandchildren, when you have no mother to buy cards and gifts for any more, no one to take out for a special brunch, it’s still hard. Father’s Day was always difficult, too, since I’d lost my dad at a very young age, but somehow those Father’s Day ads, at least in my case, weren’t quite as painful as those Mother’s Day reminders. Because all I had left of her were my memories.

For the first time I had no mother to buy cards for, and no cards to receive from her. There were no gifts to buy for her, and no visit to the home I grew up in to be with her. Our daughter had no grandmother to celebrate with, and even though she and her dad did everything they could to make the day happy for me, something was definitely missing. Something, meaning, someone, who could never be replaced.

When I was packing up things at my mother’s house I’d found a small stack of cards she’d bought for our birthdays, and a few other occasions. I saved them all and used them for my husband’s and daughter’s birthdays, and even signed her name to them. After all, she’d bought those cards for them, and they deserved to have them! One of the cards was a Mother’s Day card which had obviously been meant for me. Until I pulled it out that morning to put with the cards Ben and Ashley had given me, I hadn’t realized she’d signed it! There was her familiar handwriting, “Love, Mom”. She must have bought it for last year’s Mother’s Day, gotten it ready, and then couldn’t remember where she’d put it. But to me, it was as if the Lord had given me a sweet reminder of my mother’s love on a day on which He knew I’d need it more than ever!

But as hard as that first Mother’s Day was, I had to remember to count my blessings. I was blessed to have had my mother around for 56 years. Far too many other daughters, and sons, are not that fortunate. They lose their mothers at an earlier age, and are forced to grow up without a mother’s love and guidance, with their mothers missing so many important events of their life. My mother lived to finally see me happily married after two failed marriages. She lived to meet her precious granddaughter, and spend time with her for 18 years (and I have no doubt she is still watching over her from heaven every now and then). And she would be so thrilled on this Mother’s Day to know that her beloved granddaughter is about to give birth to her own daughter, and naming her Rachel, after her grandmother.

I was blessed to have a mother who loved me unconditionally; who sacrificed having things for herself so she could provide for me. Who unselfishly gave me the best life she could, being both mother and father to me, in a time when very few children grew up with only one parent. She taught me strength, self-worth, the importance of family and faith, and most importantly, the meaning of love. Even when I made dumb mistakes in my life, and I sure made a lot of them, she still loved me unconditionally. She never gave up on me.

Memories of her are all around. I have so many pictures of her, which is surprising, because she always hated having her picture taken. I have pieces of furniture from her house that my father had made for her, and I cannot look at them without a stream of memories flooding back. I have her engagement and wedding rings that I wear on special occasions to make me feel closer to her. I have her favorite recipes, written in her own schoolteacher’s careful handwriting. I even still have her wedding dress, now yellowed and torn, but a reminder of the special love she and my father shared.

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Selfishly, I didn’t want to lose her. Even at her age of 94, I wasn’t ready for her to go. But she was tired, and she was ready to go be with the Lord and be reunited with the husband she’d lost 47 years previously, and had never stopped loving. We are not promised to live forever. Nor should we want to. Our final and glorious reward is waiting for us in heaven, and we’ve earned it. I know my mother did, and I know she is enjoying every heavenly second of that reward, in ways I cannot even begin to imagine.

My mother would never want me to be sad because she’s gone. She would not want me to continue to grieve over her, or cry over her, or be sad on Mother’s Day because she’s not with us. She would want me to celebrate with my family, and this year look ahead to my soon-to-be new title of grandmother. She would want me to enjoy the day, remember the good times we all spent together, and look ahead to even more good times with our granddaughter.

No, Mother’s Day will never be quite the same without my mother. But this is the time to make new memories. My mother would be so excited, and so thrilled, to be here to see her great- granddaughter enter the world, but then again, I believe she will somehow see that moment.

There are times I can still hear her voice in my head, and in my heart, softly saying my name. And I can also hear her saying, “This is the legacy I left with you. Cherish every moment. Because now you will not only know a mother’s love…you will know a grandmother’s love. I am so excited for you. You have no idea of the joy you are about to experience.”

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you. And I always will. These flowers are for you!

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Sometimes the Littlest Things…

Posted on March 7, 2016 by Deborah Newell

…make you stop in your tracks. Tell your eyes not to cry. Tell your lips not to quiver like they do when a good cry is coming in. Tell your voice not to shake because you know you won’t be able to talk normally for a little while.

That just happened to me. Sitting at my hairstylist’s while my color soaked in. As I looked up and saw a lady come in who could have been my mother’s twin. Her height, her face, her hairstyle, her clothes, the way she walked. I tried not to stare…to quickly look away, because I knew I couldn’t watch this lady without that longing in my heart jumping into my throat.

It still happens. After almost ten years. And it probably will happen again.

Shortly after my mom passed away, my daughter Ashley and I were shopping in one of the department stores where we used to take my mother all the time. My mom had had a shopping routine, and when she’d get tired she’d sit down in the shoe department and wait for us. She’d hold our bags and quietly watch the shoppers go by. Usually someone she knew came over and talked to her for a while; that’s one of the beautiful things about living in a small town.

That particular day Ashley and I both saw the woman at the same time. She looked so much like my mother…sitting in that shoe department with a bunch of shopping bags, just quietly waiting. How I wanted so badly to rush over to her and hug her, because she so reminded me of my own mother. That’s when we saw the woman’s grown daughter, and obviously the woman’s granddaughter, coming over to meet her. The little girl’s face lit up as she ran to her grandmother to show her what she’d bought. And the smile on her grandmother’s face was priceless, and she wanted to know all about everything that little girl had found.

The look on my own face as I watched them was most likely a mixture of sadness, envy, and nostalgia for what we’d lost. And probably hadn’t fully appreciated until this moment, when we realized such moments wouldn’t ever happen to us again. And Ashley…she turned away and quickly walked off, knowing she was ready to cry.

We never seem to truly appreciate what we have until it’s gone. Forever gone. As much as I loved my mother, enjoyed being with her and doing things with her, I still regret all the times I missed out on. And didn’t even know it at the time.

When I left my hair appointment that same lady was standing outside the salon with her hair stylist, waiting for her ride. I stopped to speak to her, and with an almost cracking voice, told her how very much she looked like my mom who’d left us ten years ago. Her China blue eyes (like my mom’s) looked at me, thanked me for the compliment, and very unlike my mother, proudly told me she was going to be 102 this year!! And that she hoped to see me there again, because she had her hair done every week! Just like my mother used to.

I’m going to be sure to make my next hair appointment for a Saturday at the same time I had today. Just so I can see this lady again. This time I’ll ask her name. She deserves to be more than a nameless memory.

March 5, 2016

Grandma’s Apron

Posted on February 26, 2016 by Deborah Newell

Let me say right at first that I did not write either of the two pieces that follow. I wish I had, because I love the sentiment behind them. But I will not take credit for someone else’s work.

The actual poem which inspired the story “The History of Grandma’s Apron” was written by Tina Trivett in August, 2007, as a tribute to her grandmother. It has appeared on numerous websites and blogs, and I am happy to re-post it as well, because it stirs up so many memories of my own grandparents.

When I started thinking about it, until my grandmother came to live with my mom and me, I don’t really remember seeing her without an apron on. Her aprons were almost always made of some flowery material, and very soft, from years of washing. And they were one of those big ones described here in the stories, made for doing just about anything that needed done! As well as protecting her clothes, of course, because back then, our grandmothers NEVER wore anything but dresses! Dresses which had most likely been carefully made by them on one of those beautiful old treadle sewing machines. Most likely that’s why my mother was such an excellent seamstress, since she learned from her own mother. Why her two sisters never got that talent, I’ll never know; I guess they were never really interested enough to try!

Now, most of us who do cook, at least almost everyone I know, don’t wear an apron. I only have one in my house. It’s one that my mother made for my husband when we were first married, sort of as a joke, because he was always spilling food on his shirt or tie (and still does!) My mom wore them from time, to time, but sadly I don’t even have any of those.

But oh, how I wish I still had one of my grandmom’s aprons. To cherish, not to wear!

The History of Grandma’s Apron (Author Unknown)

I don’t think our kids know what an apron is. The principle use of Grandma’s apron was to protect the dress underneath because she only had a few. It was also because it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and aprons used less material. But along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children’s tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids.

And when the weather was cold, Grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men folk knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that ‘old-time apron’ that served so many purposes.

REMEMBER:

Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to cool. Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to thaw.

They would go crazy now trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron.

I don’t think I ever caught anything from an apron – but love!

Grandma’s Apron – a Poem by Tina Trivett
(which inspired the story above)

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.

She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she’d found.
Or to hide a crying child’s face when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.

She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.

She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I’m sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.

Thank you Tina Trivett, for inspiring so many of us.

One Day, A Cure

Posted on February 18, 2016 by Deborah Newell

I have lost family members to Alzheimer’s. I have several friends who have lost family members to Alzheimer’s. We are losing a friend of 35+ years to Alzheimer’s, and he is in our age group.

Recently I wrote a three part blog about our friend, called “Remembering Chuck”, detailing some of the challenges he and his family have been going through. The other day his oldest daughter Katy shared my blog post on her Facebook, with the following message:

“I’m not usually one for sharing super personal things online, but this is a struggle I know many have gone through and may yet have to.

I saw my dad this past Christmas for the first time in several years. Living so far away, I had heard from my sisters and mom how quickly his Alzheimer’s had progressed, and I thought because I understood it logically that I would be able to handle seeing him in person. That was…not the case. I had to turn away to hide my tears because it was just so clear how far gone he is. It was painful to hear him ask me if I was dating anyone (when he was at my wedding several years ago) and to describe living with his parents, who have been dead now for 51 years. And then to turn around and call me Katybug, as he always did when I was a kid. Some things are there and some aren’t.

I’ll be honest – going through this with my dad has been a drawn-out mourning process. I catch myself referring to him in past tense as if he were already gone, and honestly…in a lot of ways, he is. The difference is that he’s technically still around, and my grief over his loss has been extended over a decade rather than hitting all at once if he had died. Part of me feels like when he finally passes away, it will be easier because I’ve had time to process it (and because I know the happiness that awaits him on the other side). But if my experience this Christmas is any indication, it may not be after all.

Alzheimer’s sucks, especially of the early-onset variety, and I live in fear that it’s my future, too. I can only hope that I have more time to prepare than he did.”

Sobering thoughts from a young lady in her mid-twenties. She has two younger sisters, who are probably feeling and thinking the same things.

I was twenty-five years older than Katy when my uncles and my aunt started experiencing the effects of this disease. It was terrible to watch. Seeing a loved one you’ve known all your life as vibrant, active, full of life, turn into someone who sometimes doesn’t know who you are or anything about you is heart-wrenching.

I watched my mother’s oldest sister as she went through the stages of this disease, and although, like Katy, I wasn’t there all the time to see her descent into the valley of Alzheimer’s, along with hearing almost daily reports from my mother, I also saw Aunt Mary every couple of months, and the change I saw in her each time was terribly upsetting. She progressed to where she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, or even who she was.

Many of you thankfully haven’t yet been touched by this disease. Oh, you may think you have because you’ve heard of a favorite celebrity who’s affected by it and think, “Oh, how horrible this is. They’re so great, so talented, what a shame. I feel so bad for them.” And then you forget about them.

You have no idea. Until it’s personal. Then it hits you. Then you understand.

What about my uncle who rose from being a minimum wage office boy to the comptroller of an international corporation? He developed Alzheimer’s and died not knowing who any of us were, or who he was, not knowing how to even eat or button a button.

What about my friend’s mother who not only raised five beautiful children, but had been a popular teacher, a successful realtor, and a deacon in her church for years? Who at the end of her life couldn’t speak, or focus her eyes on anything, or even pray to the Lord she had served most of her life.

What about another friend’s mother whose savings were depleted because of her illness and had to be placed in a state-sponsored facility because her children couldn’t afford anywhere else? Her mind would still function briefly but in her times of lucidity would cry out for her own parents who’d been dead for fifty years or more, because she thought she was a teenager and still living with them.

There are as many different stories of Alzheimer’s patients as there are people who suffer with it. Yes, it greatly affects the person who has it, but we cannot forget that person’s loved ones who are living it day to day in a different way. The patient doesn’t know he or she isn’t remembering things; to them, everything is just the way it should be in their own private world.

But for those of us whose loved ones are going through this, it’s a nightmarish reality that never ends. We try to rationalize their behavior and deny anything is wrong until we are finally forced to admit what’s happening. We cannot bring back our loved one’s memory; we cannot rationalize the “new normal” our loved one has become. They may still look like that person, but there’s a vacancy in their eyes and a look on their face that tells us everything is forever changed. We desperately want them back, but it can’t happen.

And yes, we mourn. As Katy, said we mourn while they are still alive because the person we knew them as is no longer there. We mourn our own loss of the last few years with them. We mourn because there are grandchildren missing out on knowing their grandparents. And we mourn because our loved ones are missing out on even more. Fortunately they don’t realize it.

But we do. And, like Katy, I cannot help but wonder if I will be on that road as well. And if that time comes, I may not even know I’m on that road, but my daughter and grandchildren would, and I cannot bear that thought.

One day, please, let there be a cure, as well as a prevention, for this awful disease. Before it grabs any more of us.

Remembering Chuck, Part Three

Posted on February 5, 2016 by Deborah Newell

“The only upside of Alzheimer’s I’ve found so far: introducing my dad to “new” things. This evening I took him to Starbucks, and he was like a kid on Christmas. It was endearing and heartbreaking at the same time.” Elizabeth, Chuck’s middle daughter, November, 2015.

If you haven’t read Parts 1 and 2 of this story, please do so before reading this last installment, so you will better understand the struggles our friend and his family are going through.

Although Chuck now has no concept of time or holidays, his daughters were all able to get together with him at Christmas, just a few months ago. It took him a little while to remember his oldest daughter Katy’s husband Chase, but eventually he did. He kept looking at him, and then looking away, like something was trying to register. Then suddenly Chuck walked up to him and said, “Chase! How are you? How is school?” That moment of recognition brought Katy to tears, and everyone else as well.

At one point that day Patty (his ex-wife) asked him if he remembered her. He said, “yes,” but couldn’t remember her name. He did later on, and gave her a ‘bigger-than-he-should-have’ hug, which made the girls very uncomfortable. Patty quickly hugged him back and then pulled away, and the girls stepped in. Chuck can’t help it. Alzheimer’s patients live in the past; it’s their clearest memories. Patty has gone from being his wife, to his ex-wife, his sister, his daughter, and now back to his wife. Every day is different. There have already been days when he doesn’t know who one of the girls is. That is the hardest of all. Because one day he will stop remembering them, and the memories won’t return.

Unfortunately the last nursing home he was placed in didn’t work out. The facility was not what they had thought it would be, and although he wasn’t able to escape, no one was happy with his being there. So the search began again. Just four days ago we found out a new place has been secured for him, and he has already been relocated there. This facility looks like an ideal home for someone with Chuck’s symptoms. There is a library, a computer center, and a full recreational schedule of games and puzzles, trivia contests, music, and movies. He will be able to interact more with people, and will be encouraged to participate in activities with other residents. I pray this will be the place he will finally be able to call home.

Just a few hours after finding out this news, my husband and I were surprised with a FaceTime call from Patty. We were thrilled to see/talk to her, but what we weren’t expecting was to actually be able to see and talk with Chuck, who we hadn’t actually seen except in photos in probably twenty-five years! To say we were happy as well as excited is one of the biggest understatements I could write!

While I will not elaborate on the details of our conversation, what I will say is that we were delighted to see and talk with him! He remembered both Ben and me, and he remembered our daughter, his goddaughter Ashley. He remembered where he and Ben met, and who they were both working for at the time. He remembered when he proposed to Patty, although none of us can remember the name of the restaurant. But he thought he had talked to his parents just a few days ago, and they’ve been dead for longer than we’ve known him. He talked about things we’d all done together, and when he told us he was having fried chicken for dinner, and I reminded him how much he’d enjoyed my mother’s fried chicken, he remembered that as well.

We have no way of knowing how Chuck is processing his thoughts anymore. Some of our conversation was like it used to be twenty-five years ago, and some of it made sense only to him. But the important part is, we were able to re-establish a relationship with him, and as often as we can, we hope to continue that relationship. Good friends are too important to lose, and even if the memories may not all be totally clear anymore, one day when we are all together with the Lord, they will be. Until that day hopefully many decades in the future, we will continue to enjoy as many conversations with him as possible, and if they don’t exactly make sense to us, as long as they do to him, we will continue to have them. That’s what reunited friends do.

As Patty has said many times, “This breaks my heart. Every day I wish my girls could know the Chuck that I married. Fortunately they have their own special memories of their daddy, and they all love him dearly. That’s all I can hope for.”

We still have our own memories of Chuck before this happened. That same man is definitely still there, although locked inside a mind whose memories no longer work exactly the way they used to. We have pictures to go along with some of those memories, and so do his children. They call him, and visit when they can, and show him pictures to remind him of family. They bring his grandson to visit, and the two of them play cars and trucks on the floor together, just two children having fun. Like the trip to Starbucks his daughter talked about, every day is a new adventure, because he usually doesn’t remember from day to day, or week to week. The things he used to enjoy he sometimes doesn’t remember ever doing. Each day there are just a few less memories.

But we remember Chuck.

Even if Chuck doesn’t always remember himself anymore.

Note: If you have a loved one suffering from this disease, please seek out a support group. Read all that you can about it. Ask questions. And above all, continue to love that person. Respect them. Don’t belittle them when they don’t make sense with what they say. They cannot help it. Their world is not quite the same as it was any more.

Remembering Chuck, Part Two

Posted on February 3, 2016 by Deborah Newell

If you haven’t read Part One of this story, please do so before reading this one, so you will better understand the struggles our friend and his family are going through.

Far too often, people have a tendency to think of Alzheimer’s victims as only the elderly, who are expected to go through changes such as this toward the end of their lives. This is simply not true. One of our friend’s fathers is ninety-four, and his memory is as clear as it was fifty years ago. Chuck’s memory issues began most likely in his mid-fifties.

After we started catching up with Chuck and his ex-wife and daughters, it became very clear Chuck was rapidly going downhill with this disease. Shortly after re-connecting, his two oldest daughters got married, and the next year, Chuck became a grandfather. The pictures we saw of Chuck and the wedding party revealed a man who looked like our friend, but yet, there was just something about the look on his face that told us he wasn’t the same man we remembered; something was missing.

This man was not quite the same Chuck we remembered. Alzheimer’s does that. It will take the mind of its victim, gradually squeeze the best parts out, and leave behind someone who still looks mostly like that person, but yet, the eyes that are looking out of their mind are clearly not accurately registering what they’re seeing.

The worst part was how much his children are missing, because the father they dearly love isn’t the same any more. He isn’t able to give them the fatherly advice young women still need from their dads. He wasn’t able to bond with his new sons-in-law and properly welcome them into the family. Although now he still remembers his grandson when he sees him, he will never be able to take him fishing, teach him to ride a bike, go to the park, or spend a Saturday afternoon playing baseball with him, and that little boy will miss out on doing all of the fun things a young boy should do with his grandfather. That young man will never have the pleasure of knowing how special “Grandpa Chuck” really is. He’ll never hear stories about his grandfather’s childhood, because even though many of his memories are based in the past, they are still jumbled and confused, and make sense only in his own memories.

Patty told us details about the progression of his illness, but not without some personal pain of her own. “I do not have bad feelings about the years I was married to Chuck. My only regret is that we couldn’t make it last. I always wanted to be that person who married and stayed that way forever. Had I known then that his problems stemmed from an illness, I would not have deserted him. Sometimes I wonder, if I had stayed, had we worked through things, would the onset of this disease have progressed at a much slower rate? I’ll never know. But it is so unbelievably sad all the same.”

Patty, you did not desert him. You are caring for him now as no one else can. And we all cannot thank you enough for that. I also personally cannot thank you and the girls enough to allow me to share his story, in hopes that other families will read it and understand they’re not alone; that the things their loved ones are doing because of this disease are not that unusal.

Chuck always loved to travel. Even when he was living on only his social security and barely making ends meet, he would get his check, pay a few utility bills, jump in his car and drive somewhere.

Deeper into the Alzheimer’s journey he would take off and drive from Texas to Indiana or Utah, supposedly for job interviews, but there were none. Part of him must have known his money was limited, because during or after a trip, he wouldn’t eat or get a hotel room, even if he drove for three days. He would stop in rest areas to sleep, and fill up on soda and chips along the way. By the third day, he would be in such bad shape mentally that he couldn’t find his way home. Once, Patty had to drive from Texas to Arkansas to get him. He had been found by police, incoherent, at a stop sign in the middle of a national forest. He had no idea where he was; his car was out of gas, and his wallet was empty.

Because of his taking so many of these trips, he would come home with almost no money. When the landlord showed up looking for his rent, Chuck would pay whatever token amount he had left. This amazingly went on for fifteen months before the landlord finally evicted him. Patty went to court with him, because, sadly, Chuck didn’t even understand he was being evicted.

Patty bought a small mobile home for him (so no one could raise his rent) two blocks from their own house, and she and her husband moved him into that. Patty was designated his legal representative to make sure his bills were paid, and would take him shopping for food every few weeks.

A short while later she started getting calls that Chuck was stealing from the local grocery store. He’d stopped eating the food at his house, and only wanted ice cream and donuts. Patty would buy ice cream when they went shopping, but when he ran out, he would steal more, leaving the healthy food untouched. If she gave him any extra money he would spend it for more ice cream and donuts, and when that was gone, he’d go back to stealing. Remember, Alzheimer’s patients do not have any concept of what they are doing; this is not unusual behavior. The Chuck we had known would never, ever, do anything like this.

Three years after moving into the mobile home, Patty knew Chuck could not be left alone anymore.

They found an assisted living facility for him, but three days later, Chuck had become so delusional the facility called and told Patty she had to remove him immediately. He spent three weeks in a psychiatric hospital until a nursing home was found for him. That home was a locked facility, but within a few days, they made him leave as well. Somehow he kept escaping, and one time Patty found him walking up the highway towards where he used to live. He was returned to the psychiatric hospital for another two weeks until they found another secured nursing home in Ft. Worth, from which they were assured he could not escape.

To even have to look at nursing homes, memory care centers, or similar residential care centers as somewhere from which a loved one cannot escape is sadly part of the reality of this disease. I remember all too well one of my uncles being in the dementia/Alzheimer’s section of the local nursing home and having to wear an ankle bracelet so that if he tried to leave an alarm would go off, and he could be stopped. At the time I didn’t understand why such measures were necessary, and thought it was so wrong.

Now I understand.

Friday, a special conclusion, “Remembering Chuck, Part Three”.

Remembering Chuck, Part One

Posted on February 1, 2016 by Deborah Newell

We’ve known Chuck for probably 35 years. He’s only five years older than we are, turning seventy this year. And these days that isn’t really old.

He and Ben met, of all places, at a Roy Rogers Restaurant marketing meeting where Ben was presenting a marketing concept. They became fast friends, and the three of us had a lot of fun times together. Many of those times Chuck’s dog, a huge Great Dane named Verushka, accompanied us. We included Chuck in most of our holiday dinners since he didn’t have any local family, and he loved our Eastern Shore home cooking, sometimes having two or three helpings when everyone else was already full, and never having a weight problem!

Chuck was best man at our wedding, while Verushka patiently waited outside for a slice of wedding cake (although this picture makes her look a LOT smaller than she was). When our daughter was born, Chuck was her godfather.

A few years after Ben and I were married, Chuck met Patty, who was working at the same company he was, and ended up proposing to her one night when we were all out to dinner by dropping her engagement ring in a wine glass. She was so busy playing with baby Ashley, it took her almost an hour to notice it, and we still joke about it today! We were afraid she’d either swallow it, or the waiter would take her glass away before she found it (fortunately she did find it, and didn’t swallow it!). They were married a few months later.

When Chuck received a job offer out of the area six months later, we sadly said goodbye to our friends, and wished them the best with their new life in Las Vegas. Since he was working for the same company as Ben at the time, we were sure we’d still get to see them at company meetings.

But that didn’t happen. Chuck changed jobs a few times, and the years flew by, and unfortunately, since they’d moved several times because of those job changes, we lost track of each other. A number of years later we finally heard from Chuck, and were terribly upset to learn that after numerous moves to numerous states, and three beautiful daughters, their marriage had ended. Although we tried to keep up with him after that, when we’d try to contact him, the last numbers he’d given us were disconnected. And the last places he’d worked, well, he wasn’t there anymore. And we had no way to contact the few family members he had left.

Fortunately, there was Facebook, and one day I found him on there. Ben and I were thrilled to be able to catch up. But he wasn’t on there a lot, and the times we’d try to talk to him in private messages, we’d get short answers, some of which didn’t make a lot of sense.

Then Patty connected with us. I was so happy! We’d missed her, and were so glad to re-connect with her, as well as their three daughters we’d never met. We exchanged so many private messages back and forth, I thought we were going to wear out our keyboards.

That’s when we found out about Chuck.

There’s a song that says “Friends are friends forever…” Some friendships are like that. You may be separated by years and circumstances, but good friends remain good friends, and when we reconnect, it’s like the years melt away. My husband and I are fortunate to have several special friends like that.

In Chuck’s case, though, more than the years had melted away.

Chuck was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, which had probably started presenting itself in little ways even before he turned 60, which would have explained his inability to hold a job over the past years, as well as our losing touch with him so many times.

At that time, Patty told us Chuck remembered Ben and me, and evidently still talked about us a lot. He remembered his daughters. He remembered Patty, and he knew they were divorced. But he didn’t always remember what day it was. He’d lost his driver’s license several years before, because he had become too distracted to drive. He would wander, and people would have to call Patty to come get him, because he couldn’t remember how to get home. He hadn’t been able to work for years, and required someone to come in where he was living to clean and fix a few meals. Patty sadly had to find a new home for his dog, because he would forget to take care of him.

Ben and I couldn’t believe what we heard. The full-of-life, fun-loving, and wonderful friend we’d tried so hard to find, the friend we’d missed so much….someone our own age…had Alzheimer’s.

Because he had no one else to look out for him, Patty had stepped in and was doing everything she could to see that he was taken care of. Even though she has remarried, she still cares for Chuck, and wants to be sure he is watched after, for his sake as well as for their daughters. Thank goodness for Patty!

It was a sobering realization for us. It’s much harder for his three daughters, the oldest of whom is just a few years younger than our daughter.

Alzheimer’s goes in a vicious cycle. It’s exhausting for those in the cycle. And heartbreaking as well, because there is no cure. It can begin at any age. It can progress slowly, or it can begin to progress rapidly to the point that the patient forgets who his family is, and who he is. No one knows how it will affect their loved one, or how quickly; only that it does.

There’s more to the story. Far too often, people have a tendency to think of Alzheimer’s victims as the elderly, who are expected to go through changes such as this toward the end of their lives. Which is simply not true. Chuck probably started experiencing symptoms before he turned sixty. Early-onset Alzheimer’s affects up to 5% of its 5,000,000 victims, and can occur in patients as young as in their 40’s or 50’s.* Since patients are sometimes not accurately diagnosed in the beginning stages, it’s really difficult to tell.

What I can tell you, is that this disease affects not only the patient, but everyone who loves them. No one in their circle of family and friends remains untouched. And all of their lives are forever changed.

Until we had these discussions with Patty about Chuck, we had no idea how very devastating this can really be. Wednesday, his story continues, with “Remembering Chuck, Part Two”.

* http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_early_onset.asp

Chicken and Dumplings Time

Posted on January 30, 2016 by Deborah Newell

Last Friday night we were sitting around the table as the freezing rain (not snow, thank goodness!) pounded on the skylights and the wind howled an ugly melody none of us wanted to hear. We had guests coming for dinner the next evening, and I had no idea what to fix. All of a sudden, it hit me. What more appropriate warm comfort meal than good ol’ Eastern Shore chicken and dumplings! Definitely one of Ben’s favorites, and something neither of our friends had enjoyed before.

So chicken and dumplings it was! Except I had no chicken. No problem, just go buy one the next morning, right? That got a bit tricky, however, because when Ben went to the store for me, the first three grocery stores he went to were totally out of chicken. Seems the upcoming predicted snow storm produced a run on chicken. Who knew? Fortunately the butcher at the last store he visited said they didn’t have any whole chickens left in the meat department, but the deli department did. I guess the butcher felt bad for him when she saw the look of disappointment on his face as he explained how his wife had offered to fix chicken and dumplings for him, and he HAD to find a chicken! Of course, the deli department manager said they couldn’t sell the uncooked chickens because they weren’t cooked! Yes, that’s what he wanted them for…to cook! After some convincing by the butcher, the deli manager packed up two uncooked chickens for Ben, and he happily brought home his two prized birds!

Ben grew up in the Midwest where they had chicken and dumplings as well, but the ones he’d always had were biscuits cooked on top of a pot of chicken. Not at all what we make on the Eastern Shore. When he first looked at my mother’s chicken and dumplings and saw this concoction of flat white squares of shiny dough, he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with them. He didn’t want to insult my mother, but, well he’d made up his mind that he probably wouldn’t like them.

Surprise! They instantly became his favorite meal!

There were many Sunday afternoon family dinners when I was growing up that featured chicken and dumplings. LOTS of dumplings. My uncles would always argue good naturedly over who got the last bit of them, and there were never any left. And even better, when my grandmother would bake one of the chickens from her henhouse, sometime eggs would be inside; just the yolk, no shell. Now THAT was some good eating! And reserved for us kids only!

I’ve fixed this for years, and introduced lots of friends to the joy of chicken and dumplings. Our daughter loves them, too, and they’re actually one of the first things I taught her how to fix. As a kid she liked rolling out the dough and cutting it into squares to drop in the chicken stock.

If you’re counting calories, or carbs, this dish isn’t one you can eat too often. If you need gluten free, well, I don’t know which gluten free flour to recommend, or even if it would work with gluten free flour. That’s up to you to try, but be sure to let me know if you’re successful.

Chicken and Dumplings – Eastern Shore style

1 oven roaster or whole frying chicken (if the chickens are small, depending on number of guests, you may need two)

Bake chicken in covered roasting pan with a little water at 325 degrees until done, usually 30 minutes per pound. You can season it with salt and pepper, poultry seasoning, whatever you want. When chicken is done, remove to serving plate, cover to keep warm. Do NOT drain the juices from the pan, because that’s what you will cook the dumplings in, on top of the stove. I put the pan on the stove, lengthwise, over two burners, and bring the juice to a slow boil. You’ll probably need to add extra water to it so you’ll have enough for the dumplings.

About 20 minutes before the chicken is done, start preparing the dumplings. How many you make depends on how many people you are serving. My rule is normally 1 cup of flour mixture per person.
1 c. all purpose flour
1 tbl shortening (I use Crisco)
1 tsp flour
Water to make the dough

That’s it. Combine the ingredients, using a pastry cutter for the shortening. Add water slowly and mix enough in until the dough is a consistency to roll out. Roll out on a floured surface until it’s about ¼” thick (if you’re like me and using several cups of flour, you’ll do this several times, rather than using one big hunk of dough; trust me, it’s easier).

Cut into 2”-3“ squares and drop the dumplings into the chicken juices. Since you’re making them in advance before the pan is ready, just stack them on a plate and cover until you’re ready to cook them. Cook 20 minutes. Scoop up into a bowl and serve immediately. With the chicken, of course!

And don’t fight over who gets the last helping!

Just Living Life

A journal of advice, stories, and ideas from years of living

Category Archives: Memories