The phone rang….it was my brother with a question.

At some time, when I moved backed it was agreed that I would host Christmas Dinner and my sister-in-law would host Christmas Eve. I had a small one bedroom 1930’s apartment (another day for the story on how I got there). It had a formal living room and formal dining room, but a very, very small kitchen. I tend to over decorate…or I did then. But the place was just so cute and it was so easy to make it so festive. Anyways, back to the phone call. My brother’s out of town In Laws had decided to come for Christmas and wanted to make sure it was ok for them to come to dinner.

Now normally this would not be a bad thing. But our life was no longer normal. About a year or two before, my brother and sister-in-law thought it would be a great idea to have my mom and the in-laws up at the cabin together. Well, bad mistake. My mom and the mother-in-law did not get along and matter of fact they had a nasty argument which is still part of the family fork lode. I was not there, but my mom was very upset and did not want anything to do with “that woman.” On the phone my brother was wondering what to do, since if I did not have them all for dinner, then none of them would be able to come. This was a very interesting predicament. I told him that we would need to talk it over with mom. I was the chosen one to call her.

This was a hard one. It could go either way. My mom was a very strong willed woman. And so was the In-law. This spelled disaster to me. But, I called and after a long silence, my mom agreed. I played the favorite son angle. She loved my brother and I set it up as how he was so worried of not hurting her feelings, but what could he do. She did not like it and her Christmas would be spoiled…but it was for her son and she felt she needed to protect him. Whew, that was a close one. But of course that was just a phone call, now on to the actual day.

I called my brother and told him it was ok. Then he informed me that the father-in-law had dementia and tended to get agitated easy. He had to go and left me sitting with the phone in hand in silence. Wow, as I looked around. Wow, as this small one bedroom place got smaller. How was I going to pull this off without the world falling in.

What you do not know about me is that I have worked for a number of years in a program for adults with dementia. I was at that time an Adult Day Services Director. This is a program where activities, games, crafts, socialization, outings are structured to provide independence with guidance of staff. Therefore I knew what would help and what would be an issue. I decided that my mom and the mother-in-law were not the most important persons at the dinner. It was the father-in-law. So, I took control.

What you do not know about me is that I also have put on conferences and programs where everything had to be timed. So I took out my pad of paper and outlined the day events, including my meal. Everything was timed…allowing of course for the unexpected bumps.

From the moment they arrived I set everything up for success for the father-in-law. I greeted him as if we knew each other for years. I helped him off with his coat and joked about the weather (so any confusion over the mechanics of unbuttoning or pulling arms out of the coat would not be noticed by all). I escorted him to a pre chosen comfortable chair that did not offer too many distractions or over sensory (not by a window or in crowed area). I controlled the conversation with gentle questions pointing to my tree and asking if he ever cut down a Christmas Tree and let him bring up those memories that were still intact. My mother picked up on the subject (not to be out done about memories) and soon they all were enjoying memories. I was able to get back into the kitchen for last minute preparations.

It was time to serve the meal. I had his seat at the head of the table…an honor that was part of the family table in his day. I reminded him that he was a very valued guest. This is important for people with dementia at his stage. He was aware of people watching him. He is aware of his mistake and it is frustrating. They know something is wrong and they are losing their self-esteem. They know they will be corrected and they try to hide their mistakes. When pointed out or failure to cover it up…this is when they could become agitated. So you need to stay ahead of the game or quickly change the play.

I made sure that my sister-in-law sat next to him and that the mother-in-law sat by my brother…but on the other side of the table from my mom. I did this for two reasons. To keep mother-in-law from correcting her husband, and to give her some relief. After all, her over correcting takes a toll on her too. To make sure, I had name cards. “Oh, how fancy.” “Yes, my daughter is the Martha Simpson of the family.” Ok, it was Steward…but it was a complement!” Ok, it was just a snob remark too.

My mom gave the grace and before anyone could eat, that year I introduced my family to the English Crackers. They are the cute tubes that you pull apart and they “crack” with a hat, a joke and toy falling out. I found a kit that you make your own. So instead of a stupid joke that no one in the US understands I put in a question. Choose your favorite Christmas Song. I listed two. When they picked one, then we all sang it together. It was a picture to remember. Everyone had on their paper crown hats, singing together. The father-in-law was enjoying himself, not concern if it was right or wrong. He was in the moment. They all were. And we were sharing together…on the same level.

After we finished our meal, more fun! I made sure that we stayed at the table a bit longer. With my brother’s help we cleared off the table while they played another game. A simple but enjoyable memory game: a word that brings up a memory for which they had to share with everyone. Then it was time to go into the living room back in their chairs and listen to soft music or restroom break. Not aware that this was all organized. They were having so much fun. Then we played Dirty Santa. They never played that before and were astonish that it would be so much excitement as they won and then lost and then won a present. Showing off their gift (which was silly little items) I made sure that the father-in-law had a larger gift that would not break or loose small parts.

We ended with a dance around the coffee table. This was more for my brother. When we were children at our Swedish church they would put up the Christmas Tree in the center of community room. After it was decorated they would play Swedish music and everyone would grab hands and dance around the tree. One of the songs was called: Nu Ar Det Jul Igen. It was a fun folk dance with a melody that sticks in your mind forever. We never could say it right or sing the words. But we knew the melody and often would remind each other. I had a tape – yes the old fashion tapes. No tape player. So I traveled all the way over to Minneapolis to Ingebretsen’s Swedish Meat Market and Gift Store. No one under stood what I was trying to pronounce…so with all my pride put behind me…I sang the melody. No one knew it. They called the boss and on the phone I sang the melody. BINGO! Got the CD and went home over the river and through the neighborhood happy as a lark!

Now, in this very small apartment with six people dancing around a small – I mean small coffee table was in itself something to behold. But, they all were laughing and shouting with joy. It was golden. Soon it was time to go. Everyone had their coats and I was lost in the shuffle. I heard my name called urgently. It seems that father-in-law would not go out the door. He froze and mother-in-law was getting upset, demanding him to move. Sister-in-law was trying to soften the moment but did not know what to do. My brother was calling him trying to get him to come down the stairs to him. Nothing was working. My mom called out for me. Everyone just parted the sea as I came forward. I could see caught in the door that father-in-law did not have his coat zipped up and he was fumbling with it getting more and more agitated. I asked everyone to go out to the car. Smiling I said to him, “People are crazy, they think they are helping but they are not!” Acknowledging the moment with him, I asked to help him zip up his coat. “Can’t they see it is cold outside and why would you make anyone go out in the cold.” He said yes with his eyes opening wide…someone understood. “But unfortunately that is how we have to go in order to get home. We had so much fun, I would not want to leave.” He shook his head in agreement. “But, I am so tired…I need to go to bed or I will get sick.” Then I gave him a reason to help me. “Can we get your wife and the others to go home so I can rest?” As I talked and laughed with him going out the door and finding the rail to hold on to, I held his arm tight and thanked him for keeping me from falling we walked down the outside stairs and into the car.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and thanked him for keeping my secret and helping me. He had a huge smile on his face.

With the astonishment of my family I scooted them all off, waving good-bye. It was work. Well worth it as I watch them drive down the snow fallen street. I stood there in the moment looking towards the stars and smiling. It was over. I was tired and the cold started to get to me…after all I had no coat on. I ran up the stairs and walked back into my apartment. It was quite. I turn down the lights and with just the tree lights I sat back and dozed off.

I put it this way: you need to control the moments or they will control you and you have to do it out of love. I can do this better with other people than my mom. I am too close. The emotions are too raw. But as an outsider, I could control the moment for my brother and sister-in-law. For them, I could give them a nice Christmas. By centering on the Father-in-law needs, I defused the mother-in-law. I made it into a party. The party kept moving so it gave little time for negative comments or being lost…for everyone. It was fun for the elders of the family to tell their memories. Even my mom and the mother-in-law grew together in their storying telling of having to wear long wool stockings to school. They laughed and laughed – together, in their own private world of memories.

After they got back home, the mother-in-law sent me a wonderful thank you. My sister-in-law talked up the day to her family.   The next year my nieces wanted to come for the “party.”   And my mom, she said that she was amazed how nice the mother-in-law was.

Now, if only I can get that melody out of my head….

This is my first post on my blog.  I did not realize it at the time that I did not need a different page for the post.  Therefore I am cleaning up the site and taking off the page Blog page.  Just makes it easy to keep track of the posts too.  Therefore I am keeping the post title “Blog” just because.

 

Looking back, my life had changed quite a few years before.  I was not accepted as the Good Daughter then…I had moved too far away.  I was a convenience.

Living in the assisted living building was “too hard,”  “too many old people,”  “too many silly rules.” for my mother.  After so many phone calls (from my sister and my mom) I had not realized my caregiving had started…long distance.  With the realization that her current living situation was not working, someone suggested (still not sure who that was) that my mother would live with me during the winter and my sister during the summer months.

My mother, sister and I enter an agreement.  It lasted just a few years and it was an interesting arrangement.  Six months really was not that long.  But as the months grew those last few months of each year seemed longer.

Having my mother as a “room mate” was not what I expected.  For those six months I tried to continue seeing my friends, but I was also my mothers social “mate.”  Taking her shopping, eating out, going to movies, etc.  I was balancing two worlds.  My close friends were great and they understood.  But it was hard.  One time I came home to her and my boyfriend – they were in the mist of rearranging my living room to their satisfaction…not mine.  She was now “arranging” my life.

We had our times, but she was entering my domain…my home…my world.  And on top of that, my mother and I saw a different world.  Mine was logical.  Hers was not.  We were opposites which made it even harder.  The Good Daughter was back east…I could never be that person.  Our chatter was what was wrong, not just chatter like she had with my sister.

I never thought of what it was like for her.  I just kept looking towards the end of the six months and then freedom!  But from her world…she was lost.  I was the only one she knew at first.  She had no car, no independence.  Her world was gone.  Everything that was hers was packed in a few suitcases.  If she had any items from her “home” they were items she passed to my sister or me.  Her possessions in someone else’s home.  She was in a strange place with a daughter of convenience.  She had no idea how to talk to me…so she went to what she knew….being a mother.  And in our relationship…that was to tell me what to do and when.  She too counted the days.

There is always two sides to the story.  We tend to become “doers.”  As we immerse ourselves in these duties we lose site or ourselves and the one(s) that we are trying to help.  It may have been a bit easier if I had just stepped back and looked at it from my mothers point of view.  Of course, if you had told me that then, I may have punched you.  But now, I do see it.  My mother was at that time in her life of loss.  She was homeless in her world.  She was just passing through ours.  Although I had bought her a bed, it was a twin.  She was use to a double.  I decorated her room.  It was my decorations and colors…not hers.  Her world was becoming smaller and smaller.  I did not see it.  I was just a convenience.

 

Today is Santa Lucia Day in the Scandinavian Household. That is the traditional Scandinavian Household. The girl with the lighted candles on her head brings back tons of pageants, Christmas cookies and breads. The Church would be glowing in candle light. The snow gently falling. The Christmas music playing the Lucia song as the audience hush or speaking in quite whispers anticipation for the excitement of the event, waiting for Lucia to walk down the aisle. A collective “ahh” as Lucia appeared slowly walking down to the sound of the music. Somehow, beyond my understanding it was a rite of passage for a girl to wear that crown of candles, walk down an aisle and stand for at least an hour and then back up the aisle without fainting, falling, or dropping a candle. Talk about child endangerment. It was all part of the celebration.

We are gearing up for the festivities by going to Ingebritsen’s (Swedish meat store in Minneapolis) for the mixings of this holiday meal preparation. Funny, we even talk about how we can get most of the items at our local grocery store. But somehow, it would not be the same if we didn’t jam into a crowed meat market, with the smell of the meat and the push of egger customers. Can you believe they sell a 1000 lbs of meatball mixture a day during this time! There we were, fighting over the last loaf of Swedish Limpa (a dark rye bread with fruit), ordering our meat, sausage, cheese. Standing in the same location that our mother and father stood tons of years ago.

We crave those traditions as we grow older. It was not a sense of losing our mother that would push us to have her make the meatballs or put on a Lucia Fest….it was remembering. Of course, my mother loved to do this. She felt important to us, she was needed. Only she could do that. And we knew that and we celebrated that with her. Meatballs, rice pudding, valling (a rice porridge), Swedish coffee bread. But as we grew older, making our own memories with our own families, my mother was losing hers. Not to memory failure , but because her family had grown up and moved away.

When my mother came out to stay with me for the winters our first holidays were interesting. Because I was single there were no other people to please or work in their traditions. My mother assumed that we would do what our family had done all her life…except there was only the two of us. First of all was buying a tree. First compromise…artificial tree. We were in a warm climate and it would be a waste of money to buy a fresh tree. An easy compromise for both of us. My mother convince me to let her pay for half of the tree. For years she would loved to tell people that she owned the top half of the tree. And for Christmas that year, she bought me a set of Christmas Dishes.   And so our traditions started.

Our celebrations were limited. No Lucia Fest in the area. No snow. No cold. But we did find a great drive for lighted houses and we did enjoy making the food together. We had our Christmas meal and Santa even had presents from family across the miles to open. My mother loved pretty wrapped presents. Although she was not a great wrapper, she loved getting them. At the time my boyfriend and I joked that you could have the cheapest item in an great looking box…but the box had to be special…and better from and expensive store. I told my mom that story, and so under the tree that first Christmas, she had him pick up something for me so she could get a Nordstrom’s box ( my favorite store). It was gorgeous. I cannot remember what was in that box, but I still have the box.

Our family always celebrated opening of presents on Christmas Eve (after dishes were done) when Santa would come. Christmas Morning was church not Santa. My mother was early to bed and early to rise. I was a late to bed and late to rise person. We were opposites. For the holidays this worked great. After she went to bed, I would pull out the Nordstrom’s box and swap the item for me for one for her. She would be greeted on Christmas morning with a gift from “Santa” in the wonderful box. No ceremony, just something under the tree. We would spend the morning eating  her Swedish bread with coffee for her and coco for me.  And so another tradition began.

We were bringing together our old traditions and adding new ones. Somehow it worked without knowing what we were doing. There were some intentions to make this easy for both of us. Things were changing. Our lives were changing. It was falling into place without us really realizing it.

The year I moved back to take care of my mom was the year I realized what had happen. This year it would be fun to be with family. As we were preparing,  little bumps in the road would surface. First, as exciting as it was to be with family on Christmas Eve, it was different. No meatballs, rice pudding etc.   I understood, but my mother did not. They did things a bit different.   Although we were able to go to the Lucia Fest, it was not held on the traditional December 13, not at night but in the afternoon. I understood, my mother did not. She was able to have Lutefisk and that made her happy. But something was not right.

On the drive home from Christmas Eve, my mother was very quiet. Finally, looking out the frosty car window she said “it wasn’t like ours.”   I asked her what she meant by “ours.” She said quietly, that she missed our Christmas that we had the last few years.   In my heart I was dancing. I did something right. I had made my mom feel like home. I was the good daughter. I could not say that to her. Instead I told her I understood and although we were here now we could create new traditions. She gave me a sigh and we got home.

On Christmas morning, I came down to find her sipping her coffee with Swedish coffee bread in hand. Her mood had changed and she was content, but the earth had shifted once more for her. New accommodations had to be made and that meant she would lose more of her traditions. Although she was “home” to the world she knew, it had changed. It reminded her that it was because she was losing the battle with age. She still had a lot of fight in her, but it was a compensation to her world. It was not “our” Christmas that she was missing…it was our family…the one when we were the kids and she was the mom. When the future was ahead, all bright and shinning like presents before they were unwrapped. Full of unknown possibilities. Instead she was still hurting from her fall. She had her friends that she had to explain why her daughter was living with her (she could not say she was living with me), and that she was finish with her exciting vacations in the warm climate (another explanation for living with me). She was losing her independence but more importantly her self worth.

We went back for the Christmas dinner with family. Sitting and being social with everyone, but she still was not herself until she spotted it. Under the tree was a pretty box…from Nordstrom’s. She looked at me and a big smile came over her. It didn’t matter what was in the box…it was our tradition and she was in her glory telling the rest of the family about it. As she rambled on to all who was listening I walked out to the kitchen to swipe a wonderful chocolate mint cookie…”and I bought the top of the tree!” She was on to another “tradition.” On our way home that night we took a detour to see the lights.

At the time, I would love to say I was very wised and knew this was happening. I did not. I was too much in the moment and had no experience to fall back on. I learned to be a caregiver the hard way…I answered a phone call. I see now that the early years of being a caregiver was full of transitions. For me and for my mother.  She was becoming more demanding – because her world that she knew was slipping away. The more demanding she became I could see that mine was slipping away.

Holidays will bring out the worst because it means the most to us. I had learned that those first years, but I could not explain that to the rest of the family. I had passed that bump and now I was dealing with a new set of bumps. I was now the mediator for the family as well as for my mother.   Trying to blend all the bumps so they were passable. For one brief moment, I was the good daughter…or so I thought. Instead, it was a passage for my mother.

My mother has been gone for some time. The Nordstrom box is packed away some place with old photos. The tree, after years of storage in my garage I finally threw it out. Although being a caregiver was not easy and I hit tons of bumps in the roads I traveled.  I have grown and become wiser.   I have created my own traditions now and they are entwined with my parents and family. On December 13, I always remember Lucia. I take out the crown and light the candles…then blow them out.  After all, I don’t want to start a fire.  Now, if only I had made the Swedish coffee bread yesterday….I guess I will just have to settle with some coco.