Losing My Voice

I received a telephone call last night and learned that my first cousin has suffered an aneurysm and was in the emergency room.  It could have been worse, I guess, because she is alive.  She's scheduled for surgery later today.

It struck me this morning that I can't call my mom to talk about Ann's condition.  I can't call her to try and talk through why this has happened and to just try to make sense of it all.  My mom was always so good at helping me keep things in perspective.  Toughest of all for me, no doubt, is I can't rely on my mom's faith and her unending belief that everything will be all right.  Not with her and not with my cousin.

At times like this, I'm reminded of how much I relied on my mom for emotional support and wisdom.  And now, I can't.  I used to talk to her every day about issues big and small.  Politics, sports, work, family and personal stuff.  She always was there with a kind word or just a listening ear.  Always.  And now she's not and worst of all, she never will be.  Not again.

I think a large part - maybe the largest part - of the reason I feel so alone and helpless at this time in my life is I don't have my mom to talk to and help me process what's going on.  I miss that most of all.    

Repose

Treasuring the happy moments.  That's important now.

A Port in a Storm, but Sometimes Just a Storm

Sunday morning, I skipped church and drove down to see my mom earlier than usual.  When I arrived she was just finishing breakfast.  As always, she was happy to see me.  I wheeled her away from the table in the dining room and upstairs - these days, she spends most of her time in her wheelchair  - to her apartment.

After she went to the bathroom, I helped her transfer from the wheelchair to her lift chair and we settled in for a longer visit than usual.  We talked amiably.  She was in a good mood - not nervous or uptight - just a little confused about things.  She dozed off and on for a couple of hours, with the television droning quietly in the background.  I read a book, answered some e-mails and may have dozed off a time or two myself.

I was struck by how peaceful it can be, for me, sometimes, when I visit my mom at Maristone.  Maybe that's a sign of acceptance of my mom's fate on my part.  I don't know.  It just seems that with my life as busy and stressful as it is on the outside - work, clients, the boys' activities, etc. - it's nice sometimes to shift into neutral and idle for a while with my mom in her apartment.  It feels right for me to be there, not all of the time, but sometimes.

My reverie was broken when I heard my mom's next door neighbor, Maria, yelling repeatedly for help in her heavily accented voice.  I walked into the hall to check on her and found her standing in the doorway of her apartment in a nightgown.  "Nobody will help me," she said, near tears.  "I haven't eaten breakfast and I can't clean myself or get dressed.   I pressed the button on her pendant for her, then embarked on a search for a caregiver.  Finally, I found one and told her what was going on with Maria.  She rolled her eyes, nodded, and said she would be right there.

I hope the caregivers don't act that way toward my mom when we're not there.  I don't think they do, but it's hard to know.  The whole exchange made me sad again.

I left my mom a little while later, hurried home for lunch, then coached back-to-back baseball practices for J.P.'s and Joe's teams from 1:30 p.m. - 4:00 p.m.  The real world.

Tuesday afternoon, I got tied up at work and almost missed my window to stop by and see my mom.  I arrived at 5:30 p.m., just after she had finished dinner.  I noticed Beth, one of the nurses up front as i walked in.  She seemed down, so I paused and asked her if anything was wrong.  "We lost someone today," she replied.  "Who?" I said.  "Ms. Netta," she answered sadly.

She showed me a photograph of Ms. Netta and I immediately recognized her.  She was a petite, quiet, friendly lady who appeared to be in good shape, always walking around the facility and speaking to other residents or guests.  She was one of the more active residents, from my vantage point.  I learned she had slumped over at a grief counseling session that morning and died.  Just like that.

Ms. Netta is the second resident to die in the last month or so.  I get used to seeing certain residents, saying hello to them and then they're gone.  It reminded me that, good or bad, every visit I have with my mom could be the last time I see there.  The last time I interact with her.  There's a lesson in there that I'm still grappling with, two days later.  Yes, cherish every minute with my mom, but something bigger, I think.  More about acceptance, appreciation and gratitude.  I think.

(Postscript:  When I stopped in at Maristone  yesterday, I learned another residence died this week.  A retired physician who sat with his wife behind my mom at dinner.)

Santa Rosa Beach Revisited

(I'm sitting at Bongo Java having a cup of coffee and listening to REM's "Don't Go Back to Rockville," remembering a bus trip back from the Kappa Sigma headquarters in Charlottesville in 1985 while a fraternity brother played that song on his jambox.  Great song.  Great trip.  A long time ago.)

Before the memories quietly slip away with the start of school and the end of summer, I wanted to recap the highlights of our week at Santa Rosa Beach.

• We had a 1-stop trip on the way down, marred slightly by J.P. throwing up as I pulled into the parking lot at the beach to drop Jude and kids off as become out custom.  I drove over to Cracker Jack to unload Jude's Honda Pilot, then went back to the beach to pick them up.
• I ran every day but one and particularly enjoyed a 5-miler on the Longleaf Pine trail that I've run on so many times before.  
• I retained my titled of "Admiral" by defeating Joe and J.P. in Battleship.  Nice.
• I finished a great book, "The Force" (Don Winslow) and started another great book, "Natchez Burning" (Greg Iles).
• By mid-week, our friend, Jed, had returned from Austin, TX, and we got to see him at the Blue Mountain Beach Ice Creamery.  Several times, actually.  It's so good to see him doing so well.
• I had a beer with Jed, at his suggestion, at McTigue's one afternoon.  That was kind of surreal, since I've known him since he was 17 years old.  I'm proud of him.
• We had pizza, as always, at the Pickle Factory in Grayton Beach.
• We spent a fantastic afternoon and evening with the Allens at the Watersound Beach Club.  The pool was like something in Vegas, but on the beach.  Amazing.  I drank Hemingway daiquiris in the pool while the boys played in the game room and Jude checked out the beach with Susannah and Ella.
• We played a baseball game with the boys that Jude invented, every day.  Other kids in the pool joined in, which was fun.  The boys loved the pool.
• The beach.  The boys loved the beach and the ocean.  On Wednesday, before rainy weather moved in on Thursday and Friday, J.P. and I invented a throwing game with the Wabobi ball and played to 50.  By the time we were doing, I was worn out and so was he.  He and I also revived a Wabobi ball throwing game on the beach we invented last year, where we step back form each other after every 2 tosses.  
• The boys, Jude and Cooper played "basketball" on the beach, again reviving a game from last year.  Jude's invention last year, still very popular this year.  She amazes me with her creativity when it comes to games that capture the boys' interest.  
• We had a nice dinner with the Allens at the Craft Bar in Grayton Beach, a new place with craft beers and good burgers.  

Now, for the photos.

JP and Cooper getting some beach time.

 JP and Joe at the pool in Old Florida Village, the community where we always stay in Santa Rosa Beach.

Jude, Joe and JP.

Joe, Joe and Cooper.

Beach basketball, a game invented by Jude last year on a day when the double red flags were flying and the ocean was closed.  Back for a return engagement this year.

Wrestling at the pool.  Boys will be boys.

JP.  He's growing up to quickly.

Joe playing miniature golf.

JP at the pool.

My boys.

They love the beach and the ocean.  So do I.

The Hardest Thing

I stopped by to see my mom yesterday on the way home from work.  Our visit was, as usual, a mixed bag for me.  I'd had a difficult day at work and my emotional tank was on empty, so I probably wasn't equipped to step into the abyss that is her life for an hour or so without it leaving a mark.


Twice during our visit, probably 15 minutes apart, my mom referred to me as her husband.  When I gently explained that I'm her son - and I know I should let that go, bit I just can't - her face clouded and she told me that made her sad.  Both times, she asked me why I would marry her if I was her son.  I was crushed, again, because her sadness and hurt are so raw and visceral. 


That's the hardest thing, I think.  When I visit my mom, I am destined to hurt her every time when she realizes (or I remind her) that we're not married and that I am her son.  I have been so proud to be my mother's son for so long.  She's made me who I am on so many levels.  She's been my rock, my anchor.  My best friend.  Suddenly (or not so suddenly), I have to deny to her that I am her son to keep from breaking her heart every time I see her.  It feels wrong, like I am betraying her.


I left her place and drove home in a funk.  Just sad, really sad.  I woke up this morning feeling the same way.  Sad for her and sad for me.  I want to smile again, to laugh again without reservation and without this shadow of worry and hopelessness looming over my head.


I hate this disease - Alzheimer's - so much.  It's robbed my mom of her mind and it's robbed me of my mom.  Sometimes I can't decide which is worse.     

Gone Fishin' with a True Friend

In your life, you're lucky if you have 5 true friends, the kind you can count on in a pinch, no questions asked.  The kind you can call at 2 a.m. and tell you're in trouble and with no questions asked, they're on the way to pick you up.

I'm blessed to have more than 5 true friends.  J.P., Joe and I were with one of them today in his bass boat, fishing, on Percy Priest Lake.

I've known Tommy Campsey for 35 years.  I've know him well for 20 years.  5 years ago, Tommy retired from the Brentwood Police Department as the second longest serving employee in history for the City of Brentwood.  He went from working as a patrol officer in the early 1980's - chasing my friends and me around Brentwood and making us pour our beer out if he caught us at any of a number of parking spots - to the chief of detectives and a candidate for Williamson County Sheriff.  Tommy was and is a public servant in every sense of the word.

When I say that Tommy Campsey is maybe the best person I know, I mean it.  There is no one nicer, kinder and more caring when it comes to his family and friends.  If you are friends with Tommy Campsey, you have a friend for life, no questions asked.  He would, literally, do anything for me and my family, all with a smile on his face.

Today, the day before he leaves with his wife, Lisa, for a week in Destin, FL, Tommy took my boys and me fishing on Percy Priest Lake.  It was a reprisal of a fishing outing Tommy, J.P. and I took a couple of years ago.  J.P. had been begging to go fishing again and Joe had chimed in about wanting to go, too.  Tommy and I set it up a week ago and it's all the boys have been able to talk about.

I woke up at 5 a.m. this morning to check the weather.  I had a text from Tommy confirming we were good, so I got dressed and woke the boys at 5:20 a.m.  They dressed, groggily, and came downstairs.  Jude made them breakfast, which we took with us as we left the house at 5:35 p.m.  We got to the boat ramp on time at 6 a.m. and were in the water by 6:15 a.m.  It was a beautiful, overcast, cool summer morning.

Joe was a little shaken by the speed of the boat as we zipped across the lake and he laid his head in my lap and closed his eyes.  He rallied, though, and was "driving" the boat - steering while Tommy controlled the speed - soon enough.  We raced to the Elm Hill Marina to beat a rain shower, then fished for blue gill under cover in a boat slip.  The boys' eyes lit up as they caught fish after fish, then tossed them in the tank in the back of Tommy's boat.  After the rain, we trolled over by the restaurant at the marina and fished some more.  Here, too, the boys caught a lot of blue gill, most from the same spot next next to the restaurant.

For the finale, J.P. "drove" the boat to a couple of Tommy's favorite fishing spots on the lake in search of bass.  Right off the bat, Tommy hooked a large mouth bass and handed the rod to Joe, then helped him land the 2 1/2 pounder.  J.P. stuck his fingers in its mouth and proudly held it up as I snapped photos of Joe's catch-of-the-day.  That was it for bass, unfortunately, and as Joe tired, we headed back to the boat ramp.

The final tally was 25 fish (blue gill) and 1 large mouth bass.  Quite a haul and a day the boys will remember for a long, long time.

Thanks, Tommy.

Santa Rosa Beach Blues

It's Friday, the last day of our annual end-of-summer vacation to Santa Rosa Beach, Florida, and I'm sitting on the front porch watching it rain.  We had great weather Sunday - Wed., but it's rained the last two days.  We're staying at Cracker Jack in Old Florida Village, the same house we've stayed in four of the last seven or eight consecutive years we have vacationed here.

Maybe it's because our vacation ends tomorrow, but I'm feeling a bit melancholy this afternoon.  I can't shake the sensation that this weeks marks the end of something . . . something that has been an important part of our lives the last several years.  We're already set to vacation in Mount Zion National Park in Utah next summer, so it's quite possible we might not get back to Santa Rosa beach for a couple of years, if at all.  J.P. will be 11 then and Joe, 7, which means a different sort of beach vacation, I think.

Santa Rosa Beach is changing, too.  For the first time since we started coming here immediately following the economic downturn in 2008-09, I've noticed a lot of construction projects underway.  New residential developments, new houses and new restaurants/bars are being built and may well turn what was a sleep little beach town on 30A into a more upscale, populated resort area, like Sea Grove or Rosemary Beach.  If that happens, I'll be sad because I've always enjoyed the fact that Santa Rosa Beach is like a small town that just happens to be on the ocean.

It's also the first vacation we've taken where I haven't been able to check in with my mom daily and have tell her in detail what we've been doing.  When the boys and I called her last night, she asked several times where we were and when we were coming home.  I feel guilty vacationing down here, going to the beach and relaxing, knowing that she's struggling so much mentally and physically.  Something tells me that by this time next year, it will be difficult to carry on a conversation with her on the telephone, although I hope I'm wrong about that.

I just me our friend Jed - who owns and operates an ice cream shop in Blue Mountain Beach - for a beer at an Irish bar the locals frequent.  I won't recount our history with Jed here other than to say we met him at his family's newly opened ice cream shop when he was 17 or 18 and now he's 26.  Grown up in many ways.  We saw him last night and the boys gave him the swag from Nashville we brought for him.  Later, he texted me and asked if I wanted to grab a beer today.  It was fun sitting at the bar and talking with him, man to man.  He's at a great stage in his life, with so many great things ahead of him as he enters his late 20's.  He was such a good kid - so great to J.P. when he was a toddler - and now he's a fine young man, an adult.  Damn, that makes me feel old, for sure.

Over nearly a decade that we've been coming here, I've aged and my life has changed.  Santa Rosa Beach - the town, I mean - is changing.  But the beach itself and the ocean look exactly the same.  That's one of the things I think I love about the beach and ocean - any beach and ocean, really.  They never change.

Santa Rosa Beach always will have a special place in my heart.  I've spent the best vacations of my life here, for the most part.  I've played in the pool and on the beach with J.P. as an infant, toddler and a young boy.  Joe has enlivened our vacations here with his exuberance and sense of humor and sheer love, from day one, of the beach.  I've had coffee at several coffee shops I loved - Grayt Coffee house (2 different locations and sadly closed now), Starbucks (in Grayton Beach, also closed), Sunrise Coffee (just can't figure it out) and Ama Vida in Seaside (great coffee).  I've read many, many books here, especially at Cracker Jack.  I've had so many great morning runs on the Longleaf Trail I discovered, on the bike path that runs along 30A and on the "Redfish Lake" route I created.

If it's over, we've had a good run of vacations here.