Joe Turns 6

Joe slept in a little bit today, then came downstairs with a big grin on his face and gave all of us a hug.  He was excited, because it's his birthday.  I took him to school at Children's House, as usual, and had him pose for a picture on the way in.

Six years old.  Damn, that's hard to believe.

Last night, Jude took him to the Preds-Senators game, while J.P. and I had a "Guytown" night together.  We walked to P.M. and ate Sushi, then walked home and played NHL '18 on the Xbox.  I lost, of course, 1-0, in overtime.  I'm not very good.

Today, I'll pick up an ice cream cake for Joe from Baskin Robins.  Jude will take him to basketball practice and I'll have pizza ready for them when they get home.  Then, presents for Joe.  Lots of presents.

Joe at six.  What's he like?  Well, let's see.

Just like his brother (and his parents), he's very competitive.  He hates to lose and especially recently, he gets really angry when he loses.  That probably comes from watching his brother and it's something we're working on with him.  I firmly believe, though, that you can control and channel the competitiveness in a child but you can't put competitiveness in him.  It's either there or it's not.

Joe's physical, more physical than J.P.  If he gets mad at me or J.P., he slugs us, simple as that.  It's tough for J.P. sometimes because we don't let him hit Joe back.  Adopting that philosophy may have been a mistake and may be something we need to revisit, as Joe seems to have figured it out.  He realizes, I think, that he can hit J.P. with impunity with no fear of retaliation.  Thankfully, it doesn't happen often.

Joe seems to be a natural leader.  When I drop him off at school, the other children gravitate to him.  That may be because he's one of the older ones, but I noticed it last year, as well.  He focuses on helping the younger children, sometime too much and to the point that his teachers want him to let them figure things out on their own.  I like where his heart is, though.

In many ways, good and not so good, he's a smaller, younger version of J.P.  He says what J.P. says and does what J.P. does, for better or worse.  I'll tell you this, though, he worships his big brother.  I've always told J.P. - and it's true - he's a super hero to Joe.  He really is.  It's pretty cool to see them play together, which they do, all the time.  Nothing makes Joe happier than to watch his brother play Madden or Subway Surfers on the iPad.

Joe loves Spiderman, just like his old man did as a boy.  He's got 3 Spiderman books that have 16 page, 5 minute stories, and it's almost all he wants us to read to him.  He's way into Spiderman.

Much like happened with J.P., Joe suddenly started reading.  I say suddenly, but the reality is that Jude has worked with him and he gets great instruction in reading at school, I think.  Still, it's pretty cool to watch and listen to him read a book.  As avid readers, Jude and I love that, for sure.

Joe's athletic.  He played basketball for the first time this fall and winter.  He's the youngest player on his team, by far, but still held his own.  Ball handling is not his strong suit, not yet, anyway.  But he's aggressive and not afraid to shoot.  Again, that's what I want as a father.  He's not afraid, not a bit.  He plays baseball - very well - and soccer too - not as well.

He's a big Vanderbilt fan, much to my chagrin.  He loves Belmont basketball, though.  We have season tickets and great seats on the third row, close to center court, at the Curb Center.

Joe loves all sports.  Playing, watching or talking about them.

Lately, he's really gotten into playing, of all things, this old school Mattel knockoff electronic basketball game that I think my sister gave me for Christmas as a joke a couple of years ago.  It was something I played with as an 11 or 12 year old in the last 1970's.  Joe loves it and he and I play it a lot.

In many ways, my long afternoon walks with Joe in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller - now tucked away in our basement - have been replaced with the morning time I spend with Joe during the week.  We call it "Joe Time," as in "Daddy, what are we going to do today for 'Joe Time?'"  I normally take Joe to school and because Jude leaves earlier to take J.P. to school, Joe and I have almost an hour to spend together each weekday morning.  That will change next year, of course, when he starts at University School of Nashville.

Occasionally, but not too often, we watch "Daniel Tiger" or " Curious George" on television.  Sometimes we play "Change" upstairs in the playroom on our Nerf-life basketball goal.  It's a game J.P., Joe and I invented that involves shooting baskets and a lot of trash talk.  We also read.

Some of my favorite mornings are when we go to Bonjo Java, Frothy Monkey or Portland Brew.  Joe has a "second breakfast" or just milk, while I have a cup of coffee.  We play Battleship (one of our favorite games) or War (with my Bonnaroo playing cards).  I treasure that time together because I know it will end when school is out in a little more than three months and the boys hit the summer camp circuit.

 

A Dose of Reality

This morning, Tracy and I met with some of the key players at NHC Place, at least as it relates to mom's care.  The purpose of the meeting was twofold.  First, we wanted to get a candid, professional assessment of how she is doing and, in truth, to get a feel for how long she'll be able to stay in the memory care unit.  Second, we had a few concerns about staff turnover, particularly at a few key positions.

As it relates to staff turnover, we've learned (and Tracy has reminded me) that it's inevitable at facilities like NHC Place and Maristone.  Many of the caregivers aren't well paid and there are new facilities being built every day to accommodate our aging population.  Staff leave for a variety of reasons - a couple more dollars per hour, to work closer to home, etc.  It happens.

I was more concerned that Sandy, the director of recreation in Aspen Arbor, had left and that no one had let us know she was leaving.  Sandy was and is amazing at what she does.  She has a rare gift in the sense that the is able to interact with the residents and encourage them to participate in activities and exercises without irritating them.  She is always upbeat, happy and smiling.  She really, really cares about the residents, which is readily apparent to anyone who watches her at work.  She's taken a new job and I wish her well, though I hate to see her go.

The folks we met with reassured us that a search is under way to replace Sandy and, more importantly, that replacing her is a priority.  That's what I wanted and needed to hear, because it's so important for my mom (and others) to participate in activities and interact with staff and each other.  It's too easy to let residents sit in their rooms and do nothing, which isn't good for them.

I'm rambling a bit, probably to avoid acknowledging what we learned in the meeting and already knew - that my mom's health is continuing to deteriorate.  She rarely leaves her wheelchair and almost never stands up.  She's incontinent and it's becoming more difficult for the staff to take her to the bathroom to clean her up because of her aversion to standing and the fact that she is so weak.  The director of nursing is concerned about "contraction" in her knees, because she so rarely stretches her legs, stands or walks.  It's heartbreaking, really, to hear and realize that this strong, independent woman who was 5'8" tall at her peak, athletic and capable of moving and helping patients at Baptist Hospital, can no longer stand or walk.

The director of nursing also has concerns about the inevitable break down of her skin that will occur because of the incontinence and her remaining in a sitting position virtually 24 hours a day.  She doesn't stand, she doesn't walk and she doesn't lie down.  In my mind, I see her gradually and inevitably turning into the tin woodman in the Wizard of Oz, after he was caught in the forest with no oil.  It makes me sad.

After the meeting, Tracy stopped in to see her.  I just couldn't, not today.  I sent her flowers and candy yesterday - Valenine's Day - and stopped by to see her on my way home from work.  I couldn't handle it today, though, not after the meeting this morning.  I needed some time to be along with my thoughts and to collect myself.

Tracy and I marveled, again, after the meeting that less than a year ago, at Maristone, my mom was walking to the elevator by herself - with a walker - for breakfast, dinner and lunch.  Then, we were concerned about her gait.  We wanted her to pick up her feet when she walked and not drag them on the carpet.  Those were the days, it seems.  Now, eight to ten months later, we're worried because she can't get out of her wheelchair.  Alzheimer's disease and, I guess, life in general for older people, is cruel and heartless.

If you read this blog because you are a friend of my mom's or if you know someone who is, and you want to see her, laugh with her and hug her one more time while she can still consciously do those things, I think it's probably time to think about visiting her.  When you see her a lot, like we do, it's easy to fool yourself and pretend that the decline is not as precipitous as it actually is and that there's more time to spend with her.  There's not.  It's finite and I think before too long, what's left of her personality will be extinguished, like a candle that finally burns down to nothing.

Now, it's time to put on a happy face and go to work.  I'm pretty good at hiding from others how hopeless and sad I feel because of what my mom's going through, but some days it's harder to do than others.  I think today is one of those days.  

A Needed Dose of Perspective

It's raining like it may never stop and I'm at the Factory in Franklin with a latte from my new favorite coffee shop, Honest Coffee Roasters.  Amazingly good coffee.  I've working some mornings here, at the Factory, as of late.  Great space, great ambience.  This morning, I'm in between J.P.'s 9 a.m. basketball game and visiting my mom, and I needed a cup of coffee.

Earlier in the week, Adam Vingan, the Predators beat writer for the Tennessean, wrote an amazing feature about Kyle Turris and his return to Ottawa this week with the Predators for a game against the Senators.  Turns, acquired in a trade earlier this week, was very involved with the Capital City Condors, a hockey team for children with developmental disabilities while he played in Ottawa.

Here's a link to the piece - https://www.tennessean.com/story/sports/nhl/predators/2018/02/07/kyle-turris-capital-city-condors-nashville-predators-ottawa-senators/1064327001/.

After reading it, I did a bit of an internet deep dive to learn more about the Condors.  I watched a few videos of Kyle Turris and his wife interacting with players and their families.  I was laying in bed, with tears in my eyes, as I watched these children and teenagers - profoundly disabled - play hockey and smile and laugh together seemingly oblivious to the hand of cards they had been dealt by life.  I was struck dumb by their strength in the face of so much adversity.  The ability of their parents, when interviewed, to be so upbeat and positive astonished me.

Watch this.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Es805-oP8wY

Thursday night, Jude, J.P., Joe and I went to Independence High School and watched Kaitlyn, my goddaughter and niece, play basketball on senior night.  She scored eight points and led the team, quietly, by example, and confidently, as she has as the starting point guard for four years.  What a treat for my family and me to get to watch her compete.  Just to lay it all on the line, win or lose, and compete.

Then, this morning, before I got out of bed, I began to see tweets expressing condolences to Rob Delaney, a comedian and co-start of one of my favorite recent televisions shows, Catastrophe.  His youngest child, a son who was two years old, had died of cancer a year or so after his diagnosis.  Losing a child is beyond my comprehension.  I don't understand how he can maintain his ability to make people laugh in the midst of what must have been a living nightmare.

This is a long way of getting to my point this morning.  It's so easy, as a parent, for me to take for granted the fact that I have two healthy sons, almost 10 and 6 years of age.  Every weekend, Jude and I watch them play basketball, soccer or baseball, depending on the season.  During the week, we rush home from work to get them to practice.  Even tonight, I'm meeting with several other dads from our sports group to begin planning for the Dodgers' and Junior Dodgers' spring baseball season.  After basketball this morning, J.P. left to spend the day with Cooper, one of his closest friends and someone he never would have known had he not played baseball with him four or five years ago.

Sometimes the glass seems half full to me when I think about my mom's situation and what Alzheimer's disease has done to her and continues to do to her.  I get angry about what she's missing as it relates to watching my boys play sports.  Then, after a week like this, I'm reminded of how lucky I really am.  My boys are healthy.  My nephew and niece are healthy and bright, intelligent and achieving teenagers.  Things are pretty damn good and I don't always take the time to recognize that, I know.

That's what I'm thinking about this morning.  I just watched and kept the scorebook as J.P. played basketball with a team of his friends.  They beat an older, 5th grad team by 20 points.  J.P. scored three points, handled the ball well and played tough defense.  He competed, just like Kaitlyn did Thursday night.  And, this afternoon, at 5 p.m., I get to coach Joe's 5-6 year old team because my friend and head coach, Ryan, is under the weather.  Joe is the youngest player on the team, but one of the most aggressive.  And I get to watch him compete.

It doesn't get much better than that, does it?