Finding the Plateau (Again)

I just left my mom's place after a late morning visit.  We went for a walk and stopped in the sitting area.  I sat on a couch, with her next to me in her wheelchair.  For the most part, we sat quietly.  She dozed a bit and I did too.

It was reminiscent of the old days at Maristone when I would sneak away from work and to see her.  While she sat in her chair and watched television, I often laid down on the couch - in my suit and tie - and catnapped for 15 or 20 minutes.  It made her happy when that happened . . .  almost like she knew, somehow, that she was providing me a place of refuge during a busy, stressful work day.  It made me happy to be there.

We seem to have arrived at a different place - a place to stop and rest for a bit - along my mom's journey.  I'm in a better place, emotionally, the last week or so, probably because I'm becoming more accepting of where my mom is now.  She's quieter and doesn't talk much, which is very different for her.  If I ask her a specific question, sometime she'll answer but mostly she just nods her head.  Sometimes the surprises me and speaks a complete sentence but that's rare.  She doesn't say much unprompted, though.  Almost any speech from her is promoted by a question.

She smiles a lot and, thankfully, is never in a bad mood.  She doesn't complain at all that I can see, which may explain why the staff seem to love her so much.  Other than having to transfer her to and from her wheelchair to go to the bathroom and to clean her, I don't think she's too much trouble for them.

She's just . . . content.

We've reached a new plateau.  I hope we stay here for a while.

I know - I mean, I really know, based on several of the other residents that I see in the Courtyard on a regular basis - that there is a silver lining in all of this.  My mom could be so much worse off, right now.  She likely will become worse off, but she's not there yet.  And, yes, that's a blessing.

This time with her, right now - as she is, right now - is a gift from God, really, and I think it's important that I treat it that way.  With appreciation and thankfulness and relief.

Just being with her, out of her room, and holding her hand while she dozes, or while I doze, is an opportunity to experience something that sooner than I want will be gone forever.  The rational part of my being knows that.  The emotional part of my being has to work harder to know that, I think.

It's part of living in the moment, which is maybe the most important thing my mom is teaching me as we travel this road together.

Christmas 2018

The day after Christmas Day is always a bit of a letdown for me, as it's almost the official end of the my favorite time of year, Oct. 1 - Jan. 2.  It's the end of the holiday portion, anyway, Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas.  All that's left is a lot of football, a light work schedule this week and New Year's Day.

It's been a pretty good Christmas season, all things considered.  Some memories made.

• One of favorites, always, was playing hide and seek with the boys at Santa's Trees when we went to pick out our Christmas tree just after Thanksgiving.  The main lot had moved from Green Hills to closer to our house and though it seemed a bit smaller with slightly fewer trees, we had fun hiding and looking for each other, as always.  A signature moment for our family every Christmas.
• The Christmas brunch at the Courtyard at NHC Place, with my mom, was a highlight, for sure. Though she was quiet, as she has been lately, it was nice to see so many families there visiting with residents.  Everyone sang Christmas carols and Donna did a few activities with the residents.  There was a lot of staff there, too.  The mood was happy and relaxed and there was a feeling of thankfulness, it seemed, even if it was only for a morning.  I think the family members present felt a sense of kinship and understanding with each other, too.
• Cooper, the Elf on the Shelf, was a big hit, as always, especially for Joe.  I think there only was one night, early on after he arrived, when I had to get out of bed at 2 or 3 a.m. to move him because I'd forgotten to do so before I went to bed.  There's something about the arrival of the Elf and moving him every night that reminds me that Christmas season is really upon us.  It's a special time and one that is fleeting, for sure, as before long Joe will stop believing in him and a part of Christmas will be lost to us forever.

• J.P. believes or doesn't he?  It's hard to say, really.  J.P. is a pretty innocent, naive boy and he seems to still believe.  A couple of days before Christmas, he left the Elf the most adorable note asking him to tell Santa that, if possible, he would like hockey gear for Christmas.  This was somewhat alarming news to me, since all of Christmas shopping was basically done and it was Dec. 23.  I got up early and made my way to Play It Again Sam's in Cool Springs where I was able to find hockey pads, pants, shirt, gloves and a stick.  It was quite the undertaking but all worth it, as J.P.'s face lit up on Christmas morning when he saw it all.  He let something slip at Tracy's house yesterday, though, that made me think the jig is up with Santa Claus.  I'm on the fence as to what he believes, but I think I'm going to assume he believes and that this might be his last year as a true believer.

• We visited Santa Claus at the Green Hills Mall the week before Christmas, after work one night.  Watching the other young children with their parents brings back a lot of memories for me of the days when it was just Jude, J.P. and me, then later Joe, too, and seeing Santa Claus was a big deal.  We missed the Christmas tree lighting at the state capitol this year, which is where we have seen Mr. and Mrs. Claus the last several years.  It was kind of nice to go back to the mall for old time's sake. 

• Last Saturday, I ran 10 miles on the trails at Shelby Bottoms in the mud, listening to Christmas music on a Spotify Christmas playlist the entire run.  That was nice and may have been my run of the year.  Certainly, it was in the top 10.  I saw a deer just of the Cornelia Fort Trail.  He jumped and startled me from my reverie as I ran around a corner near a small wooden bridge over  a creek.  I stopped and we just stared at each other for a moment.                                          
• The Governor's Christmas party at the residence - Governor Hallam's finale Christmas party - was a singular, special event for reasons I talked about in an earlier post.  It's been fun to attend those type of events with Jude over the past six or seven years, to feel like we're a party of something larger than ourselves.  
• Our Christmas tree is particularly beautiful this year, maybe our best one yet.  Tall - we had to have the delivery guys snip of the top - but really, really full, too.  It looks great in our living room with all of the ornaments on it. 
• The Christmas season has gone by so fast and I've missed some things or been rushed on others, because I've been so busy.  Work has been crazy and didn't slow down in December like it usually does.  Getting to see my mom and worrying about her has occupied my mind and time, too.  I didn't get my Christmas cards out until a couple of days before Christmas, in spite of my intentions to get them out earlier.  I was still buying last minute gifts on Dec. 23.  Lastly and what disappointed me the most is that J.P. and I didn't put my Christmas Village out this year, even though the box containing it has sat in our dining room since early December.  I'll do better next year (famous last words).
• Father Hammond sitting in the to play the organ at St. Patrick for the Christmas Eve service was memorable.  Actually, it was fantastic.  We're adjusting to having him as our priest.  As part of that process, I'm trying to recommit to attending church more regularly on Sundays.  I need that, I think.
• My mom.  So much of the time this Christmas season, I've been lost in my thoughts, thinking of her.  I've been more down, at times, than ever before this year in what, again, is always my favorite time of year.  I've rallied the last few days, but it's been incredibly hard for me.  She's dropped to another plateau lately and we're having to adjust to her not talking and not being as animated.  It's just where we are.  When I look at how much she's changed and, well, declined over the last three Christmases (2016, 2017 and 2018), it breaks my heart.  I have to face the fact that this might have been our last Christmas with her, or our last Christmas with her where she could interact with us at all.  

So, that's it, I guess.  Jude's brother, James, and his wife, Megan, and their young children, Caroline and James, are coming in tomorrow to stay with us.  The boys are excited and so are we.  It's going to be fun to have young children in our house for a few days.  Jude's parents are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this year, too, and we'll be attending a big party over the weekend, too, which will be fun.

Christmas 2018.  It arrived quickly and then it was gone.  

Christmas Eve

It's the morning of Christmas Eve and I'm having a cup of coffee at my coffee house of the year for 2018, hands down - Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory in Franklin.

I'm going to pick up a dozen donuts from Five Daughters Bakery a few shops down, then head over to see my mom this morning.

I've been better the last couple days.  Not nearly as down.  Maybe it's that Christmas is quite literally upon us and the boys are so excited.  Maybe it's because the year is almost over.  Maybe it's because I've been making a concerted effort to get to St. Patrick's on Sundays with Jude and the boys.  Maybe - probably - it's because I've been running more and that seems to clear my head and my heart.

In fact, I ran 10 miles not he trails at Shelby Bottoms the day before yesterday.  I haven't had a double digit run in a while.  It was so great to be out on the trails, in the mud and water, for 10 miles.   I listened to a Spotify Christmas playlist for the entire run, which was nice.  I saw a deer on a small branch of the Cornelia Fort Trail I don't often run.  I stopped and snapped a photo of him and he (or she) just stood and stared at me.

I also ran out and back on the runway at the Cornelia Fort Airport which, of course, has been closed for a few years.  A lot of history there, for sure.  It's always strange to run out there and see the abandoned airplane hangars and the runway with grass and weeds growing all around it.

Anyway, I felt good and strong as I ran.  An ancillary benefit of dropping a little weight is that it's just easier to run longer, I think.  That's what no bread, no potatoes, no pasta and no sugar to speak of for 5 + months will do for you, I suppose.  When I'm in a decent running groove like I have been lately, the middle of the week 3 mile runs magically turn into 5 and 6 mile runs.  The mileage just piles up.

I'm thinking about - only thinking about - trying to run 1,000 miles in 2019.  The last time I did that was 2010.  I looked back on the blog today and read the entry where I ran my 1,000th mile that year - in Shelby Bottoms on the trails, of course.  I remember finishing that run in the morning and having an ice cold Newcastle in the park afterwards.  Then, I met Uncle Carley and J.P. for lunch at Battered and Fried in East Nashville.  J.P. was almost 3 years old.  The photos are hilarious.

I digress, because I also might feel better because we had a perfectly wonderful brunch at my mom's place on Saturday morning.  There were a lot of family members and staff there.  Tracy and Alice came and I brought J.P. and Joe.  I met a woman who is the daughter of mom's friend, Carol, and we had a nice conversation.  I also ran into a guy who has sold me clothes for years.  It turns out his mom has been at the Courtyard since last summer.

Donna, who is the activities director, had the residents in a circle singing Christmas carols when I arrived.  It was a singular and beautiful moment.  Then, she took 2 or 3 balloons and went around the circle, hitting the balloon to each resident and encouraging them to hit it back to her.  Tracy and another woman hopped into the circle and helped Donna.

There was a lot of love in the Courtyard that morning.  A lot of family, a lot of food and, really, just a lot of love.

I wish every day was like that.

Merry Christmas 2018.

Taking a Breath

Saturday morning, early, at the Frothy Monkey.  The boys and I are heading down for my mom's Christmas brunch at 10 a.m.  They're at home - up early as usual - watching "Dude Perfect" on JP's iPad in the bed w/Jude while she reads.

I finished up at work mid-afternoon yesterday having done all I could do before Christmas, really all I could do before New Year's Day, because I'm planning on taking next week off.  The longer I practice the law - 25 + years now - the less it bothers me to tell a client, realistically, that I just can't get to something.  My mom's situation puts work in perspective, too, I think.

Some work can wait.  Some work has to wait.

I've been completely covered up the last four months.  Long hours - in early and staying late - a lot of mediations, too.  A lot of mentoring, so to speak, with two new attorneys starting the last six months. A lot of hiring, too, with staff changes.  Then, late in the year, a lot of work on a new business opportunity that my partners and I are involved in.  Just, really, a lot.

Maybe it helps me to stay busy at work.  I suspect it probably does because it keeps my mind off my mom's declining health.  I was having a drink with my paralegal, Julie, the other night, after we had gotten a great result in a trial earlier in the day.  It was a case we'd worked hard on - I had busted my ass - so we were quietly celebrating our good fortune.  It was more a feeling of relief because I really, really wanted a good outcome for my client.  She needed it and it was the right result, but you never know what will happen in trial.

At one point, Julie looked at me, took a sip of her wine, and said, "I don't know how you do it.  I don't know how you manage everything."

"I compartmentalize," I replied, which I guess is what I do.  Family time is family time.  Work time is work time.  Time with my mom is time with my mom.  I try not to worry too much about anything else when I'm doing one of those activities.  Maybe that's being present and in the moment.  Or maybe it's just survival.

Sometimes it all catches up to me, which is kind of what happened the last week or so.  I've been more down, I think, than I've ever been.  I had a mini-breakdown of sorts, nothing serious, just a conversation with Jude where I told her how hard it all was for me and how much I was struggling.  I normally keep my deepest feelings about all of this to myself.

I also confessed, in a text, to my law partner, Mark, how hard it all was.  I think it surprised him a bit for me to verbalize it.  He told me that he thinks about my family every day but really doesn't know what to say.  And that he's praying for us.  That helped.  I'm not sure why, but it did.

Sometimes, just knowing that I - we - are on people's minds and in their prayers is of comfort to me.

I don't want to burden anyone else with my struggles - with my family's struggles - it's my journey and I've got to complete it myself, accompanied at times by Tracy and Alice.  Mostly, though, I have to go it alone.  I've got to see it through to the end and trust that those I love and that love me will be waiting for me when the journey is over.

It's strange, but I think I take solace in the familiar.  What I mean by that is I go to the same coffee shops (the Monkey or Honest Coffee Roasters) or bars for the occasional drink (Edley's), where I easily and happily converse with people I know, but don't know too well.  By and large, they don't know about my mom's situation or how down I am or have been.  We smile and laugh together and talk about superficial subjects but nothing too deep, at least not on my side of the ledger.

Often, over time, I learn about their lives.  Why?  I'm a good listener and I'm naturally curious about people.  And it's just easier.  For me, there's comfort in the familiar - I've always been a creature of habit.  But there's also comfort in going somewhere that I don't have to talk about my mom, how I feel or how sad I am.  The superficiality, I guess, is comforting.

At work, Julie has been such a good friend.  We work together so closely.  It's the same with Alisha, too, an attorney with whom I've been working side by side for more than a decade.  They know my moods, I think, and can tell if I'm down or having a bad day.  And, every now and then - like this week - in a weak moment, I'll unburden myself and tell them how hard it all is.  I'm not sure I can ever repay them for listening and for being there for me.  But I'll try.

So, Christmas is upon us.  Time to take a take a breath, forget about work, and be present for my family.  Really present.  I'm looking forward to some time with Jude and the boys.

And I'm in a better state of mind.

Can't Look Back, Can't Look Ahead

It's been a tough few weeks for me.

Maybe it's because holidays are here, normally my favorite part of the year.  My mom loved the holidays and a I find myself sad - I mean, really sad - that she can't share them with us.  More than that, she'll never be able to share the holidays with us again.

I think that reality hits me even harder when I go see her, like I did yesterday and will in a little while this morning.  She's here but she's not here, you know?  It's like the mother I knew my whole life - the one who was my best friend - is out there, constantly just out of reach - I see her but I can't get to her.

Every time I get to her, every time I go to see her, I'm reminded in the starkest terms that she's not here.  And she never will be here again, not as my mom and not like she was before.

It's so hard to explain why I feel so down or even what it feels like.  Often times, when someone asks me about her, usually someone I don't see that often or who isn't a close friend, they insist on telling me about a relative who had Alzheimer's disease and how terrible it was for him or her.  I know, on some level, they're trying to connect with me an create a shared experience, but it has the opposite effect on me.

Sometimes I want to yell at those well meaning souls that it's not the same.  They don't know my mom and they sure as hell don't know how special our relationship was.  They don't know - and, in truth, I probably didn't either - how much a part of me my relationship with my mom was and how much I depended on that relationship as the fuel for the engine runs my life.  The daily telephone calls to check in, to talk about nothing and everything - those telephone calls centered me somehow and kept my emotional compass pointing in the right direction.  They don't know that I can't possible explain it to them.

I can't tell them I've lost my emotional compass or that it's broken, perhaps beyond repair, although I think and hope I'll be okay.  I can't say something to make them feel worse for me, for my family and for my mom.  So, I listen and nod at the appropriate times and tell them I'm fine.  I always use the line that yes, it's tough, but every family goes through something like this.

But I don't really believe it, even as I say it.

How many families - how many sons, like me - can't look back and remember their mother (or father) for who she was?  How many can't look back because it's just too fucking painful to recall the memories of the good times, the special times, and then see their mother like she is now.  That's exactly what I'll be doing in an hour or so.  How many people can't reflect on good times from holidays past because it makes it virtually impossible to enjoy the holidays now, with their mom confined to a wheelchair with a bunch of strangers without any idea that it's a week from Christmas?

I just can't look back, not right now.  For someone who is nostalgic and sentimental, sometimes to a fault, it's very, very hard to live this way.  I think my memories - my many, happy memories in general, somehow helped me to soldier on in life because I had faith that their are more happy memories to come.  I've lost that faith to a certain extent.

Which brings me to my next point.  I can't look forward into the future either.  The inevitable future is one without my mom.  It's one of holidays and birthdays - things she enjoyed so much - without her.  It's baseball and basketball games the J.P. and Joe will be playing in that she won't get to see.  It's telephone calls with me that she won't have and telephone calls with her that I won't have.  It's a life - my life - without her in it.  And I can't bear the thought of it.  I really can't.

Sometimes, like now, the weight of all of this crushes me.  I try soldier on, so to speak, to be myself and try to maintain my outgoing, upbeat personality, because that's what my mom taught me to do.  And that's what those around me, at home and at work, need from me.  But it's hard.  It's damn hard sometimes.

I can't look back and I can't look forward.  I'm stuck in this moment - this terrible, unfair and cruel moment - in which I watch my mom disappear a little more every time I see her.  She's fading away. And I'm powerless to stop it or to make what is left of her life even a little more bearable.            

A Christmas Party to Forget . . . and to Remember

It's Friday morning and sitting in Honest Coffee Roasters waiting on my coffee.  15 or 20 minutes of solitude, then I'm off to the races.  I'm dog tired.  I was up late last night working on a project for a client.  Unlike most holiday seasons when I'm able to gear down near Christmas, this year I'm simply covered up.  It's been that way the last quarter of the year.

Tuesday night, Jude and I attended our 7th and final Christmas Party at the Governor's residence, hosted by Governor Haslam and the First Lady, Chrissie Haslam.  Jude worked as Director of the Children's cabinet for almost severn years.  She's very fond of the both of them, as am I.  Her job was challenging but rewarding and she learned so much.  Jude's fiercely loyal and part of the reason why she stayed on until almost the very end of the Governor's second term was her loyalty to the Governor, his administration and the importance of the work she was doing.  It probably shows, but I'm very, very proud of Jude.

We've been blessed to be invited to several events over the last 7 years at the Governor's residence and elsewhere.  Christmas parties, summer picnics, inauguration celebrations, etc.  Likewise, the boys have been with Jude to trick-or-treat at the Governor's residence and to see the Christmas decorations there every years.  As a family, we've attended the Christmas tree lighting at the state capital almost every year.  J.P. has attended the Governor's State of the State Address every year, proud to dress up in a suit and tie.  It's been a good and special run for Jude, and for us.

This year's Christmas party was different.  No formal address from the Governor, just quiet conversations with him for a minute or two as he made the rounds.  Attendance was down, which is to be expected.  There were few younger people there.  So many people have moved on to new jobs in and out of state government.  The mood was subdued and not as festive as in years past.  There was a nervous energy, as many of the attendees don't yet know where they will end up or are waiting for a decision from the new Governor, Bill Lee, as to whether he will keep them in their current position, move them or let them go.  In fact, one young man I talked with - whom I see at every event - has an interview scheduled on Monday with Governor Lee.  He desperately wants to remain in his current position and I hope it works out for him.

The contrast between the atmosphere or mood at this year's Christmas party and in years past was profound.  Melancholy is probably the word that best describes the overriding feeling at the party.  For many people - certainly, some of the older commissioners of various departments - the last eight years has been the culmination of long and sometimes storied careers.  There was a feeling of nostalgia, too.  Gone was the feeling of promise, of optimism, of work yet to be done and policy goals to be reached.

When Jude was contacted by the Haslam administration about the job, she was pregnant with Joe.  Very pregnant.  She was working as a consultant to Mayor Karl Dean, cloistered away in an isolated office, or maybe a cubicle, working on a long-term planning project.  That was the way she wanted it after a seven or eight year run as Executive Director at Renewal House.  She was working 24 hours a week.  Perfect for a woman with an almost 4 year old and another son on the way.

Suddenly, roughly seven months pregnant, Jude was working in the mornings at the Mayor's office and in the afternoons for the Governor.  Full time.  It was a whirlwind until she had Joe, after which she took three months off for maternity leave.  Then, she was off to the races as Director of the Children's Cabinet.

It was a good run.  It was nice Christmas party, kind of a bookend to Jude's seven year run working in the Haslam administration.  I'm glad we went.

A Requiem for a President

George H.W. Bush, the 41st president of the United States, died yesterday in Houston, Texas, surrounded by family and friends.  The New York Times, as always, published the definitive obituary.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/30/us/politics/george-hw-bush-dies.html?action=click&module=Spotlight&pgtype=Homepage

President Bush was a single term president, serving from 1989 - 1993.  He was popular, immensely so after the success of he first Gulf War, then almost suddenly, he wasn't popular.  In the presidential campaign he eventually lost to Bill Clinton in 1992, he appeared disconnected and out of touch with the problems every day people faced as a result of the recession.

Above all, though, President Bush was a good man.  A family man and a patriot.  A man who served the country in one capacity or another for 40 years.  His death makes me sad and I've been wondering why.

I voted for President Bush when he ran against Michael Dukakis in 1988.  This, in spite of the fact that a few of my fraternity brothers called me Michael Dukakis during the campaign after noticing that my eyebrows resembled those of Mr. Dukakis.  That's a fun fact, for sure.  I'm smiling now as I remember my friend and fellow fraternity president, Goat Neal, pointing at me in the hall of the fraternity house and yelling, "Michael Dukakis!!"  I saw him at a Predators' game the other night and, as always, he brought a smile to my face.  I digress.

I was 22 years old when during that presidential campaign.  I was finishing my final semester of college in Knoxville, living in the fraternity house, coasting though the two or maybe three classes I needed to graduate.  It was an innocent and fun time in my life.  I quite literally had my whole life in front of me.  As I recall, I had a job in sale with Wallace Computer Services lined up in Nashville.  I was still dating my longtime college girlfriend, Jenny DeWitt, graduated that fall with me, I believe.  I assume we would get married at some point in the near future and raise a family together in suburban Roanoke, Virginia (her hometown) or in Brentwood (my home town).

30 years later, I find myself living in a thriving neighborhood near downtown Nashville as a 52 year old father of two boys, 6 and 10.  In my 22 year old mind, I thought Jenny and I would have four or five kids.  I also thought by age 52, all of my kids would be out of college or, at worst, finishing college.

Man plans.  God laughs.  Right?

So, I find myself this morning at 52, thinking about my 22 year old self.  Idealistic and naive.  Supremely confident.  Probably overconfident.  Immortal, for sure, and unbowed and unbroken by life's travails.  Blessed with a youth that I thought would last forever.  Blissfully unaware that there were hard times ahead, for me and for my family.  Good times, too, to be sure, and many of those.  but hard times, as well.

At 22, I couldn't possibly imagine what it would feel like to be 52.

I also couldn't imaging that Jenny and I would break up, reunite briefly a year or so later, then end our relationship for good.  First, she would break my heart, then I would break hers, not out of ill intent or maliciousness, but because that's the way life goes.  I couldn't imagine, then, that I would find myself in law school in Knoxville in the fall of 1990.  I couldn't imagine that I would meet my future wife in law school or that Anne and I would later divorce after a few years together.  I couldn't imagine how heartbroken I would feel in late 1997 and early 1998.

I also couldn't imagine, at age 22, that I would meet Jude and that we would get married in February 2003.  And, without question, I couldn't imagine the pure, unadulterated wonder and joy I would feel when I held J.P. for the first time on March 28, 2008, and that I would feel the same way when I held Joe for the first time in February 20, 2012.

And, of course, I couldn't imagine - at age 22 - what it would feel like to be sitting at Portland Brew in 12South, sipping a cup of coffee and gathering the mental and emotional strength and energy to go visit my mom in the memory care unit of an assisted living facility.  I couldn't - and wouldn't - have imagined that my mom, the rock of my life and my biggest supporter and best friend for as long as I can remember, would be reduced to a shell of herself at age 78.  I couldn't have imagined that she would be confined to a wheelchair and unable to carry on a coherent conversation with me.  I couldn't have imagined that the very light that is her personality - her soul - would grow dim and that I could do nothing to prevent it from happening.

President Bush said goodbye to those he loved the most.  I'm glad it worked out that way.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/01/us/politics/george-hw-bush-last-days.html?action=click&module=Spotlight&pgtype=Homepage        

Our situation is different with my mom.  Sometimes I feel like we didn't really get to say goodbye, or, alternatively, that we're saying goodbye a little bit at a time, every day and every week.