Julie Tullos

I haven’t been on a real vacation in a very long time. I have never in my life been to Orlando (besides the airport), Walt Disney World or any of its theme parks. I have never been on a cruise. This blog is all about the experience of Animal Kingdom and the Disney Cruise ship, the Wish, which is the newest of the cruise ships in the Disney line. It’s just an informational post, so not funny or sad or any of the big emotions. Just for the curious or those seeking more information about Disney World and Disney cruises.

I was nervous. I have anxiety anyway, so this was a whole new level of the unknown. I had no idea what to expect, and I had no idea if things would go smoothly or if I was headed for a nightmare. I researched Animal Kingdom ahead of time so I could be prepared. I bought a waterproof pouch for my phone, I bought a wristband Baby Girl could wear in case she got lost (with my phone number on it). I studied the map and figured out which rides were roller coasters so that we could stay away from that – none of us are interested in roller coasters.

I get terrible motion sickness so I bought a relief band. This sends an electrical signal to your brain to stop and prevent nausea. You put some gel on your wrist then tightly secure the band around your wrist. At level 1 I could barely feel the electrical current. At level 2 I felt like I was holding on to the electric fence on my property – my whole hand was vibrating with electrical current. I can’t imagine turning it up to level 3, 4, or 5! I stuck with level 1 on the plane, only turning it up to level 2 on the landing, and it worked like a charm. I didn’t get nauseous at all! I’m going to jump ahead here and tell you that while on the cruise ship I did not have to wear the band at all, as I could not feel the boat moving and never once got nauseous. So if you get motion sickness and that’s the reason you’ve never been on a cruise you can rule that reason right out. Buy a relief band just in case if you must. I even took dramamine and zofran with us on the trip and never used either.

At any rate, motion sickness aside, the flight to Orlando was uneventful. We used a travel agent for the entire trip except the flights, which I booked myself. She took care of the details like transportation and hotel which was a tremendous help. When we arrived at the airport we took the Mears Connect bus to the resort. This was prepaid but the Orlando airport is a nightmare and we had trouble finding where to make that connection. Ground transportation was in a different terminal than we landed in so we had to figure that out. We eventually got there though, with our luggage which I was sure would be lost (a theme for the entire trip – I was absolutely sure that our luggage would disappear somewhere along the way).

We chose to stay at Disney’s Art of Animation Resort. A sprawling resort that covers a lot of ground we ended up in the Little Mermaid section which was at the very end of the property. Now, I’ll tell you we had been told to download the app “My Disney Experience” so that we could unlock the door to the room with our phones. I was dubious. We arrive at the resort and I don’t need to check in at the front desk because the room is prepaid and I can open the door with my phone – the app sent us a message saying our room was ready and we could get in at any time. So we trek about a mile with our luggage all the way to the Little Mermaid section. Surprise, surprise, the phone app actually works and we unlock the door. Simple! The room is, however, TINY. I assume they make the rooms small because how much time are you really spending in the room anyway? And they need to fit in as many rooms as possible. However, it is not an uncomfortable space and we throw our things in and quickly go back out in search of food. It’s 9 pm at this time and I think that the restaurant will not be open.

Thankfully, I am wrong and it stays open until 11 pm so we trek back through the resort, passing two large pools and other sections including The Lion King, Finding Nemo and another one I can’t remember. The Cars section is at the very front and it is the coolest section and the one I recommend staying in, not least because it is the closest to the front of the hotel. The “restaurant” in this resort is cafeteria style and extremely crowded. Shouldn’t all these kids be asleep?! I wonder. But no, they are everywhere and they are wet from the pool, cranky from being tired, and excited to be at Disney. In short, it is a madhouse. We find food then schlep back to our room to pass out. Baby Girl is enthralled by the huge resort pool and ready to skip Animal Kingdom altogether just to be able to swim in that pool. Unfortunately for her the tickets to Animal Kingdom are already paid for. And she IS excited, but pools are possibly her favorite thing in the whole world.

I did not buy Magic Bands. I researched them and couldn’t figure out what makes them so special. I had the “My Disney Experience” app which apparently can do all the same stuff. For example, the next morning I woke up early to buy the Fast Passes on my phone which allows you to skip the lines and get to attractions quickly. You can’t buy Fast passes ahead of time. Only on the morning of your park visit. And you have to do it early. The prices change each day so you never know how much it will be, except to tell you ours was $25 per person that day. So for $75 we got to skip the lines of TWO attractions and waltz right up to the front. Maybe doesn’t seem worth it? If we had stayed later we could have fast passed on another one or two attractions but Baby Girl wanted to leave early so we could swim. But I would tell you …. DO IT. I think it was worth it not to have to stand in line with an impatient 8 year old. We fast passed on the Na’vi River Journey in Pandora which was very cool and relaxing, and also on the Safari ride which was super cool. Baby Girl was very excited to see the White Rhinos up close as well as giraffes and other animals.

We waited in line for the DINOSAUR ride, which Tony and I found hilarious – we almost hyperventilated from laughing – but Baby Girl found terrifying. It’s in the dark and at a high speed and she did. not. like. it. Because of this we next went on the tame (lame) tricera top spin which is for like 4 year olds but she enjoyed it so Momma plays along. We avoided the Kali River Rapids because we didn’t want to get wet, and the only real roller coaster here is Expedition Everest which we also did not do. I wish we had done the Avatar Flight of Passage but we didn’t. Baby Girl was more interested in the animal stuff so we did the Gorilla Falls Exploration Trail, Rafiki’s planet watch, and the Maharajah Jungle Trek.

We had a reservation for breakfast at the Tusker House Restaurant. This is where you can eat buffet style and meet Donald, Daisy, Mickey and Minnie. Imma tell you right now, it’s EXPENSIVE. $45 per person for me and Tony and I think $25 for Baby Girl. I’m sorry but we can’t possibly eat that much food to make it worth it. I barely eat as it is. I did not know ahead of time how expensive it was so that’s why I’m telling you. Meeting Donald Duck isn’t worth an over $115 breakfast for me. Especially as there are other places in the park where you can meet them for free! And there’s TONS of food available so unless you just want that ridiculously expensive experience I would definitely skip the Tusker House.

All that being said, we did enjoy our time at Animal Kingdom. We had arrived about 8:30 in the morning and left about 2:30. The resort has busses that take you for free to each theme park. Needless to say, we went swimming as soon as Baby Girl had her suit on and could get us out to the pool. Unfortunately, all her hair color (she had it done purple on the ends before we left) came out immediately in the chlorinated water which was a big disappointment for us. She swam until about 6:30 pm while Tony and I enjoyed drinks from the bar and relaxed. We had dinner at the cafeteria again – we had to pay for our food while at the resort in case you were wondering – none of that was included with the resort fees. And then we went to bed early in anticipation of boarding the cruise ship the next day!

The next morning we were up early and were told to leave our luggage right by our door (on the inside of the room) and it would be transported to the ship for us. We had been sent luggage tags ahead of time so I affixed those to our bags, we left them at the door and went to breakfast and then to catch the shuttle to the ship – again this was paid for ahead of time. I was nervous about our luggage so I just had to trust that it would work out and our stuff would be on the ship like they said it would. We had our swim suits and sunscreen and important stuff in our backpacks because our stateroom wouldn’t be ready until about 2:00 in the afternoon even though we would already be on the ship by then.

The ride to the ship on the bus took about an hour, we had spent about an hour in the hotel waiting for everyone to gather. There were nice representatives from the ship in the lobby answering questions and checking people in. So they knew if you showed up or not. This was about 9:00-9:15 in the morning. We got on the bus about 10, so a bit of waiting around. We had eaten breakfast at the cafeteria again so we were ready to go.

We could see the ship as we approached and it was HUGE. Mind boggling to me! And it was gorgeous. A brand new ship, less than a year old. I couldn’t believe we were lucky enough to get to sail on it. I had been worried also about being out on the open water but I want to reassure all of you that worry, that it really is nothing to fret about. It never scared me, I felt safe the entire time. Anyway, once we were in the terminal we had to go through security and show our passports and ID’s. We had to wait a long time. We were in boarding group 4. You can’t take open bottles of water or anything into the terminal. So make sure whatever you have is sealed, not open. All of us were pretty thirsty as we didn’t realize how long the wait would be. Again, every single moment was new to us. We had no idea what to expect. Finally we started boarding the ship. As we boarded they gave us Cinderella wands (cute) and called out WELCOME to the TULLOS FAMILY. Also cute.

But. Then. We had no idea what to do. We stood around for a few minutes. Found a cruise ship person to ask and she suggested we go to lunch or explore the ship. We opted for lunch. Went to the restaurant called Arendelle and relaxed and enjoyed ourselves for the first time that day. It was a lovely restaurant and I was very impressed by the service. In fact, I didn’t stop being impressed by the ship and it’s service the entire time I was aboard. After lunch we figured out where “guest services” was and we stood in line to sign Tony up for a Whisky Tasting. I also asked when we could go to our stateroom, because I had no idea when it would be ready or how to get our key cards. I was told by 2:00 the key cards would be ready and hanging outside the door to our room.

More tomorrow…. stay tuned…..

Ever feel like you’re hurtling towards a breakdown? It’s pitch black and you have no idea where you are, much less where you’re going. Maybe you’re pulling a trailer load full of horses and the road you’re on is unfamiliar, and dark and windy and just downright scary. The lights are on but there’s just simply not enough to really see by. Doom is coming and you know it. You’re just thisclose to crashing and burning but somehow you manage to hang on to the wheel if only to keep from spinning completely out of control.

That wheel is the key but it’s stuck. It’s either letting you go only straight ahead at a ridiculous pace or it is so loose that you can’t figure out if you’re about to head straight into the ditch or up against the retaining wall. If only you had some control over that steering wheel. And the brakes! Oh my God, the brakes. Do they work? You pump them and nothing happens, you press down for dear life and the whole rig starts shunting sideways and before you know it you are in a SPEED (the movie) like situation and all you can do is keep your eyes on the road and pray.

And that is what is ultimately comes down to. To just pray. And hang on. And pray some more. God will surely come through for us, again, just one more time, I swear God, and then I can take the wheel for awhile, I promise. Just don’t fail me here, God, I still need you. One more hour, one more day, one more week and then I’ll have it together again and you can move on to more pressing matters. Please don’t forsake me now, I know I’ve been extra needy these past few years, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until I’m strong again. Isn’t it? Please say it is.

I reach out, for the hand that has always guided me and I find nothing but air space. I reach out, for the voice that was always in my head, always on the other end of the phone, but there’s static. I reach out, for the love and support I could always rely on, but it’s receding into memory, into the back of my brain and what feels like planets away. I reach out, looking for that laughter and I only find unshed tears. I reach out. But they are gone.

Lonely and loneliness are not the same thing. Lonely is waiting for someone to come, loneliness is knowing they never will. How do I cope? I don’t really. I wait. There must be a day when it gets better than this. I watch my husband weedeat outside the window, and I know that I am not lonely. I am not alone. But loneliness is pervasive, it is in my pores, in my veins and I am hurtling towards something that I cannot see, be it disaster or salvation I can no longer tell.

To all who have loved and lost, I am you. In an effort to psych myself out of melancholy, I tell myself “it could be worse.” But to imagine worse is to admit defeat. Imagining worse also defeats the purpose of giving myself permission to mourn, to grieve. Only more reason to be afraid. Not having “worse” isn’t better than what I have now. I must remember that. I am not sure I could handle worse anyway, I better just stick to the reality I have.

I haven’t felt like writing lately. Haven’t felt like doing anything. I forced myself to sit down and write this today. Grief is agonizing, and I can’t say there’s a rainbow on the horizon. I don’t see it yet. All I feel is that breakdown looming, and on a wing and a prayer I’ll stop it from coming. Pray with me, friends, because this is not a situation in which I hope that you ever find any of yourselves. Loneliness is not for the weak of heart, I can tell you that. Pray with me, please, and look after yourselves for my sake.

Death, O Death. You are not appreciated. The sadness, grief and despair you bring are not my friends. I know it is not your fault but please, take them right back with you and leave me alone. My tears are not for you to see, they are not yours by right though you may assume so. They are tears of love, not grief, and so they belong to me alone.

Death I despair of you, will you never learn? The way to a heart is not by taking away but by bringing light and love, not darkness and hate. I do hate you, Death, though you might be an angel in your own right you are not one for me.

Were the gates open, and the light shining? The choir singing and the harps rejoicing? A friend would tell me, a friend would let me feel that peace. Yes, you were kind. You were understanding, you were gentle and whispered softly. But you still came, even though you were patient with my Mom and swift with my Dad, you still came. Do you have remorse, Death? Are you an angel of sympathy?

I choose not to embrace you Death. For they are with me still. You cannot win against me, you cannot break me down. I feel them, you see, in my heart forevermore. And while I could not go down that journey with them right now, someday I will meet you for myself. And I expect the light. The harps and the choir. I expect you to take me to the feet of Jesus where my Mom and Dad will be.

I expect to go with you before my daughter, for that is the way of things. Please, Death, I implore you, go easy on her as you did with me. She may still hate you but that is your lot, you cannot escape it. Be gentle with me, but let me LIVE, Death, until it is my time. I do not want to become acquainted with you slowly.

I would like to meet you suddenly, on a quiet day, perhaps while I am in bed, but perhaps not. Maybe I will be on my front porch, taking in a little sun. Maybe I will be in the barn patting the noses of my favorite ponies. But let me live, please Death, please don’t have time for me.

I cannot forgive you, Death. For taking away two souls that meant the world to me. For not letting me see and understand, just that they were there and then they were gone. I wanted to feel the light, feel your presence, feel the angels beckoning. And I didn’t. Here and then gone. A final breath and then no more. How can I make my peace with that?

You understand, don’t you Death? You have had this conversation before. You are not a stranger to any of us, not really. And we will all have to learn to live with you. I write this letter, Death, to let you know that I am not afraid of you. I despise you, but I am not afraid. Be always gentle, Death, and I will work on forgiving you.

Choose me later, Death. Choose me quickly, when I am old and ready for you. Then I will go with you as a friend.

Sometimes the end is just a different beginning. For my Mom, the end of her earthly existence is the beginning of her heavenly life with my Dad and all her other loved ones that have passed before her, especially her Daddy. Having passed away tragically when she was just 20, she missed him immensely all her life. If you asked her the what the best part of her childhood was she would tell you “playing in the yard with Daddy.” This is a girl that had a pet raccoon, a pet
monkey and a pet rat (appropriately named rat-rat), who lived in Hyde Park of Austin, went on numerous vacations and had wonderful friends that played dress up and had doll tea parties with her. Seems idyllic. But things aren’t always as they seem and life became harsh when her Dad died (and probably before due to his manic depressive disorder). She never got along particularly well with her own mother and my Dad provided a much needed escape and the security to live her own life.

Early love letters are filled with “darlings” and “dears.” They were two halves of a whole and couldn’t live without each other. Dad understood Mom in the way that most men understand women. She needed love, patience, a strong shoulder to cry on and security and he gave that to her and so much more. Early pictures of married life show a very happy couple and a gorgeous woman that I can’t even believe is my Mom – she just glowed – but always with a tinge of sadness in her eyes and way of being. Just a tinge. She was very private and wasn’t going to share her emotions with everyone.

In a way, they never did have to learn to live without each other. As Mom’s condition worsened she forgot who people were, and while she recognized me the longest, after Dad died she never asked for him. Out of sight and out of mind…. sad to say but that’s the truth, or she didn’t have the words to wonder where he was, which is a distinct possibility but one that I don’t dwell on because it hurts too much to allow it. I prefer to think that she truly didn’t remember him after his death. She was so fragile at that time that we never told her he died. The day before Mom passed I kept telling her that Dad was waiting for her, that he was there before her and needed her with him now. I didn’t want her to somehow be “waiting” for him, needing to hear his voice one last time. I didn’t know how much she understood, if anything, but I felt it was important to let her know he was there, waiting to dance with her again.

Dad couldn’t handle living without Mom, either. I remember asking him once if he would be able to try and go on without her after she passed, and he wouldn’t even contemplate it. He just said “I’ll try.” He didn’t want her to go into a care home, because even though she was angry and bitter (and scared) due to the disease – this was the year before she went into the memory care facility – at least she was THERE, with him. And not having her in the house with him was incredibly difficult for my Dad. I think the cancer was a blessing for him, because they literally were only truly apart for 18 months before being reunited in heaven. He didn’t want to live on without her, and he didn’t have to.

If Mom hadn’t had Alzheimer’s (and I’m not saying it was a blessing) – she would have had to try to live without him. She was a very strong woman, but she couldn’t make it without her man. So God must have done what he felt best. That’s the way I have to look at everything that has happened in the past four years.

Is it the end for me too? It’s the end of suffering for my parents’ sake. It is the end of worry and stress and advocating on their behalf. These past four years have been the hardest of my life. I am all cried out. My eyes are as dry as a desert in Mexico. As people filed in and said goodbye to Mom, there were plenty of red eyes, sniffles and tears. And I was jealous. I wanted to cry, to rant, to rage, to weep and to bawl. But I can’t. I am numb. My grief has been spent over four long
years and while maybe I should feel some relief at last, relief that my Mom’s suffering is at an end, and for my Dad – that they are together again, I don’t. I don’t feel a thing. I must get all the last bits done for them. There’s a visitation to be held, a service and a burial. There’s banks to call, and the Army to inform. There’s my house to clean and food to cook for after the visitation.
There’s her room to clean out. There’s so much to do. I am not done yet.

I listened to songs this morning in my car. Songs that have made me cry in the past. Songs I can really relate to. Nothing. No tears. No lump in the throat. I am not without feelings. But what I feel most right now is just…. empty.

A new beginning is waiting for me. When it will start, I am not sure. When my heart fills back up again, maybe. When my Mom is in her final resting place with my Dad, maybe. When I see the headstone for the first time, maybe. I do not know what the future holds for me now. It’s time to reinvent myself, in their honor, and with their undying love for me and each other, to step up
once again and become me again.

This end is just a different beginning

Mom’s light is fading. I think I’ve really known this for awhile now, but it became clear last night when I talked to her hospice nurse, Roxie. Roxie has always cut straight to the truth and I appreciate that about her. She has told me every little thing that I need to know about Mom’s health and she is literally an angel on earth, along with her partners that see to Mom when she’s not available. I have felt completely supported this whole season of Mom’s life and that goes a long way, my friends. It has made my life so much easier, and Mom’s so much more comfortable. I highly recommend hospice care to anyone facing a life-ending diagnosis, and the earlier the better.

For a few weeks now Mom has been mostly asleep. She’s been eating, but also aspirating her food. This means that she has trouble swallowing, and that a lot of her food is going into her lungs instead of her stomach. The signs of aspiration include a wet cough while eating, and afterwards, taking a long time to swallow, and runny eyes and nose while eating. The other day while I was there, her nose was running so bad while I tried to feed her and tears leaked from her eyes. She will open her eyes sometimes, but I’m not even sure she can still see. She does not focus on anything when her eyes are open. They mostly stay shut, even while eating. Her food has been modified to be like baby food – mashed up and mixed to a consistency that’s easier for her to swallow, but she is beginning to show a lack of interest in eating at all.

The body changes slowly with this disease. Mom doesn’t need a lot of calories. She’s completely immobile. But she does need protein to stay alive, and without eating it in her food, she isn’t getting enough. She has a sore on her bottom that isn’t healing, and won’t heal because she doesn’t have enough protein in her body to heal anything. This sore has been around a long time, and it doesn’t matter if they turn her from side to side, lay her down, sit her up or whatever – that sore isn’t going away.

She is retaining fluid. Her body can’t absorb fluid or expel it like it should. Which leads to random swelling. If she lays on her left side, then the left side of her body will be swollen, and same if she lays on her right side. Her hand has been swollen for a while now and we don’t know why, along with this hard swollen mass she has in her chest. X-rays were done and show nothing. Her body just can’t cope anymore. Lifting her by the arms has her grimacing but other than that she is very comfortable.

My brother will be here today. Perfect timing Roxie told me. Alarm bells ring and I know what that means. I talk to Tony, and I tell Baby Girl. She pulls a long face and says she wants to go see Granny with me today, but then she is quickly back to watching youtube videos and rejecting her bedtime. I believe she let go long ago, and while it will still be hard for her to say a final goodbye, it won’t cause any trauma like it did with Grandpa. As brave and strong as she is, she still won’t really talk about Grandpa. She says that’s her memories, and they’re special, and she doesn’t want to talk about him with anyone else. Especially not with her counselor, which is a shame but I can’t force her to do so. And while she love Granny dearly, she was forced to confront her mortality many months back.

I text my brother to let him know what we’ll be facing when he gets here. “I’ll be ready” he says. I know I won’t be.

I text some friends. They shower me with love and care.

She is fading. She will be made comfortable. Soon she’ll be dancing with my Dad in the Glory land. And I’ll truly have to live on without her.

Mom sleeps a lot. In fact she is asleep most of the time. Alzheimer’s has stolen everything from her, and has stolen her from me and my Baby Girl. When I go to see her now, she doesn’t even open her eyes. She is lost in a world that I cannot find a door into. Mom, I say, hey Mom, can you hear me? She opens her eyes slightly with the squeak of the bed as I sit down. But she doesn’t look at me. Hi Mom, hi – can you see me? Her eyes don’t focus and almost immediately they start to close again. I sit for awhile and watch a show on her TV. I put the Christmas decorations away.

Is there something wrong I wonder? I ask one of the lovely ladies when they think I should be coming to see her. Is there a time of day that she is more awake? They ponder but can’t really come up with an answer for me. She is asleep most of the time they tell me, but she’ll still eat. Even with her eyes closed, she’ll open her mouth for food. I wonder at this – the human body is designed to keep us alive. Why has her brain capitulated in every other regard? I think to myself that I don’t believe Mom will pass away due to anything other than her heart stopping. I don’t think she’s going to stop eating and starve to death, or that she’ll choke on her food and end up with pneumonia. I pray that it doesn’t come to that. My best scenario is that her brain will simply tell her heart to stop beating, and that it will be a peaceful transition. I also realize, that this of course means that the chances of me being with her at that time are slim. But I would rather have her go peacefully than with suffering due to hunger or pain. Even if I have to sacrifice being there in her final moment. Even though I know that they would not let her suffer. Pain will not come for her if the nurses can help it. I would still rather just have her slip away in her sleep – wouldn’t we all?

I read today about a new drug that is coming. That is being expedited by the FDA to hopefully be out in about 6 months. It has shown a 27% reduction in the advancement of Alzheimer’s over an 18 month study. It is meant for those who have been diagnosed early. It is based on the amyloid plaque hypothesis of Alzheimer’s – that amyloid plaques build up in the brain killing brain cells which leads to Alzheimer’s and death. Many studies have shown little to no effect of such type drugs and many companies have switched their research to gene therapy. All admirable and worthwhile research. I don’t care who gets it right, but I would rather NOT KNOW if I’m going to wind up in my Mom’s position. However, that being said, I do think I will know quickly if I am starting to show symptoms and will be first in line for any drug that will slow down the process.

If such a drug had existed at the time would my Mom have taken it? Would she have jumped on board? If we had caught on early enough – if she had let us find out what was wrong sooner – would a drug like this have slowed down the process? Would she have wanted this? I wonder. She absolutely HATED knowing she had Alzheimer’s. She HATED knowing what was going to happen and that she would be rendered helpless and dependent in the end. She called herself “stupid” and cried when she couldn’t make words come out of her mouth. She could not understand that it was the disease causing her distress, or at least she refused to believe it. I still don’t understand to the day why she couldn’t/wouldn’t be more gentle with herself. Let herself have grace. Let herself accept what was happening so that we could have tried harder to do something. So I wonder if she would even have tried.

The best she let me do was to put her on Prevagen, which is a supplement made from Jellyfish that is supposed to do wonders for your memory, and to have her eat hardened coconut oil every morning. (I couldn’t have done that – I hate coconut! But she was willing so we did it.) Eventually as memory failed the pills and oil became ignored… forgotten and discarded in the fridge. She wouldn’t let my Dad do her pills for her until it was so late that she questioned why Dad was forcing her to take anything at all. She was very suspicious and it took a lot of convincing to get her to take her pills. I still believe that if someone had put her on an antidepressant early enough, she would have been a happier person those two years. However, considering how difficult it was to get her to a doctor at all, getting her to take an antidepressant was, while not the least of our concerns, was simply not a priority.

I won’t post a picture of Mom now. Y’all have seen her slipped to the side of her wheelchair asleep and unaware. It’s only worse from there so Mom’s visual privacy will be honored by me. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her this way, I know. At least I know she is comfortable. She is peaceful. She is unaware of my pain and heartbreak. My Baby Girl still loves her Granny, and still remembers her as she was. May this be forever true for her. I do not want her to forget.

Please don’t forget.

Things happen fast. Especially bad things. In the blink of an eye it’s gone, never to return.

The other day Tony was saying how fast his parents have deteriorated. I said to him “Babe, they are in their 80’s! It’s to be expected.” And he said “just a month ago she was driving. Now I’m taking them to Walmart and the post office.” I answered “I could say that a week ago my Dad was having a conversation with me. Then he died. Four years ago my Mom was standing in this very living room, helping me hang ornaments on the tree. Four years ago doesn’t seem to be a very long time. Especially when it feels like yesterday.” He acknowledged this with a heavy sigh. He knew it was coming – to be helping his parents to this extent. But he didn’t get to ease into it. One bad infection later and here we are.

I am finally at peace with what happened to my Dad. I know he is at peace, and that is all I need. I think that, even though it seemed to happen so quickly, it really was a long time coming in his opinion. I remember him remarking that he thought he only had a short time left, and he wanted to hire his caregiver back to make his life easier. So of course we did it. I never wanted to hear him talk that way, though, so I didn’t pay any attention. I should have. I was in complete denial the entire last couple years of his life. I wanted him to live. I needed him to live.

But I needed him to be at peace more. Now he is.

It’s not quite the same thing with my Mom, but the end result will be. I need her to be at peace. I want her to be at peace. And happy again. Smiling, dancing with Dad, seeing her own parents, waiting for me. Knowing that I will finally be ok without her.

Four years ago. Four years and a lifetime ago, but yet yesterday. She was in my living room. Standing, talking, laughing, smiling, patting my hand when I cried over a broken ornament. Baby Girl only four years old. Only four. Oh if only the hands of time could have waited a little longer. Slowly, steadily, my Mom as I knew her has been erased. It started with no longer being able to write a check or follow a recipe. Maybe it was when she stopped reading at night. Could have been when she no longer played games on her phone. Then the ability to know the time and weather. Gone. The ability to dress herself appropriately. Vanished. Knowing where the trash can was. Her bedroom, her bathroom, the toilet. Silently disappeared.

Finally the acknowledgement that I just couldn’t do it. The best thing for her was a care home. Choosing the wrong one at first combined with Covid-19 …. losing nine months of aptitude with my Mom. Overriding guilt and depression. Hospital stays for her, all alone, where she couldn’t communicate. Me being on the phone endlessly with nurses trying to explain and worried sick because I wasn’t allowed to be there. Watching the tears roll down her cheeks when I could be there, knowing there were many more when I wasn’t. Seeing the bruises and swelling from her falls. Her teeth getting knocked out, or falling out and nothing I can do. Trying the dentist with complete failure because Mom was terrified.

Hoping I was doing everything I could for her and feeling like a failure. Her ability to cope, her ability to use the bathroom, walk in a straight line without help, communicate appropriately. All slowly, slowly slipping away. Just slipping away.

And then all of a sudden here we are four years later. Mom no longer communicates at all. She sits. Or lies in her recliner or her bed. Still and silent. No more tears. No more pain. No more unhappiness. No more awareness. She doesn’t recognize me. She sleeps continuously. I go to see her and I hold her hand but that is all I can do now. As far as I can tell she doesn’t know if I am there or not. The silence kills me. Talk to me Mom. I miss you.

Erased.

As the second group of kids comes noisily in I steady myself for the next hour and a half of what is supposed to be math but really feels more like babysitting and crowd control. I notice that there are a lot of spanish speaking kids in this group and I’m a little worried, but I soon realize that they all speak English just fine. They are loud, yes, but a little more inclined to work. They are definitely more interested in learning and slightly more respectful. I even get a few minutes at the board where they are all quiet and I think hey! I’m getting the hang of this. However, chaos soon returns with them ALL eager to take a turn at the board. This group manages to do the first two worksheets a bit quicker than the first group and I pointedly ignore the word problems on the bottom of the page. I just feel like it’s too much to take on and I’m not at all inclined to try it with them with the possibility of a language barrier hindering us. I hand out the third packet, which is supposed to be done with a partner but somehow ends up with several kids all working together in different areas of the room. No one is left by themselves, however, so I let the failure to follow instructions slide. As long as they’re working, I’m happy.

As their time comes to an end I realize it’s raining outside and they will not be going outside for recess. I wonder what happens in this scenario. I soon find out. The groups switch around again and I get the third group for a half hour recess INSIDE the classroom. I think I was at least hoping for the gym. The boys begin to play an indoor game of catch with a hat, of all things, and devise a game where whoever catches the hat has to leave the group until the last person remains and that person is then out. I watch idly and am impressed with a rather tall kid with long hair that I take to be a girl. (I was wrong!)

After recess they all exit the room for lunch and I breathe a sigh of relief for the thought of thirty minutes to myself. I try for the restroom but it’s full of girls so I decide I can wait. I eat my peanut butter sandwich silently and text Tony. He asks if I’ve wanted to throttle any of them yet and I laugh. It’s just hard, I tell him. A lot of noise and activity for a person who enjoys silence. I should be used to kids, but the fact is I’m better with one on one instruction and of course, HORSES. Not children. I have already started counting down – you only have four hours left. Three hours left. Two and a half hours. Two hours and four minutes.

The third group comes in and right off the bat I mistakenly say “her” regarding the kid with the long, shiny, dark hair and I am QUICKLY corrected by everyone but the boy himself. Geez! They say, every sub does that! Well, I reply, you have long hair and I don’t know any of your names. An easy mistake. I refuse to be embarrassed. This set of kids is very bright. They get through the first worksheet in record time. I know we only have an hour before the Veteran’s Day assembly we will all attend, presented by the fourth grade music class. So we persevere and get through the second worksheet, again with ignoring the word problems on the bottom of the page. I am just about to hand out the third packet when the Vice Principal starts to call for dismissal to the gym for the assembly.

We all troop down to the gym and I am gratefully uninvolved in seating or disciplining anyone. I am anxious for a glance of my own Baby Girl, so that I can remember that I do, in fact, like kids. The third grade has been on a field trip that day and are late in on the game. They finally arrive and I see her little blond head almost right away. She is scanning the area and finally her eyes light on mine and she grins and waves. I feel something run through me and I think it’s just relief. Oh yeah, my gut says, there she is. She’s ok, so you’re ok too.

The noise in the gym is INSANE. I squeeze myself as close to the back wall as I can and wonder how long this thing is going to last. I half want it to last until it’s time for dismissal but I also don’t want to stand on that hard floor for that long. My feet are already aching and I shift from side to side trying to find some relief. Finally the music teacher calls everyone to order and we are thus subjected to a motley of songs God Blessing the USA and all the military. One song has a bunch of kids with drums and I’m just wondering what the beat is supposed to be because this surely isn’t it. Several girls are meant to be giving solos but try as I might I hear nothing at all. I couldn’t even tell who was meant to be singing. I find myself tear up a time or two as I witness the veterans in the audience and think of my Dad, who I am missing a lot this day. But I quickly rein it in, it won’t do for anyone to see my emotional side here.

Thankfully, the program ends after about half an hour and we all troop back to the classrooms. I get the homeroom kids back and we are not halfway in the door before one boy shoves another and a fight starts to break out. Hey! I say, cut that out! And they briefly move away from each other. However, the two boys are determined to let the other know who is boss and it doesn’t take long for them to be back at it. I know I am not supposed to leave the room so I take a kid and tell him to go get the teacher next door. She comes straight in and sees the conflict- what the heck boys?! She asks. She pulls them all out into the hall and I am grateful. There is a few minutes of peace as the remainder of the kids have free time until the bell rings. Wow, I think to myself. A scuffle on my very first day! And a kid that went missing! How eventful!

At dismissal the teacher from next door tells me that I can leave straight away, that they’ve all “got this.” I don’t wait around and argue – I am out! I practically run for the office and to find my kid. As I turn in my badge the receptionist asks “how was it?” Oh it was fine, I say. No problems.

I’m not lying. It could have been worse. I have a huge respect for teachers, and all the staff that make a school go round. I am tempted to say this isn’t for me, but I’m not a quitter. I’ll be back. With more information and armed with an attitude and maybe a little something something in my lunch box. (That’s a joke).