“July 21, 2024”

 

one letter at 1:45 PM

became another personal “Where were you?” moment

soft tears of acceptance slid down my cheeks

one courageous act rekindled hope

“Ready or not, here we come!”

my new mantra reverberated

texts, emails, and phone calls late at night

words binding us with destiny

one letter at 1:45 PM

Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"School"

 

Energy

Joyous giggles

Bouncing

Dancing

Communicating

Cooperating

Molded

Into Conformity

Focusing

Reading

Accessing

Processing

Ghosts

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Running on Empty"

          My son voices his worry that David and I will sap our energy too much in caring for my mother. He knows about the middle of the night aid to take Mom to and from the bathroom, realizes she wakes up at the crack of dawn; he understands her need of someone being constantly within calling distance. When he expresses his concern, I remind him we spend a huge portion of each evening enjoying our own interests. We spend time together watching something mindless on television while munching popcorn.

         But I do worry about those days when I’m snapping at everyone and everything because that’s an indication that I’m feeling neglected or overwhelmed. When my siblings come to give us a break, we try to sleep late and head out of the house to our favorite places like browsing through the shops in Gruene, Texas. If my brother or sister arrives early on a Friday, we sometimes escape to the cabin in the hill country. That perfect retreat always offers the respite we need. If we don’t get a long break, we find ourselves overtired.

         I love the advice everyone gives about David and I needing to take care of ourselves and get adequate breaks. What people don’t realize is that unless someone volunteers to come over to sit for an evening, we can’t take off for a stroll through a mall or an evening movie. We count ourselves fortunate that our son lives in the neighborhood. He spends an incredible amount of time “hanging” with Grammy. If I have a doctor’s appointment, I know he’ll come over. I don’t like to overuse my son, though. Is this a normal response? I don’t know. I fear the months in the future when Mom’s needs will increase, when my need for breaks won’t fall into the “occasional” category. I think on some level, I don’t want to misuse my son’s offers for help now because I may need him more in the future.

         As we enter the second year of caregiving, we’ve reached our stride. This morning, I ran Mom’s bath while David started his pre-work routine. He stepped in to help Mom into the tub. While I stayed with her as she soaked in her bubbles and listened to her new Susan Doyle cd, David packed his lunch. Then he returned to help lever Mom out of the tub, dashing from the room to get dressed while I toweled Mom dry, applied lotion to her skin, and dressed her. Entering the family room, we found David already munching on his morning cereal.

         Our lives have a steady routine that flows most days in surprising harmony. Those days where I can’t do anything right for Mom sprinkle throughout the month. Those moments when she drives me crazy because she doesn’t want anything I’ve cooked happen infrequently. Those nights where we get up two or three times with her occur no more than once or twice a week. So, for now we’re holding our own.

         And when I find that we’re “running on empty” I think we’ll fall into music, or books, or hobbies to recharge ourselves.     

Camera in hand!

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman          

"A Quick Walk"

 

The temperature dropped last night for the second night in a row. I haven’t checked with the news yet on how “low” we dipped, but this morning’s breeze didn’t slap me in the face with humidity. When David suggested that we take Mom out for a quick walk to the park, I jumped at the idea.

            The moment I pulled out my Skechers, Koi started yipping while Bridget picked up her own momentum by jumping on and off the bed, nudging me with excited joy. David put socks and shoes on Mom while I gathered together her foot rests for the wheelchair, one of her sporty hats she likes to wear outside, and bottled water for all of us. We stalled trying to get out the door because the dogs’ tornado-enthusiasm tangled harnesses and leads.

            “And they’re off! I exclaimed as the dogs bolted across the yard, towing David as though he weighed nothing. I maneuvered Mom over to the driveway, following David and dogs at a more sedate pace. Mom and I wished a walk could become part of our daily routine (sans dogs) once reasonable temperatures return to our area.

            Live Oak Park bustled with energy—relay teams running through the back trails, parents pushing strollers, children mastering new bicycles, families staking out picnic areas. Mom and I saluted every jogger and walker as we wandered our way up to the top of the park where we rendezvoused with David, Bridget and Koi.

            “Do you want to loop around the lake?” I asked Mom, not certain if the mile walk tired her. When she nodded affirmative, we zigzagged down the ramps to loop over to our rain thirsty lake. We paused to mourn the lily pads and wondered if the fish survived by retreating to the depths of the lake’s center. Then we began to retrace our steps.

            We ambled on the journey home. The dogs, tongues scraping the pavement, walked with the demure pacing of the best trained dogs. My legs, screaming from pushing Mom and the wheelchair uphill the entire way home, couldn’t muster a faster clip. By the time we walked up the front door ramp, our hike had turned into a forty minute excursion. Mom quickly kicked off her shoes and tossed her hat aside, David hustled to pour us cold glasses of juice, and both dogs sprawled on the floor, looking more dead than alive. As for me? I’m can’t wait for our next quick walk.  

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Brain Dead"

            Yesterday’s writing products included two personal reflections, which I whipped out easily once I focused on my topics, and two poems. I labored long and hard over the poems, with the delivery of each taking much longer than the laid-back nature of my prose musings. My unexpected block of time stemmed from taking a substitute assignment with high school students who labored over their personal narratives. We mirrored each other, faces scrunched in concentration as fingers tapped quickly, hesitated, and then flew across our keyboards. My role as guide-on-the-side left me with blocks of time to both think and write. In my teaching days, I would have shared all of my pieces with my students to model my drafting processes and discuss improvements to the end results. As a substitute, I only share if the classroom teacher left instructions to work with the class. One student yesterday queried about my writing, and I explained that I wrote a blog. She nodded her head absentmindedly, shifted her Chromebook for me to see her assignment and offer my feedback. I always hope that my modeling writing (and all of the messy processes that go with it) sends the message that writing continues throughout a person’s life. It doesn’t end with school.

            I entered today’s campus with the knowledge that writing wouldn’t be an option with first grade students. Imagine my delight when I found a student teacher in the room, ready to take over the class! I did a happy dance because of this unexpected treat of another block of time to write as I observe instead of teach.

            I hauled my favorite pen and current spiral from my tote. I flipped through yesterday’s lists, cross-outs and scribbles. I smugly stretched side to side, flexed my fingers, and poised my ball-point over the blank page. And nothing came. I inhaled, exhaled, shot my eyes around the room for inspiration (elementary school teachers cover their walls with brilliance and imagination). Nothing.

            I changed over to a computer, loaded Word onto the screen and fixated upon the pulsing cursor on a blank screen and only two words came to me “brain dead.” Ha! That’s all I needed!

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

               

"Setting Goals"

Today’s “To Do” list:

1. promote blog, novel, and t-shirt designs

2. work full day with second graders (no lesson plans or instructions left, but other grade level teachers pulled rabbits out of their hats with plenty of activities for me)

3. run errands with husband and son

4. do both cardio and weights at the gym

5. grab dinner

6. write new blog post, promote t-shirt designs, and plug  novel

7.  fall into bed (in satisfied exhaustion)

Sometimes, I hate to think about what my life would be like if I’d never retired to care for Mom. I know The Golden Bracelet would only exist in the back of my mind. I don’t believe I would’ve started my blog, Swing in a Tree. The isolated role of caregiver forced me into a creative format to connect to the world around me. My recent foray into t-shirt design spawned from a desire to share my photography to a wider audience than my Facebook, Twitter, and blog followers. I want to experiment with another income that comes from my interests and talents instead of continuing to embed myself within the public educational system.

As I move into my sixties, having health problems appear inevitable. I’ve changed everything I eat during the last nine months. My energy levels soared! A few months ago, I added cardio and weights into my life again. I haven’t worked my exercise routine into a habit that I miss when I skip, but by this summer I may reach that goal.

For me, setting new goals means I’m continuing to grow and change. A constant worry that I always carry in the back of my mind is that I could still have Huntington’s disease. My mother’s late onset means I might possibly have a few years of being symptom free. I scrutinize every mood swing. I evaluate my fatigue at the end of a long work day. I fret if I sense myself dragging my feet about a new project or learning a new skill. These changes were Mom’s first: anxiety, mild depression, lethargy, loss of interest hobbies.

The challenges added into my life, and onto my “To Do” list, give me balance and hope.

Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Patience”

Patience boldly strides into my home each day   

            her bright and eager smile lights her face   

                     her positive energy enervates me with determination   

Patience counsels me as I move through the house   

            she whispers encouraging words   

                        she guides me with her optimistic perseverance   

Patience models tolerance to me   

            her composure fortifies my flagging spirit   

                     her humility reminds me of the gifts of love and care   

Patience walks back and forth endlessly   

            she matches my steps when I long to stop   

                        she inspires me to stay calm and nurturing   

Patience loses energy by midnight   

            her serenity slips and falters with fatigue   

                        her gentle smile becomes feigned   

Patience slips out of the house before daybreak   

            she trudges, head hung in shame, out the door   

                     she mumbles a promise to return recharged     

I eagerly await her next arrival . . .   

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman