Excerpt from “Indelible”: Colorado 1999

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

In 1999, my mom and my nephew Jason went with us. Jim was a Michael Martin Murphey fan and owned every audio tape Murphy had released. As we drove down I-70 through the wheat fields and sunflowers of Kansas, Jim insisted on listening to these tapes.

As Jim napped in the back seat, my mom looked at me and said, “You know I always liked Michael Martin Murphey.”

“Me too,” I said.

“But…after listening to him for hours and hours, I don’t care if I never hear him again.”

“Me either,” I said.

Jim was becoming more eccentric. He wore sunglasses day and night and walked with a cane. He tore paper towels in half, then folded them tightly. He stuffed them in his shirt and jacket pockets making the pockets bulge and giving his chest a misshapen look. His denim jacket was covered with decorative pins. He wore a tattered Branson Veteran’s nametag that was removed only when I washed the jacket.

Jim insisted on eating cottage cheese and pineapple with every meal, including breakfast. We fixed most meals in the cabin, so he could have the food he wanted.

The cabin was a new environment, and Jim couldn’t figure out how to work the water in the shower, so I helped him. Then, I helped him dress. One morning while I took a shower, Jim walked out the door and down the road.

“Jim’s gone out the door,” mom told me.

I shut off the water, “See if Jason can catch him.”

By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, Jason and Jim came through the door.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I told him you needed to talk to him,” Jason said. “When I told him that, he turned around and came back.”

We spent our evenings on the river walk drinking large cups of flavored coffee from the MacGregor Bookstore. Jim’s favorite entertainment in Estes Park was the Lazy-B Ranch Boys’ dinner show. Jim was enthusiastic and happy.

In his hesitant speech he talked to one of the performers before the show. The man invited Jim to come behind the counter and play his guitar. Jim eagerly picked up the guitar and played a few cowboy songs. He sang the song I’m Tellin’ You Friend, I Ain’t Had a Good Day.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

If We Make it through December

While decorating this morning, I put a country music Christmas CD in the player. Merle Haggard’s song “If We Make it through December” brought about a heart-weary nostalgic feeling.

In many ways, that song was the story of our lives in the early, struggling years when our kids were little. Instead of being the joyful time of “Jingle Bells,” December was the most stressful time of the year.

The cold, winter weather became an endurance test. We lived in drafty old houses that were hard to heat and slept under cold-weather rated sleeping bags to stay warm. That is, when we could sleep. I remember Jim getting up all hours of the night to start the car so that it would start the next morning. Of course, it was futile if the roads were drifted shut.

Just to add to the anxiety, there was always the problem of coughing up enough money to fill the propane tank. One year, right before Christmas, we filled our tank just to have it all leak out during a snowstorm. The truck came back and only because the driver was determined, he managed to get close enough to the tank to re-fill it.

Too often jolly, ho-ho-ho people don’t realize how hard the holidays are for those who have lost a loved one. Christmas doesn’t seem the same when someone you’ve always celebrated with is no longer there. When a white Christmas turns into a blue Christmas, it isn’t easy to exorcise that pesky inner Grinch and infuse oneself with the joy of the season.

A decade of Christmases were changed because of Jim’s dementia. The first few years were a blessing in that being a grandpa gave him a new joy in Christmas. Later, I ate Christmas dinner with him at the nursing home. The meal would be a mixture of nursing home prepared and care packages from his mom.

We are all individuals with countless memories of Christmas. Memories could be of a time of separation, grief, heartache, loneliness, and the bitter cold of winter. Other memories could be the elation of happy reunions, the perfect gift—given or received, the look on a grandchild’s face, hugs, a heart overflowing with love, and a landscape of glittery, fluffy snow.

My memories of Christmas are as packed and varied as Santa’s bag. Opening memories are much like unwrapping gifts at random. Which gift shall I open next? Will it be the booby prize? Will it be a heart-leaping memory of joy? Happy? Sad?

Although the song this morning brought back some bittersweet times of December, I choose to focus more on the precious memories I have of Christmas past. As I put up my village this morning, I was reminded of the time when my grandson Colby was just a little kid and helped me with the village.

I put the cotton batting “snow” on a small table. “You take the houses out of the boxes and I’ll set them on the table,” I said.

Colby went to work. He opened the boxes, peeled off the protective tissue, tossed the boxes and tissue in the floor, and handed me the houses. When we finished, we admired the village. Then Colby looked around and said, “We sure did make a big mess, Grandma Linda.”

I had to laugh and agree. “We sure did!”

Christmas wouldn’t have been Christmas without a huge dinner prepared by my mother-in-law. The house would be overflowing with family and the air fragrant with turkey, ham, homemade light rolls, and pies. The table would groan beneath the weight of the food. The house and yard would be overflowing with family. Remembering those special times, makes it easy to feel the jolliness of Christmas.

Now, Christmas is a quiet time at our house. We will have our get-together with the kids and grandkids this Sunday. I plan on going to candlelight services on Christmas Eve. I believe some quiet reflection on the real reason for Christmas may be an excellent way to put it all in perspective. It seems like a good way to blend all memories into a greater meaning of life, love, and the reason for the season.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Excerpt from “Indelible”: Colorado 1998

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

The next year we rented a cabin. Camping required loading so much equipment, and Jim had always done that.

“While I load the supplies, you need to pack your duffle bag,” I told Jim.

A short time later, he came out of the bedroom with his bulging bag. “I’m done,” he said. “Let’s hit the road.”

I went in the bedroom to grab my purse and noticed his underwear drawer open. It was empty.

I opened the duffle bag and found it stuffed with boxer shorts and socks, every pair he owned. The remainder of the bag was full of the paper towel squares that he was always folding.

Repacked and ready to go, we were soon on our way to Colorado. By this time, I drove most of the time. 

When we got to Estes Park, we decided to drive my Nissan up Fall River Road. Jim loved to videotape everything and he thoroughly enjoyed the ride. He videotaped every animal, rock, and flower we saw.

We drove the narrow one-way dirt road to the top of the mountain and spent some time at the visitor’s center. Rather than drive to Never Summer Ranch, I decided to take Trail Ridge Road back to Estes Park. As we traversed the winding road along the barren tundra, vertigo set in and I began to get nervous about driving. I pulled into a scenic overlook parking lot.

“Honey, I can’t stand driving this road with those drop offs.”

“I’ll drive,” Jim said. We traded places, and he expertly drove down the mountain with one hand on the steering wheel, totally relaxed. As soon as we got to lower ground, I took the wheel to get us through the more complex traffic in Estes Park.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

Excerpt from "Indelible": Colorado 1997

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

On our Colorado trip in 1997, we rented a room at Trapper’s Inn. The rustic inn was situated at the edge of Estes Park. Elk wandered across the yard and through the parking lot. We spent our days driving into the National Forest animal watching and picnicking.

One morning Jim prepared to make coffee in the in-room coffeemaker. He picked up the pot, set it down, picked it up, and set it down. He looked around in confusion trying to decide what to do next. From the bed, I said, “Put coffee in the basket.” 

“Oh! That’s right.” He put the coffee in and then acted like he expected the coffee to make itself.

“Put water in the pot.”

He put water in the pot.

“Pour it in the top”

He poured it in.

“Turn the pot on”

He turned it on. As soon as the coffee was done, he was back in full form. He poured the coffee into the thermos, cleaned the pot, and brought me a cup of coffee in bed.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Excerpt from “Indelible”: Colorado 1995

For the next few days, I'm going to post some stories from our Colorado trips. We went to Colorado every year on vacation and camped at Moraine Park in the Rocky Mountain National Park.

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

In retrospect, I could measure the progression of Jim’s dementia by our annual camping trips to Colorado. In 1995, putting up the tent was a fiasco.

“This is the way it goes together,” Jim said, picking up a pole from the pile of different length rods. We tried slipping the rods into the canvas only to find our final creation was not a tent.

“Okay, now are you ready for me to dig out the instructions?” I asked with as much patience as I could muster.

“I guess so,” he said grudgingly. Between the two of us, we managed to slide out the rods.

Even with directions, it was hard to figure out what went where.

“That’s not right,” Jim insisted.

“Humor me.” I huffed and puffed in the thin mountain air as I struggled with the poles.

After a lot of stress, strain, and cuss words, our home away from home looked like it was supposed to.

“Let’s get the equipment out of the van,” I said.

Finally, camp was set up to our liking, and we could relax in our lawn chairs. Jim was the official camp cook, and I really didn’t know how the stove worked. I watched him and offered help when he couldn’t quite get things right. That year, I helped a lot with meal preparation. Overall, the problems weren’t too bad and it didn’t discourage us.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Excerpt from "Indelible": Let There Be Light

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

It was hard to watch a man who had once fixed our old van with a screwdriver and a piece of wire struggle to complete a simple task.

“Honey, put this light bulb in for me,” I said. Both of us were short, but he still had a height advantage. The light bulb over the wash machine was just out of my reach, and my step stool was upstairs.

Jim reached up and removed the burnt out bulb, but then struggled in his efforts to replace it. He turned the bulb to the right a few times, then to the left as if he were working a combination lock.

“Turn it to the right,” I said. As soon as the words left my lips, I knew it was a worthless piece of information for someone who no longer knew left from right.

“Turn it like this,” I said, pantomiming the correct motion.

Jim stood there holding the bulb like the Statue of Liberty held her torch. His eyes turned toward me, but they didn’t seem to focus. I could imagine myself as he saw me, a blurred image making noises that make no more sense than the incessant chirping of magpies.

I reached out my hand, “Okay, honey, give me the bulb and I’ll put it in.”

Jim passed the bulb to me and paused to touch the top of the washer. He wandered off aimlessly, shuffling to the stairs.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Excerpt from "Indelible": Gone in the Night

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

The silence was overpowering, the room too quiet. I reached out to feel the reassuring lump of my sleeping husband, but his side of the bed was empty. I bounded out of bed, running through the house, flipping on lights, yelling Jim’s name. Fear sliced through my body with a burning wave of fire when I realized he was missing.

Knowing I couldn’t waste any time, I jumped in the car and drove east, the direction he usually traveled, peering at the area penetrated by the high beams of my headlights. Although I had a sense of urgency, I drove cautiously because I didn’t want to hit Jim with the car. I had no idea how long he’d been gone, and the farther I traveled without seeing him, the more I panicked.

I reached the crossroads and without hesitation, turned left, choosing Jim’s normal route. My mouth was getting dry. I pressed onward, fear and worry jockeying for position in my mind. I rounded the next corner, headlights slicing through the darkness. There he was! The tension drained from my body, replaced with elation and relief.

Jim was fully dressed wearing jacket, jeans, and his “Vietnam Veteran and Proud of It” cap. He seemed to be unaware of the car and continued his measured tortoise pace, cane grasped in his left hand. I pulled over and stopped behind him, climbed out of the car, speed walking to catch up with him.

I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his bicep, and he stopped as if he had applied his brakes.

“Honey, you scared me,” I said. “Come on, let’s go home, and have some coffee.” 

He turned his face toward me. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but his mouth and facial features were expressionless giving him a surreal appearance. I hooked my hand at his elbow and guided him toward the car. I opened the passenger door; he climbed in, resting his cane on the floor. He settled into the seat and fastened his seat belt. I drove to the highway, turned around, and took him home.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Excerpt from "Indelible": Guitar Magic

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

Jim plucked his guitar off its stand and settled in a chair facing my mom. He strummed a cowboy song about having a bad day and sang a few lines. It seemed to be about the only song he remembered.

“Hey, Jim, can you play Buckaroo?” Mom coaxed.

He strummed the cowboy tune again.

“I’d sure like to hear Buckaroo,” Mom said.

Jim gave her a blank look.

Mom nodded and smiled encouragement. “Buckaroo?”

Jim’s eyes lit up, and he lowered his head as his fingers found the melody. The strains of “Buckaroo,” played flawlessly filled the kitchen. As soon as he finished, Mom and I applauded. It was so good to hear his “signature” tune. 

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Alzheimer’s: Know the Signs #10—Changes in Mood and Personality

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

Jim pounded on the van, jerking the door handle, and yelling unintelligible words. The screen door slammed behind me as I rushed outside, fumbling with my keyless entry button to unlock the door. Jim yanked the door and sagged as the door flew open.

“Honey, what are you doing?” I was concerned we would be kicked out of our rental cabin for disturbing the quiet neighborhood.

“Won’t open,” he said.

“I know. I locked the doors while I carried in luggage.”

 

Tears streamed down Jim’s cheeks, and he glared at me.

Our family doctor had written a new prescription to help level out Jim’s moodiness. I had hoped the erratic behavior would end, and I wouldn’t have to give him the new medicine. Reluctantly, I handed Jim a bottle of water and one of the new pills.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Alzheimer’s: Know the Signs #9—Withdrawal from Work or Social Activities

Excerpt from “Indelible” (memoir in progress):

We went on a tour bus to Kemper Arena to see the Stars on Ice show. Jim and I both enjoyed ice skating and this was our fourth trip to see the best ice skaters in the world perform. Our bus let us off at a convenient spot and our tour guide showed us to our seats.

Jim wore his black hooded Kansas City Chiefs coat, with the hood up and buttoned tight under his chin. He had on his super-dark sunglasses and his gloves.

“Honey, don’t you think you should take off your coat?” I hinted.

“No! It’s cold in here!”

Soon, Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out his hand-held poker game. He played the game, although he had no idea when to draw cards or hold them. I thought that at least, it would keep him occupied until the show started.

The lights dimmed and colorful spotlights blazed on the skaters in flashy costumes, music blasted, and the show began with much fanfare. As the skaters swooshed onto the ice, we were close enough to see the goose bumps on their flesh.

Jim calmly continued playing his game, completely ignoring Scott Hamilton’s enormous jumps, antics, and back flips. He even ignored his favorite skater of all time, Katerina Witt. Jim never once took his eyes off his poker game during the first part of the show, only letting me know when he had to go to the bathroom.

Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com