The Big Turn Around

Sometimes I worry that people will find out I’m not really a grownup.  The fact that I can order a glass of wine and not get carded doesn’t ease my fear.   Parenting, my job, my financial independence and certainly my wrinkles all point to being an adult, but mostly I don’t feel like one.

These past two weeks I’ve been thrown into Adulthood, an unfamiliar and dark place.  Making healthcare decisions for someone who, for almost twenty years, made them for me is just the beginning of the huge turn around.  It’s like the el train that gets to the end of the line, and the driving engine becomes the caboose; the caboose, the driving engine. I may be driving the train, but I’m just a little girl sitting on a stack of phone books so I can reach the wheel.

Reassuring my mom in her coma that we’ll handle it—“We’re going to take care of everything, Mom,”—is a scary promise.  Can we really?  Can we really make the right decisions about my dad’s care?  Can my brother and his wife really open their home, and even harder, their hearts to my parents’ crazy, unruly but much loved dog (think “Big Bird of the dog world” –Elia)?  Can I be the support for my dad when he’s depressed, sobbing over his many losses: his wife of sixty three years, his home, his memory and mental resources?  Can we make the right decisions about selling their home, keeping the things in the family that were important to them, informing their friends of these changes, and doing right by my dad financially and medically and remain kind to one another?

It’s amazing how a death brings family and friends closer together.  I’m so lucky that I’m not the only one driving the train.  I have two smart and sweet brothers and a sister that just doesn’t quit with her energy, family devotion and humor.  I have an eager and sensitive sister-in-law who steadies the wheel.  I have two children who listen when I cry.  And friends, flaggers in their glow vests, direct us along the track with their support and love.  Even my students know how to support.  When one of my students had asked why I was gone so much, I told her I lost my mom.  Understanding the magnitude, all she could say was, “Damn.”  While I cried with a co-worker in the hall at school, a student I see every day but don’t have in any of my classes asked, “Why are you crying?”  I told him I was sad.  He smiled, shuffled up to me and gave me a big-armed hug. 

 As I sit here now in the scent of flowers brought from a friend I hadn’t seen for a long time, I realize that the commitment I made to my mom is simple.  I just have to keep on loving, maybe a little bit more now that there’s one less person on earth to love, one less person loving. 

Moving up to the top generation is a scary spot.  Besides the fact that it means you’re next, it requires a commitment to doing what’s best for everyone even if it means setting aside what’s best for only me.  I guess that’s the grownup part: doing it all with love.  That’s the part I hope I can do.  I’m so grateful I don’t have to do this alone. 

Even though my mom won’t be here to coach me in the kitchen, my sister, my sister-in-law, and Riley, the next generation of lovers, are all pitching in.  I’m thankful I wrote down my mom’s cranberry instructions this past Thanksgiving so my sister can make them.  I have my hands full with more important things, like sweet potato pie.

Judy Leghorn’s Cranberries

2 bags of fresh cranberries

3 c. sugar (whoa!)

Just under two c. water

Mom said, “You have to pick out the bad ones first.”  She was a micro manager and watched to make sure you did it the right way.  “Then you bring everything to boil and you have to stir constantly until the sugar dissolves.”  Let them boil for about an hour uncovered and then simmer on low.  “How long, Mom?”  Now here’s where she loosens up.  “Oh, a half hour, or as long as you want.”  I cooked them for about two hours total.  Refrigerate them over night.  I don’t care much for cranberries, but my sister loves them.  It’s only right that she make them since she’ll do it with love.

Happy holidays and much love to friends and family.

Lindsay