What I did on my summer vacation
Cindy on August 7th, 2009
Try to relax and enjoy the crisis. — Ashleigh Brilliant
Summer arrived with its boxing gloves on. Or, as John Lennon pointed out, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Which is why I haven’t been filling this space with new material lately.
By mid-June, it was obvious that my father-in-law’s dementia was more than my mother-in-law could continue to handle at home. For several weeks my husband Doug made it his mission to help find the right nursing facility — a frustrating family story of trial-and-error that’s way too complex to rehash here. Thank goodness, Doug is semi-retired and has more time for his folks now. How do middle-aged couples handle these situations if they both work full time?
Well, we finally found the right nursing home for Dad in July, but within a week, his condition plunged to the point where he was suddenly confined to a wheelchair (he had walked into the facility) and couldn’t swallow his food. He now qualifies for hospice care. Friends have told us countless stories of how dementia patients get even worse after they’re put into nursing homes, which never fails to pile more guilt on over-burdened families. Through it all, my mother-in-law has been incredibly brave and strong. The rest of us are just plain sad.
But wait, there’s more. My widowed mother, whose health is also fragile (and complicated by a stubborn case of anxiety) has needed me more than ever lately. In mid-July — two days after my father-in-law was driven to the local ER from his new nursing home — my mom called to announce that she had to get to the hospital – that very minute – due to a mysteriously bruised and swollen leg. Her call came while Doug and I were having dinner with our son Nate, who’d been visiting from Chicago for the weekend and was preparing to leave. So, I finished my dinner and said good-bye to Nate, who soon headed off to the airport with Doug while I drove Mom to William Beaumont Hospital’s emergency entrance. (I drive Mom to the ER often enough to call it a routine, and to know the doorman personally.) Regardless, that short weekend visit with our son brought a flash of sunshine to us, making up for the inevitable shadows cast by our visits to the hospital.
August is my birthday month, so it often inspires a few moments of retrospect, if not a twinge of melancholy or nostalgia. And from this vantage point, I can see that the decline of my mom’s health — combined with my father-in-law’s move to a nursing home — unearthed some tender strands of grief that I thought I’d buried after my beloved father died in the summer of 1992. Not to mention my only uncle’s slow death from pancreatic cancer two years ago in August. When loved ones have been gone awhile, everyone will remind you ever-so-gently that you really should be “over it.” And of course, you are over it, most of the time. But Lord knows, that doesn’t mean you just stop missing people.
Anyway, I hadn’t fully realized how numbed out I’d been this summer. Once again, gardening was my sanity saver, my best antidepressant, right up there with reading a fabulous novel and having birthday lunches in outdoor cafes with old friends. I dead-headed perennial blossoms and transplanted hosta and watered thirsty ferns every chance I could get until I felt whole again. And I spent more time with people who make me feel loved and supported, just for being me.
Meanwhile — and I won’t go on too long about this — my enthusiasm for my writing career seems to have wilted like impatiens in the August heat. The national crisis in print journalism has left several of my friends jobless, and seriously impacted the type of work I do. I’d love to resume column writing, but the only columns available to me now are in the form of online blogs that offer zero (or minimal) payment.
Like most professional writers who’ve been in this business for more than 25 years, I find it hard to feel “honored” when magazines or newspapers offer me non-paying assignments. I miss the days when a byline came with the heady scent of newsprint or shimmered on a glossy magazine page … and generated a decent paycheck. Blogging is something just about everyone can do quite well, and everyone is doing it. And so, with apologies and some reluctance, I have to admit that it’s a stretch for me to think of my blog posts as “published writing.” The magic just isn’t there for me.
Which is partly why I’ve taken some time off. I’ve needed to pull back and rethink what’s next for me. I will continue to post here weekly, but otherwise I’m waiting for a bolt of inspiration or a new streak of luck. Maybe there’s another book in me. Or maybe I’m just burned out and lazy. I dunno.
While trying to figure it out, I’ve been pouring my energies into helping Doug work on the Frank Lloyd Wright home we purchased last year in western Michigan. Designed by Wright in 1957 and completed in 1959, the house is one of Wright’s Usonian models and could function perfectly as a set for the popular Mad Men television series. (I can picture Don Draper in our living room, swilling a martini and chain-smoking.) It’s cool and modern and space-agey — so unlike our cozy but cluttered English Tudor here in Royal Oak. For that reason, I suppose, the novelty hasn’t worn off yet.
This summer, the Wright house also gave us an immediate goal, a deadline. The renowned architectural photographers, Balthazar and Christian Korab, had been contracted to photograph it on July 29. Prior to that date, Doug and I spent every free moment we had making the three-hour drive out to the place to get it ready for the big shoot. As soon as we arrived, we’d hit the ground running with our to-do lists. Wash windows. Scrub rust out of sinks and tubs. Steam carpets. Rearrange furniture. Fix leaky shower heads. Power-wash concrete. Weed and revive gardens….
Meeting the Korabs was another incredible summer highlight — second only to our son’s aforementioned visit. While Christian (Balthazar’s son) hauled his equipment around and set up shots of various rooms, Balthazar, now in his eighties, regaled Doug and me with stories of his native Hungary, his studies in Paris, and of course, the time Frank Lloyd Wright examined and commented on Korab’s extensive portfolio of architectural photography.
The physical acts of polishing and scrubbing, of purging our Wright house of its old demons (including the crap left by previous owners), was a saving grace for Doug and me. Earlier this summer, I was watering a new crop of day lilies when I noticed Doug on the roof, repairing a leak in the scorching July sun. Of course, I worried about him passing out in the heat or losing his balance and tumbling headfirst to the pavement below (no more trips to the hospital, please!). But then I saw the look of pure satisfaction and happiness on his tanned face — a look I hadn’t seen in quite a while — and I calmed down immediately. I wanted to wrap my arms around that whole house and the late Frank Lloyd Wright himself, and thank them both for giving my architect-husband something incredible to believe in and look forward to. Something other than sick parents and nursing homes and long good-byes. — Cindy La Ferle
– The middle photo shows one of the gardens in front of our Wright house. Bottom photo is of Balthazar Korab and my husband Doug, taken on the day of our photo shoot. –
August 7th, 2009 at 8:29 pm
Ah, yes, mid-life. Anyone who says this period of time in our lives is easy either hasn’t gotten here yet or slept through it. How wonderful that you have the FLW house, whose restoration is a valuable project in its own right, to provide a respite from family commitments and concerns. I smiled when I read that you had a week-end visit with Nate; time with our grown children can be the best medicine when little else makes sense. I’m sending positive thoughts to Michigan from Maine.
August 8th, 2009 at 9:18 am
Thanks, Sharon, I appreciate your comments. The FLW house has been a lift in many ways, and I feel its a privilege to work on it. I’ve also been keeping a journal on the project, which has stirred serious interest with a couple of agents I’ve worked with. So it might also help my writer-funk, too!
August 8th, 2009 at 12:49 pm
Cindy,
Oh my dear, it feels like you need a huge hug from the Divine Mother in her rocker while she hums gently to you…..Self-nurturing time, especially after you have nurtured so many others all summer.
This is such a poignant and honest essay. It may go down as on of my favorites of yours. There are layers and layers of understanding here. I commend you for holding the faith as life handed you challenge after challenge. And I bow to you for still being open to the vital lessons within.
And it’s obvious, though your house has been work, it has also been your salvation.
Carry on, my friend, and be gentle with yourself.
Did you read the response I wrote to you on Women Bloom? Knowing all this, now my response seems extra appropriate. Please read it if you haven’t.
Holding you in heart, thought, and prayer. Your loved ones too…All Love, Jan
p.s. I do hope we can get together when the time is right.
August 9th, 2009 at 1:24 am
Dear Cindy L.-Sounds like the definition of an astrological transit- have your chart done perhaps. That being said- hugs and support to you, and your husband. There is no statute of limitations on grief for some of us- it just accumulates with each loss adding to the last I sometimes think. My father’s brother just died and it makes me worry so about my folks and what life would be without them.
I hear that life’s journey has shifted but not less valuable, just different. Perhaps a book is the direction again? Are the photos being taken going to be published anywhere? I am just fascinated by the sound of that house. Well, gardening and friends- sounds like a prescription for health. And a birthday coming up….go on- check out that chart!
August 9th, 2009 at 7:30 pm
Having read to the end of this blog entry, I thought, “why not write a book about your adventures with the FLW house?” Whenever you write about it, your words have energy and passion in them. I’d buy it! (And then I read your comment about an agent’s interest in it.
)
I’m sorry to hear about your mother and father-in-law. Handling our aging parents’ situations is challenging, both emotionally and physically. This summer has been “plates filled to overload” for many of us, hasn’t it?
August 9th, 2009 at 11:33 pm
Cindy,
Having been there with my dad and grandparents, I can truly empathize (although both my grandmothers, who had dementia, seemed to thrive in nursing homes for a while because they had more social contact). Also, I can’t understand our culture’s “get over it” attitude toward grieving, which is even worse concerning our pets. And gardening is such a stress reliever. I hope the summer becomes much lighter for you soon. Best wishes, Gayle
August 10th, 2009 at 7:28 am
Again, thank you everyone, for your support.
Gayle, you’re right about the social contact — I think that’s a good point. My FIL cannot communicate, but I think that having more people around — and music therapy — will be a comfort to him. I hope so.
Kitty, thanks for what you said about writing a book about the FLW house and the work on it. It is very good to know that you think it’s a good idea — that bolsters my enthusiasm too.
Starrlife — yes, I should have my chart done. I once did a news feature on a famous astrologist; he did a reading and a chart for me during the interview. The results were uncanny. — Cindy La Ferle
August 10th, 2009 at 5:20 pm
I can so relate to the life consumed by caregiving and grief. Yes, you do “get over it”, but only the intensity of it. The grief seems to be on simmer to flare up whenever we least expect it. Take time to filter through the lessons of this year. Whatever is waiting for you will still be there when you are ready to take it up again.
August 10th, 2009 at 7:05 pm
Found you again, thank goodness, and bookmarked .
I so want to have time soon to read through all these words, your heart.
These latest few posts , were beautiful. So much feels like home,
thank you
August 11th, 2009 at 10:19 am
Oh Cindy, What a summer you are having, sounds a lot like mine on so many levels. You are a gifted writer and I look forward to your posts, whenever you’re inspired to write. Know my heart is with you and I’m sending prayers of support and encouragement.
Hang in there.
August 12th, 2009 at 7:42 am
[...] soon as I hit the “Publish” tab, I started worrying about last week’s blog post. Not that I regretted exposing my family’s elder-care crises. I know many of you can relate [...]
August 12th, 2009 at 9:49 am
What a summer it’s been for you! Some really wonderful parts and some really sad ones. It’s no wonder that blogging feels blah to you. Have a happy birthday month, and here’s hoping you’ll find a writing project to suit you and this brave new publishing world we’re living in.
August 12th, 2009 at 11:34 am
I’m not sure you ever get “over it.” But you do begin to function better and replace sad memories with happier ones.
As for the negativity you allude to in your next blog — unless there is a paragraph you did remove, but it sounded like you didn’t — I did not find this overly negative. It’s life. I refuse to shove the less than pretty parts of being alive under a rug because people may not want to hear it. They, too, are most likely struggling with something similar. For both side, there is good that comes from sharing and communing with people who can understand such struggles.
On the whole, your life sounds quite fabulous — a wonderful husband (usually it’s the women who tend to the parents), a loving son, and a FABULOUS new home and the opportunity it’s giving you both to be creative.
I do want to add: God bless your parents and you both for being such good caregivers.
August 13th, 2009 at 9:17 pm
Dearest Cindy,
I’m with Only the Half up above. How could one ever “get over” the death of a loved one? And why would we want to, if getting over means we are no longer brought to tears remembering those who loved us so deeply?
You and Doug are just the kind of children we all would hope to have when/if we are in need of loving and attentive care. I am so glad that you had this FLW summer to balance you. (I think a book about the adventure of restoring the house would be WONDERFUL!) And you were in no way too negative. This has never been an easy business and now it is even harder, ever more on a road to penury. And now with the Kindle all the things we love about books — pages, the smell of paste, the stitched headbands in our hardcovers….all of those sensory delights will be nothing but the stuff of ….of…. personal essays one day!!!!
Your posts are honest, Cindy. That right there is gold.