If you’ve never heard of the death clock, it’s a website that calculates (with a little information you add in) the day you will die.

Sounds morbid, right?

I agree, but take this as a bit of fun and not too serious. Playing with death–trying it on for size is one way humans deal with the tragedies of life–kind of like playing dress up with your mother’s high heels and your dad’s jacket.

So, I went to www.deathclock.com, (there’s also a few others) http://www.findyourfate.com/deathmeter/deathmtr.html, http://deathdate.info, http://www.death-clock.org/

I didn’t really want to know when I’d die. But I have to admit, I was curious.

How can you not be curious?

I was raised in a uber-religious home and this sounded like fortune telling–something stricly forbidden to dabble in–which means it’s even more tempting, dangerous, and oh so fascinating…(yeah, I’ve got a bit of a rebellious streak in me, I can’t deny it).

So I typed in my info, and you know what? I feel better!

It says I’m going to live until I’m 100 years old.

100. Huh.

Instead of hearing the tick tiCK, TICK going off in my ear, I felt expanded.

100 feels pretty far away. I’m not quite half there. I still have a gazillion hopes and dreams.

I breathed deeper, free-er. I’ve got a while.

This weekend, I danced at two weddings. I danced because I could. I mean, I still can. I watched my mother-in-law sit out of a dance–the first time since I’ve known her. I’m not ready to sit on the sidelines of life. Dance while you can, her smile seemed to say to me.

Now, I do take in account I could get hit by the proverbial bus at any time–that lightening could strike me for visiting that heathen site, (sorry, Mama!) or a myriad of other diseases and accidents could come barrel my way–but for now…I’ve got some living to do. I know full well what Alzheimer’s looks like, about the challenges that come with aging–so I better get a move on! But even if you do have a challenge, a disease–you still owe it to yourself, to your family to live–live any way that you can.

Pass on your stories, your songs, your insights.

Even if you now are teacher–the object lesson–view this as a vital and important role. It’s part of who we are–to come full circle–to give care and then to receive care. It’s how we learn and allow others to learn. Caregiving is a circle.

I don’t know what your reaction will be to the death clock–if you accept my challenge:)

I don’t know if you want to try it–if it all seems like a bunch of hoo-haa. But if you’re feeling brave, then take a twirl with the grim reaper and give it a try.

And I’m one of those who says I don’t want to know if I’ll get Alzheimer’s–go figure!

I guess my reasoning is that I’ve seen death. I lived with “it” lurking around my house waiting for my mother to pass–feeling an almost physical, and definitely psychological/emotional presence. I know the reality. I know how it plays out–with both my birth and adoptive parents, but ironically–this gave me hope.

A few years ago, I wrote a “100 Things To Do in My Life” list.

I wrote it while we were on vacation. I wrote it around the margins of an old Rand McNally atlas we had in the car–apprapo, I guess.

I wrote things like:

1. Go back to college and get my BFA
2. Design and make a sculpture/glass blow
3. Visit the Vincent Van Gogh Gallery in Amsterdam
4. Publish books (plural)
5. Take a cooking class in Napa
6. Repaint all my favorite Van Goghs myself
7. Create cool yard art–and sell it
8. Be paid 500 bucks an hour to speak and inspire people
9. Be on the board and help with a really great charity
10. Design an Italian garden
11. Have a 30+year writing career
12. Be a GREAT grandma
13. Speak French, Italian and Spanish fluently
14. Live in the South of France for several months
15. Win a PEN award
16. Forgive and not grow bitter

These are a few items on my list. I wrote this in 1999. I was dreaming big, and I can’t believe some of the things I put on the list. I packed it away and didn’t look at it for more than five years. My heart and my words guided me intuitively.

There are 126 items on my list.

Of the 16 I listed here, 13 have already come to fruition.

I’ll do a count and let you know how many have already come “true”–if you email and ask me.

I have 53 years to achieve the rest.

A friend of mine said she saw The Bucket List this week and that she loved it, but a friend of hers said they wanted a list of all the things they didn’t want to do–a “Chuck It” list. I like that idea too.

I’d love to never ever have another root canal…how about you?

So maybe I should rename the Death Clock to the LIVE clock.

After all, I have a list that needs a whole lot more check marks.

Instead of following the old cliche, “Live a little.” I think I’ll rewrite it:

“Live A lot!”

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Kunati books, www.kunati.com/motheringmother

Family advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

Anniversaries that mark the day our loved one’s passed away can be tough days.

You think about it weeks leading up to it–dread the day.

Your body seems to remember even before your mind.

Athletes call this muscle memory–

“Muscle memory can best be described as a type of movement with which the muscles become familiar over time. For instance, newborns don’t have muscle memory for activities like crawling, scooting or walking. The only way for the muscles to become accustomed to these activities is for the baby to learn how to do these things and then practice them with a great deal of trial and error..”

I think there’s a grief memory as well.

Our bodies store everything that’s ever happened to us, and something as profound as grief cycles though our minds, bodies and spirits. We find ourselves a year later experiencing many of the same overwhelming emotions–as if no time has passed at all. Unless we teach our spirits–literally replace the painful memories with new memories, we can circle this mountain again and again.

A dear friend of mine has a very difficult few weeks leading up to the anniversary of her father’s passing. He committed suicide and also killed his wife–her step-mother. It was needless to say, a horrendous shock and tragedy. We were talking this morning and she was weepy, feeling lost–and I reminded her that this weekend was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. Then it hit her–her father’s passing date will be in a few days. Her body remembered long before she looked at a calendar.

But knowing that this happens helps. Each year, each cycle, we can choose a path of healing–in some small way we can begin to remember with sweetness and peace instead of turmoil and panic.

This year, I spent the day I remember my mother’s passing quite differently than before.

I danced this day.

Why?

We celebrated two family weddings this past weekend–one on Friday, another on Saturday (different sides of the family). I spent all weekend at rehearsal dinners, on the beach, toasting with champagne, hugs, hugs, and more hugs. Both sides of the family are generous, sweet, affectionate people, and both sides had lost a dear loved one this year so they knew how precious a day of celebration was.

It was also the right time for me. Enough time has passed that this was the right thing to do. There is a time to mourn, to ache, but there is a time to rebuild our lives.

It’s important to celebrate every chance we get.

Life is hard enough. Death comes and taps each of us on the shoulder.

Everyone’s been touched by cancer, heart disease, car accidents, Alzheimer’s–do you know anyone who has not experienced at least one or more of these?

Life also comes in packages–life-death, babies–old age. We cannot open our arms to one and reject the other. We must somehow, learn to embrace both.

If this is the first or second year after your loved one’s passing, it is most likely a very difficult day. Be easy on yourself. Do whatever you need to do, whatever way you can get by. For some, this is a day to visit a graveside–for others, it’s a day to go parasailing–to do something so big and over the top to remind themselves they are alive and outrunning death’s grip. Some can barely get out of bed.

Be where you are. Do what feels right and natural. But know it won’t always be like this.

I was on a boat with a friend once. We were facing the wind, our hair going wild. We were smiling and laughing and watching flocks of birds lift out of the marsh and take off in flight, the spray of water surprising us–and my friend said,

“If sorrows and tragedies can literally make us age, then can’t good times, celebrations make us younger?

Yes, it can.

Scientists and physicians including Dr. Michael Roizen, author of Real Age has proven this.

You can be younger than your chronological age by how you take care of yourself physically, and by your mental outlook on life.

I missed my mom this year.

Thinking about the day she left this world will no doubt always hurt–but as I danced with my husband, my nieces and nephews, my mother-in-law, babies and toddlers–as I hugged and kissed and cried and toasted–I knew that this was the very, very best way I could honor my mother’s life–and her passing.

To dance.

It was time to place a new memory on top of the old one. It doesn’t diminish it.

Perhaps this is why people started placing flowers on graves.

Life and rebirth trumps death every time.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Kunati Publishers, www.kunati.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated Blog at www.OpentoHope.com

Don’t think it can’t happen.

Elder suicide rates are up in the United States and it usually start with depression–also a major factor in the elderly.

It’s a deadly combination–life debilitating illness, loss of spouse, career, a terminal diagnosis, medications all exasperate the situation.

But it’s not the way we want it to end.

It’s not the family legacy most of us aspire to.

Depression affects approximately 19 million Americans per year, (National Institutes of Mental Health, 2000).

Depression is often not recognized in the elderly because the symptoms can be attributed to ”normal aging.” How sad, that we have come to believe that melancholy, lethargy and apathy are connected to older age.

Nearly 6% of the people in the United States over the age of 65 have a diagnosable form of depression, and while adults age 65 make up only 13 percent of the U.S. population, they account for 20 percent of all suicide deaths.

We should be more alarmed.

Who is most at risk? Our dads. Our husbands. Our brothers. 

Male Caucasian are the over the age of 85 are the the highest suicide rate in the nation (National Institute of Mental Health, 2000). But don’t think mom is out of danger. While men tend to be more violent in their attempts, women tend to lead toward pills.

They’re also not talking. Elders are not like teenagers who threaten, make dramatic attempts in order to stopped (subconsciously). Many elders are not comfortable talking about mental illness and so they suffer intense feelings of loss, hopelessness and despair alone–never realizing there is help. They don’t have to feel this way.

Factors that Lead to Suicide: 

• Recent loss of a spouse, loved one, or pet
• Debilitating or life-threatening illness
• Pain, especially if pain is severe, chronic, and/or inescapable
• Loss of independence and/or mobility
• Inability to live alone
• Loss of employment or productive activities
• Financial difficulties
• Depression
• Alcohol abuse and/or dependence
• Loss of role or stature in family and community
• Feelings of hopelessness and helplessness
• Physical, social, and emotional isolation

What are the Warning Signs:

• Statements about death and suicide
• Reading material about death and suicide
• Statements of hopelessness or helplessness (e.g., “I don’t know if I can go on.”)
• Disruption of sleep patterns
• Increased alcohol or prescription drug use
• Failure to take care of self or follow medical orders
• Stockpiling medications
• Sudden interest in firearms
• Social withdrawal or elaborate good-byes
• Rush to complete or revise a will
• Overt suicide threats

How to Help:

• Be aware of your elder’s emotional state
• Be sensitive in times of a new loss, such as the loss of a beloved pet or dear friend
• Consider filtering the news–more negativity about the state of the world, wars, and the economy might not be the best thing for any of us to focus on 
• Make a list of who your elder or spouse is most likely to talk to–a priest or pastor, a close friend, a nurse or doctor they’re closest to–let this person know of your concerns and ask them to listen closely for tell-tale signs.
• If you’re truly concerned, then talk openly about your concerns of depression and the risk of suicide. Don’t think you’ll cause suicide by talking about it. 
• Let them know that their thoughts and feelings are normal, that despair is common, and that there are people who care who can help, that part of their feelings are triggered by life events, but also diseases and medication play into this.
• Let them know you’re not judging them. Life is hard. But this is not an option. You are there to help. There are medications, people to talk to, that their thoughts and feelings can change. Life is full of changes and this situation doesn’t have to stay the same.

I’m Afraid to Broach the Subject:

• They will get angry with me or deny it. So what if they do? This is too important and the risk is worth it. You don’t want all your love, time and caregiving to end this way. You don’t want this blow to hit you and your loved ones.
• I might put the suicidal thoughts into their heads. If your loved one is having suicidal thoughts, then they’ve probably been having them for weeks, months, or even years. For many people, depression is a lifelong battle and this may not be the first time they’ve found themselves in this debilitating emotional state. It is extremely unlikely that a caring question from another would convince a person, whether truly depressed or not, to commit suicide.

• I won’t know what to say. I know, this is tough. Bungle your way through it. Don’t think you’ll handle this perfect. You have no experience (I hope). Your love and emotions will come through no matter what words you are able to get out. It’s not your words that will convince them to get help–it’s your love and concern.

• Suicide greatly affects your life and other family members. Suicide ripples into the fabric of humanity. It’s a devastating blow for those nearby, so do all you can to prevent this tragedy.

• End of life and palliative care (to reduce pain during the last weeks and days of dying) is a different subject. This is a highly controversial area and one that should be handled privately with your “council of elders” (family, chaplainor other faith leader, hospice, etc.).

How to Help Someone Who is Deeply Depressed and May Be Suicidal:

• Be sensitive, honest and straightforward. Come right out and ask:  “Dad, I’ve been worried about you lately. You seem pretty down. I’ve noticed that you aren’t seeing your friends any more, and you’ve talked about not wanting to go on. Would you really want to die?”)
• Listen. After you’ve opened the discussion, then let them talk. Listen–listen all day long, ask questions that will encourage them to continue to talk and open up. Caregiving is more about listening than it is a to-do list.
• Seek help yourself–dealing with someone who is suicidal kicks up all kinds of emotions, particularly if they’re your spouse or parent or other close family member. Talk to your pastor or doctor or call a suicide hotlineand let them know what you’re dealing with. Alzheimer’s Association and other organizations also have great hotlines withpeople who care, who know what it’s like to deal with depression and stress on top of a horrific disease. Reach out.

What If I Find Out They Are Contemplating Suicide:

• Do your homework. Make sure you know about the resources available in your area:
• Check the front of your telephone directory–or the Internet,as well as your local community mental health unit. They often have suicide hotlines and emergency inpatient crisis stabilization units available if the danger of suicide is high.
• Let your elder/spouse’s doctor know. Certain diseases and medications can aggravate the situation.
• A psychologist, psychiatrist or other therapist is another good option but check with your insurance as to what is covered.

Practical Things You Can Do:

• Get the guns out of the house
• Monitor all medications, including your own
• Stay close by. If you’re in a particularly dangerous time, monitor them 24/7 by granny cam/baby monitors
• Take threats serious and cause a fuss–make it unappealing to try again
• Get help immediately if there is an attempt. Don’t worry about embarrassment–this is bigger than that.

YOU need to deal with this in your own life and heart. YOU can’t control what someone else does, so stay with you. Love you. Care for you.

Your goal is to prevent a tragedy. Be aware. Be sensitive. Speakup–this is worth fighting for.

Resources:

www.metanoia.org/suicide/

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

www.save.org/

suicidehotlines.com/

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

Life lessons are everywhere, and I was recently reminded of what it’s like to be a caregiver by my two dogs–Kismet and Rupert. Kizzy (short for Kismet) is an Alaskan Malamute and her son, Rupert who is part lab. (She had a tryst in the front yard before we could stop her). Miracle was, she only had one puppy–so we had to keep him. Miracle number two was that Rupert was born the very week of the anniversary of my mom’s passing.

Recently, I was sitting outside with the two of them, their leashes attached to my lawn chair (they love to romp the neighborhood if set loose), only Kizzy wanted to go inside. It was a cool, there was a breeze, she had a water fountain next to her to drink out of, I was there to pet her and we had a beautiful lake and birds galore to enjoy–but no–she would have none of that. She wanted inside.

Kizzy strained and strained. Whined. Wouldn’t sit down and relax and enjoy being petted or play ball–nothing. Rupert, on the other hand is less stubborn, more easy going by nature, and so he  was sprawled out beside me just as comfortable as he could be.

Both dogs were in the same place, under the same circumstances.

One was miserable. One was content. It was simply an attitude on both of their parts.

As I sat there, I thought of how some caregivers–or care receivers don’t want to be where life has brought them. Whether it’s pleasant or unpleasant isn’t even the point. They simply don’t want to be there. Period. They strain. Whine. Refuse to become a part of their environment and just enjoy the ride.

Others bloom where they’re planted. They adjust, adapt, make new friends, look around,  and figure hey, if they’re going to be there they might as well make the most of it.

Attitude.

I’m not saying that caregiving isn’t hard. Lord knows I know how hard it is. My mom had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s,and in those last three years, I was Kizzy straining on the end of my very short leash.

I know now that I was scared. I was afraid my mother or that caregiving would consume me. I was afraid that if I was okay with it, that I’d never get to leave–or quit. I was afraid I’d never have a moment  to myself. I was afraid I was losing my indepence. Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.

Kismet, by the way, means fate.

I know that at times, I made it harder than it needed to be by not asking for and accepting more help, by realizing what a gift caregiving was (ironic gift), and by not seeing the beauty of where I was in my life. I missed certain opportunities by resisting so hard.  

If you’re miserable, edgy, antsy and irratated, ask yourself why?

At first, it’ll seem obvious–you’re exhausted, frustrated, sleep deprived, and perhaps dealing with a fussy loved one or facing death.

Ask yourself again–why are you miserable?

Keep asking until you get at the heart of the matter.

Ask yourself until you run out of excuses.

Why are you where you are?

Because it’s exactly where you need to be.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated Blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.Kunati.com, Publishers

We avoid thinking about or dealing with death at every turn.

Even caregivers who are caring for their aging parents try not to think about the inevitable end.

Cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, combined with age will eventually claim the lives of those we love. And sadly, by not fully anticipating and participating in this momentous event, we’re left scared, in doubt, and not knowing how to die–or be with someone we love when the time comes.

Who will teacn us? How will we learn?

I recently interviewed a Rachel, a young mother in my community who experienced a tragedy–she lost her two year old little boy, Tyler, in a swimming pool accident.

As I sat with Rachel and listened to her story, I immediately sensed she had wisdom and insight well beyond her years. She’s handled grief with grace, forgiveness, and determination.

My own worries seemed insignificant.

Rachel’s story got me to thinking.

How will we remember our loved ones?

What memorial, statue, headstone or story will honor those who have touched our lives?

While I have nothing against cremation, sometimes people need a place to go–it’s important to create a sanctuary or sorts–a place to be, to pray, to think and meditate. 

A place to remember.

My Daddy is buried in Atlanta, and so this Father’s Day, I’ve had to create a new place for “us” to meet and talk.

I like to spend a few minutes catching up with my daddy about my life.

I have a bench overlooking a lake in my backyard. He would have liked it here. He loved to sit outside and talk.

That’s where I’m headed this Sunday.

\

I’m including an article I recently wrote about Rachel and a place of remembrance for all those who have lost someone they love.

As you read her remarkable story, I’m sure you’ll agree–we can all learn from her–how to love, and how to hope again.

Angels Among Us 

There’s an angel on Amelia Island. The childlike face lifts toward the sky, arms outstretched as though holding something invisible, and bronzed wings gleam against the stark Florida sun. The inscription at the bottom of the statue reads, “Angel of Hope.” It is encircled by a short brick wall and eight benches for seating with a loved one’s name on each one.

I found this “Angel of Hope” one afternoon on a photography/bike trek around the island. I stopped to take a picture and began to read:

The inscription on the back of the statue reads, “The Christmas Box Angel,” and I thought of Richard Paul Evans’ book, The Christmas Box, about a woman who mourns the loss of her child and finds comfort at the base of an angel monument.

At the base of the angel I read, “For all the children” and began to put it together—the benches, the names, the stones lined up at the base, the bouquet of flowers indicating someone had been here. 

This angel is a place of remembrance for families who have lost a child. It’s a sacred gift given by other bereaved parents and is available to anyone who would like to come, sit, and remember. 

I thought of Tyler, a purely sweet loving laid-back two-year old with beautiful big brown eyes, the son of Rachel and Patrick Pennewell. I remembered the day I found out Tyler had suffered a swimming pool accident.

Rachel, his mother told me, “Tyler was our angel. He had a purpose in being here. Sometimes I would just look at him. He was such a calm, knowing soul, and I’d wonder, you know something, don’t you? Some things be understood here on earth.”

After Tyler’s passing, Rachel and Patrick found the community of Nassau to be their angels who sustained them in those early weeks and months when shock turned to grief. 

“I’ll never be able to thank the people at our church and in our community for all they did. How can I ever show them what this meant to us?”

Rachel said it’s so important for bereaved parents to find ways to give back because, “What else can we do? You don’t stop being a parent. You have to find a way to give, and in that giving, your child lives on.”

I asked Rachel how she got to a place of peace.

“Tyler’s life completely transformed the way I saw myself, and that lives on today. He brought such peace into my life, from the moment of conception on; it was as if he had a mission. Patrick and I now have a second child, Hannah, Tyler’s little sister. I promise, Tyler helped pick her out. In so many ways, he’s still with us. He’ll always be with us.”

As I stand in this circle and read the names on each of the benches that surround this angel, I wonder who each one of them are, what their stories are, because it’s our stories that connect us–not the how did-he-die stories–but the deeper question: how did he live?

This Amelia angel creates a circle of hope; the hope and belief that each child’s life, no matter how short of a time they spent on earth, is a gift. If you look closely at the angel’s right wing, you will see the word “hope.”

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us

 and we see nothing but sand;

the angels come to visit us,

and we only know them when they are gone. 

                                                                                                          ~George Elliot

Christmas Box Angels are erected in more than 25 other communities around the world.  http://www.richardpaulevans.com/statue.html

If you’d like to view a photograph of this statue, it’s posted on my website at http://home.comcast.net/~cdodell/ (www.mothering-mother.com) on the Caregiving Tips page.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com Publishers

My Daddy died at the average age men die in the US (78 years old), from the most common disease men die from–heart disease. Yet, Daddy was anything but typical. He was a big teddy bear of a guy who made my world right again.

I was adopted at the age of four years old–and my early years weren’t easy. My birth mother suffered from schizophrenia (severely and eventually permanently hospitalized), and addiction to alcohol and gambling choked all the life out of my birth father. My sister and I lived with my father’s co-dependent/enabler grandmother and was abused by a boarder who lived in her house. Not a great beginning.

I don’t share this with you to make you uncomfortable or to get sympathy points because my life didn’t stay that way. I was adopted and received layer after layer of personal healing and insights that allow me to incorporate this experience into my being.

Healing took a long, long time.

My adoptive Daddy was a big part of that. He was 54 and Mama was 50 when they adopted me. That’s taking a big chance–but it also shows what a void they had to fill.

He died when I was 23 years old. Too young for him to die–and too young for me. But he isn’t really gone.

He has become a part of me now–his songs, his stories, his gestures, his wisdom–I carry him every day.

I can see him just as clear as the first time I ever saw him. I see him just like I did when I was six and playing baseball in the backyard–he was sitting my lawn chair pitcher. I broke his garage window. Don’t know that he got too upset.

I remember the summer we had  contest and ate 38 watermelons. He told me vines were going to shoot out my ears. I hoped it would.

I remember when I was 12 and just starting to like boys–Daddy drove me to the skating rink each Saturday night and picked me up at 11:00. I know he really didn’t want to get dressed and traipse out that late, but he did. I remember when he asked me if that boy kissed me. I lied and said, “No, Daddy.” He knew. I knew. But I couldn’t say the words–not to my dad.

I remember when I brought home countless boyfriends and the disgusting look he’d hide behind his newspaper. No one was ever good enough for his little sweety-pie.

Eventually, one was, and I married him. He loves my dad as much as I do. That’s why we’re still married–he reminds me of that honorable man who changed my life and he’s the daddy to our three girls. His face lights up when his daughters just walk into the room. His face lights up when I walk into the room–that’s why I keep him.

The power of a great dad changes a child’s life. And it keeps changing it. Even after our dads are no longer walking on this earth. Whispered wisdom, needed advice, family traditions and that sense of security never goes away.

I never got to be my dad’s caregiver the way I did with my mom. But I promised him we would take care of her. That promise got me through some rough times.

I hope you enjoy a short excerpt from my forthcoming book, SAID CHILD.

It’s about our night time ritual and coming home after church. (Being raised in church means I have many, many memories of life on the pew). Perhaps this excerpt will spark one of your own favorite memories. The greatest thing we can do for our dads on Father’s Day is simply to remember.

Enjoy!

Excerpt from SAID CHILD:

Daddy slid next to us after his usher and elder duties of collecting and counting the money were complete. We’d all squeeze into the pew making room and he’d have to pull on his coat a few times to get comfortable. He’d reach in his shirt pocket and in one continuous smooth move, a gold package of Butter Rum Life Savers appeared and the fleshy underbelly of my tongue salivated. I got one, he got one and he’d wink. Mama preferred peppermint. Peppermint reminded me of the nausea of backseat card rides.

I’d roll the butter rum disk around in my mouth and hold it vertical between my teeth, my tongue reading the raised letters as if in Braille. I’d lay my head against Daddy’s arm, recognizing the texture of his different suits, and then he’d put his arm around me and poke his finger in my ear. I brush it away and he’d smile without looking at me. I snuggled up waiting for my butter rum Life Saver to dissolve so I could get another one. As the preacher’s words droned on and on, I knew we’d never make it home in time to see the Sunday night Disney movie. We never did. Missing all my favorite TV shows was the worst part to me. I’d have to run a fever or throw-up to get to stay home.

Daddy covered my legs with his jacket and patted me until the sounds and lights muffled, dimming into soft shades of gold as I watched my eyelashes fold again and again, the world now fuzzy and black. I barely remembered most of the car ride home on Sunday nights and Daddy would place me between the cool sheets long after I was too big to be carried, my lanky legs scraping the bed and the quilt slid in place. 

Daddy half-whispered, half-growled, “My baby done gone to sleep, Lord bless my little sweety-pie.”

He’d sing me to sleep and I’d always ask for Mr. Moon.  

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon,

Oh won’t you please shine down on me.

For my life’s in danger and I’m scared to run,

There’s a man behind me with me with a big shot gun,

Oh Mr. Moon, Moon, bright and shinin’ moon, oh won’t you please shine down on me. Boom, boom, boom.

***

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com, publishers

There’s no way to stay in a long-term relationship and not have issues.

Hurts, frustrations, “you weren’t there for me,” “I can’t believe you said that, betrayls and disappointments are all a part of being human.

Whether you’re in a committmed relationship, married, have children, adult children, siblings, and even friends must eventually hit this road block in their relationship.

Yet most people don’t speak up. They get hurt or mad and they don’t say anything–not to the person who they’re mad or hurt at–maybe they complain to someone else, or just stuff it. Then, the relationship begins to wane. It feels like work. You grow apart and you don’t even know why.

We tend to fight with our spouses/significatn others the most.

But we’re not good at it.

If you do fight, you use dirty tactics. Accusations, “you always,” “you never,” you did this, you didn’t do that, and before long you’ve got a tangled history together and whatever issues you had in the beginning–seeds of doubt, hurt, mistrust–they’re all there playing over and over in each new scenario. 

This can cause deep and lifelong issues.

Divorces are so common that they’re barely a blip in a conversation to say a friend got a divorce. No one really asks or wants to know why–and yet those who go through it know that it’s devastating on the heart, head, pocketbook, and most importantly, how you perceive yourself.

How do you stop this cycle?

Two easy steps.

Before I share with you what they are, let me assure you I’m learning how to do this myself.

I have grown daughters and I really don’t want them to hate their mom. I don’t want them to complain about me for years–to everybody else but to me–and then for us to wonder in my old age what went wrong. I don’t want their emotional pockets filled with boulders of hurt, disappointment and frustration.

So, I took a big deep gulp and called one of my daughters today.

I apologized for an issue I’d heard was bothering her. I took accountability.

Then, I asked her that in the future she tell me when she’s hurt or frustrated with me.

I told her that I had blamed my own mother for emotional “crap: for years. I had griped and whined and didn’t let go over things that really didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. I should have let her off the hook and I didn’t. Eventually yes, we came to a place of peace but I carried around those stones for far too long.

I asked my daughter to come to me. I gave her permission to approach me when I’m irratating.

I told her that I want to become a better person–a better mother–and how can I do that if she doens’t let me know what’s hurtful or frustrating? I told her that I dearly loved her and I wanted a healthy realtionship with her.

It took her off guard. Most people I know don’t have this conversation often enough–if at all.

I learned it primarily from life–from living long enough to have a few regrets. I don’t want regrets, hurts, and disappointments to plague my life and mind. I want to lighter, free-er and more joyful–and I can’t get there without letting go of a few things along the way.

I was crying by the time I got through. It was vulnerable and scary–but I really, really want to have a good relationship on my daughters based on respect, love, and tenderness toward one another. I also need to be thier role model as a woman, wife, mother, and friend.

So here it is in a nutshell–IMPROVE YOUR RELATIONSHIP IN TWO EASY STEPS:

1.     I ask you, give you permission to tell me when I”m being difficult, frustrating, or I’ve hurt or disappointed you.

2.     The easiest way I know to do this is to start the conversation by….”It really hurt when you _________.” I felt so _______________ when you did that. Next time please _______________.

**********************

It sounds so simple, but it’s so scary!

I also told her that if she didn’t come out and say something by the end of 90 days I was going to ask her because I’m sure that I can irratate anybody by the end of 90 days.

Author and speaker Jack Canfield wrote about doing this in his book, The Success Principles. I would eat that book, digest it and live by it if I could. It’s such a Bible of personal integrity, purpose, and meaning that’s rare, particularly in the media world.

Jack said that he asks his wife at the end of each week (as well as his co-workers–and he owns a MAJOR company) on a scale of 1-10, how was he this week–as a husband? Boss?

After that he asks, “How can I make it a 10?”

That takes guts. I’m impressed.

We’re so afraid of being criticized that we don’t realize that’s how we grow and change.

Whether you’re a caregiver, an adult child, an elder parent, a spouse or sibling, I encourage you to take this little two-step script, print it off if you have to, and have this very important conversation. It’s vital when you’re dealing with end of life issues, when you return to care for your family and all your tangled history is in your face and your life agaiin. Don’t wait until it’s too late.

And it doesn’t mean everything can be fixed. Or that you should try to make someone happy all the time.

This is meant to open the dialogue. To understand each other–not as a giant wish list. Sometimes boundaries and respect are what’s really the goal.

Let’s heal old wounds. Forgive. And make new choices about how we treat each other.

I plan to follow through. This wasn’t a “Mom’s feeling all sentimental” moment. I want to brave enough and big enough to forge healthy relationships.

I want to be so light by the time I die I just float into eternity. (sappy, I know!)

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com Kunati Publishers, Winner of ForeWord’s Small Publisher of the Year Award

Caregiving isn’t always sweet and sentimental. Caregiver relationships are as complicated as everybody else’s. What happens if you need to/are asked to care give someone who has hurt you deeply?

I met a woman at a book club once and her face revealed her suffering. She shared that her husband had late stage Parkinson’s and she was basically housebound and caring for him 24/7. She looked beyond exhausted.

She also shared that she probably should have left him years ago.

Sometimes we stay. For the kids. For the security. Because we were too chicken to leave. Now it’s too late. We need to finish what we started.

I understand. I’ve lived long enough and have been married long enough to understand how very complicated things get.

My “book club” lady shared she really didn’t love him any more. He had killed that long ago.

I didn’t ask, but many times relationships are mangled beyond repair.

Repeated infidelity. Addictions. Isolation and control. Verbal or physical abuse.

There are things we never tell anyone.

I’ve volunteered in shelters, counseled couples, and have found that the deepest hurts usually go unsaid.

***

So why do it? Why care give someone who you simply can’t love any more?

Why stay? You may only have a few years left yourself.

Each person has to figure that out for themselves.

Sometimes it’s not that black and white. Yes, there are hurts. And no, you don’t feel anything for that person, but you have your reasons. Maybe it’s in part how you need to see yourself.

So you stay.

How do you love someone who has hurt you?

Don’t try to make yourself love them.

Don’t feel guilty.

Don’t try to look noble.

Do what you can.

Choose a path of integrity.

Caregiving isn’t about the person who is ill, aged or infirmed. It’s about you.

Decide who you want to be, regardless of them.

Mentally and emotionally separate yourself. You’re still giving them good care.

Trust your good heart.

Practicing a faith can bring you deep comfort.

Know that forgiveness can be as basic as wishing them no harm.

Even if they’re still hateful, vindictive and cruel, if you choose to stay then it’s on your terms.

If you can, if you choose to, place them in a care facility. You’re still being responsible. You’re still watching out for them. You don’t have to humiliate yourself and continue to be demeaned. They chose their path. You choose yours.

Find your place of peace.

Detach when you need to. Methodical caregiving can still be good caregiving.

Begin to nurture yourself. Your dreams. Reward yourself for what you’ve chosen to do if you believe it’s the right thing to do.

Duty. Responsibility. Integrity. These are important words our culture has all but forgotten.

Choose a higher path.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

www.mothering-mother.com