Missing my wise friend

Funny to think of someone in the later stages of Alzheimer's wise, I suppose. But then, what do you think of when you think of a wise person? It's probably not someone who talks incessantly about themselves, or adds comments constantly, or interrupts you. To me, the image of a wise person is someone who listens well, someone who is quiet, pays attention, stops you only for necessary clarification, and inevitably leads you to the answer through your own thought process, not theirs. Hmm, see, I would say I just described Vera.When my children were little, she became my sounding board. For years before that, my own grandmother had been my sounding board, but around the time that I met Vera, my grandfather had recently died, and my grandmother had become a shadow of her former self, no longer someone I could burden with big decisions or problems. Vera was an easy replacement because she listened just as well as my grandmother and I felt instantly comfortable talking to her. But what happens when both people who would listen unjudgementally leave your life for good? Well, you are left with a void. There are days I feel it keenly, days I would do anything to have a few minutes with Vera or my grandma to talk an idea or a problem out. I wonder if it supposed to be a natural progression into adulthood not to have that older, wiser person to look to. But still, life gets much more complicated at this point, so I doubt that. So, I wait, holding my breath, till I find someone who will step into the role of wise old friend. Till then, I think I'll flounder a bit longer.

Oat Fudge bars and other fond memories

This past week my husband seemed to be a.w.a.l, busy curling all week in a competition. I don’t understand curling, or his love for it, but I do understand now how exhausting being a single parent would be and I only have 2 kids! Vera had 6! I can’t imagine how Vera would able to cope if her husband had to work late for even one evening! Always good to have Vera-perspective in my mind when I’m feeling burnt out!

By the end of the week my husband was back again, but my patience was shot. In an attempt to save myself from my kids, I called on my babysitter whom I love for how awesome she is with my kid. (and because I used to babysit her so that makes her even more special to me) She came and played all evening with my kids while my husband and I took a well needed break just the 2 of us. Really, all I wanted was a quiet coffee and time to catch up, so we went to Starbucks since its our local haunt, comfy and familiar. I asked my husband to pick a treat that we could share and he chose the Oat fudge bar. I sat staring at that bar for some time. Weird how something as simple as a dessert can suddenly bring back a whole ton of memories.

 Vera and I went out every Monday for a date to Starbucks and her favorite treat, hands down, was the fudge bar. It’s nice and sweet, and easy to eat – a must when your memory is failng – trust me. Every week I’d order the same – one tall bold, one tall awake tea and an oat fudge bar. Many times the barrista would simply charge for the drinks, smiling kindly at Vera and wishing her well every single week - such a simple act of kindness. All the staff got to know Vera and ask how she was doing, even when she wasn’t around. They would be concerned for her if they hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks. When she passed away they all expressed their sympathy.

Every week when Vera and I were there, there was another man and his son that came at the same time as well. It was interesting for both of us. This man, I found out later, is a writer, and his son, I would guess, has autism. He’s a  really cool kid – always reading like crazy and talking about everything on his mind to his dad. His dad took the time to answer every single question the kid had. Sitting with Vera it was interesting to watch his constant animated discussion with his son, and it honestly helped when my conversation with Vera became repetitive as she would ask the same questions over and over of me. Somehow, the man and his son would give me the energy I needed at times to have a lovely and enjoyable visit with Vera.

Hmm, and this is why I was a little quiet on our date that evening! Oh well, quiet can be good.

Joys of the Dentist

I am sitting at my computer, glad my trip to the dentist is done. I hate getting cavities filled. I can sit through a general cleaning, but beyond that I'm not a fan of the dental chair.

 It actually went surprisingly well today, and as I was thinking about this on the way home, I started thinking about all of the trips Vera and I made to her dentist. To be honest, I loved those days. Vera lived by the lake in Burlington, and the dentist is in Waterdown.  So, we had a lovely ride to and from the dentist that would take us about 20 minutes each way. There was a particular strip of road that every time we drove on it, Vera would recall memories of her father taking them for drives in the country. She would reminisce about these days, each time revealing just maybe a tiny bit more about her past to me.

 I will say that the dental visit was part of the road trip I'm sure both of us would like to gloss over - and it was one of the few times Vera's failing memory was a wonderful asset for her. What we did walk away talking about each time we went to the dentist was how important moments with your family are. It is surprising how they lurk in your deepest darkest memory for years to come. It would always remind me how important it is to spend time with my own kids, and try to be less busy, focusing instead on enjoying them as they grow. Fun thoughts I'm sure all stemming from a cavity!

a simple love story

I live on a little street that I have grown to love. We walk the next door neighbours dog. The family around the corner goes to the same church as us. There's a little culdasac off our small street where the annual Canada day party is thrown every year for the block. I can't imagine moving - even though at times our house seems way too tiny for our growning family.

One family routinely opens their house to neighbourhood gatherings, and a couple days ago my husband and I went there to have some very yummy Dutch donuts. (I'd spell it, but i think I'd have a ton of Dutch friends rolling their eyes at my atrocious spelling!!) While I was sitting enjoying the treat, I found myself talking to the oldest resident on our street. Since we've lived here, we've watched his wife pass away, and his general decline. It's very sad. It seems like he needs more help than he is getting, but after talking to him, I realized his decision to stay in his house is somewhat of a love story. He and his wife moved into this house many, many years ago. She loved it - it is higher up on a hill and overlooks the street a bit. He hated it - it has no garage, no fireplace, and not much of a backyard. But, he bought the house for his wife. Now that his wife is gone, he can't imagine moving from the house. It is way too much work for him, and he does need more care than what family and government assisted programs offer. But, to a man with a failing memory, his deepest, strongest memories of life are what he holds onto right now. Of course its sad watching from our perspective, but there's something sweet about the way he talks about it too.