My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
Often when we went to see her neurologist and I talked to him about Cheryl seeing things or we saw the nurse practitioner and had similar conversations, he spoke of sensing a presence nearby. For the past few weeks that Cheryl has been away I have had that same sense of her nearby. It occurs mostly in the morning when I awaken. The sense of her is not always there but it is often there.
I admitted that to myself and others when we met for our support group meeting last night. The concept is hard to describe. There is something about being sensate to this world and being aware of our presence in it that implies to me an additional sense of soul. If there is a soul who is to say two souls cannot touch each other. They could become entangled and affect each other. Why not?
Yesterday I did not sense any of this presence of her. When I went to visit she was deeply asleep. No amount of talking or kissing of ears would awaken her. In the evening when I was home alone after my second visit I felt disconnected. Something was missing. I have no idea what but I felt or did not feel something. It was an emptiness and maybe a little anxiety because whatever it was, it was not there.
On this morning I felt her. I was certain she was awake and aware. When I went to visit, she looked at me and smiled. Maybe it is just fifty-three years of marriage. Maybe it is just a comfortable familiarity and an expectation that she will be with me in the morning. Perhaps it is just a pleasant dream of her that I am waking from. Perhaps it is what is referred to in the Star Wars movies as the force. I like to think there is an ethereal connection between us. We are eternally connected souls. Maybe a quantum connection exists.
Yesterday her end of the connection was off. Today it was not.
This morning my thoughts turned to ice cream. Cheryl and I often went out for ice cream in the evening. In two smaller suburbs there was a Dairy Queen in one – she likes Oreo Blizzards – and Aglemessis Bros. which is a small local ice cream and confectionery. She likes black raspberry chocolate chip.
There is a very good story about the second store. many years ago when Cheryl was still working one of her coworkers would have what she referred to as “Grandma’s Camp”. She invited the grandchildren to stay with her for a week in the summer individually so that she could get to know each child without the distraction of the others and the bigger family around that would be there during big family gatherings. Cheryl decided that this was a good, bordering on great idea.
Audrey, Anna’s third child, stayed with us during this episode of our life adventure when she was about seven years. I am unsure exactly how old she was but it suffices to say she was a young child. She was a very early reader which became apparent when I took her with me to visit my mother at the independent living situation she was staying in to help organize her meds for another week. Audrey read some of the names of the medications and was asking me what various ones were for. Mom took a bunch of stuff.
Afterward I took her to Aglemessis Bros. for ice cream. This store has an old fashioned soda fountain style counter in it that you can sit at and watch the folks (soda jerks) dish up the ice cream and sodas. We sat there. There is a big board on the wall listing all of the flavors and other less important information about price. There is also a menu of sundaes and other goodies in addition to a display case for various chocolate delights and chunky chocolate all sold buy the pound. It is a chocoholic addict’s downfall. Audrey looked up at the board and said to me, ” Grampaw, they have chocolate chocolate chip!” I responded yes they do and you can probably get hot fudge on top if you want that also. I did not know at the time that my granddaughter was a chocolate fan like me. (It makes me smile inside when I recall this experience.)
I think she got chocolate sauce on her two scoops of double chocolate chip ice cream as did I and we sat with satisfaction as we ate and watched the activity behind the counter. I suppose that is why I particularly enjoyed bringing Cheryl to the Aglemessis store. It always reminds me of this story. I think tomorrow perhaps I will see if I can bring Cheryl some black raspberry chocolate chip ice cream from there.
From a precocious, chocolate loving, early reading, intelligent young girl to a beautiful young woman, when I think of Cheryl and I going to Aglemessis Bros. for ice cream, I think of Audrey and chocolate chocolate chip.
It is interesting and nostalgic to find a pile of random objects in your sock drawer and ask yourself – why did I keep this? Looking for something else I found a pile of these random printed things that I had kept over the years. The why for many of these is obvious. Most are cards that express love for me from Cheryl. I know why I kept them. Neither of us has been very poetic, romantic or good at expressions of love to each other. I mean that in the literary sense. We have always expressed our love for each other.
The employees at Hallmark and American Greetings are expert at expressing emotional thoughts. Cheryl would write Paul or To my dear husband at the top of the verse and sign below with simply Cheryl. I know why I kept them. I kept them because when I read them now I hear her voice. She is so much better than I am at marking life events with a card.
Sometimes things mark the first of some event, so, it is necessary to keep a record. In this particular pile is an old scorecard from a golf game I played with a friend from work. Circled on the card and highlighted with arrows is a “3” scored on a par four hole on an old Cincinnati golf course. The notation is “the first birdie for Gerbs” and the card is attested to by Rick Hilt.
I play golf very little these days. I still enjoy a round with my sons or grandson but it is no longer a passion as it once was. My very first round of golf I played with my father and my brother long ago on Blue Ash golf course. The course was brand new. It had only nine holes. My brother had chased his job to Florida but was back for a visit. It was a special occasion and I had asked for a day off from work to play. Bill gave me his driver, a tee and a ball and said, “Just swing it around a bit and get loose. When you are ready to hit, just think smooth.” I can still hear him say that. I was young, skinny and inexperienced.
The teeing area was elevated slightly but across the front of the tee was a riff in the landscape that drained the land in a rainstorm. The landing area for the experienced drivers began one hundred and fifty yards to the fore. The landing area for the hackers was the riff. The pressure to stay away from the dry weedy creek bed was great. As I approached the ball with my brother’s driver he said to me, “Remember. Smooth just think smooth.” I kept thinking smooth as I took the club head back. Being inexperienced and skinny I was unsure of grip and other nuances to send the ball rapidly into the hackers paradise below. As I swung the club forward I stayed with his advice, smooth.
I am sure it happened too fast but as I think about it, it is all in slow motion in my memory. The club impacted the ball squarely through the bottom of the arc. My body followed it around and through. As I lifted my eyes to follow the ball on its flight, it moved straight away from me for twenty or thirty yards of flight and then gently rose and headed to the experienced drivers landing area away from the surrounding clover, the weedy creek bed and the trees. It struck the ground two hundred or so yards from me and ran up the slight grade of the short grass for another fifty yards into the heal of the slight dogleg left fairway.
I was ecstatic and proud of my effort as I handed my brother his driver back and asked, “Like that?” He grabbed his club and switched to competition mode. My brother Bill was a scratch golfer and an excellent Bridge player through most of his life. He said, “Why don’t you have your own sticks?” He approached his ball and hit a very fine drive and when his ball stopped out in the fairway it was only a few feet beyond mine. It was the best drive from the tee that I ever hit playing golf. I had almost out drove my big brother. He felt the need to compete with me. It was a good day although that was it for my first golf game. I was in hacker’s paradise for the rest of the round.
In another handwritten letter, I have been “ripped a new one” by the mother of a child that played on a soccer team with my daughter. I kept it all these years for a couple reasons. It was the first time I have been ripped a new one in such elegant cursive and her reasoning did not carry any weight after my daughter pointed out that her daughter was an only child.
Memories like this come flooding back as I hold various objects from my very own junk drawer.
I still see Linda and occasionally talk to her because she is a dear friend of our neighbor Jane. They are both gardeners and talk often. Jane has had several bouts with lymphoma in her life. During a couple of these Linda called me and asked if I had seen Jane. How was she doing? And so forth. My response was to knock on Jane’s door and ask her to please call Linda. Linda was worried.
I do not know if she remembers the soccer incident.
There is a completely random collection of matchbooks from my old days of smoking. I suppose I was worried about running out of lights for my cigars and cigarettes. These were originally ensconced in a decorative water pitcher that resided on top of our hope chest in the bedroom. About two years ago our granddaughter was visiting and during part of that visit Cheryl began routing through the hope chest for something. When they were done the pitcher was put inside the chest. (This was probably another presentation of Cheryl’s slipping mental acuity.)
Some of the match boxes and packs evoke memories of times past. French Lick Springs resort is a wonderful memory. Cheryl and I went there early in our lives. It was part of Sheraton Hotels at the time and it was still just that, a resort hotel with a golf course and tennis and a built in nightclub. Meals were included in the room price. If your round of golf was scheduled over the luncheon hour, a call to the kitchen provided a box lunch on the cart when you appeared at the clubhouse. There were two swimming pools but the one immediately adjacent to the hotel had a roll back cover so that it could be used in winter and in the summer months was reserved for adults only. I remember sitting next to Cheryl poolside dangling my feet in the water and a guy approached in a jacket and bow tie and asked if I would like a drink. I ordered a gin and tonic. Cheryl ordered rose wine. I signed the check with my room number. It was elegant and chic.
For dinner one evening we ordered a Caesar salad. The head waiter prepared it table side and made the dressing there in front of us. At another time after dinner we ordered cherries jubilee. It too was prepared table side with a little flair and elegance as the sherry is set on fire and the alcohol is burned off. It is not the same as a time share.
There are several restaurants represented. There are also several packs of matches from the wedding of Diane and Ron. I wonder who they are.
There is a stack of old credit cards and ID badges from several work situations. My old Xavier University student ID is there as well as a luggage tag made from an old business card. We keep these items, I do anyway, because they are pieces of a life. They are memories to remember.
They are nostalgic. I do not keep bad memories in my junk drawer. A couple of those are on full display in my office atop my computer. There are good remembrances there too.
(A beginning of a new life and the ending of an old one.)
This holiday season marks the beginning of a new phase in our life. “We’re in this love together” popped up on the Spotify playlist as I started to write my thoughts. Cheryl and I are in this love together and forever.
For the past few weeks I have been organizing, sorting and cleaning our living space. I have gotten rid of multiple copies of old emails and address lists. I have meticulously gone through rubber banded stacks of old Christmas cards and retrieved pictures, snapshots and photographs. The work has been tiring and emotionally draining. Old photos bring back fond memories and nostalgic remembrances of good times. And some old photos do not. Those photographs distract me into detective mode. (Who is that person? Why were we there?) Even with those questions hovering in the background of my mind I think, look how young we were once. How did we get here?
This year has been a tumultuous one with both love and mental chaos, physical challenges, extra equipment and extra medical help as Cheryl’s Parkinson and dementia seemed to overwhelm her and me. Her good days became fewer. Now, today, Thursday, December 28th, my sister Laura’s birthday, Cheryl is staying in the Harbor memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe. How we got here is a story about the agonizingly slow progression of Parkinson’s disease and the mental toll it takes on many of its victims. It is also a story of how it slowly came to me that although I thought my love could conquer all, there is strong evidence that extra hands and expertise were needed. It is a story for another day.
This holiday period is very different. About two weeks before the Thanksgiving Day holiday Cheryl moved into the Harbor. A week and a half later as I took her to David’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, she was resistant to getting out of Bridgeway Pointe to go to David’s house. After that experience I told the kids and extended family that any more celebrations we had to take to Cheryl. We should not expect her to go to them. (It is too hard for her and for her husband.) Cheryl had settled into Bridgeway Pointe in a fashion that I had not expected.
The rest of the holiday dinners and celebrations I attended without Cheryl by my side. I visit Cheryl every day. The kids visit on many days. Her brothers and sisters and friends visit when they can. It is different. I do not know what I was expecting or what I want it to be, all that I know is, that it is different. There is something missing for me at the celebrations. I think that something is Cheryl’s spirit, her smile, her glee watching the kids open presents, catching up on family or simply delight in the moment. “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone?” – these words are from an old song.
From here at this moment in time we begin anew. I do not know what our new life will bring but it will be better for us.
Ennui is a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement according to the Oxford entry that pops up when one pokes this word into Google. I have several dictionaries in print form. They are left over from my high school and college days. My copy of the American Heritage Dictionary (copyright 1971) defines it as a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of interest (boredom). It is a small word that conveys a big emotion.
This word was part of the Quordle this morning. I did not get it. It is not part of my regular vocabulary. It is adopted into the English language from the French. The French have a lot of good words that are adopted into English. Altruism or the root of that word is another. Entrepreneur is another.
Words are a fascination for me. I think this word, ennui, is an excellent description of how and what I feel emotionally when I get home from visiting Cheryl at Bridgeway Pointe.
Moving forward from this point I will strive to become more engaged in life around me. Look for things to stimulate my interest. Succumb to various fascinations that I have about the world. Immerse myself in new vistas of my environment.
These last ideas are antonyms to ennui. Introspection is useful. Self-absorption is not. Perhaps I have been too self-absorbed to understand and accept emotional help from those around me.
I will meditate about that today. My son has invited me for dinner.
Adjunct_Wizard 