Sunflowers for Father’s Day ~ Gatherings from Ireland # 167

I was going to give Father’s Day a skip this year ~ after all, this is my third Father’s Day since Dad died and there’s always that sense that one should ‘move on,’ whatever that means!

I was doing a spot of shopping yesterday at Ardkeen Stores in Waterford and as I made for the groceries, two huge sunflowers sat in a vase on the counter of the florist’s section. I carried on, though made sure I didn’t spend all my money on groceries!

Sunflowers are synonymous with Dad, given his love of Van Gogh, colour, nature and basking in the sun.

The sunflowers seemed to be looking at me with the most appealing eyes when I was passing them on the way out with a trolley full of locally grown fruit and vegetables. I edged over towards them and it suddenly hit me that father and I had shared over 50 Father’s Days. Surely this stands for a lot more than three without him?

At first I was going to buy just one of the great big yellow blooms ~ to symbolise Dad. But the woman in the shop said: The one that’s left is going to be lonely, you know. Why not take the pair? I’ll give you a good deal.

When I ventured down to the kitchen this morning, all I could do was smile when I saw the sun glinting through the yellow petals.

Thoughts of Dad ~ Gatherings from Ireland # 161

Dad in the 1970s

June 10 was always special ~ Dad’s birthday ~ and it’s still special, even though it’s almost three years since he died.  He was very much on my mind yesterday when I was doing some weeding and all sorts of things, especially his words of wisdom,  came flashing into my mind.  Here’s ten for June 1o:

# 1. ‘ There is no excuse for you ever to say “I’m bored.” Appreciate all the world has to offer.

# 2. ‘ Sit on wet grass and you’ll pay for it.’

# 3. ‘ Never argue with a bloody eejit.’

# 4. ‘ Always try to have a dictionary within reach.’

# 5. ‘ The relationship between healthy bank balances and signs of wealth is not as simple as you might think.’

# 6. ‘ A smile is the best make-up I know .’

# 7. ‘ If you get one good photograph after a day’s shooting, you’re doing well.

# 8. ‘ This isn’t something we can’t solve.’

# 9. ’ There’s a point when trying to see the positives in disasters becomes ridiculous.’

# 10. ‘ You never forget the people you love.’

End-of-Life Choices: Holding on and Letting Go

Reblogged from Loss, Grief, Transitions and Relationship Support:

End-of-Life Choices: Holding on and Letting Go.

This post on 'End-of-Life Choices: Holding on and Letting Go' addresses many of the key questions that so many of us have faced in relation to caring for people we love as they neared the end of their lives and I have no doubt that thousands and thousands are grappling with them right now. It offers us all a timely reminder to remember that death is inevitable for us all and that we need, though may not want, to talk about it.

Courage and Bravery ~ Gatherings from Ireland # 153

I am often baffled by people’s courage and bravery and  my mother’s fortitude in coping with very significant physical problems in the five years before her death is a typical example. Just a few months before she died, I wrote a poem about her and the last three lines were as follows:

You’ve kept some dreams and memories locked away

Inside your heart; the key to your courage

And optimism; the seed beneath the clay.

A few months after she died I came across a composition on Bravery  that she had written, at the tender age of 13, in 1934.  It was like a key that shed light on her courage that I had admired so much. This is what she wrote in her still childish writing:

Bravery

Bravery is not merely a great gift, as many people imagine. One of the greatest forms of bravery is conquering fear. To set one’s teeth and say: ‘I will be brave,’ whether it is a child who is afraid of the dark, or a soldier about to risk his life.

The child or the soldier who knows no fear is not half as brave as the one who is in mortal fear and yet conquers it.

Some people are naturally courageous, while others are timid. One of the most cowardly things for a human to do is for the naturally brave to mock the naturally timid. Generally one does not recognise the nature of the other, and so this occurs thousands of times a day to the misery of the timid victim.

Bravery is seen as much, if not more, in women than men, though it is generally not recognised.

Many animals are very brave, especially intelligent ones like horses and dogs, and many stories have been written and sung about them. Horses have galloped for aeons through every sort of peril to save their master or mistress. It might be a forest fire, or perhaps through gunfire and shells.  ‘Canons to the right of them, canons to the left of them, rode the six hundred.’ The horses as well as the men must have been courageous and faithful to the core in this dreadful charge.

There is no one who has not an opportunity for bravery nearly every day of their life, and it is the insignificant and uncomplaining folk who are generally braver than the people who go about bragging of all the deeds they have done.

Today marks the fourth anniversary of Mother’s death and I feel incredibly fortunate to have so many of her writings ~ both serious and highly humorous ~ to keep me thinking, laughing and loving.

Mother and Tiffin
in the 1980s.

Lifelines and Losing Elderly Parents

Bluebells, Curraghmore, Co. Waterford
Photo: Frank Tubridy

May 26th is a date that will probably stay in my memory forever as it marks one of the most difficult days of my life.

On this day four years ago, it seemed like I was about to lose both my elderly parents within hours of each other. In hindsight, I think it would have been fitting if they had left this world together as they were so united but back in 2009 when ‘the nightmare’ was unfolding it felt like the end of the world.

In short, Mother was in hospital for tests that would probably have ended in her having to be tube fed ~ not the end of the world but certainly not something that she would have wanted. Father had a severe heart attack and was deemed to be dying. Mother was told that Father was dying and she had a stroke from which she died 5 days later. Father survived the heart attack and lived on for a further 16 months during which he and I shared lots of intense father-daughter moments, hours, weeks, glances, tears, laughs, music and poetry…..

This morning, I went to Newtown Wood which seemed to recognise my sadness, and I won’t deny for a moment that I am sad today. However, the beauty of the Wood, which is carpetted with bluebells and the singing of the birds, was so heightened that it turned the sadness and pain into heightened wonder of the healing powers of nature, which meant so much to Mother and Father too.

As I have said so often before, there is no easy way to lose beloved elderly parents ~ and the road can be strewn with what seem like ‘end of the world’ days, like this one, for me, in 2009.

But, from my experience one can be shocked, too, by the extent to which ‘ beginning of the world’ things can happen, too, at terrible times. For example, on that evening in 2009 when I eventually came home from the hospital, knowing that Mother was dying and not too sure about how Father would fare, I found our family doctor sitting in the kitchen drinking tea with my husband. He knew that I would be ‘in bits’ and took the trouble to be here for us all when I arrived home an exhausted and emotional wreck. To me, that is the essence of caring and pure heart and I will forever be indebted to him.

May I leave you with another photograph, taken by my father, and one which Mother always loved.

Sheep at Evening in Co. Waterford
Photo: Frank Tubridy

Rhubarb and Maytime ~ Gatherings from Ireland # 137

Stewed Irish Rhubarb in Mother’s dish for her Grandson’s Supper

If you are a regular, you will know that I write about ‘losing elderly parents’  as well as all sorts of things relating to Ireland.   May is probably the most complex month in the year for me as it saw both the birth of our son, nearly eighteen years ago, on May 24th, and the death of mother, almost four years ago, on May 31st. And, it turned out, May 24th was the last time I saw my beloved mother and father together.

This afternoon, I went to the supermarket and the one thing that jumped into the trolley was fresh Irish rhubarb. When I was pregnant, back in 1995, I developed an absolute passion for rhubarb, especially rhubarb pie. The ‘pie’ bit became a bit of an issue between me and my kindly doctor and he advised that stewed rhubarb would be my best option.

This evening, I ended up cooking stewed rhubarb and thinking about how often my father talked about when ‘ one door closes, another opens.’  That’s exactly how May feels, on this Public H9liday Monday, especially as the luscious fragrance of stewed rhubarb wafts all round the house.

Being a Bridge for our Elderly Parents

I have been reading a good deal of what people have said about ageing and two quotes resonate particularly strongly with me and I find myself come back to them over and over. Here they are:

Those who love deeply never grow old; they may die of old age, but they die young.

( Sir Arthur Wing Pinero)

In spite of illness, in spite even of the arch enemy, sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual  date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.

(Edith Wharton)

I suspect many of us know of elderly couples who have lived long and and fulfilling lives together ~ maybe 50 or 60 years ~ and then one dies, leaving the survivor with immense sadness and grief.  The wonder often is how the surviving spouse holds on to life and doesn’t slip away from the shock and sheer upset of losing the person who has been so fundamental to his/her life.

This is a context in which I feel that grown-up children can have a major role to play. They are, by definition, a major link between their parents and while nobody will ever fill the place of the partner who has died, the grown-up child  can be a person who helps to keep memories alive, can empathize with the sense of loss because they too are grieving for the loss of the parent. This is a time of heightened emotion for both the surviving parent and the grown-up child and is one in when many layers of life may be peeled back ~ with a sharing of tears, memories of happy times, and exchanges about times spent with the partner/parent who has passed.

The vacuum left by the passing of one elderly parent can be immense but it seems important never to underestimate human resilience, even in the face of illness and what Edith Wharton describes as the arch enemy, sorrow. 

I see grown-up children as being crucial bridges in helping elderly parents, and especially those who have lost their lifelong partner, to adapt to change, retain  intellectual curiosity, be interested in big things and  be happy in small ways.  This is a time for grown-up children to use their imaginations and navigational skills and find the necessary bridges to ensure that their parents can mazimize the quality of  relating to what really inspires them.  This is a time to think of all the senses ~ taste, touch, hearing, seeing, smelling.

The possibilities are endless and ‘quality of life’ is about loving, being loved and knowing that there is always hope of  happiness and the sharing of  precious moments.

The Shock of Losing an Elderly Parent

The other day, one of the search terms that led to my blog read: Death of elderly parent expected but still a shock. 

There’s all sorts of ways of looking at this but I know exactly what the writer meant.  It’s strange but I’m nearly reluctant to write this post as I am acutely aware that the shock involved in sudden deaths, especially of young people, is immense and possibly qualitatively different than the shock involved in losing an elderly parent who has been ‘expected’ to die for maybe years or months.

However, I have known the shock to which this writer is referring and I think it is important to acknowledge and heighten awareness of it.

I’m sure most of us know of people whose parents have been ill and ‘at death’s door’ for a very long time and when we hear the news of their eventual deaths, it comes as no great surprise.  Often, the wonder is, How could they have lasted so long?

When that person is YOUR mother or father, however old, their dying is a shock. In fact, I would say that the oftener an elderly parent has diced with death and survived, the more it can seem like they are invincible.

I have vivid recall of a conversation I had with a chaplain on the day before my mother died. He talked of Lazarus and I just said that I thought my mother had probably outdone Lazarus at that stage as she had ‘picked up her bed and walked’  on numerous occasions when she had been ‘written off’ ~ to use a great expression of hers. To the best of my knowledge Lazarus only did this once. 

As I see it, the shock in the eventual passing of an elderly parent is all bound up with what seems like gaping finality.  This person, who has been around all our lives and who has, if we are fortunate, supported us through thick and thin, known and understood all our foibles and our whole life history, is no longer the breathing, loving mainstay that they were. We now see them in a way that we have never seen them before, lifeless, silent, waxen.

No matter how much  we feel prepared for, or visualise this moment, and it can be a long, long moment, it still comes as a major shock to the system.

To my mind, the biggest help is being supported by people who understand the nature of this shock and who don’t try to belittle it in any way.

The world is a different place without the physical presence of a beloved parent, however old he/she is at the time of death. The world seems much less secure and the very foundations of life shudder.

On the positive side, beloved elderly parents tend to leave a strong legacy that is like a well of history, precious moments, wisdom and memories that will help to put our personal worlds back on their axes.

The Place of Honesty in relating to Elderly Parents

Honesty in Bloom

Years ago, I took a slip of Honesty from my parent’s garden and over the past few days it has come into full bloom  in the front beds of my garden now ~  strong purple blossoms  with the promise of silvery dried flowers throughout the depths of Winter.

Every time I look at it, I think of how ‘honesty’ became more and more of an issue as my parent’s health declined in their latter years.

Some people hold the view that you should ‘tell people straight’ as long as they are compos mentis.  To me, the situation is not as cut and dried as this. For example, what do you do if your ‘compos mentis’ mother says: ‘ I don’t ever want anyone to mention the word “stroke” again. Please make sure everyone knows that? 

Or, what if your ‘supposedly ‘non-compos mentis’ father says: ‘ The most important thing is that we tell each other the truth. Once that’s gone, you just don’t know what to believe.’ 

As I look back now, I can vividly recall all sorts of moments when I did battle with honesty, sins of omisson, white lies and the truth.

I’m not sure that there are any perfect answers to any of this but I feel there are some guidelines that can  be of use:

1. Respect the wishes of each individual in terms of what they say they want to hear in relation to ‘the truth.’

2. Weigh up the implications of ‘telling the truth’ versus some other approach in relation to each situation that arises.

3. Consider whose interests are being served by ‘telling the truth.’

4. In the event that a parent has memory issues but still wants to be told the truth, think through whether honesty is the best policy, especially if others are likely to tell a totally different version, doing what they consider to be ethical and in the best interests of the older person.

One thing is certain,  there is far less clarity around ‘honesty’ than there is in the defining colour of the lovely blossoms that are swaying in the gentle breeze in my garden today.

What are your views/experiences in relation to this delicate matter?

What to Say (and Not to Say) to a Person who has Lost an Elderly Parent

So many search terms that lead to my blog are about how to communicate with someone who has lost an elderly parent.  Here’s my very simple advice based on both my own experience and reading around the topic.

1. It is important to acknowledge the loss and perhaps the best way to do this is to say: I was very sorry to hear that your mother/father died.  ( I don’t think there’s any point avoiding words like ‘died’ or ‘death.’ )

2. If you knew the parent who died, it can be very consoling to the bereaved child to hear something nice said about him/her. For example, in my case, I found great solace in people saying to me: ‘ Your father was always so kind to me.’ or ‘I’ll never forget the day that your father offered to drive us to Dublin when we were totally stuck.’

3. Do your utmost to avoid mimimizing the loss by saying things that refer to the elderly parent’s age. For example,  avoid saying something along the lines of ‘ Oh well, he was a great age. You were lucky to have him/her for so long.’  ( I think this is for the bereaved child to say, if he/she feels that way, but not for an outsider.)

4. Try to avoid telling the bereaved child how he/she should feel.  For example, no matter how much the elderly parent suffered, try to avoid saying things like: Oh, you must be so glad he’s out of all that pain or  You should have no regrets. You did all you could for him.  Again, these are things for the beareaved child to say, if he/she feels like that. 

In short, acknowledge and be sympathetic but don’t minimise the loss on grounds of age and, most of all, don’t preach.

I hope this helps in some small way and I would be pleased to hear what approaches worked best for you if you lost an elderly parent.