The Joy of Caring

Reflections of a Daughter of the Silent Generation and Mother of Generation Y

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Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story is launched!

What I am letting go in publishing this book isn’t Mom; it isn’t my caregiving journey; it isn’t even all the reflection I’ve done along the way. What I am letting go is fear, the what ifs, the wish for one more do-over, choosing, instead, to let love fill our sails:

If you or someone you know is interested in reading Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story, it is available to order at your local book store (just ask) and also online at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Sherman’s Maine Coast Book Shops, IndieBound, and Bookshop (just click).

Thank you for your interest and I wish you and your loved ones many blessings this holiday season.

Launching Lala, and me

Yesterday was three years since Mom died. It’s been a nostalgic month, with Dad and Grammy’s birthdays to start, followed by Mother Nature’s plentiful reminders of Mom’s last stretch—bright sun, pounding surf, brisk winds, and yellow leaves, every where I turn.

To Dad’s “when my number’s up, fill my dinghy up with gin and push me out to sea” came Mom’s “living is for living” which meant a reluctance to push off when there was still fun to be had, as evidenced by the friendships she formed with every caregiver who came through our door.

While Dad died true to form, so did Mom, who moved on, me and the animals at her side, the sun just breaking the horizon, reminiscent of this excerpt from Katherine Tynan Hinkson’s Shades Are Up, a poem Mom had chosen to share at her funeral:

Some morning I shall rise from sleep,

When all the house is still and dark.

I shall steal down and find my ship

By the dim quayside, and embark…

As I work this month with publishing consultant Lindy, finishing the last details of my caregiving story, it’s been hard to finalize, to let go, for fear of making a mistake, choosing the wrong words, misrepresenting, over-stepping. I’m sure the timing is no coincidence.

“There are times when we know we should move but we don’t even know how to push our boat out from the shoreline on which we are marooned…Part of our ability to go is to understand what we’re missing…”—David Whyte, September 2022 Series: Crossing the Unknown Sea, Life and Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity, Session 3.

While I’m not quite sure what I’m missing, I am curious where all this time and energy freed up will land me next. I take heart in another excerpt from Shades are Up:

…The winds shall bear me safe and kind…

With love… to lead me by the hand.

This morning, in the early hours, I recall Kristin Neff’s self-compassion practice which ChiME advisor Katie taught me in the days following Mom’s death:

“1. This is a moment of suffering”—I feel stressed about finalizing Living Is for Living, about being so vulnerable.

“2. Suffering is a part of life”—Other people feel stressed too, on the verge of putting themselves out there in what feel like big ways.

I lay my hands on my heart.

“3. May I be kind to myself”—I love and accept myself unconditionally. I’ve got this.

(Dr. Kristin Neff, Co-Founder of the Center for Mindful Self-Compassion, https://self-compassion.org/exercise-2-self-compassion-break/).

It’s time to shove off. Let’s do this.

Walking with Mom, year two, in grief and in joy, too

As I stood on the stage, being ordained an interfaith minister by the Chaplaincy Institute of Maine, I heard and felt Mom’s presence in the birds singing in the trees and the gentle breeze on my face. I felt the pieces of my story settling into place. I was excited, curious and, most of all, ready, for whatever comes next.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

Grief and Guilt, a year later, and the Magic of Fruit Loops, Pivoting, Barking Dogs, Yellow Leaves and Blue Jays

As we returned home from an afternoon hike, Siena spotted another Blue Jay, this one perched in a tree at the top of our street. We looked at each other and smiled, understanding that Mom is still right here, with us. We just need to be available to the moment, the best we can.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

Labor of Love, another take on “caregiver burden”

Labor Day, after everyone left, leaving me and the dogs, I spent several hours doing the laundry, covering the boat, taking down the flag, moving things around, packing things up. Mom was with me every step of the way I realized as I stored the paddles behind the bathroom door, like she used to do. Sometimes what looks like a burden is actually an opportunity to heal.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

Mom’s birthday, another first

Looking at photos of 17-year-old Mom the summer her dad died, and following her as she marched forward into a life spent pushing the boundaries, I understood that her “living is for living” wasn’t just a way to deal with her elder years, it was the way she’d handled early loss and carried on.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

Celebrating Mom – Grateful for Grief, Belief and Relief

That first Mother’s Day since Mom died, I looked at our kids with a deep sense of connection, to them and to her, thankful for the understanding that missing Mom wasn’t an “either/or,” it was an “and.”  I felt sad and I felt glad.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

Laughter in Grief – showing up the best we can and finding hope amidst loss

Little did Dad know when he made up Douglas the Rabbit stories for us kids, that someday I’d share them with my kids; little did I know that the stories I wrote down to remember Dad after he died, would someday entertain Mom, when she could no longer get out of bed.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

COVID-19 Staying at Home – finding guidance in parental wisdom during this time of pandemic stress

Tamridge, Mom and Dad, circa 1980

There were moments, when nothing seemed as it was and everything seemed newly tenuous. Dad’s “we shall see” and “bottom line” and Mom’s “living is for living” and “aren’t we lucky” reminded me to be patient, to simplify, to let go of fear, and to count our blessings.

—excerpt from Living Is for Living: A Caregiver’s Story

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