My father, who loved my mother so deeply – and imperfectly – finishes this way. He provides, more than generously. The fruits of his labor reach into the present. Yet he nearly wrecks her with his decline.
For five years she has cared for him on her own, in their home. She’s at the end of her rope; no – she has run out of rope. My sister and I have failed her by letting her reach this point of exhaustion. Or: we have respected her wishes. She has said until now that she could handle his care, as he forgets all he has known, and been.
We’ve found in-home help. We’ve found Adult Day Care that we call a “Senior Social Club” when Dad asks where he’s going. We’ve found a meal delivery service and more bookkeeping help and a long term care facility for when that time comes.
Mom and I visited my Aunt Rachel and Uncle Sammy out in the country where the air is clear and you know where the rooster is but sometimes the biddies are hiding.
I believe my mother will return to herself. Her curiosity will return. She will read a book again. She will call Aunt Paula, and Aunt Betty, and Aunt Kat, and Uncle Ed, to check on them.
I have – already – seen her put flowers in the earth this Spring. (Well – in her containers. Close enough.)
* * *
Returning to Nashville – by car, on I-40 – I stayed at the Grove Park Inn in Asheville for a night.
A musician with his guitar and harmonica sang as guests came and went in the grand old lobby dark with stone and fire, chilled by a cool mountain breeze. He sang covers of Kris Kristofferson; Bob Dylan; Elton John; Neil Young; The Band; The Monkees (!); Patsy Cline. He took requests.
A few of us ate dinner and drank our glasses of wine; others passed through. A group of girlfriends celebrated a birthday. One couple danced.
This morning I want to share with you a poem etched in the stone fireplace at the Grove Park Inn – part of a poem by James Ballantine in old Scottish dialect. My mother loves that dialect so.
(Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind,
And bear ye a life’s changes wi’ a calm and tranquil mind.
Tho’ press’d and hemm’d on every side, hae faith an ye’ll win through,
For ilka blade o’ grass keps its ain drap o’ dew…)
* * *
“Ballantine wrote the words after hearing the story of a woman who had opened a shop. A neighbor remarked that there were already too many shops like hers in the village. The woman replied, ‘Ah, but Providence is kind; every blade o’ grass carries its ain drap o’ dew.’
After completing his apprenticeship as a painter, Ballantine attained notoriety as a glass painter. He was commissioned to illustrate the windows of the House of Lords. Many of his literary works were published in the magazine Whistle Binkie (1832-53).”
https://www.contemplator.com/scotland/grass.html
* * *
April 21, 2021 at 6:17 am
Lovely post….so tender and real
April 21, 2021 at 6:41 am
Beautiful, Jen. Thank you…Providence is kind!! ❤️
April 21, 2021 at 7:03 am
Beautiful post Jennifer!
April 21, 2021 at 7:10 am
Whew, Jennifer. Providence is kind… so true. And life can be so hard. My heart aches for you and your family. Sending love to you and admiration for your generous share.
April 21, 2021 at 7:18 am
What a beautiful and very moving post, Jennifer. Thinking of you and your family…..
April 21, 2021 at 7:39 am
Thank you, and thinking of you in the midst of this complicated situation. So many of us have been here, where the ‘right thing’ to do is not clear, and we must navigate murky logistical and emotional waters as best we can. Feeling thankful with you for grace moments along the way.
April 21, 2021 at 7:40 am
❤️ you are such a generous soul, Jennifer!
April 21, 2021 at 8:17 am
Such a treasure! Thank you for sharing your soul with us, Jennifer. I appreciate you, and I know your parents do, too!
April 21, 2021 at 8:31 am
So touching Jennifer. Have faith indeed. I know your parents were heartened by your visit
April 21, 2021 at 8:42 am
Infinitely moving, this post. Pain, patient numbing suffering, but hope. Ballantine’s last line is a treasure.
Loving wishes to you.
April 21, 2021 at 8:43 am
Jennifer, I feel your pain. My mom has dementia. It’s such a robber. Good idea to stay at the Grove Park to break up the trip. Helps to sort things out.
April 21, 2021 at 8:48 am
Beautiful post. Thank you, Jennifer.
April 21, 2021 at 8:51 am
Much love to you Jennifer
May 9, 2021 at 12:04 pm
Thank you, dear Barby – xoxo
April 21, 2021 at 9:04 am
Jennifer, I am so sorry for what you are going through and hope you find strength in all the lovely words you share in this blog! I know I do. Best, Mary Laurie
May 9, 2021 at 12:03 pm
It helps me to write about it, ML. And – thank you. Your words mean so much to me. Xoxo
April 21, 2021 at 9:05 am
You have lifted my spirit this morning.
May 9, 2021 at 12:02 pm
I am so glad, Anne. You are in my thoughts and prayers. Xoxo
April 21, 2021 at 9:42 am
Jennifer, you are loving them all so well.
May 9, 2021 at 12:02 pm
What a kind thing to say, Lucy. I am trying imperfectly – xoxo
April 21, 2021 at 11:55 am
Jennifer, Thank you for this beautiful piece. So moving.
May 9, 2021 at 12:01 pm
Thank you, Alice, and thank you for being in touch – xoxo
April 21, 2021 at 2:33 pm
Much love for you and your beautiful parents, Jen, on this journey.
May 9, 2021 at 12:00 pm
Thank you, Lyn – xoxo
April 22, 2021 at 8:45 pm
A beautiful reflection amidst such a difficult time – such a good idea to break the trip home up with an evening of music and repose.XO
May 9, 2021 at 12:00 pm
I have come to a new appreciation of the restorative power of a night at the Grove Park – !! Thank you, E – Xoxo
May 3, 2021 at 9:31 pm
J, hugging my little family a little tighter tonight and breathing in gratitude for youth and health which I know can both be fleeting. Thank you for the reminder that each day is a gift. Sigh. Love you and your family.
May 9, 2021 at 11:24 am
Love you dearest Miss Anne. I am thinking of you. Xoxo