The Middle SUCKS!

I hate the middle. Being sandwiched between people, feelings, stuff, their stuff and the constant miscommunications. I am just hating it right now.
My sister-in-law's mom died this past week. It is a very sad happening; she was not sick. she was not over expressing her age. she was out to lunch with her daughters. It is very sad. I brings the "mortal coil" front and center to my eyes, mind and soul. I have felt fear eat at me these past few days. A co-worker's father died a few weeks ago. Whose turn will it be next? Please, GOD NOT ME! I am not ready to lose my parents or a member of my family.
Then the fear eats at you, and anger builds. All of this leads to "change" and what do we really hate most in life... change! With every change we are forced, yes FORCED, to re-evaluate our life and the lives of those around us and see how we fit, now; post change.
My mother and I usually talk on the phone during my drive to work, (what did we do before cell phones??), and last night was no exception. Mom was telling me about her day. We discussed Daddy, and Dawn Hansen. I said something that I know I have said many many times before in our conversations, and she blew up. Well I was brought up short, and quickly. I was also instantly MAD. I wanted to hang up on her and fast. How dare she think I mean the worst thing and not give me the benefit of the doubt that I meant something innocent and as a joke. I am still mad. It has been over 12 hours of work and I am still mad.
Jumping to conclusions and taking offense immediately are both like death to me. They create the same thing inside of me, a sense of fear and impending change. Part of me wants to run, punish and crawl into myself. I want to cut back at my mother, say something that will make her feel bad for this long.
But that reaction brings the fear, too.
I am exhausted now, very very tired from an overnight of work. I hope as much sleep will calm me, get my mind time to "get over it" and be reasonable.
Oy! the middle is not white or creamy.

Blogging Weekly

Is blogging weekly a committment I can make?
I am not sure. Because I need to feel like the words are coming totally from me and that the end of a "blog", I like to call them conversations, is already within my sites.
I certainly have enough thoughts, ideas and opinions to write about, discuss or spew forth; but I don't think at this time I can completely commit to the weekly blog, I will try though.
My sister came to town this week. Sometimes referred to as "the interloper", she is the sibling who pushed me out of the "middle" position. This is a fact, but not a view I seem to internalize. Our family has a large gap between the third and fourth child. I am the second born, and there is 7 years between me and the last child; my sister who is visiting.
I find it odd when family visits; mosly because the dynamic of all the interwoven relationships shift and change. It is not something that you can really anticipate or plan for, at least I cannot. I feel it happen. Something is said, there is a nuance in the way a niece or nephew or even my mother talks to me and the shift is felt. For me, it is immediately followed by a fall in my emotional bearing, a depression.
At that time I must deal with it, accept it and decide how or if I am going to react. Sometimes it just means a little time away from the family; quiet and alone. Time to comtemplate the reality that MY EXISTENCE, MY PERSONAL SENSE OF SELF is not altered.
Another thing about this "shift" is that it is more pronounced and greater by the number of family members around. It is sort of like a personal quake. An emergency that needs time, when infact time cannot be found.
I love my family, but I cannot say that I like family gatherings. I have always found them to be a great strain on my emotional bearing. I find myself doubtful of my value, my likeability or place within my family.
I considered this to be connected with my status as a single woman. I am alone in my life and in my family. I do not have a spouse. I was not blessed with children. I live alone, with a cat and now a parrot. But I feel like these things are not valued by my family members.
I think I have finally acheived something that my family values, becoming a nurse. They seem to value my skill and knowledge in the medical field. I am asked questions and allowed to offer advice. But even though I do find pleasure in this inclusion, I still feel very undervalued by my family.
Now that I find myself in the middle of my family and my life. I find that I feel undervalued in a whole new way. I feel like I am toss away, an old kleenex or paper towel. I feel this way because my life, such as it is, is not considered when it comes to making decisions about who can be of help and assistance to my parents. It is considered that I, as the unmarried female relative with no children and only a job that requires three-12 hour shifts a week, have the time and the "life" to devote to my aging parents needs. If this issue were to be discussed out in the open, I am sure that everyone would say "nonsense"; but really, who is going to do the helping. I have left it, planned time away but when I get back the tasks are there, the needs unfullfilled and I do them. I have an older brother, who has a wife and two grown daughters; but they are of minimal help. My brother helps in "manly" ways; lifting, loading and doing mechanical things. My sister-in-law checks on my mother, and asks her to dinner or "family" functions. These family functions involve her "side" of the family. My nieces visit only when their parents do. A main part of these relationships is hurt or hindered by the fact that my brother and his family are "Mormons" and my mother is Catholic. I think my sister-in-law would be ecstatic if mom would just allow herself to be converted...but I cannot ever see that happening.
My sisters choose not to be involved in the aging of my parents, except from afar. This visit was made to see just how bad things are, really; since mom's decision to place dad in a nursing home. Was it really necessary? Should they object? Were they needed to save dad from mom?
In talking to my co-workers and friends I find that the "sibling" group of any family has great difficulty reaching agreement with regards to the questions raised by aging parents. Money issues arise, housing, care needs and who has the best and latest knowledge all play a part. And then the most difficult aspect rises to the top of any discussion, the pecking order! Yes, no matter how old you are, how mature you feel you have grown or what level of education; the order and sex of birth continues to cloud, reveal or cast a pall over these discussions.
My brother being the only male sibling and first born will try to assert dominance, and claim the right to make the decisions. The youngest, a girl will use her right as the "baby" of the family to manipulate decisions to her way of thinking. The two "middle" sisters, I being the older; will assert their ideas and dominance within the realms of their greatest means of influence (me, probably using medical opinion and knowledge, and my sister by asserting her ability to make decisions without consultation or by just plain stubbornness!).
None of us is "right". None of us is alone, although the feeling is that we are alone.

Here is my actual, true hope for any discussion we as siblings need to have; that we each, as individuals are allowed to say our peace, and that we each hear each other. True decisions with regards to family are not easy, they take that which every family hopes to have instilled within the group from inception, love and caring.
I have great hopes for my family as we continue our way through this latest maze in life.

Views From The Middle

Most days it is hard to put words to my thoughts, actions or "life"; not because I lack the intelligence to choose the words, but because I have such precious little time.
Which I feel is really a "cop-out" due to the fact that I am NOT exactly busy 100% of the time. I do have "downtime", when I am just in a sort of disengaging limbo. I read the mail, spend time with my companion parrot, Pablo; cat, Paloma or by watching TV. I could not be in this limbo, but I find that my brain and body need this time to organize things and allow the "filing" to be done so I can achieve restful sleep.
If I was more ambitious, or more driven could I go 100% of the time? How does Martha Stewart do it? I need at least 7 hours of sleep to even make me worthy company. I just cannot function without sleep, unless I really can see the next nap or bedtime coming up. I would make a horrible spy or fugitive.
These days my life has been thrown a new wrench; my Dad is again in a nursing home. It is a necessary shift in housing, but this does not make it any more palatable. In fact because my mother and their companion dog, Lolly live at home; it makes it harder. Another stop on my neverending route of visits and "things to do".
Being in the middle, being THE middle. is made harder by housing changes. And the organic, natural events of aging also impact the middle; more so than it could ever affect the beginning or the end.
I had a conversation with my Dad this past week, where I was trying to explain to him why he was in a nursing home, why he was not able to be at his home with Mom. It did not go well. It seemed that with every explanation, he refused the answer. He would appear to be taking the last thought and try to figure out a way to make it be what he wanted it to be, instead. I told him (reminded him) that Mom had had some surgery on her knee and that she needed therapy, that she was not physically able to help him at home. He thought for a moment and then looked at his wife and said "you hurt your knee?". I could see that what I was explaining to him was causing him to feel very sad, very alone. His reaction caused me sadness. I wanted to be able to look at him and say that I would figure out a way for him to go home again.
Mom and I left, but not before we (I) walked him into the dining room for lunch.
Nursing homes are sad places. They just aren't places that give people pause to feel or think happy thoughts. I could tell that dad was scared. I could tell that he didn't want to think that he was part of this group of people who showed all the signs of decaying life and loss of function. But part of me wanted him to at least engage, to choose to not be a permanent part of that place. To choose to fight to keep the function he still has and the ability to live life to his fullest, and choose that so maybe he can come home. I left him so sad. I was sad, I wanted to change things, it made Mom sad, too.
I spent the better part of 2009 with my father choosing to lose pieces of his life. He was admitted to the hospital wth gangrene, and lost one of his great toes. The rehab was brutal, for everyone; well Dad, Mom, and me. Dad is a horrible patient. He is noncompliant, which generally means that he says NO much more than he ever says yes. He refused therapy; he refused bathing; he refused meds; he refused to stand; he refused to ever pee on his own again. In June 2009, dad had been home for about 5 weeks and he fell! He broke both his tibia and fibula; it was horrible. He had a cast. And he had his second "bout" with skilled nursing facilities. Something inside of him broke (that is how I see it), he told us that he would NEVER WALK AGAIN. Here is a 70 year old man, saying he will never walk again. It was maddening! Nothing mom or I said made a difference. He decided the only way he would transfer from on place to another was via "slide board". And in September Dad received his powered chair/jazee.
He has never stood. He barely does anything on his own. He has been bathed and helped to the toilet by a nurse's aid or Mom. And Mom can't do that for him now.
Sometimes I try to compose my father's obit in my head when I am upset or thinking about him too much. I try to find all the things I love about him and pick out the things he would want to be immortalized by in an obit. I never come up empty. The memories are always there and fresh. But inevitably I begin the obit with "Garry lived and died by his choices". Because if nothing else can be said about my father, he had choices. He chose. He chose to smoke for over 55 years. He chose to become a Catholic. He chose to marry my mother. He chose to retire early. He chose to not stand. He chose to never walk again. I wonder if my father's passing will be because he chooses to not engage in life? It is sad to consider from the middle. Because my struggle is ongoing, everyday, every minute; but because of my position; I can kinda understand his thought processes.
He told my mother and me, "I am not strong". My mother thought he meant physical strength; but I knew he meant mentally. He feels overwhelmed by the emotions of being old, being disabled, being in the nursing home. Without owning it, he is feeling the weight of his choices during his life.
I would like my father to have a "do over"; but that can't be. So I try to love him, all the while knowing, trying to integrate into myself that I don't want to "be him".
I hope that makes sense to the reader.
I love my parents beyond measure; I just really want to learn from their lives to make mine better.

Moderation in ALL things

"Moderation in ALL things, a saying I have tried to live my life by; not always successfully but nevertheless it is my goal.

Being moderate is being in the middle. Choosing to not sway to the extremes is the middle ground. But it is also the hardest ground to walk, play or live upon. Being in a moderate MAKES you try (at least try) to see things from all sides and make a choice that will represent a balance within the entire plane of choices.

Trying to live a life of moderation, gives you the choice to try everything and adopt those things that bring you happiness and balance.

I sometimes wonder if chocolate is an extreme, and that finding a balance within loving and wanting chocolate is impossible. So far, for me, I think chocolate is the one food item that I have a difficult time choosing moderation. Yes I am admitted chocoholic, with a special liking for dark, single-bean chocolate. But with the help of a friend (who keeps the chocolate at her house) I can be more moderate about chocolate.

Oy! I have digressed.

Strong feelings often get in the way of being moderate. Whether you are choosing a platform from an array of political opponents or trying to remain calm and in-charge when you just found out your 17 year-old has been having sex (with a large amount of lying chaser); choosing to be a rational, thinking adult can be difficult. Emotions play a large part in whether we can look past the reactions to calmly choose among the actions.

Moderation adopted as a personal creedo is challenging to begin with, but does become easier when it has been practiced. My mother once told me "the first time you have to do something (unpleasant) is the hardest. The second time it is so much easier". I have found this advice to be true, with even the most icky tasks that I am reluctant to do. (As an example, things I find hard to do: say No to friends and family, return items to the store, deliver bad news . . .)

As I look at the spectrum of life, the baby to the elderly, is moderation a choice for only those old enough to discern and young enough makes choices based on the needs of "the whole"? For instance, I do not expect a child of much less than 10 years old to be able to make the choice that will benefit the whole group, they are highly egocentric, and as the "middle-aged adult" I know this to be true. But I have also witnessed the elderly be unable to choose the middle ground, the choice that would benefit the group as a whole. Why do we revert, and again begin to choose based on our egocentric needs. Is it again finding ourselves alone and needing to feel control and "self-relilant" that urges us to prefer extreme choices? Or I am I seeing a very skewed snapshot of the elderly?

I would like to be able to unequivocally say that my life is totally based in moderation, but that is an extreme. I am not always moderate in my thinking, living, eating or being. I choose to over indulge, sometime by not choosing. Being unwilling or unable to choose is not moderation, it is making a choice to an extreme. (more on that later)

Try to live a day in moderation, if you have never done it. I like it.

It is me, or is EVERYTHING in the middle??

During life we are encouraged to be FIRST, to strive for a position at the TOP; why then does everything seem to me to be about being in the middle?
It could be argued that I see life this way because I, myself, am in the middle-point of my life. But I would inevitably argue back that this was not the case, the middle is in fact the place we seek and the place that makes us happy.
When we are small we seek the middle seat, between our parents. That precious seat is fought over by siblings and grandchildren. We want to feel the sides, the boundaries around us. Frequently it is explained to new mothers that babies like to be swaddled tightly, to feel the boundaries as they would in the womb. From our earliest beginnings we seek the middle, the boundaries to tell us where to exist happily.
As we grow, we push at those same loving parents, seeking to find the boundaries, that have now grown, which will help us to find a place, a middle if you will, in our world.
I, personally, have spent many hours meditating on the middle. I believe it IS the happiest place on this Earth.
Being between the heavens and the earth, between birth and death, sitting between two dear loved ones, all of it gladdens my heart.
Other places of happiness for me are between the pages of a book, or the covers on my bed, snuggled between beloved pets, surrounded amid friends, these places of middle are pure joy. The middle is a grand place to be, try it. (perhaps you are already there!)

This past week has been a more serious week, which seems odd because it was my birthday. But even though I celebrated another year of life and existence, I also housed heavy thoughts about my father's health and my mother's mental health. It is very hard to watch your parents age, and reach a place that they are not happy with their living. I have been privy to aging. I saw my own great-grandparent age, my grandparents age; and I vigorously and loudly celebrate my own aging every year. But I have not really given much thought or pondered the real and abrupt changes that happen to the human (my parents) as she/he ages.

I am perplexed and at the same time I can see, as if from the outside of a window, these mental, physical and emotional changes that do/will impose into our living.

If I can see that my mother is short-tempered and that my father is being unreasonable, do they see it within themselves? Do they need me to bring it up and expose it to the light? Or is it something that is always hidden, unless like me you are a witness? Will this knowledge assist me in my own aging?

I am not seeking to not age. I am trying, hopefully, to celebrate my life as I live it. I know that aging is part of the human experience, and I want a full experience. I also want my observations, my gained knowledge to not be given away to those who might not otherwise have witnessed these goingson. What then is my job, chore or goal? Am I a town crier? a person who can set out a "blog" to be a vanguard to those who might not be so inclined to typed word?

I want to believe that my life will have made a mark on the world, someone else. I want my life to count for something? Is it enough that I have learned and grown? does it have to be a milestone or statement for future generations? Is "middle-hood" something that, oddly, is where everyone is and stands?

Le Milieu-This is where I live, breathe, sleep, work and play. It is hard to consider this place I find myself, yet it strikes me as the place I want to be and don't want to be. I was (really am) the middle child. But I am the oldest girl. I feel in the middle so often on issues, in relationships and within my own self (does that make me the ego, id or the superego??? So much to ponder.)
I want to blog my search for other ground. I want to come in first somewhere. I want to realize and cherish (is that too strong a word) my last places. I hope to write something that will be read to cause laughter. I enjoy a good laugh and I am hoping to have one here.