Friday, December 31, 2004
The Sorry Post - A Tribute to My Mother
The day before yesterday, feeling strange and hyper and trying to do my mother's day through a very uncomfortable mask, I suggested we play Sorry, which we haven't done for some days. I thought it would calm me down and, anyway, we always have good conversations while playing.
As I was setting up the board I spit a rapid string of "rules" across the table at my mother:
Whoa. I stopped in my tracks. I looked at her and thought. Almost a minute. Then I laughed. "You know what? You're right. I am irritated I don't think I want to play. I don't know why I suggested it."
"Well, I think we should do something where we don't bother each other." "Don't bother each other" is my mother's code phrase for, "Jesus! What is your problem?!? Settle down and leave me alone!"
"Yeah. Thanks for saving us, and me. Got any suggestions? I'm afraid all mine would be excuses to snip away at you."
She laughed. "Welllll....we could watch Deep Space 9. We both like that, we don't have to talk to each other, and it might settle you down."
We did and I did. That's the day we snugged in after I duct taped our house problem (which I've since discovered isn't as major as I thought), did laundry and broke well into the second season of Deep Space 9.
Footnote. Yesterday we played Sorry, too, at my mother's suggestion. Just before we settled in to the first game I said, "Ummm, do you suppose it's warm enough for you to play without your house coat on?"
Her eyes twinkled. "My thoughts exactly." She wriggled out of the sleeves and let her house coat fall over the back of her chair. Amazingly during the game the only coaching she needed was to be reminded to "go home" when she was on the critical side. She read the cards. She thought about her moves. She strategized bringing her men out. We each won an equal number of games.
Being a caregiver isn't an "at the recipient" activity. From the outside I know it often looks like it is. I suspect, though, that even when the recipient is deeply stowed in the furthest reaches of old age and its mysterious quirks, caregiving is a constantly adjusting relationship between two people, both of whom are active participants. Sometimes it isn't the caregiver who needs to force an adjustment, it's the recipient.
Bless my mother for having no qualms about being the enforcer.
As I was setting up the board I spit a rapid string of "rules" across the table at my mother:
- Roll up your house coat sleeves. I don't want you knocking off our men while we're playing.
- And, lift your arm. Same reason. If you knock any of your men off they automatically go back to Start. Any of my men, they get put back on the board where ever I think they were.
- Remember, out on a one or two. And, no, you can't move an extra space when you start a man on a two. And get your men out or you won't have a chance. A one or two wasted on a man over here [pointing to the side opposite her home] when you could get someone out is a stupid move.
- Read the cards and think about what they say. I don't want to spend the entire game coaching you on what the cards say and what they mean.
- Try to remember that when you're approaching home you'll be moving your men up that way. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to just let you go around and around the board in endless circles.
- And pay attention to drinking your cranberry juice. You're a little dehydrated. It'll irritate me if I have to remind you constantly to pick up your glass and drink.
Whoa. I stopped in my tracks. I looked at her and thought. Almost a minute. Then I laughed. "You know what? You're right. I am irritated I don't think I want to play. I don't know why I suggested it."
"Well, I think we should do something where we don't bother each other." "Don't bother each other" is my mother's code phrase for, "Jesus! What is your problem?!? Settle down and leave me alone!"
"Yeah. Thanks for saving us, and me. Got any suggestions? I'm afraid all mine would be excuses to snip away at you."
She laughed. "Welllll....we could watch Deep Space 9. We both like that, we don't have to talk to each other, and it might settle you down."
We did and I did. That's the day we snugged in after I duct taped our house problem (which I've since discovered isn't as major as I thought), did laundry and broke well into the second season of Deep Space 9.
Footnote. Yesterday we played Sorry, too, at my mother's suggestion. Just before we settled in to the first game I said, "Ummm, do you suppose it's warm enough for you to play without your house coat on?"
Her eyes twinkled. "My thoughts exactly." She wriggled out of the sleeves and let her house coat fall over the back of her chair. Amazingly during the game the only coaching she needed was to be reminded to "go home" when she was on the critical side. She read the cards. She thought about her moves. She strategized bringing her men out. We each won an equal number of games.
Being a caregiver isn't an "at the recipient" activity. From the outside I know it often looks like it is. I suspect, though, that even when the recipient is deeply stowed in the furthest reaches of old age and its mysterious quirks, caregiving is a constantly adjusting relationship between two people, both of whom are active participants. Sometimes it isn't the caregiver who needs to force an adjustment, it's the recipient.
Bless my mother for having no qualms about being the enforcer.
