Home is a state of mind not a building

During our July quick trip to Albuquerque and back, one song kept popping up on the playlist.  I am super sensitive to music and what it says to me, so I couldn't hear this song.  It went through the playlist three times before I finally, on top of Sandia Crest, let it play.    

http://youtu.be/DQYNM6SjD_o

"The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert

It was this time four months ago that I was desperately searching for a group living home, assisted living, nursing company, resources, and general help to get my disabled 68 year old mother out of the home, that was falling apart, which she had grown up in.  To get her out of the place she planned to grow old in, before the probate, taxes and Medicaid took it.  This was four months after losing her mother, my Grandmother.  Mom had a time to be out by before the house was sold.  Preferably with as little fighting and pain filled drama as possible. 

**This is at the same time that Libby has her senior prom, is applying to colleges and for college support, and we, as teachers, are finishing up state testing and the beginning of the end of the year rush.   And Libby's graduation was looming, like the Hindenburg over my head. We were stretched in many, many ways. 

 I was calling, searching, and pleading for help and asking my mom repeatedly what she wanted, on coherent and also rougher days. She has physical and emotional problems which had gone irregularity treated, mostly because of her own fears and stubbornness.   **I am not one who she has ever before allowed to help her with her medical issues.**

At the end of April we got a call from the dad of a young man that Mariah graduated with. He owns rent houses and we all had a long conversation. He had a house that he was just putting back together. It hadn't been lived in since the 70's and needed everything.  Electric, water, sewage, paint, and even more. He said it might be a month, or more.  The earliest would be the 15th of May. 

Meanwhile, my mom, not always my fan, was caught in an angry and guilt ridden down-ward spiral. She was losing her home and didn't want to go.  She was terrified and called me everyday crying and then later angry and then later hurt. My mom has hurt people and been hurt. 

Hurt people- hurt people.

I had her name on three assisted living waiting lists, a plan to move in with my brother in Garland, and was just treading water.  Our landlord friend called and told us that if we could do the intensive cleaning, a little painting, and if mom could live without some things: flushing the toilet and water in the kitchen sink, then she could rent the house now.  By that Saturday morning, 5/2, we had a rented truck and a small army of friends loading her up.  

I had been packing several evenings a week based from a list of what was for-sure Mom's, until the official inventory and probate stuff was finalized. 

So, by May 2nd at 5:00, she was living in Happy.  We had all utilities hooked up within the week.   We did everything we could to be careful and leave the house without anything extra. We vacuumed- until the vacuum died-  and cleaned up/organized what was left, as best we could under the U-Haul time frame.  We had to unroll the chain link fence to get furniture out, around the locked parked cars, and had arranged to get it reconnected when we all had payday in two weeks.  I had paid for the fence to be fixed and apologized for any wrong-doing.    In my heart we were doing what we needed to, which was to get my mom out of the house before the due date and with as little drama and hurt feelings as possible. 

I was so relieved and excited to have had the chance to get my mom into emotional safety.   We got her connected to home health care, took her to the doctor, eye doctor, and began taking care of her. 

Things with the rest of the family have been ugly since then: blocked from Facebook, some police involvement against me, and since I moved Mom I have lost much of my family as have both of my daughters.   No blood family came to Libby's graduation, besides her sister, and she noticed. 

My mom has never really lived alone, taken care of her bills, been on a true medication schedule; we are working on it. This involves schedules and trust.   She doesn't trust anyone now. We are working on it. She is learning that "Home" is where she is loved and safe, not where she feels guilt, anger, shame, fear, more guilt, betrayal, and familiarity.  

 We are four months in, as of 9/2, and it is ugly and beautiful.   Mom has been more REAL and closer to functional than she has been for many years. 

There are so many blessings to be enjoyed and thankful for, much more than the materialistic stuff and blame that we can cast.   I willingly take the blame for all and ask that we move on.  This has been horrible. 

I asked everyone in January to remember Grandmother's words that, "it isn't how  people treat you that you will be judged for, it is how we treat them in return".  I had hope and I had faith. I miss my grandmother so bad that when I let her cross my mind I can't breathe. I am who I am because of her.  

I am full of hope that at some point this will all work itself out. I pray that the pain, anger, and grief that families fire at each other is eventually released and all can move on. Stuff is just stuff.  It is all too easy to attach grief to material objects.  

I know that I have many to protect, nourish, love, and take care of. I pray that everything comes to an end once the house that built me is sold. Maybe then we can move on. (It may have already sold, I don't know.) Maybe then we can treat each other as the delicate and damaged people that we are and move forward. 

Home is where we feel safe, accepted, and are loved.   

I know I'm stupid, but I believe that imperfect humans can love, and then hurt, and then love other imperfect humans. Isn't that why we are all imperfect?  

Again, I apologize to everyone I hurt in the process and how I have messed things up.   Truly the best hopes of a peaceful ending, logistics of waiting lists, and me taking on what I needed to were my hearts desire.  Plus, I believe that everyone deserves to be loved today, based on today.  We have a lot depending on us and we have willingly embraced.

Today is four months for my Mom and a new day.  Everyday it is hard and yet, we keep trying. We have to. We will be blessed and be a blessing. 

Woes and Goes

Tomorrow I report back to school for teacher in service.   I may be in mourning for the summer that has disappeared, many are, but ours has been a stressed-filled time, full of joy.  And gratitude.  We have been going and going and have treaded through many woes. 

Before school released us, I told my coworkers that I didn't know what kid I'd be bringing back to school for her senior year.  I didn't know if she'd make it through the DBS implants.  Didn't know if she's still be herself. The risk factors were so high for infections, strokes, and worse. 

I didn't hope for much other than for this surgery to not make her worse: not tighter and certainly not add more pain. 

We were on the go all summer. I taught summer school, we spent 19 days in Dallas/Ft. Worth and have tried to balance a few hours moving my classroom and various other trainings. 

We never even set up the little swimming pool. 

I have been asked many times if she is better yet and if we have gotten the results we wanted.   

The response to all such questions is simple: we're idling.  Right now the stimulators are releasing a very low charge into the very Dystonic part of her brain. It's like a car that is turned on and left idling. We go back at the end of the August to get more programming which will up the voltage.  This will happen many times over the next year or two.  

(Trying to get her to stand up a little more, I drew a circle on the bathroom mirror to help her visualize where he head needs to be.)

The big "woe" is that muscle retraining is very difficult.  Her muscles have gotten used to being on their contorted positions.  Her neck, my nemesis, is particularly determined to remain cocked to the left.  

At first glance she doesn't look different. She is looser.  We've been able to reduce her pain meds. She's not wanting to sleep as much.  There's been a change in vocabulary that I can't quite describe yet; her speech still varies minute to minute.  

(This is her attempt at a pouty face.)

She is 17, her name is Liberty, and she is very stubborn.  If she doesn't want to, she won't.  I push her and am not easy on her, so she is completely tired of me; it's okay this feeling is mostly mutual. This is what I do, I push her to do more and try harder.  I have to. (Remember that she has NO therapy at this time, their choice, not ours.) 

She is still alive and so are we. 

She is very ready for school to begin because she is a typical teen. I, however, have many worries about school and will not be carrying these fears alone.  I'm trying to pass my school worries on over to a higher power.  

 For me life as a teacher is a mixture of intensive studying and planning the repeating the mantra to "leave my ego in my car". Since May, I've completed over 60 hours of training (30 of that was online), read five professional books, and a bunch of new literature. New classroom, new grade level, new woes, and new chances.  I just have to believe that I am where I am supposed to be.  I love changing things up and always tell the administrators to put me wherever they want. Many people were hurt because of the changes made to our campus and our district. I hate this. I hate knowing that people around me are hurting.  This only adds to immense apprehension before beginning this school year. I do not ever want people around me to hurt, and I certainly don't want to be the cause. I only hope to be able to focus on the student needs and support my peers.  We have to work hard as a learning community to support one another! I never know how long I'll be able to teach.  Everyday that I am able to be at school and do what I was born to do is a blessing.  I cannot allow my professional stress to harm my ability to take care of Liberty, my loved ones, and at some point I'll need to try to take care if myself.  

Our summer full of woes and goes is at an end.  When people ask me if

I had a good summer I think I'll say that everyone lived. We spent time together. We shared many tears and a bunch of belly laughs. We put miles on my car and my heart.  We just keep going and going and going.    I think we slew a lot of woes this summer. I know we have survived immense stress and have come through with arms full of hope.