Observations of Orderliness

I don't know if Orderliness is an actual word, but I know I was raised with it. My Mom and her Mom and all down the line always had things in order, which was probably why my birth father's polio/spinal meningitis was such a monkey wrench in life. No one ever really knew how to deal with that one.

My Mom makes me somewhat crazy each night, and I wrote about this before,with her making sure everything is in exactly the correct place before she can go to bed. I mean, there cannot be a wrinkle in her bed sheets, bed pad and so on. All bureau drawers must closed tightly, nothing ajar. Since Mom doesn't want to go to bed much before 11-11:30, I have long run out patience.

When I think of my own children and how this influenced me, I feel sad. When my daughter was born, my Mom said "don't ever take a baby out to a restaurant, they will bother the other people. If you want to go out, call me and I will take care of her." I was always uptight taking the kids out after that. I was also resentful when I couldn't go.(I am amazed and delighted at all the young parents who bring their children with them today. I wish I had the courage to have done that.) Although my house was child proofed, it was also important to have things tidy and put away. Not much of a creative atmosphere for a child.

I guess I am aware of this lately because I am not all that tidy anymore. Since I am always on call for whatever is needed, doing laundry, prepping meals, when and if I start a piece of jewelry or a painting, I often leave it to return to later. I could work in my studio, but then I would be out of the house. If Mom needed me, I wouldn't know.

So it kind of rankles me, when I wheel her into the living room and she remarks as we pass the dining room table, "Ugh, that looks terrible, you need to clean that up." That, being the way I used to make some money. I think that is what made me remember how long this has been drummed into me.

There is certainly the part that I played in younger days: for a person that was such a defiant child,why was I so afraid to lose Mom's approval when I grew up? The answer: who knows? Therapy anyone?

Now where have I been?????????????

It has been a long month for sure. I have had lots of commitments to complete, so I have not had the time to sit and think about things to write about. I have certainly had alot of topics in mind lately and will do a bit more writing this month,or at least I plan to.

So much of our life is centered around our 12 Step programs. They are pretty much who I am and how I live, so it takes up alot of my daily life. I wouldn't change that for anything. Last year we had decided to attend the AA International convention in San Antonio. It celebrated 75 years of AA. I knew it was going to be B-I-G and I thought it would be great to be there. These are held only every 5 years and it takes that long to plan for the 55,000 plus who attend.

I had made the arrangements a year ago and registered as soon as I could. At that time, since Mom was self sufficient in dressing, showering and toileting, my brother was going to come out and be her caregiver. Now these things require another's person's aid. I had lined up our regular caregiver to stay for the 4 and 1/2 days that we would be gone (this included travel time). My brother would come out to visit later in the month.

Mom decided a few weeks before we were leaving that she did not like or want the caregiver that we have had for close to a year...and began to complain about her clothes being shrunk, being forced to eat too much, not liking the food she was given and so on. The beauty of Hospice of the Valley is that we can call for a visit from Mom's social worker to talk over the necessity of our having a life. Mom got teary when she said we had not left her for this long before. She said she would rather be in the hospital then left at home: the social worker assured her that she would not really like that. So did the Chaplain later in the week....and the nurse.... and her Hospice visitor. As Mom talked more and more about how she would rather be in the hospital, she managed to end up with a fever and an infection. My siblings, the social worker, the nurse and my friends all told me that if I pulled out of the trip I would never go away again. Even so, Arnie and weighed the financial losses of not going. I wasn't sleeping; Mom wasn't talking. It was a horrible week.

The turning point was Mom getting better and so,we decided to go. It is hard to believe that we will be 75 (Arnie) and 68 (me) before we get another chance to go to an International.So it did seem important to go now. The anger and resentment I felt over the emotional upheavals of the prior to going were probably not good for any of us. I am grateful to have gone, grateful to all who helped while we were gone and determined to take back a little more of my life. Did I feel guilty? Do I feel guilty? More to follow.