“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is a miracle.” —- Thich Nhat Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness: An Introduction to the Practice of Meditation
These times have many of us feeling down or discouraged; some of us are depressed or even fearful. I’m not saying I have the answers. However, if you are reading this blog, you are still here, walking on this earth. Fear not, for this life is a miracle.
Difficulties have often opened my eyes to beauty. I can recall times of loss or grief when I suddenly was struck by something incredibly beautiful…a vivid rainbow, a breathtaking sunset, a field of flowers, a loving embrace. Opening my eyes to a spectacular dawn, knowing that my creator has seen fit to give me yet chance to wake up, to walk on the earth amongst not enemies, but friends. I have another day to make a difference, to see the beauty, to appreciate what have and to share it with others.
In spite of uncertainty, it’s not only that I walk, but how I walk on the earth each day that is the miracle making. I may not do great things, but I remind myself to do the little things, the boring or mundane tasks with love!
I woke up this morning and pulled weeds in my garden. While this is a chore, I discovered the miracle of tomatoes that were ripe and ready to eat! They smelled sweet like the sun and the earth and tasted even better! Even in the weediest of gardens, there is delicious fruit. This chilly August morning is a miracle in the making. I am here to see it! The green grass, the colorful flowers, the sun, the moon, the stars, my job, my friends, my family and my pets…all is a miracle.
I pause for a moment and breathe in fully. When I breathe out, there’s some space to notice what’s around me. Here and there I can see opportunities to help those around me to experience small moments where the miracle of life is revealed. I want those around me to know I notice them and they are a miracle to me.
When I taught yoga in the park on Monday, I noticed and pointed out the rainbow in the sky, while the clouds were sprinkling us with rain. That’s how life is, offering us rainbows if we are willing to see them. Teaching yoga, I remind my students of the miracle of each breath.
When I am with my mom on Sundays, the miracle is that in the darkness of her dementia, I can give her a reason to smile, even if it is only once when I compliment her or when I see her enjoying our art projects. It may not sound like a big thing that I have done, but for me, seeing a smile on her weary face is a miracle.
I encourage you today, to smile at someone, to do a small kindness, to take a moment to enjoy the beauty of walking on this earth. Life is a miracle!
Everywhere I look these days, I see challenges. It’s easy to feel like I am climbing never-ending hills. It can be tempting to lose hope. Some days, it would be pretty easy to succumb to the challenges. I know I need to seek a balanced view, and go find moments where I believe something good will ultimately come. Or even that it’s all good. I want to find a way to live the best life I possibly can. No matter how small it is, I have become determined to make something magical happen.
Magic doesn’t have to be a major miracle; rather it is the little every day triumphs, and trying to enjoy every moment that I am here. I strive to appreciate the every day tasks and to do them the best that I can. I want to feel grateful rather than overwhelmed. I need to make some magic happen so that I can see challenges as opportunities. When I wash my dishes, instead of feeling like it’s a chore, I try to think, “thank God I have dishes to wash!” I want to make my own magic with the challenges, big and small, that I face each day.
One of my favorite quotes describes my thoughts best:
“Feelings, whether of compassion or irritation, should be welcomed, recognized, and treated on an absolutely equal basis; because both are ourselves. The tangerine I am eating is me. The mustard greens I am planting are me. I plant with all my heart and mind. I clean this teapot with the kind of attention I would have were I giving the baby Buddha or Jesus a bath. Nothing should be treated more carefully than anything else. In mindfulness, compassion, irritation, mustard green plant, and teapot are all sacred.”
Today I went to visit my mom and dad. I could see right away that without gratitude, I was sunk. My mom was sleeping sitting on the sofa when I arrived and didn’t want to acknowledge my presence. Eventually she came around a bit, but she sure didn’t make it easy!
I had so many wonderful and easy years with my mom, that honestly it makes it that much easier for me on the challenging days. I know how lucky I’ve been and how much my mom has given to me. I can’t feel troubled providing anything I can for such a wonderful woman. Of course the challenge here is, she doesn’t remember who I am or how much I appreciate her. She gets frustrated and impatient so I need to wave my magic wand and be patient for both of us. I am learning to celebrate the teeny, tiny victories in a sea of disappointments.
Magical assistant!
This was one of those days where nothing I did seems to work. On those days I just try something else, or I keep trying. Today it was the paint by sticker books that broke the ice. I asked my mom if she wanted to make some pictures and she picked a book up right away. That’s when I saw the Make Your Own Magic picture. I knew right then that things would be ok. Whenever we are working on our pictures we are in unison; working toward a common goal. It keeps our minds focused and we can interact positively. I can feel my patience and compassion filling my heart.
I came up with this idea one day when I saw that my mom still had the capability to color perfectly in the lines, just like she always had, but that she no longer had the patience to do so. Color by sticker was the perfect option for her. She needs some assistance doing it, but it is just challenging enough without being impossible and she is so proud of the results. Since then, my sister has become the master at locating and obtaining new paint by sticker books that keep things interesting and fun.
If you have a Senior in your life, I highly recommend these! Here is a link to one of my favorites:
When we worked on the outer space sticker design, I had fun telling my mom the names of the items in the pictures, such as “The Big Dipper,” a “Shooting Star,” and “Saturn.” It reminded me of how patiently she used to read me my favorite book as a kid, “A Book of Planets for You.” Isthave this book. Although that
It brought me so much joy creating this picture with her, and I remembered our time spent with the planet book well enough for the both of us. In the scheme of things, it was such a small act, but truly a connection only my mother and I share, because that book was MY book ( I am sure I did not share it with my siblings, and that was back in the day when Pluto was still a still a planet)!
As I write this, I am thinking of all the elderly who are alone and isolated right now, and I’m working to find a way to help some of them. I hope we all find a way to reach out to make our seniors feel loved and appreciated. They may not all remember us, but we can all remember them! Let’s make our own magic happen! I love you mom! You are my inspiration! You make me a better me!You made my life magical.
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This after she had sat on the sofa with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and the handmade afghan that was as old as I am pulled up over her nose. And not because of the pandemic either. She was fervently waiting and hoping for me to go away.
Today was Mother’s Day, and here my mom and I were sitting across from each other at the same table we had sat at for 50 years, and we were completely estranged. It was an eerie feeling, as if the ongoing pandemic didn’t make things surreal enough. However, our estrangement did not come about in the way that many mother/child relationships end up that way. It was through no fault of either one of us. We were estranged nonetheless. And it was Mother’s Day, making it all the more painful.
Eventually she had to get up to use the restroom. I took that opportunity to put my dogs in the car. A week earlier she had been smiling at them and at me and petting them, asking their names again and again. And again. CJ had sat on the sofa next to her and she had smiled. She seemed to really enjoy them. When we had left at the end of the day, she called Pete over to say goodbye and pet him one more time. Not this week. This week she was afraid of them and wanted nothing to do with me.
Once out of the restroom she must have forgotten about some of what had transpired earlier. At least she didn’t return to the sofa and looked a bit more friendly. This time she looked at me and spoke to me, taking a seat at the kitchen table. At that moment I realized her view of me had changed from unwelcome intruder to potential transportation to her mom’s house. A place that existed only in her eroding memory.
“Pink is a nice color,” she went on to say. “Some people wear those flashy colors like red, but you have this nice quiet pink.”
I was wearing my “pink” Victoria Secret hoodie that had the word “PINK” written across the front.
“You said you remembered me,” I answered her. “What do you remember about me?”
“Well, you wear pink…and I’ve never heard anything bad about you, from anyone.”
She had nothing else to say about the subject and began playing with the plastic bead necklace she was wearing. I listened to her talk to my Dad as he made her an English muffin and some tea. She thanked him for his kindness. It occurred to me that he had now assumed the role of both Mom and Dad.
My duffle bag of art projects sat untouched on the floor near my feet. It was one of the few ways I had been able to break through the barriers of being a stranger to my mom, and enjoy a meaningful relationship with her. Alas, today would not be a day of creating inspiring Mother’s Day art projects together. It wasn’t meant to be. I was “the Girl in Pink” today. A nice but unwelcome stranger and nothing more. She began inquiring about getting a ride to see her Mother. She seemed to realize she wouldn’t be getting a ride from me.
I had ventured into Meijer on my way over. My one and only victory of this Mother’s Day was the muffins I bought her from the bakery there. She actually ate half of one! She said it was delicious! It only took me an hour to wait in line to purchase it. I really wished I had attempted to bake something at home instead! That is something my mother would have done for me.
The past several months marked some milestones in my life. This was yet another one. My 20th Mother’s Day. It seems like yesterday that I traveled to Ukraine with my Mom, and Aunts to adopt my children. It’s been years since we’ve spent a Mother’s Day together.
It was time for me to head back home to get ready to face the inevitability of another day of uncertainty. Despite the pandemic, I felt compelled to give my Mom a hug. These days you really don’t know if you will see your loved ones again. I’ve been practicing social distancing and I work entirely from home. I wear gloves and a mask when I go out once a week to grocery shop. I reached over and gently gave her a warm squeeze. Her once warm, robust body felt like nothing but bones. She didn’t hug me back but she didn’t refuse me either.
“Happy Mother’s Day Mom, I love you ,” I told her sincerely.
“I like you too,” she said.
“I said I loved you, Mom,” I reminded her gently.
“Well, I can like you AND love you,” she kind of laughed it off and made a joke of it. That was ok by me. It was the best she could do. She was being kind to me, a stranger.
The drive home was kind of lonely. I was disappointing and I had to do something to pull myself out of my Mother’s Day funk. I was glad to have my canine kids with me. They are my loyal side kicks! I stopped at the grocery store and promised them I would make it quick! I wanted to find something special for Mother’s Day dinner but the store was picked over to say the least! I felt like I had won the lottery when I scored the last package of two chocolate covered strawberries in the store! The day was not a total loss after all!
Remembering my Mom…I think of her every day, not only on Mother’s Day. She always knew what to say to me, and she never missed the opportunity to say it. She would send me little notes, prayers, magazine clippings, cards, Mass cards, recipes, rice crispy treats, words of encouragement, chicken soup, chocolate chip cupcakes…in the mail or my Dad would drop them off when he was over helping out with something. My Mom constantly fed my soul. Her words and her love feeds my soul to this day. Even though I’m only the Girl in Pink, I feel like a part of her remembers me.
My mom spends her days looking for her mom, even though she’s been gone over 20 years now. On days like today, I feel like I am doing the same thing. I think about calling my Mom, I wish I could share something that happened with my Mom; I wish I could ask her questions about flowers; or I want to brag about something my kids have done. I know how my Mom feels. I miss my Mom too.
I arrived home at last; sat down and ate my chocolate covered strawberries. They were good. But the emptiness and the loss remained. On top of that, I was missing my own kids. Even without the pandemic I would have been alone on Mother’s Day this year.
As if in answer to my thoughts, the next thing I knew, the phone was ringing and it was my Dad. I realized exactly why he was calling. He wouldn’t have even needed to say one word. The connection between us with instantaneous understanding. It was instantly and nearly wordlessly comforting for us both. Sometimes when I was young, my Dad would take me for a ride in the car without saying a word. We would stop and get a coffee and a cherry pie at McDonald’s and very few words were necessary. Tonight was just like that. If my Mom was herself, she might have said, “this too shall pass,” or, “someday you should write a book.” Whatever she said, the words themselves didn’t really matter. It was the feeling of instant comfort that my mom exuded. There was never any doubt of her love or of her kind intentions. It’s a gift I later learned my Dad had too. Tonight was no exception. His words and his feelings were as if my Mom herself had said them. The realization came that my Mom was with me too. For the moment anyway, I had found her!
It was that comfort and that realization that I am never walking alone. Our conversation was a short one, but I felt better for it.
“I love you Dad.” He never says it back either but he doesn’t need to. I can feel it. We hung up.
“Happy Mother’s Day Dad”
After talking to my Dad, I had a few tears on my cheek. CJ came over to me to make sure I was ok, and to offer his own special brand of canine comfort.
“Happy Mother’s Day Mom” he said with his eyes.
On holidays like today, it’s a good reminder to be grateful for what i have. It’s also good to remember that not everyone is having a magical holiday. I too, once helped with breakfast in bed and all kinds of wonderful tributes to my Mom. I also was the lucky recipient of breakfasts in bed and many other enjoyable celebrations of my own motherhood. I will cherish those memories forever. Even though the celebrations are in the past, the love and the connection between us remains a part of me. I love my parents and I love my kids no matter the space that time, distance or circumstance puts between us.
I look forward to new connections in whatever form they may take in the uncertain future that lies ahead of me in these unprecedented times. Perhaps in the midst of change, loss, and distance from loved ones, something even better lies ahead.
Happy Mother’s Day to me, the Girl in Pink.
One of my favorite Mother’s Day memories. The love between us is with me always
Today my mom turned 82. She didn’t know it was her birthday, but I did, so I knew it for us both. The last birthday that she knew it was her birthday was two years ago on her 80th birthday. This day was not to be one of those days where we would be making special birthday memories together. The snowstorm that arrived today made travel difficult, and shoveling out the end of the driveway a challenge. Instead of visiting, I ended up calling her on the phone, not really sure what to expect. I did not get my hopes up, but set a goal of making her happy.
My Mom and I
I have so many wonderful birthday memories of my mom; the most kind, loving and special woman I have ever known. I remember when she turned 60, I had a huge party for her at my house and I made a Martha Stewart garden birthday cake. It was her favorite, a yellow cake with buttercream frosting. I had gotten the idea from watching Martha herself, as she created an amazing cake for a friend of hers who loved gardening. It had an oreo cookie “dirt” garden path, a garden fence, and silk flowers in the garden. I remember I enlisted my kids to help paint garden signs to place on the cake. I had to throw the first cake away and start over, because my oven ran hot and it was overdone, even though I had set it for less time than the recipe called for. The second time, it turned out perfectly and is probably the best cake I ever made. I had finally made something that seemed worthy of the person who was just like Martha Stewart, only better.
My mom was absolutely the best mom anyone could hope for. The delicious birthday cakes she made for our birthdays alone were enough to love her. Every single thing she did was done with love. Caring for others was never a chore for her; she truly enjoyed it. Even when I was an adult, she sent chicken soup when I was sick, chocolate chip cup cakes when times were tough, and homemade biscotti or oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for an extra special treat. I couldn’t wait to have dinner because everything she made tasted as good as all the love she put into it.
In recent months, at times when I am really missing her, I have prepared many of my favorite dishes she used to make. I believe I have brought the term, “comfort food, ” to a whole new level. I never imagined I would be missing my mom as I do now, while she is still here with us. It didn’t cross my mind that my awesome mom, who devoted her life to me, my dad, my siblings and my kids, would one day that seemed way too soon, not even know me.
My mom did so much more than cook and bake. We did craft projects, went on walks, listened to music, and watched lots of musicals. She read poetry and stories to us every night, and encouraged my love of reading. She taught me to sew, knit, crochet and to do crossword puzzles. She taught me all about the world around me and how to appreciate nature, without even realizing it. She simply shared all the things she loved to do. Life with my mom was a wonderful adventure. Even though she had slowed down a bit by then, she was an amazing grandmother. I don’t know if she ever felt appreciated, but I sure hope that she did. Because nothing she could have done would have made me love her more.
My mom inspired me to be a parent, and I longed to be even half the mom that she was to me. She always had the right words to share, when I was down or discouraged. The phone calls, text messages, cards, letters, articles, and food she sent to me, let me know I was always right there at the front of her mind. A magnet held my work schedule on the refrigerator so that she would know when to call me. It felt wonderful to be thought of as much as she thought about me. I don’t know exactly when or how that began to change, but one day she just stopped calling, and never called again. Many months later, I would get a confused phone call, but it was never really my mom on the other end of the phone again.
I believe my mom knew that her memory was failing or at the very least she knew something was going horribly wrong, but she kept it hidden from me. I have recently learned that this is a pretty normal behavior for many who go through this, and particularly is normal for my parents’ generation. Thinking back, the only real inkling I had that she was aware something was going wrong, is that when she decided to have my son come live with them so she could send him to Catholic Central High School, she said to me, “I prayed to God to help me get Vlady to graduate from high school, and once I’ve accomplished that, I will be at peace and my work here on earth will be completed.” Even then, I noticed she often forgot things we had discussed in relation to him, but I dismissed it as normal aging. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Mom lives in a different world from me now, and once I realized things were never going to get better, I have tried to become a part of her world whenever I visit or talk to her on the phone. Any mental health issues are rather isolating and so life has changed drastically for all family members. I recently attended an Alzheimer’s and Dementia Care seminar so that I could better understand and cope better with my own feelings, but more importantly learn how to enter her world, since it is impossible for her to live in mine. In her world, I do not even exist at all, or if I do, perhaps I am in the second grade. Most of my life has completely disappeared from her mind. I really can’t share memories with her, or help her to remember the things she does remember. Often I wish I could have done something to help her, but all I have is the right now moment and when I am with her, I try to find a way to make her a little happier like she always did for me. I know who she is, and I know it for the both of us, and that will have to be enough.
Today, we had a long phone conversation for her birthday. She didn’t know it was her birthday, and she asked me who the people were who sent her birthday cards. She did not know any of them, but at least she thought they were nice for sending her the cards. She didn’t know who I was either today, and asked me at least 25 times, “what was your name again?” I answered, “Lisa, ” and each time she said, “That’s a nice name.” We talked for a long time today, and she seemed content to talk to me. It was the longest conversation we’ve had in at least a couple of years. When we were going to hang up, or should I say, end the call; I told her, “I love you, mom, Happy Birthday,. You’re the best mom in the world!”
This seemed to please her, and so, she simply said, “Thank you.”
My voice choked a bit with a few tears, but I was especially grateful that she actually liked me and enjoyed talking to me without recognizing who I am. On days like this, I prefer to believe that I seem familiar to her in some small way. And either way, today, she liked me, and that’s enough.
Happy Birthday Mom, I love you and I miss you every single day.
The words were written in my Mother’s perfect handwriting. Her plea was written not once, but twice, and the two little notes were affixed tothe door to enter my childhood home from the garage. How many times I had walked through this door in my life, nearly always to be greeted by my mom’s smiling face and cheery voice as I walked into the kitchen. She was almost always in the kitchen preparing something for my arrival. Not today.
Today at least the two sad little notes meant she was waiting for me and wanted to make sure that I knew she was there. She wasn’t sure who exactly she was waiting for, but somewhere inside of her, she knew it was me.
I wiped away a tear, put on a smile, and stepped through the door with some trepidation. My mom was watching TV, and she turned around to see me walk in. I went to greet her and told her that I read her notes and I was here to see her. She seemed pleased that the notes had worked even though she didn’t know to whom she was writing them. I gave her a hug, which she still allows me to do, and told her I was happy to see her.
At times it is difficult to see this frail, confused, and often sad woman, and believe that she is my mother. I think the worst part of her decline is best illustrated by her notes on the door. She waits and waits to see her children, and in her mind, her children never come. I can’t even imagine anything that would feel worse to either one of us. I know for a fact my mother has thought of me every day of my entire life, and yet today she doesn’t really know me. I wish she knew that I think of her every day too.
I also know that even if it lasts only for a brief moment, my mom still enjoys having us visit. She enjoys all visitors. She may forget them the minute they leave but it is clear she wants nothing more in life than to find her way “home.” She wants to find her way back to the times when her children and her entire family surrounded her. Almost every day, she talks about going home.
The good news is, she is home for now. My Dad, and all the rest of us have rallied around her to take care of her the best we can. She may not remember us, but we are there and I know there are moments when it brings her some comfort.
I hope all who are reading this, young or older, who have parents who are still around, read this and reflect on their own lives. Spend enjoyable times with your parents whenever you can. To me it seemed that Mom would always be the same, she would just be an older version of the same wonderful woman. Now I would give anything in the world just to be able to talk with her, share stories, and to eat her delicious cooking again. Spend time enjoying your parents while you can.
Having that close relationship truly makes things easier when and if your parents do begin to decline. All older people love to have visitors. No one wants to be forgotten! I wonder how many other elderly people have notes on THEIR doors that say, “Please come in and see me.”
It is a well-known fact that our population is getting older. There are more senior citizens, and the people visiting them are few and far between. We are all busy living our busy lives. Very few have time to visit elderly relatives.
My parents’ generation is known as “The Forgotten Generation.” I have read statistics in several articles that state that 85% of elderly people in care facilities never get visitors! I find that number astounding. That doesn’t even include those still able to live on their own, who don’t get visitors either. We are all busy, and lead hectic lives, but I hope this article will give cause to step back and think about what is really important. Take time to stop and smell the roses! Sometimes those roses are seniors! It will put your own life in perspective and help you to appreciate each moment.
Here are a couple of articles I found for further reading on the subject:
The next time you have a chance to take a few moments to spend with an elderly parent, grandparent, neighbor, or friend, I hope you will do it. They too, may be waiting for you with a note on their door, “Please come in and see me.”
Thank you for reading and if you do visit a senior, or are caring for a Senior, perhaps you can send me a note and share your experiences with me!
Life with Lisa Yogini 