Feet First

The only thing I hear right now is that high pitched late August insect noise that manages to penetrate walls and windows with no invitation. Come November, all of that will go silent and I will long for that persistent bug chorus to lull me to sleep. In summer, I forget what earthly silence sounds like and I both anticipate and fear its arrival. Soon, we will watch the oaks, birches, and maples burst into color and then retreat into hibernation, seemingly lifeless, while their evergreen companions forge on willingly into winter’s embrace. While I wrote that line, I discovered a line of boogers that one of my children once wiped upon a wall behind a chair. Such is life — poetry alongside hardened snot.

“Viral” pneumonia turned into a pneumonia that couldn’t quite get handled at home for Mom. At 5:30 am this past Tuesday, the paramedics came back before she had attempted to go down the stairs on her own (I stopped her right before). Though she was barely able to keep her eyes open, one of the EMTs said “I was here the other day. You remember me?” She opened her eyes and said “Yes. Michael. Michael Reemer”(or something along those lines because god knows I don’t remember his name). Mom got bounced back to the hospital (not a cheap ride) and this time she got a dose of antibiotics. This is a layman’s opinion here but shouldn’t all uberly elderly patients presenting with pneumonia be given antibiotics? Just a thought on hospital protocol to avoid readmits.

After about 24 hours on the azithromycin, Mom was feeling better though still wiped and undoubtedly still needing oxygen. J.D. and I went in to visit her where she dropped about 14 great one liners for us both. “I’m getting out of here. Mark my words. And NOT feet first.” she said. We told her about Dad and how we were giving him whatever he wanted to eat. “Of course!” she said “He’s ninedee! What’s he gearing up for? A HUNdrid?” I was crying laughing. We don’t call her a tank for just her stamina, she also has one of the sharpest wits and an even sharper tongue.

Today, Mom is in a rehab facility and it’s the same one she landed in last year when she got a horrible leg infection. She’ll tell everyone that she was in a “nursing home” when she gets back but please be assured that it is not. Well, maybe part of that place is a nursing home but NOT the part she is in. There, she will work on regaining the strength she has quickly lost. With any luck, she’ll be out within a week or two. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we children and grandchildren make preparations for her return. It’s a strange beauty to come together with this next generation in order to make way for the matriarch and patriarch (of both their families!) to live as comfortably as possible. I will admit, we’re overwhelmed; this endeavor is no joke and fraught with high emotions and depleted energy levels. Our Mom and Dad live in the home that they have had since 1972—these houses were not designed with aging in mind and they certainly weren’t designed to hold 6 humans ages 9 to 90. This, my friends, is a next level challenge. The layers here are plentiful and I have decided to start peeling them off, one by one. Ugh.

Over the last three years, I have had to learn how to face adversity and attempt to rise above it. In doing so, I have also begun to understand that adversity, if given enough grit to combat it, will eventually give birth to something favorable—better, perhaps. This is where my eternal hope comes from—bad can only be bad for so long until something good comes along. When Mom mentioned “feet first” the other day, I decided to adopt that saying into something good for me and perhaps for you. With all that is swirling around this situation, I plan on tackling my plans for eventual home ownership. Is this an ambitious hope? Yes. But, I will never get there if I never try and part of that trying is writing about it. Instead of wallowing in all the stress and emotions, I’m going to go ahead and put my feet first and start the messy process of being a full-fledged adult. What I want is to crawl into a bed and take a nap but I’m going to fight that urge and use anxiety as fuel. Rest assured, the process will continue to be a mess. However, that whole “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” moment has arrived and we’re standing in the middle looking backwards and forwards; if we don’t start the process now, we’re screwed. Feet first I will jump into a new chapter, whatever that may be.