Beautiful Oblivion

I have several residents with dementia who believe that they are much better off than most of the other people living here. We call this being "pleasantly confused". I love these residents. I was walking by the living room when I saw one of the pleasantly confused gentlemen sitting by a lady in a reclined wheelchair; she appeared anxious and was repeating herself over and over again. He was holding her hand, whispering to her, and telling her that she was going to be okay. I put my hand on his shoulder and thanked him for being so kind to this lady. He gave me an understanding look and said, "I remember the days with my mother. I took care of her too."

When I first got into long term care, I worked mainly with residents in a memory care unit. I remember taking a few ladies to a concert at the theater where many residents from the healthcare center, assisted living, and independent living were in attendance. As we were waiting to leave our row once the concert was over, a lady from independent living passed by us with a walker. I'm not sure what her condition was, but she was extremely hunched over and her features seemed to have shrunken in a bit. One of my ladies, whose dementia was so severe that she couldn't remember where her room was, quietly whispered to herself, "That poor, poor woman. How lucky am I, how lucky am I."

Hence the name of this post.

Sentimental Journey

Let me start off by saying...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I have high hopes for this year. Well, for this year and all the years to come. Last year ended in a tragedy that left me feeling a bit broken, followed closely by a Christmas that left me feeling put back together. It is amazing what time at home with my family can do for me. During our music therapy group, the residents sang the well-known classic, "Sentimental Journey"... I've heard it played plenty times before, but the lyrics resonated with me this particular time.

Gonna take a sentimental journey,
Gonna set my heart at ease.

Gonna make a sentimental journey,

To renew old memories.

Set my heart at ease. I love that. And that's just what being home did for me. I don't have a long list of New Year's resolutions this year. Like everyone else, I have made promises to myself.... shed some pounds, save more money, keep my car clean (never gonna happen). But my #1 resolution is simply to live a full life and love people better. Friends, family, boyfriend, residents, acquaintances, even strangers. I have continued to receive e-mails and messages from people in response to my tribute post to Mrs. Buckalew. Each one brings me to tears, but I am also encouraged because they all share a common theme: they each want to carry on the legacy of the Buckalew family. To live more intentionally, to seek a full life, to love one another better. Deirdre sent me a thoughtful e-mail with a link to the article about their funeral, and she made note of a powerful statement made by the Reverend: "Life can end suddenly. So here is the lesson: Love now… Make love an active verb in the present tense of our living. Love is stronger than even death." Amen to that.

I am not sure what will become of this blog in 2012, but I do believe that writing is my best medicine at this point. Screw laughter. Just kidding. I hope that my posts, however ridiculous they may be, provide you with encouragement, new ideas, comfort, laughter, or just an easy read when you get bored looking at your Facebook newsfeed.

Here's a little preview of what's to come...

"Help! I need healthy and satisfying meals because I and can't stop dreaming about bread and cheese" Recipes

(never claimed photography as a hobby)

Craft Projects (sometimes edible)

Celebrations

Adventure

And a whole lot of this chunky monkey

Cheers!

A Long December

Although there are so many things to blog about as this Christmas season comes to a close, a big part of me wants my letter to Mrs. Buckalew to be the last entry for 2011. I want to thank everyone for their kind responses to the blog, Facebook messages, phone calls, and e-mails. I felt very loved and most of all, I didn't feel alone. It is safe to say that there are thousands of people mourning the death of this incredible family. It brought comfort to hear the messages filled with memories of the Buckalews and to be reminded of the way that Corinne lived in the moment and how she was all in. A good friend wrote to me, "I don't feel that anything like this happens for a reason, but I do feel that people change their lives for the better after a tragedy like this." I want to ring in the new year knowing that I am embracing life as she did, and as she would. I want to celebrate the small things and make the most of each day. I want to spend valuable time with family and friends and invest in each of them. People often overuse these phrases, and their tidbits of life advice can become cliche. But there is truth in each of them. My Dad wrote in an e-mail to me that they had a full life in a short amount of time. And now I truly believe that is what matters. A full life. That's what I'm after.

Merry Christmas to all, and best wishes for 2012!

My Tribute to the Buckalews

(This is a heavier post. I feel like it's an appropriate outlet to express my grief. I hope you all don't mind.)

Dear Mrs. Buckalew,

Just last week, I was scanning your Facebook page and reminiscing about my summer days and nights spent at Cool Stream Farm with you and Jackson. I thought to myself how it's been quite some time since I've seen you, but how excited I would be the next time our paths crossed. I even imagined my future message to you telling you that I was engaged and how thrilled you would be for me. I had no idea I wouldn't get that chance. When Deirdre called me on Tuesday night, I knew something was wrong because of how late she was calling and because of her low and nervous voice. She began to cry and tried to tell me what was probably one of the hardest things she's ever had to say aloud. I rushed into the living room so that I could hear her more clearly and she repeated the most tragic news through her tears. She told me that your family had died in a plane crash that morning. All four of you. We cried together on the phone, sharing our disbelief and our heartbreak. Not the Buckalews. Not the most lively, giving, loving, kindhearted family out there. We eventually got off the phone, after many tears, shared feelings of how unreal it all seemed and how your family was the least deserving of this terrible tragedy. I made the mistake of scanning the internet, almost as if I needed confirmation that it really was true, and there you were. A beautiful picture of you and Meriwether, alongside a copy of this year's Christmas card with Meriwether and Jackson pictured in a sweet embrace. It had really happened. You were gone. Every time I say that, and now write it, I break down in tears. Because it just doesn't seem possible. Oh, how you all will be missed.

And these are the times when you wish you had taken the opportunity to share with someone what they meant to you, and I believe I did that as much as a high school and college student has the ability, or maturity, to... but not as an adult. So I will take this opportunity to share with you now...

You gave me confidence. You trusted me with your four month old baby. You continuously told me how great I was, and not just as a babysitter, but as a person. A teenager can't hear that enough. You didn't want to share me with your other friends looking for a babysitter, and deep down, I loved that. You wanted first dibs for Jackson. I loved the time I spent over there. I was the luckiest high school and college student ever. I enjoyed my job.

You invested in me. You didn't just let me in the door, show me where the emergency numbers and frozen chicken nuggets were located, and leave for the night. You let me in, talked to me while you got ready, asked me my opinion on your outfit, hugged Jackson a hundred times, asked me about school, my boyfriend, sports, you name it. You truly cared about me. You took a whole roll of pictures of just me and Jackson, and sent me a framed picture of the two of us to my college dorm room. I was so excited to receive that in the mail. When I visited NYC with my sister and cousin, you insisted that we spend a night in your uptown apartment, even though you were out of town. We felt like royalty that night. When I sent out letters to family and friends about my upcoming mission trip to London, you sent back a generous contribution along with a note that said, "So proud of you, J!" I will always remember that.

And I will always remember you sitting down on the living room floor with me and Jackson and telling me about your struggles with your first pregnancy. You told me that you wished and prayed that I would never have to go through something like that. And you told me your wish for me was to meet an awesome man and that you wanted all good things for me. It felt so good to have someone that I looked up to so much, wish that upon me.

You were full of life. You seemed to be the center of your family and friends. And it makes sense that you were. You were vibrant, creative, and compassionate. I talked about you all the time to my family and friends, and it was clear that you were one of my greater role models. You celebrated life and the people you loved. You and Jeff gave and gave and gave.

You loved your kids. They weren't spoiled, they were just loved well. The hardest thing in all of this is to imagine what the end was like for you guys. How scary it must have been. But what my family has reminded me of is that you all were together to comfort one another, and that you're all together now. I can picture you in the plane just covering Jackson and Meriwether, telling them you love them and not to worry.

Thank you for inviting me and my sister into your life. Thank you for being such an inspiration as a woman, mother, and friend. I hope to one day open up my door to a 17 year old girl looking for a summer job, and care for her the way that you cared for me and Deirdre.

We were lucky to have known you, and you will truly be missed.

Love Always,
Jaclyn

Raindrops on Roses

"There are worse things in life than having fun." ~Bill Harris

These are a few of my favorite things...

Joint vacations!

Celebrating small victories... even if just a quarter!

Awkward dance moves in a shallow pool at a high-class Vegas club...

The beach!

"I am woman, hear me roar" poses on the rocks of Coronado island..

Being comfortable enough to show your true colors...

And lucky for me, all of those favorite things were rolled into one unforgettable vacation.

Here's to the next one!

'Tis The Season

I fully intended to write a blog post or two in the spirit of Thanksgiving to share all that I'm thankful for, especially this year with my new and wonderful nephew. But blogger's block got the best of me, and I just didn't have the motivation to sit down and write. But here I am, back in action... for a little while, at least. And since I missed out on the opportunity to publicly share thanks in November, I am aware that there's never a time gratitude is not well received. So in the spirit of Thanksgiving and Christmas, I will be sharing a few of the things that I am thankful for and have made my heart glad this season.

This particular view of downtown Austin ~ I will always remember turning off of Oltorf onto South Congress for the very first time with my two sisters, bringing our two-day road trip from Virginia to a close. As we turned onto South Congress, this skyline was directly in front of us, and I remember letting out a gasp. Or maybe Nicole did. Needless to say, it was an exciting moment. I was beginning a new chapter in my life. And as hard as it is to be far away from home, family and friends, this view from South Congress brings me back to my initial adventure. To the craziest risk I've ever taken. And for that, I am thankful.

The relationships I have with my elderly residents ~ It amazes me how I am somehow able to communicate with a resident who speaks only Spanish through body language, laughter, charades, hugs, and very little knowledge of basic phrases. I found this note on my desk one morning from this particular resident, and I could not stop smiling. And not just because she spelled my name "Jackley", but because our language barrier ain't got nothin' on us. Except for when I'm trying to explain to her that it's not appropriate to sell bingo prizes she's won, winter coats, purses, bracelets she's made in arts and crafts, and personal items at our Arts and Crafts Bazaar.

Lessons from the wise ~ I often take for granted that I have the opportunity to learn so much about life, love, history, faith, and whatever else there is to learn, in my daily interactions with the residents. Their backgrounds are each unique, yet they have wound up in the very same place, but most likely under very different circumstances. Some are cognitively impaired but still able to walk, while others have lost mobility but still have complete control of their minds. No matter what their condition, each resident has a story. And if I were smart, I would take the time to listen to each one. I spent an hour or so on Thanksgiving day working on this "Bouquet of Thanks" with the residents who didn't go home with family, and in that one hour, I remembered how many simple things in life there are to be thankful for. Residents scribbled on their fall-colored leaves, "A safe place to live", "My sister", "Good food", "Laughter", "God", and so on.... my favorite was the resident's leaf below, which reads, "I am thankful for all.... people that love me. I love all people." And she really does.

This little guy ~ I never imagined how strong I could feel about a 7 lb baby, but seeing Nicole carry him for nine months, then bring him into the world with such grace, and lastly give me the opportunity to love him and support their family has been the greatest privilege. I cannot wait to hold the little bug at Christmas and I am already counting down the days!

And yes, I love him enough to post a picture of myself with three chins.

Best "Thank You" Note Ever

There is absolutely nothing I can say to lead up to this entry. The only background information you need to know is that the resident who gave this holiday "thank you" note to my administrator is the same resident who shared this craft idea with me.


I know it's tough to read. Let me translate for you...

"Thanks for all the "black" people who work here. Without you here, life in Rwanda might have been harder. I think you got some pretty good choices."

SAY WHAT?! This resident is not racist, mean, or close-minded. She is just a very, very odd person who has an unusual way of expressing her thoughts, or in this case, gratitude.

Oh, and did I mention that my administrator happens to be African American?

Ah, never a dull moment around here.