Life by Grace Alone

One morning while I was visiting, my mother's high pitched voice pulled me from the heaviness of my night's sleep. Two words, "Olin, don't." pierced the air and catapulted me into the kitchen. There my father stood with a Philip's screwdriver in one hand and the entire deadbolt in the other. "Olin, we're going to have to put it back. You have to help me." I could hear first panic and then frustration in her voice. Those emotions faded away as the professional caregiver walked him through the procedure. Mechanical things had always been his forte and not hers. The man and the house looked the same but for her this was definitely foreign soil. My father who had felt so much at home with a multitude of tools could not connect a purpose or name to any device he held in his hand. This man who had done much to turn a bungalow into an ample ranch house now often thought that the fruit of his love , planning and hard work was a motel or a strange...

When Daddy's Alzheimer's became obvious, we were living in Nebraska, and then we lived in Vermont. Neither location was close enough to Md. to allow for frequent visits to my parents. Whenever I did get to Salisbury, I anticipated seeing the normal and the abnormal played out before me. On this visit my father's sister came for the afternoon. She was Daddy's big sister, 84 on her next birthday. Aunt Pauline's once tall and robust frame was now gaunt and frail. She still stood tall and straight; her words were clear and precise. She sat at the kitchen table eating my mother's carefully prepared meal that wasn't much different than the ones Mother used to make before Daddy's problem became clear. This lunch was a bonus meal. Instead of the intermittent silence of one sided conversations, Mother talked with my aunt and then with me. Mom made efforts to include him in conversations by asking him "Don't you remember---?" questions but if he c...

Joan- I don't ever remember liking my name. I remember in Junior High asking my teachers to call me Beth, a nickname from my middle name Elizabeth. Shortly after I was married I added -ie to Joan, again changing the name that I had been called for years. When was the last time I had heard my father say my name? I could not remember. For a long time all I could hope for was a brief look of recognition, assurance that in some way he knew I was connected to him. One morning at 3am I sat up in bed as I watched the dim outline of my father walk down the hall towards the dining room. Adrenalin replaced my drugged sleep deprived state as I followed quickly behind him. "Daddy, how can I help you?" He did nothing to acknowledge my presence. With large quivering bird like flaps of his arms Daddy circled the dining room table, and then as if he seemed to be done with some secret ritual he veered off towards the living room. "Daddy, can I do anything for you?" Silence. Ar...

How long was it since Josh's birth and my father's odd behavior? Less than a year? The phone rang. It was my sister. Daddy was in the hospital. I can't remember why he was there, only his behavior that seemed to confirm our past fears. The nurses would become upset if Mother and my sister Patti left him alone. He would often be found wandering on other floors. He was anything but the cooperative patient. Once in the night someone woke my father to give him a sleeping pill. Daddy took the water and threw it in her face. Although the news of his behavior was very unsettling, the glass of water incident caused us to at least smile at what seemed like very appropriate behavior in spite of the protest of the staff. I hung up the phone, indignant that those people would treat my father like he was crazy. I could feel the tension in my arms and shoulders. I had to walk it out. A rustic park, walking distance away was the ideal spot. Soon I was pounding down the paths. This p...

I never thought of myself as earth mother in the making. You know the type. She speaks to her 6 children in quiet tones. This woman would never dream of using the television as a babysitter. She seems like she was born for the task of competent mother of many. With the one daughter and then with the addition of a son, I understood what I thought  being a mother would look like in my life. I assumed adoption was the way our family would grow and in that context alone I was a mother and my life was full. There was no need for any fertility tests. Then God decided to add blessing on top of blessing when I became pregnant with my daughter Jessica. By this time our shelves were already filled with books that would shed some light on this all important task. On Jessica's first birthday I remember clearly thinking that since she was so wonderful it might be nice to have another child. Nine months later I gave birth to Josh. I was now no longer just an adoptive mother who could be cre...