Today, February 6, is the date when a football game called the Super Bowl takes place.  This year, it will be held in Arlington, Texas, which is near Dallas and Fort Worth.  I am explaining this in such detail because over half of my daily blog visitors come from other countries (though I venture to say that many of them know about this game.)

What will I do today?  … well, I will be among the few in the U.S. who will not watch the game.  I honestly don’t care.  I do not understand it, and do not wish to try to figure it out.  Some watch the game to view new commercials, which are supposed to be funny.  Certainly, if a company will spend US$1,000,000 or more on one 30-second (or shorter) commercial, then it should be about the best there is.

Anyway, I have many other things to do to occupy my time.  Honestly, what will I do?  I have to go to my aunt’s apartment and meet some of her caregivers who are taking some of her furnishings.  I will also stop by some senior pals’ homes to collect info I need so I can prepare their income tax returns.  Later, I will try to catch up on some of my work, which is interesting to me and I have a lot to do before going on additional trips related to it.

If you are among those who enjoy the game, I hope you have fun.  If you drive to watch it at a friend’s or family member’s home, enjoy the camaraderie and the fun.  Watch, however, the amount of alcohol you drink.  Many law enforcement officers will be out looking for people driving under the influence.  National stats show that “Super Bowl Sunday” results in a huge number of arrests for drunk driving.  That is to prevent a worse outcome:  having a collision in which you and other people may be injured or killed.

‘Nuf of the gory stuff.  Just have fun, and be safe!

Life is short:  there is more to it than football.

So many times I have been invited to a function after someone dies, and the words begin with, “join us to celebrate the life of so-and-so,” … and the whole event turns out to be a morbid mess of tears.

I was darned determined not to do that yesterday.  Instead, we had a “thank-you party for ‘all those people’.”  Who?

In my aunt’s last seven months of life, she had someone with her 24 hours each day, seven days a week.  Services were split among seven people, who we call caregivers.  In my aunt’s stage of Alzheimer’s Disease, she could not remember their names, so she referred to them as “all those people.”

Instead of having a wake (or visitation) and a funeral, then everyone “coming over to the house” and standing around with long faces streaked with tears … we reserved a room at the community center where my aunt lived, arranged for catering for some light fare, and then orchestrated a huge “thank you” party to recognize each of my aunts caregivers.

All of her caregivers came, as well as the company President and some office staff.  A number of my large fam-damily came as well.  It was great to see my siblings and my cousins.  My aunt’s sons also were there (of course.)  One of them got up first to say a few words, then I took over.

I was fearing that I would “lose it” and become an emotional wreck, but I guess all those years of media training paid off.  I spoke about my aunt and each caregiver and her contributions to my aunt’s care on an individual basis, and my voice didn’t crack once.  I could tell it meant a lot to them, and it was my pleasure to recognize their work.

I told stories about how each caregiver did something special for my aunt, from the one who gave her the best bath to the one who fixed her the best home-made meals to the one who ordered Chinese (and didn’t think I knew), to the one who would scratch her back for hours on end.  I knew what they did… and they may not have known that I knew so much, but I don’t miss much.

We gave them a meaningful gift, but also a funny “gag” gift — a back scratcher. (smile — you had to be there, but the back scratcher gift made everyone laugh).

It was a great time.  I was told later that I spoke for 45 minutes, and at the end, everyone was smiling, cheering, and clapping.  We had a grand celebration … just the way Aunt Lee would have wanted it.

This blog will resume its usual content tomorrow.  Thank you for respecting this pause in my blogging content as I reflected on a person who was so much a part of my life for so long, I couldn’t let her passing go without comment.

By the way… I am wearing leather jeans over Dehner Patrol Boots with a dress shirt.  That’s how everyone is accustomed to seeing me — in leather.  No big deal… just who I am.  My aunt would have expected that attire, too.

Life is short:  show those you love that you respect their wishes — throw a party and be happy!

Many of my family and friends know that I cared for my Aunt Lee diligently during the last years of her life. While we had been close for some 20 years since she and her husband moved into the retirement community that is close to my home, I can say that since 2005, my relationship with my aunt has been much closer. I promised her husband, my Uncle Charlie, as he was dying in Sept., 2005, that I would look after her needs, but it’s also just who I am — I do those kind of things.

Each visit with her was an adventure. Back when she was more prescient, she would tell stories about travel adventures that she loved. We would go to the grocery store and do some vicious price-comparison shopping. We would enjoy meals together, and have ongoing discussions about current events.

Then matters slowly began to change. What appeared to be some forgetfulness was diagnosed as Alzheimer’s Disease. My aunt was forgetting to take medications from time to time, or sometimes would forget some other things, but nothing major. … until … one day she left the stove on. I caught it — no fire — but that was a motivator for me to get some help.

Through the services of a social worker, we identified a company that provided companion care. That way, someone could be with my aunt during the daytime to help out. Anything from just having someone to talk to, to ensuring she bathed, took her meds, ate meals, and did laundry.

As time and her condition progressed, we expanded the companion care hours and I extended my involvement in more things than just visits. From ordering and organizing her meds to interacting with her physicians to handling her finances (paying bills, filing tax returns, etc.) … in the last two years, I was pretty much managing her entire life.

Some people have asked, “why didn’t you move her to live with you?” Short answer: changing surroundings to a place that was unfamiliar would frighten her. Plus, my home has lots of steps, and my aunt was becoming too weak to navigate steps. I also have to consider my partner and the tremendous imposition of such a change on his life. What we wanted most was to make sure that my aunt could stay in her own home, as she wished, and as I had promised her husband that I would make happen.

Besides exercising my fiscal and caregiving responsibilities, I tried hard to have times just to visit. To laugh. To tell stories. To have a friend come over and cut and style her hair. To speak with her in other languages. I learned that while Alzheimer’s Disease causes someone to forget what she just talked about, it does not affect intelligence. My aunt was a very smart woman. She was among very few women who earned a Bachelor’s Degree in 1935. She could carry a conversation in English, Spanish, French, and Italian even up to her last days.

Contrary to what some people think, Alzheimer’s Disease does not cause everyone to be bitter or angry. I was pleased that my aunt remained happy, calm, and positive throughout her aging and Alzheimer’s-imposed memory decline.

One year ago this week, I fell and broke my ankle. My daily visits with my aunt stopped suddenly because I literally couldn’t move. While my aunt’s companion caregiver still came every day, there was an observable change in my aunt’s behavior. She really missed me, and withdrew. Gosh, it hurt to observe that happening.

The very moment I could hobble back onto my feet, I went over to her home. I observed that my aunt had become significantly more feeble and frail.

Then, in May, she began complaining of significant pain in her back. Turns out that she had two compression fractures. The pain became the singular focus of my aunt’s attention — she forgot to eat, to drink, and to bathe. Within a few weeks, she was a medical mess, and I had to have her hospitalized in June for treatment of mild malnutrition, dehydration, and a minor infection.

Returning from the hospital was a feat, orchestrated with the help of senior pals and family. But we were able to get her back home, into a familiar environment. I worked with her caregiving company and got personal attendants (caregivers) on-board 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

You’d think, then, that my job was over. Other people were taking care of her. On the contrary, my job was becoming more intense. But I did what I had to do. And loved it. Sure, it was hard sometimes to observe my aunt’s physical decline, on top of ongoing memory decline, but if my aunt taught me anything, it was how to age with dignity and grace.

Her caregiving team and I developed a great working relationship. We learned new ways of sharing information with each other about my aunt’s ongoing condition and changes, as well as physical, mental, and medical needs. From a four-page grocery check-off list to a tremendous detailed log that everyone could follow to know what and when my aunt ate, pooped, bathed, and so forth. That log was incredibly helpful as I used it to interact with her physicians and to let me know about her ongoing nutritional and caregiving requirements.

I never really counted the hours with which I devoted attention to her care — both in personal visits as well as while I was at home contacting family, doctors, and her caregiving company’s management on a regular basis.

What it all came down to is asking myself, “how would you like to live until death?” — simple answer: “at home, comfortably.” That’s what I did. Yes, that was a promise that I made to her husband, but it was also a promise that I made to her, and to myself. “Make it happen.” So I did.

I have two recent precious memories: her 96th birthday party, celebrated on January 2, 2011, with cake, ice cream, and sharing joy with her caregiving team and two of our Delegates in the Maryland General Assembly. My aunt was presented a House Resolution recognizing her birthday. She was thrilled.

On Monday, January 24, I have another fond memory. Her caregiver suggested that since two of us were there, that my aunt should exercise by walking. I got her up, we walked into the Living Room, then rested a bit, then walked back. Aunt Lee turned to me and said, “how far did I go?” I casually replied, “well, not quite a marathon.” Then Lee said in her dry wit, “well, a marathon is 26 kilometers. I have only walked two, so that’s 1/13th of a marathon.” That just astounded me as both a demonstration of how Alzheimer’s doesn’t affect intelligence, but also how she could come up with such funny things to say.

Unfortunately, Aunt Lee’s condition was very frail, and any little thing could have — and did — set off a chain of consequences that resulted in death. On the evening of Monday, January 24, she had rapid-onset aspiration pneumonia which caused less oxygen to reach her heart, and she suffered a heart attack. Her caregiver on duty saved her life by responding immediately to call 9-1-1 and then me. Admission through the E.R. to Intensive Care at the hospital followed. While those events did not directly kill her, she was not able to recover. On Wednesday, January 26, she died peacefully with two of her caregivers and me by her side, and was not in pain. She actually had a slight smile on her face when she passed.

I am not bereft or lost or crying hysterically. I learned so much in caring for my aunt, including preparing for and accepting that death is part of the circle of life. I am at peace with myself in knowing that I did all that I could, and my aunt was happy, safe, and loved. It is fitting that our last words with each other were, “I love you.”

Many times you’ve heard me say, “life is short: show those you love that you love them.” I practice doing that all the time. Most regularly with my aunt, but also with some other precious senior pals who I look after, but who also look after me.

Life is indeed short: make it worth living by extending your heart to care for others.