It’s taken a while to get to the end of our 6 week Southern Europe Adventure, but finally here is the last 3 days!
Although we love trains and we were going to take the fast train from Barcelona back to Madrid where we started our trip, Jim decided differently.
I feel he was not ready for our adventure to be over, so we rented a car and drove from Barcelona to Zaragoza.
We explored, walked, ate, drank and enjoyed.
We sauntered through and climbed up churches.
Right outside our hotel was a medieval/ Renaissance fair. I’ve been to them before but not in a city that is medieval!
Then we drove to the Madrid Airport and my job was to point out sights and stuff to do. So I pointed out piles of stone that was once a castle. There were lots of castles at one time. There were also giant skinny bulls here and there. And we stopped in a small village that was a town that is known for its witches. We saw no witches.
It was a great end to a fantastic trip! We loved every little bit of it.
We are fortunate, but travel can be affordable. I did it when I did not make much money. We fly economy, and we stay in cheaper hotels/pensions.
I never and still don’t have or lived expensively. My money went to saving for travel…and emergencies. I met someone who also loves travel.
If you have any questions, need advice on cheap travel, let me know!
Thank you so much for going on yet another journey with MY GNOME LITTLE WORLD!
Before I talk about my Madrid Art Appreciation Education, I’ve been to Madrid, including El Prado, before…it was 38 years ago. Things change, I change, but my memories stay still.
The main thing I remember is a group of us from a Youth Hostel went to El Prado together and before we entered we got high. I did not get high a lot, but this is one of my favorite highs. High in an art museum is a whole new world.
This time I searched El Prado and it’s countless old paintings for the one that had me sit still for a long time, a long time ago. Me and a hostel friend stared and talked about it for what now feels like an hour. We did not let things escape us at the time. Now, I fear some of it escaped my memory because even though I found that mesmerizing piece, I was not enamored like I was as my 22 year old high self.
Now back to what the 3 art museums taught me, this time in Madrid. I learned a lot about myself, a bit surprised. I’ve always thought I was a lover of all art from all time periods, but I’m telling you I am so loving modern art way more than the old stuff. I still admire the old art, but honestly sometimes I love the workmanship and skill that went into making the elaborate frames on those pieces even more than the art. Sooo…El Prado bored me a bit this time. The Thyssen and Reina Sofia was so much more my jam. I learned upcycled art is not a new thing. I learned Picasso, Dali and Miro did so much more than what we see all the time. They were multi-faceted geniuses. My favorite art experiences this time in Madrid, Even though I was not high this time, I sat dumbfounded and mesmerized when one of Calder’s huge outdoor mobiles slowly danced with the wind. I felt lucky.
Of course Madrid is so much more than just its museums. Who wouldn’t love countless book stores, tapas, music, sangria, cafes, murals, graffiti and the people.
Not to mention funky little bars like Tupperware and La Via Lactea (The Milkyway)! It’s always good to get out of the tourist area and into where the locals go.
I was waiting to post this until after we went back to Madrid at the end of our trip, but at the last minute Jim decided to not go back to Madrid, and to see more of Spain by driving from Barcelona, stopping in Zargoza for a couple of nights before our flight back home. That trip, and blog post, will be the last of our Southern Europe Adventure!
Once again I thank you for visiting MY GNOME LITTLE WORLD!
After a few hours getting lost and contemplating death in Pompeii, we headed to Sorrento where the streets were packed with people, scooters, cars, lemon covered and flavored everything, and yes, happiness.
We found a spot to park, which was miraculous, so it was a sign to stop, explore and eat. Although it was hot out we opted for a table outside, but in the shade. We love people watching!
After lunch things got scary, for me at least. I picked one of the most southern towns on the Amalfi Coast to stay in, so we could drive through all the towns on the way there. The drive to them, through them is what roller coaster horror stories are made of, but if so beautiful!
Jim, I think had a blast driving the road, well at times. The other times either his nerves were shot from scooters passing him up on roads barely wide enough for two cars, much less the mass amounts of huge tourist buses going both ways. And let me talk about the people walking on the side of these roads with no sidewalks. I literally saw a family slam their bodies against the cliff wall as a huge bus went by. I was not going to walk that road, nope not me, not ever, especially married to Safety Jim!
But with all that said, it was fun for us. Yes, I learned my tummy gets a bit squishy when looking straight down at the beautiful coast line on a very high cliff road in a moving car. The wonderful scenes made me look! The beauty upon beautiful stacked up on beauteous is mind boggling. My photos do not do it justice.
Even though most of the Amalfi Coast is situated with towns that climb down the cliffs, ours, Mairoi was all basically at sea level. There was defiantly a good slant downward toward the water, but our hotel was at sea level. Mairoi is a small town, but with everything one would need to vacate their for a weekend, week or on a month long holiday, especially since there are cheap ferries to all the towns along the Amalfi Coast.
Our first full day in Mairoi started off with a good breakfast at the hotel over looking the sea, and then we got to laundry. Not our favorite part of the trip, but a necessary one. We found if we barely wore something, or did not sweat much in…it could be worn again, but not the underwears and socks. We became very good at washing them out in the hotel room sinks and either hanging them about the room and if we were lucky, the balcony.
The funny thing about this day is although we decided to stay in at town at sea level, we also decided to go on the “Path of Lemons” which is path of over 1000 steps over cliffs raising up as high as 525 feet above sea level between Mairoi and its smaller neighbor town of Minori. One town is small and the other is smaller.
The best idea we had that day was to stop in an over the top wonderful bakery on our way to find the trail. We gave ourselves treats, yummy delicious, sweet sugar filled treats! And yes we did it before the hike. Don’t judge us!
Although all over the internet says it only 2.2 mile / 40 minute hike and good trail, they did not mention the heights we had to climb up and down to do it in the middle (yes, we left at 2pm) of a hot day. Again, it was a workout like most of the trip’s activities had been, but it was worth it.
The views, the lemons trees growing on cliffs with trellises is amazing, the views of the towns and the sea wonderful, the mom and daughter selling lemon water along the trail adorable! And the town of Minori was worth it too.
After we got to the back of the town we started to make our way down to the water and in search of something to drink. The town is medieval in its architecture, so we were looking all over the place. One place caught our attention, in the back of a dark business we saw an old guy pouring something into bottles, ah, limoncello. Of course, and they gave away free samples. It called to us, I mean, isn’t that what one does after a steep 1.5 hour hike over a cliff? Well, in Italy it is, at least for us. It was a tiny taste and we bought a little bottle of our own.
We then headed for the beach again, and again, I was stopped in my track. A bishop maybe, maybe someone higher in the Catholic religion was surrounded by at least 3 photographers walking up the steps of a cathedral. I had to take a photo too, I never got a photo of his face to try to see if I could find out who was this mystery man of religion. But I was there for it. Jim wandered ahead looking for something to quench his thirst.
After that we found out about the ferry back to our town as we were not going to climb over that cliff again. We ate at the beach and I did a bunch of sea glass hunting while we waited for the ferry. We were also entertained by two guys working on laying down a wood path on the sand. When on holiday, chilling, you notice the little things. It was quite a nice afternoon and ferry ride back.
We showered and got ready for dinner, and a nice dinner under lemon trees we had.
The next morning we opted for an early ferry to the town of Amalfi. After wandering the streets and checking out the beach, we found an activity to do.
A tour of an ancient paper making factory. They made paper out of old material! They even rerouted the river through town to go into the factory as it was used to power the machines that were still there. One ancient and one super duper old. I even got to make a sheet of paper after the mashing/mushing part of the material was done from a large vat of material pulp. Very cool for us nerds.
After that it was time for a meal and I do think this is where I found my now beloved cocktail. An Amalfi Spritz, similar to the well known Aperol Spritz, but put limoncello in place of the Aperol. What a wonderful idea, and an even more wonderful taste in my mouth! Again we sat outside, the streets were packed with tours, cruises and vacationing people for our viewing pleasure.
We ferried back to our town, showered and changed for dinner on the rooftop restaurant and bar at our hotel, which also had live music. Our last night in Italy.
Italy, you so did not disappoint. You exceeded our expectations! Between Rome owning up to giant history with huge buildings, my own family history coming to life around Sant’ Agata di Goti, being so bowled over by the magnitude of Pompeii that we got lost, and now, the overwhelming beauty of the Amalfi Coast.
We will be back! For me, I’ll be back sooner than the last time I visited. I went to Florence and Sienna in the summer of 1986, right after I graduated from college on a 2 month European holiday. That trip is what set my love of travel. That and the road trips we took with Mom when we were kids.
To explore unexpected paths, adventure through land and history, see beauty beyond imagination, experience from another’s viewpoint, and learn, constantly learning. It’s in my heart, my bones and it’s part of my fiber. I met my match in Jim. I’m crazy thankful for the experiences in my life.
And I appreciate you taking a gander through some of them here in MY GNOME LITTLE WORLD!
Yes, everyone knows I’m Italian. Okay, speaking of truth, I’m only half Italian. Well, according to Ancestry I’m only almost half (48%) Italian. Let me correct that and to be exact, I’m almost half American Italian. And I can thank my father for that.
We were raised knowing we had family in Italy. My grandparents had even gone back to Italy. I thought regularly, but I learned they did not. I have heard different versions of their story. Were they myths and legends?
For many people who have immigrants for parents or grandparents, we think about meeting our family back in the “old” country. Some people actual do it. My Uncle George, my father’s twin brother, and his wife did that once. Their story stuck in my mind, and Jim’s too. So it has been in the back of our minds to go where Grandpa lived in Italy.
The MythThe LengendThe Man!
On that journey, 9 years ago I started a family FB page called “Balzaranos of the World Unite”. People joined, from all over the place. Yes, many from my family here in the States, but from other countries and lines of the family. Information rolled in, people share their genealogy research info, some posted old photos of family, some shared screen shots of documents and some just like posts they saw.
With all this in mind, a trip was planned for my 50th birthday year, but it never happened. I just turned 60 and again we planned, but again there was a chance it would get cancelled due to illness in our family. Once they were on the mend and stable, this trip was decided on last minute. And we decided last minute to go longer too, so I had 6 weeks of constant adventures to plan out in one month. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to reach out to people on that FB “Balzaranos of the World Unit” page regarding our Italy leg of the trip, until I literally got to where my grandfather grew up, Sant ‘Agata di Goti.
So, the evening of our arrival to Sant ‘Agata di Goti I messaged a person that grew up in the area, and who I talked to (through the Internet) before. I knew she no longer lived there, but I put out a last minute effort message to her to see if there was anyone she knew that could meet up with me.
Fortunately, she not only, thankfully, came through, her Father did, and he is a hero in my eyes. Just writing this warms heart thinking of Paolo. He opened his arms, his heart, his home and his family to Jim and I. I tear up now thinking about our time with him, as I teared up many times that one day. Yes, we only met with him for a day, and it now seems like much much longer. And mind you, we did not speak each other’s languages too! Translation apps were our friends.
We met up with Paolo in the village of Bagnoli which is the part of Sant’ Agata di Goti where Grandpa lived. First, Paolo was not an 80 something year old guy, he looked around my age and nicely dressed. We “chatted” about family, and at some point I asked him, if we were at my grandpa’s childhood home. We were not, so he drove us to another part of the village not far away, parked the car and then led us up an old destroyed road into an olive tree farm. Paolo stopped and showed us where the house once was.
It was torn down. I don’t know why, he doesn’t know why, but there it no longer stood. We’ve both heard different stories about my grandfather’s family, but first let me explain how Paolo and I are related.
My great grandfather, Pasquale and his grandfather, Francesco, were brothers. There were many years between them, with Pasquale, my great grandfather, being much older than Francesco, Paolo’s grandfather. I just saw on Ancestry that Francesco may have been a half brother of Pasquale’s but there was nothing to back that up. So many stories, different stories, some match up, some do not.
Paolo told me that his father, Francesco, was close to my grandfather, his uncle, Lorenzo because they were close in age. Paolo grew up hearing stories of Lorenzo. Paolo’s knowledge of the family is that Pasquale took Francesco to the U.S., but then Francesco went back to Italy, married, stayed, and raised his family. More of what I know of the Balzarano history later.
Back to our day with Paolo and his family, my “new” family. After we saw where Grandpa’s childhood home used to stand, he took us to his childhood home. It was huge, because he said his father kept on adding on it so his family can live close together. It sounds like my grandparents. They owned a big home with at least 2 apartments on the property and I recall family did live in them. Paolo now owns his family’s home and he has plans to bring it back to life, which I love. I mean, the great memories I have of my grandparent’s home are precious, it would be great to still have a place to go to where those memories could come alive again, and dance in my heart.
After seeing Paolo’s childhood/family home, he invited us to his home for lunch. We followed him out in the country driving for around a half hour to where he lives now, Telese Terme. We drove through a large sliding gate into an area that seemed like a business, and then it hit me. I was besides myself, I knew where we were. It was nothing to do with my family or our history, it was only from me doing a google maps search of my last name in the area of Sant’ Agata di Goti. Around a year ago I found Balzarano Suidae. I reached out but never heard back from them. I suspected we weren’t related, but I was later informed their old website service was not good at all and they probably never got my message. Anyway, I could not believe it was Paolo’s business. I had just told my husband, that I wanted to look for it when we were there. And there we were!
Now a step back, the 3 of us went into Paolo’s home and that is when and where I really understood how we were related. My husband drew out a family tree connecting us and getting more information too. It felt good, it felt right. We are family. After that revelation, Paolo took us to downtown Telese Terme to see the sights, which led us to a natural spring located at one end of town. We sat and drank the fresh mineral water. Yes, Jim and I drink the water in most European countries…and we were fine. We continued to “translator app” chat and just relax, until it was time for a tour of Balzarano Suidae.
Paolo’s son, Antonio, who is his partner in the business, taught us all about what they do. Like I mentioned, it is a meat business, half is selling high end cuts of pig. Well, all of the business is all about the pig, only Italian pigs of maybe a certain variety. The other half of the business is curing meat and making of sausage, salami, prosciutto and the such. They do everything naturally and it is a very precise business. Jim was in heaven learning some of the details. I was when we got to do some quality control tasting! Yum, is not even a close description. I have never had such lean salami before! I so wanted to buy a bunch for everyone, but it’s illegal to bring it back. Bah. One day Balzarano Suidae will be famous in the United States, mark Antonio’s words, but first we have to work on the strict regulations for importing meats (without all the crappy preservatives and chemicals in them).
After that we looked through some photo albums, it was lunch time, and lunch it was. I was fooled once again in Italy. Secondo and terzo are real things, its not a lunch it is THE meal of the day. We sat down to a real charcuterie, not board, but a whole table. All their company’s meats, some cheese, tomatoes, olives and bread all over the place. Jim and I ate like fat Americans (and basically we are compared to my slender Italian family). Then I hear stuff going in on in the kitchen and out comes bowls of pasta. And that is when my memory kicked in of when I had a meal with a friends/family of friends back when I was 22 and in Florence, Italy. Our eyes got crazy wide, but of course there was a second course. We ate because were not going to be rude, and yes, it looked so very good too. And it was. Honestly, I am glad I did not go too charcuterie crazy, because after the pasta there was more food. Antonio did warn us though. At the end of the tour, he said, “You have had the American Hamburger, but today I will give you an Italian “ham”burger.” And he did, it was a patty of his quality ground pork. Yes, we ate it and it was delish! And so was the fruit they brought out next. Oh my happy full belly, but not full enough for a bit of homemade limoncello and creamy limoncello with some fruit. We also accepted espresso so we would not fall asleep on the way home. We felt more than just family, we felt special.
Wait, lunch was not done yet. It was not just the great food that made this lunch so special, it was talking and getting to know each other, the laughter and stories. Yes, there was a language barrier, but that does not stop Italians. Antonio, his wife Marta, Paolo’s wife, Noemi, and Paolo’s sister, Maddalena, are now my family. Technically they were already family, but they are family family now. By the way, they were not the only family I met that day, Michela, Paolo’s daughter (and the person that connected me to her father) called in on video, as well as Paolo’s other sister, Silvana. Oh, how even special this made me feel.
Maddelena remembered when my grandparents went to Italy. Antonio talked business with Jim. Noemi told me I look so much like a Balzarano. Marta helped translate. Jim’s was trying to figure out how to get Balzarano Suidae meats to the U.S. I was in the middle of it all, taking it all in, and Paolo filled everyone in what he and I had learned earlier that day about our family.
But there is more to learn. The next morning before we hit the road to the Amalfi coast, Paolo met up with us one last time to show us where our family is buried. We saw where his mother, uncles and father and even grandfather, Francesco was buried in a Sant’ Agata di Goti cemetery. But what about Francesco’s brother, Pasquale, my great grandfather? What happened to Pasquale? Paolo said that Pasquale went to the U.S. and thought he was buried there. My grandfather was born in Italy in 1896. So did Pasquale move back to Italy too? What is his life’s story.
Why didn’t someone, one of my grandfather’s 12 children, write things down? Even though I am thankful I got information from my Aunt Gladys and Uncle George, it was limited. My husband was frantically writing it down as they talked about family. I am happy I got this information and it helped, but at that time, I am changing lanes here, what I really wanted was more information about my Dad.
My father died when I was 4 years old from a freak work accident. I, nor my little brother who was born 3 days after my father died, have no memories of him. We asked siblings and my Mom, but I feel we would just get washed over responses.. Yes, everybody loved him, he was handsome and the life of the party…but what about the nitty gritty of the man who made me. When I asked my Uncle, my father’s twin brother, it was too hard for him to talk about my Dad still around 56 years later. So I will never really know who my Dad was, but what I can do is try to find out more about his family and the past.
Although most of the family grew apart and all us cousins went our separate ways, I feel very connected to the Balzarano family. Maybe not the people per say (love you guys, you know what I mean), but the memories, the immigrant story, the personality, the connection to the “old” country, Italian New Yorkers imagery, and most of all the American Italian-ness of it all.
So getting to meet people in Italy, Balzaranos, my family, was something my heart needed. Knowing some of the stories of family back in Italy are actually true, and having someone to help me figure some of it out was what my always information seeking head needed. Speaking of figuring things out, I want to figure out Pasquale’s, my great grandfather’s, story. We have names of who think his children are, (Lorenzo, of course, Carmela, Victoria and Maria Carmina) and I think a name of his wife (Mariangela Rainone), but from there things are not clear at all. So if anyone wants to help me, please reach out to me on my FB page “Balzaranos of the Word Unite!”
Thanks Mom and Dad for bringing me here. I want our family to live on. It is into the future, but I want the past to come to me now. I want to learn. I want to know.
Thank you once again for visiting
MY GNOME LITTLE WORLD.
The travel Blog will continue with Pompeii, Amalfi Coast, Barcelona, and the Drive across part of Spain, including a stay in Zaragoza. And it will go back to mostly photos.
Yep, I know change is good. I was in a rut, a rut that not only put a dent in my couch, but also in my mental health. It was easy to pretend it was normal, especially when I talked to my doctor about it and they just ignored it. If them, why not me too? When I pushed them, they did low level blood tests and then told me I was fine. So fine I was.
(Photo: I’m fine. Really I’m fine. Street art in my new (old) hood.)
But I was not and knew it. We moved and now I feel different inside. I am motivated to go out for walks, make art, take photos, lots of photos, even clean, but most importantly, write. I won’t write a lot, but here I am writing. Ok..who am I kidding, this may not be a lot to me, but to others it’s sooo long.
(Photo: A close up of my latest Artwork. It’s called “Webbed Map of Life”. So many ins, outs, ups, downs, paths crossing, ties made, and it’s all an interconnected web.)
I still don’t know what was going on and I fear it will come back. The immense lack of motivation that was running through my mind and body could be just sitting at bay, waiting for me to have one low moment or down day.
(Photo: We can’t let our fears keep us locked up. If it comes back, I will fight with vengeance. Like someone locked up this abandoned building with vengeance.)
I was not in a depression, as far as I know. Maybe I was, maybe it was an after pandemic lull, maybe I was just bored. My Mom always said, “Only boring people are bored.” So, I learned how to entertain myself. Maybe I forgot how for a year or two. Who knows?
(Video: I’m usually not bored…or boring. But I did a lot less of this silliness during that time period.)
Okay, maybe deep down I know why I was in a rut and unmotivated, but I will leave that reason to myself. Yes, I am usually an open book most of the time, but sometimes there are things that are not important to the big story so you can leave it out or even skip over that page and not miss a beat.
(Photo: Some windows are open for all to peak in…but some are closed leaving a mystery behind.)
Since it is Mental Health Awareness month, I do want to say the following. Although I am not sure if my issue was a mental health issue or not, I just know things will get better. I visualize a tiny light at the end of a tunnel. It seems far away and unobtainable, but you will get to the end of that tunnel soon. Keep on pushing doctors to help, do your own research, make changes, reach out for help from friends, family or even strangers. Strangers sometimes help the best.
(Photo: It is shaded up front on the patio, but yet sun beams down on a plant inside. Help can come in unexpected places and ways.)
I know this because I am a stranger that people talk to about their problems. I am serious, they do because I am a natural empath. I have blocked some of it away, because with being a sensitive comes pain. Strangers unload and then I move on. No lasting connections, strings, or feelings to hurt down the road.
(Photo: Just taking photos of strangers.)
Take care of yourself, and also be there for someone soon, very soon. Don’t wait, self care, reach out and make that call, text, or commment…just do it.
(Photo: Looking for seaglass heals my soul.)
Happy Mind, Unwind.
Unload Stress, Rest.
No Doubt, Reach Out.
Make Change, Widen Your Range.
(Photo: This one here is the picture of self care…and he reaches out to help me too.)
(I just found this post that I never posted exactly 364 days after my Mom died. I wrote it while my Mom was dying. I changed verbs to past tense and decided to post it now on the 365th day, 1 year, after my Mom died. This is my view and my view alone. I wasn’t physically alone, but I was alone inside my head through this).
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A JOURNEY I DIDN’T WANT GO ON
If I could I would give it back.
If you looked through this blog you notice I love to travel, take journeys, explore and go on adventures. We move every year. We don’t get to live in our home. We just don’t sit still.
On our first family trip to Florida from New York
After Jim’s last Project Manager gig ended in Puerto Rico, we went to our home, waiting for the next project, and where it would take us. Then Covid-19 hit the U.S., and we have been home bound ever since. This is not the journey.
Easter, Probably 1967
This journey is part of everyone’s life. Death. Not mine, my Mother’s. My “Mommasan”. The woman that brought me into this world. And I helped her, on her way out.
Me and Mom at Cypress Gardens FL in the early 1970s
My Mother felt bad and my step-father brought her to the ER, they did a CT Scan and wanted her to stay, but Mom with her short term memory loss just wanted to be home. Three days later my Mom was back in the ER, this time she stayed in the hospital. My home is only 1.5 hours away from my parents, I was there fast. Of course, with Covid-19, I was not allowed into the hospital, but due to my Mom’s short term dementia, I was finally allowed in so someone was with her at all times. Mom had 2 blood transfusions, her abdomen drained, and a biopsy of a mass they found in the wall of her abdomen, her omentum.
Yes, a mass. No good news. But this is not yet the journey.
Mom and I with Grandpa
The journey happened once we got home, because all Mom wanted was to be home. She was clear, if it was her time, she wanted to be home. At home she went downhill fast, and we did not even have the results of the biopsy. The Oncologist already was sure it was Advanced Stage 4 Cancer. And it was. She has Cancer of the Ovaries and it already spread to her omentum and maybe even elsewhere. She had internal bleeding, and her abdomen was full of blood of fluids.
Mom did not want anymore procedures, no draining of her abdomen again. Not even another blood transfusion. I made calls to family, they made plans to come.
I was in a whirlwind of helping Mom, Making plans for hospice, texting with family, calls, calls and more calls, setting up a Priest to come, even contacting a funeral home just in case, and all while being calm before the storm.
Mom and I in the 1980s
I saw Mom go from walking with help and chatting normally, to being completely bed-bound in less than 24 hours. I thought my journey of death was going to be a short one, but no Mom rallied when all her 5 of her children, her sister, her best friend, and 2 of her grandchildren came. She was funny, witty, but weak. She would even take bites of food here and there.
Too many sitting vigil, too many personalities, too many just too many. And then most left, leaving my step father, my sister and me to care for Mom. Then the Journey slowed down…to a crawl. I started to google everything. The signs of death. The stages of death. How many times an hour should a dying person pee. What happens if they don’t eat anymore. Bed sores…don’t get me started about bedsores.
My Mom, little brother and I at the Grand Canyon in 1976 on a Nationwide road trip
Oh, and my worst fear, the vomiting bile thing. I googled it. The Hospice nurse said a hospice patient should poop every 3 days, if not, give them meds to poop. If they don’t poop it will come out by throw up. That happened to a neighbor. It was a horrible way to go at the end of it all. So I was very scared for my Mom having that same violent end. I had learned if Mom was not eating, maybe there wasn’t anything to Poop. I prayed to God himself that she would not have to go through that, and I tried not to worry about it anymore. I prepared myself for the worst (not really), but hoped for the best. Is there even a best in this situation?
Although the days start to blend into the next, I learn new things. I was pretty good at interpreting when Mom talked. It was barely an audible mumble, but sometimes I know exactly what she was saying. It just popped into my head. She no longer ate.. Google says a body can last quite a while without food. She got to the point she no longer needed to go onto a portable potty, then I wanted to know how often we should change her adult “briefs”? Google told me to check every two hours. One of my death bed super powers was googling.
Mom and I at the Japanese Gardens in San Francisco 1976
But the one thing I couldn’t find on the internet is any info at all on people with dementia, just short term memory loss, who are in hospice dying of cancer. Through this Journey, my Mom asked over and over and over again, “What is wrong with me? What caused it? What kind of cancer?” Will I get better? Am I going to die? Am I crazy? Are you going to send me to the nut house?” With every one of those questions, my heart broke.
My Mom did not know she was dying. She did not remember anything she was told after 5 minutes ago. It just left her mind. She talked about childhood stuff with her sister, but something that was said 5 to 10 minutes ago, nope. Gone. There is no support for people on this particular Journey. We are the blind leading the blind…to death. We had told her the truth countless times. We had told her she was very sick. We told she had the flu. We told her only God knows. We told her that maybe she would get better. Ok, not me. I never tell her she will get better, because part of me knew she knew. Deep down past her memory loss, she knew.
Mom all dressed up in our first FL home in early 1970s
Since my Mom didn’t outwardly know she was dying, I feared she would never just let go. The advice from friends and family was to make sure you, everyone, told her, that we all will be ok and it is ok to let go. Fine and dandy, but everyone has to tell her that every 5 minutes and it still wouldnt work. I had heard the stories. They all went like this…”The day after seeing my Grandma, she let go and died. We all left Dad to go out for lunch and he died when we were gone.” They were fantasies I had on that Journey. Everytime I went to leave the house I told my Mom Good bye, but then she asked me if I was coming back. I wanted to say, “Nope, this is the last time I will ever see you alive,” but I couldn’t, and just said, “I’ll be back soon.”
My brother left, Mom did not let go. My husband left, she did not let go. Even her sister left, she did not let go. My step father wouldn’t leave for more than 20 minutes and I don’t even think he told her he was leaving every time. She has gotten weaker, stopped eating, was barely talking, she stared off into space, and then started to sleep with her eyes open. I had dying Mom, others got rallying Mom. I was okay with it, I had made peace with Mom dying the first time she told the Patient Advocate in the hospital “If it’s my time to go I want to be at home.” It is her choice and I can not argue that.
Going way back to Christmas probably 1966
I have been avoiding the elephant in the post. The actual dying part. Death was actually my Mom’s Journey. My Journey was being part of her dying. I think everyone should see a baby being born, it is a miracle. I don’t believe everyone needs to be part of this life process. I do not find it miraculous at all. The human body, the machine that it is just doesn’t stop, is breaks down, piece by piece. First Mom stopped walking, then she stopped eating, she lost her strength to suck from a straw, talking was too much work for her, and then Mom lost control of her bladder. Then she got to the point of not even being able to swallow, when she was awake her eyes stare off into nowhere, her cheeks were sunken, most touch hurt her, she had bed sores, and she insisted she needed to get out of bed, that she had to pee, but she already went in her adult diapers. Mom got moved around like a human size human weight doll so we could change her briefs, to position her better, and to bath her. This is dying. My Journey was helping her with all that.
I held her hand, but I didn’t rub her skin with my finger, because she didn’t like that. I made sure the heals of her feet were not touching the bed. I put cream on her bed sores when I changed her briefs. I tried to figure out what her needs were, when she moved her lips I ask if if she wanted water, which we were giving to her through a dropper at that point. I tried distract her when she thought she wanted to get out of bed, by repositioning the bed or her legs. One of the last developments, is she wouldn’t take all her meds that were crushed up mixed with water and put into a dropper. I saw she could still swallows, but she refused. The meds were for pain and for the anxiety that goes along with dying. My own anxiety issues were at an all time high. I took extra meds. The last thing I wanted was for her to have pain or fear. I had to google if she would have pain and fear. Google was my death best friend.
Mom doing her “You Must Pay the Rent” routine
In my Journey, death is slow, it steals the person bit by bit, it breaks them down, it humiliates them, it frustrates them, it haunts them. And it does the some of same to their care-taking family as well. I am not comparing death with watching someone die, I am saying I experience these things in my own way on this Journey. At the end, I did not see my Mom in the shell of what was left of her body anymore. Every once in awhile, we got a glimmer, but it could just be the agitation stage of dying, not her being strong or sassy. I knew she still heard us and I felt she knew who we were, but I don’t know what she was thinking most of the time.
Last photo of us together taken 7 days from her hospital stay.
Sometimes, I broke down, I got weak, I was frustrated, I cried, I was exhausted, and I wanted it all to end. Honestly, I wanted it to end for me just as much as I wanted it for Mom. Does that make me selfish? I was not sure if she was suffering, but I felt she would be more at peace if she moved on. Or was that what just hope? I believed it. A year later I still believe it. I believe she was greeted by those that had moved on before her, even her pets. I didn’t just want to believe for Mom, but I believe that for when I move on too. I know I will see her again, just like I will see my Dad, who died from accident when I was 4 years old. But yes, I was ready, not ever really ready, but ready for Mom to move on.
This is the cute face I want to remember.
I fely like I was living in a Groundhogs Day Movie, but I could not make changes for the outcome to be better. Mom would always die in that movie of mine. We did the same things every day. I am not complaining, I was okay with Mom dying, even if I was never really not ready.
This is the sense of humor I want to remember.
Mom died 365 days ago and I’m still not sure I’ve mourned her. I’ve always been ok with death. My father died young from a freak accident, so I learned early about death. I never had a false sense that she would be here forever.
This is the silly I want to remember.
But she is here forever, in my heart, mind and soul.
Mommasan, Bye for Now and I Love You.
The last good bye after leaving 4 days before her illness got the best of her.
I was just going to start chronicling good bye photos…this was the first and the last .
My Gnome Little World 