My empty nest didn’t last long. As suddenly as the oldest fledgling flew, they returned, with circumstantial drama and a broken heart (which, of course, hurts a mom’s heart, too.) Things didn’t work out with the new roommates nor with the significant other, and a few weeks later we now have our 21-year-old back with us.
Aerial view of my life.
In what seems to be typical timing, everything blew up at the very moment Hubs and I were packing to leave on vacation, our first trip without kids in…oh, twenty-one years. We were scheduled to leave our house at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning. Around 8:00 the night before came the text messages followed by a tear-filled hour-long conversation in which it became clear that said kid needed to get out of their situation and return home immediately.Greyhound Bus Lines now emails me every day, believing we’re bff’s because I bought one ticket from them. Continue reading “Life on the Boomerang Roller Coaster”→
I have a new hobby: tormenting my oldest child with joke messages about everything we’re changing now that said kid has suddenly flown the coop.
In my last post I mentioned that I wasted no time, sending a text ten minutes after they left the house, saying “We rented your room.” Start as you mean to go on, is my motto. I waited a few hours to message them with “I sold the rest of your stuff on ebay.”
Hubs and I now find ourselves in charge of the pets that got left behind — a cat, a rat and a hedgehog. After a couple of days, my typing fingers got busy again. I told the offspring, “Since you left us with all of these pets, Dad and I have joined a support group for custodial grandparents.”
The next message I sent included a picture, with a caption:
We did some work on the basement. The living room is next.
Following that, I sent one saying, “Even with all the ‘grandkids’, we were lonely, so we got a dog.”
“He’s really gentle with people he knows. His name is Sweetums.”
Then this: “Check out my new wheels! I traded in the minivan.”
I think I’ll get around to the living room redesign this weekend. I have something like this in mind:
I have a thousand ideas. I could keep this up for a loooong time. I love how the age of the Internet makes it easy to keep in touch.
I’ve been afraid of changin’ Cause I built my life around you But time makes you bolder Children get older I’m getting older, too (From the Stevie Nicks song, “Landslide”)
Two weeks ago, we had a plan, or so I thought. My 21-year-old (who prefers the gender-neutral pronouns “they” and “them”) would continue to live with us for at least several weeks, while continuing college. Their significant other would move into the house as well, temporarily, from the small town where they can’t find work. The S.O. would seek employment here and the two of them would eventually get an apartment in our city, maybe in two to three months.
Eight days ago, I was helping my college junior collect bugs for an entomology lab. The next day — one week ago tonight — the offspring announced that friends in Colorado had a room open and said both of them could move in there. In fact, it would happen over the coming weekend. Both of them would look for jobs once they got to the new place. Friday, my kid withdrew from college and started packing. Sunday night the abductors new roommates arrived and slept at our house, while I spent a sleepless night stalking them on-line. Early Monday morning, they packed what they could fit into a Mazda hatchback and drove off to collect my child’s S.O. before continuing to Colorado.
Sigh.
This is what young adults will do to their parents. Their life plans change so suddenly and drastically, they leave us with emotional whiplash. I said, “I brought you a stink bug from the garden and this is the thanks I get?”
I had a vision in my mind of getting to know their partner better, helping the young couple furnish their first apartment together, being close enough to have them over for dinner once a week. Calling up occasionally and saying, “Hey, let’s go to a movie, my treat.” Something gradual. Something that would give me time to prepare mentally and emotionally. A bachelor’s degree was in the vision somewhere, too.
I cried real tears. A lot of them, to be honest. My husband even had a little weeping the morning they left. But I suppose the joy of being twenty-one years old lies in being old enough to make your own decisions, but young enough not to be bogged down with worries of everything that could go wrong. The world is out there waiting for you to discover it. $700 in the bank, no car and no job lined up? Eh, it’ll work out.
I spent so many years immersed in the lives and needs of my two children and my mother. Adding in the job I do for a paycheck, I had little time for anything else. Now I suddenly find myself with only my husband and a houseful of pets. In a short period of time, my mom passed away and both kids moved out. At least the 18-year-old will be home for holidays, school breaks and some weekends. He’s doing it the correct way, in other words.
Since I often cope with anxiety and sadness through the use of humor, I gave my firstborn about ten minutes after pulling out of our driveway (roommate driving) then sent a text saying “We rented your room.” A few hours later, I followed up with “I sold the rest of your stuff on Ebay.” I suppose it’s not exactly like sending your kid off on a ship to America from the Irish shore in the 19th century, expecting never to see them again and not even to know for several months whether they arrived safely.
When this child was six, they promised to live with me forever. Liar. Or maybe they simply meant in my heart and mind. I admit, the former feels as if it has a big hole in the middle right now and the latter is still spinning.
If you’ve been on social media at all the past couple of weeks, I’m sure you’ve seen this photo by now:
The sign posted in a private boys’ school in Arkansas. I don’t remember the name. Bootstrap High or something.
Let me tell a story on myself. One day last week, I was checking out at the store with more than $100 worth of groceries when I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Everything had been rung up and bagged already. Thinking back through my day I had a pretty good idea where my wallet might be. I called my 21-year-old, who was home at the time, and asked them to find it and bring it to me. My offspring came through immediately and without complaint, saving my bacon. I suppose they could have said, “Well, Mom, this is really your problem to solve…”
The best part of the story is that the store employees didn’t try to shame me in any way. (I had that one covered all on my own, thanks, apologizing to them approximately five times.) The clerk even offered to put my food in a cooler while I waited if I thought it might take a while.
Have I ever taken anything to my kids at school after they forgot it? You bet. Have there been times they forgot something and I didn’t take it to them? Of course. A couple of times, one of them went off without a piece of homework or a book and I was at work, so I couldn’t bring it. Similarly, I wouldn’t have called my kid out of a college class to bail me out of my situation.
We all need help sometimes. We’re all human and fallible. Can’t we cut each other a little slack? I’m a person who has a hard time asking for assistance from anyone, ever, for anything. It’s a great failing of mine that I work hard to overcome. I didn’t want to raise my kids to be that way. Yes, sometimes I felt hassled and frustrated, but last week I received a payment in kind.
I understand some parents feel their kids get into a bad habit of taking advantage and they need to say no to requests like this. That’s cool, too. Because the parent involved knows their child and family situation the best.
What’s not so cool is the public shaming of parents and their kids so a school principal can feel smug. Maybe this shows me to be a terrible person, but my immediate reaction on reading the sign was a fervent hope that the principal would lock his/her keys in the car by accident and that all the parents, students and school staff in the vicinity would refuse to assist in any way.
How about we let parents and kids figure out for themselves how they want to handle these situations? How about we not hold children to higher standards than we hold ourselves? How about we offer each other more encouragement and support than scorn and ridicule?
This is the last week. The last week of my son mowing the back yard. The last week of asking him if he has any requests as I fill out my grocery list. The last week to remind him to wear his retainer when he goes to bed. The last week to go to sleep knowing he’s safe under my roof. The last week of the cat who’s grown old as he’s grown up spending an evening in his lap while he works on game design.
We move him into his dorm this coming Saturday, and we’re in the last-minute flurry of getting it all together. I check and re-check my list of what I think he’ll need: first aid kit, plenty of socks and underwear, towels and bedding, deodorant, plates, cups and bowls. Oh, plus, how about a shower caddy to carry all of his soap, shampoo and shaving supplies down the hall? And how about some shower sandals to help him avoid foot fungus? Better throw in a package of toilet paper, because who knows how often they restock in the communal bathroom. I cross-check my list with his: ethernet cable, USB hub, extra computer keyboard… I ask if he’s done any preparation at all. He says yes, he’s backed up files from his laptop to an external hard drive.
Photo of my son from eleven minutes ago. Or eleven years. Something like that.
I know he still has plenty of nights to spend under our roof in the future, on holidays and breaks, and the occasional weekend. I know I can visit him easily enough. He’ll be less than two hours away, after all. I know in the age of cell phones and Skype, we can be in touch as much as he’ll allow. But I know it won’t be the same as it was before he left. I’m pretty sure the new reality will bring a combination of freedom and pride and sadness and nostalgia and happiness and worry and hope.
It’s Primary Day here in Missouri and I participated in one of my favorite parent-child activities. This morning, my 18-year-old accompanied me to the polls to vote in his first election. If my future is in the hands of young adults like him, I’m not overly worried.
He not only researched every ballot issue and every candidate, but also the job duties for each office. What does the public administrator even do? Because he asked, I bothered to find out and now know that she (it’s been a she) handles the settling of estates left without a will and manages the affairs of people who are incapacitated with no family to help.
We should all be as conscientious with our votes. If having a toddler can help you appreciate anew the beauty of a daisy, having a new voter in the house can help you appreciate anew the beauty of democracy.
It’s been six months since my mom died and I disappeared into a blogging vortex. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue this blog, since it’s about sandwich generation issues and that’s no longer my life. I also felt little motivation to do anything beyond the absolute essentials of life.
Eight days after my mother’s passing, her sister followed. The two had always been close and even followed each other from city to city throughout their lives. My childhood was spent going back and forth between my home and my aunt’s, only a few houses apart. I suppose I’ve been in mourning. Do we use that word any more? I could have used some days of drawing the curtains and sitting in a dark house, with no expectations on me.
What’s happened in my life the past six months? I’m trying to remember. Settling my mom’s affairs has been an ongoing process. I’ve been working for pay as much as I can because we certainly can use the money. In May, my older kid turned 21 and my younger one turned 18 a week before graduating from high school. (As an aside, nobody prepared me for the amount of work involved in having a high school senior in the house.) I took my son on a couple of college tours and then helped him through the process of applying and enrolling at Missouri S&T, where he will soon begin his freshman year. We’ve had a car rear-ended and totaled and replaced. My 21-year-old has announced plans to quit school and move to Michigan with their significant other, and then changed course, deciding to stay in school here, while looking at the possibility of having the S.O. find a job in our area. I wouldn’t have guessed that my younger child would be the first to move out, but there it is.
I’ve experienced many nights of fitful sleep filled with bad dreams, followed by days of pushing my zombie self through the exhaustion minute by minute. I survived my first Mothers’ Day as an orphan, not without a river of tears. And I’ve had a few happy days spent fulfilling my wish list of activities to do with my kids before they’re gone. We took a day trip to Kansas City to visit the Steamboat Arabia Museum and the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. We spent a Saturday seeing the castle ruins and springs at Ha Ha Tonka State Park.
Castle ruins at Ha Ha Tonka State Park, near Camdenton, Missouri
We drank bubble tea (it was interesting.) I tried to help my son raise a few dollars by listing his extensive Nerf collection on Ebay, but nobody bought anything.
And I came to the point where I felt like blogging again. I think I’m going to continue with this blog, shifting the focus from sandwich generation topics to the experience of parenting young adults, a phase of life that offers its own big buffet of issues.
I hope a few people will share the journey with me.
Today is my last day of bereavement leave from work and I spent most of it canceling out my mother. I’ve spent the last four years keeping her current, making sure her Social Security money kept coming and was accounted for, updating her Medicare coverage, renewing her newspaper subscription, arranging doctor’s appointments, changing the calendar page in her room each month, replenishing supplies of her personal items at the care facility, maintaining her presence in the world.
Even with the funeral planning, it was about getting her cared for. Picking out her outfit, her favorite poem, the hymns she loved, getting her buried between my dad and one of my sisters, Mom’s baby girl.
And now I’m undoing it all. Erasing her. Canceling her out. She’s no longer on the Social Security or Medicare rolls. Medicaid and supplemental insurance have removed her from coverage. I still need to go to the bank and close her account. I never realized how many people I would have to tell, “My mother died.” How many times I have said it this past week, and it’s a wrench every time.
All of the clothes she’ll never again wear, her empty wheelchair, her calendar –they’re all sitting in my house waiting to be sorted and repurposed. And after that’s done, then what? I don’t know. I really don’t.
I know I’ve never had a huge readership on this blog, but I know a few people read regularly, because they bring my posts up in discussion.
I don’t have many words today, but for my few readers who have shared the sandwich generation journey with me over the past four years, I want to let you know that my mother passed away yesterday afternoon.
She did not suffer long and she went peacefully, holding my hand. As it happened, it was just the two of us in the room at the time. It was a great blessing to be there.
Two of my siblings arrived today and we packed up mom’s belongings from the nursing home. We’re in the midst of funeral planning now.
Hey, look at this. WordPress is loading on my Mac again. It hadn’t been for a while. I kept meaning to check into why, the same way I mean to check on why my mom’s phone doesn’t work sometimes. Somehow it always starts operating again, so I cling to hope that I’ll never actually have to invest time in finding a solution.
Batgirl giving me an encouraging smile.
November and December this past year were full not only of holiday busyness, but also with helping two kids through the process of researching, deciding on and applying to college. The older kid is transferring from community college. The younger one will (we hope*) graduate from high school in May and start college in the fall.
Also, my mother was forced to change prescription drug plans with Medicare. New plans had to be sussed and matched with her medications list and area pharmacies. All of the deadlines hit at once.
And there was a trip to visit the in-laws in Oklahoma for Thanksgiving, followed by a week with a bad cold. Right at deadline time.
My kids, who can be a little, shall we say haughty, at times about their online knowledge versus that of middle-aged adults, had no cause to crow as I was the one who demonstrated the ability to detect links to things such as “transcript requests” and “enrollment requirements.” I might let them live it down some day. In the far distant future. Possibly when I’m old and disabled and dependent on them for my care.
Speaking of which, Medicare. Due to having no assets and barely a handful of pennies in Social Security income, my mother qualifies for extra help on her prescription drug plan. She pays $0 for her premium and close to that for a copay on medicines. It’s a helpful benefit and I’m grateful. But. Every year they make her switch drug plans.
They send a letter saying to go online or call to compare plans and switch. Every year I experience amnesia about the fact that the phone number gets me nowhere. I call it and a computerized system offers a bevy of choices, none of which sounds like what I need. It’s voice-activated, and eerily similar to a badly constructed philosophy lesson. Basically a whole litany of if-thens. “If you want abc, then say xyz.” But changing plans was never a listed option. I tried saying it anyway, which reset the whole process back to the beginning. I also tried, “Speak to a human” with similar results. So I went online and hoped I wasn’t screwing things up too badly.
The only easy part of it was that my mom remains unaware. With the whole college thing, I not only had to deal with my own anxiety and confusion and time drain, but also my kids’ elevated stress levels. My mom has no idea about how her stuff gets paid for and I don’t worry her with it.
As the new year settles in, the status stands thus: My firstborn, who will continue to live with us for now, begins classes for a Fisheries and Wildlife degree at the University of Missouri this month. My other child has been accepted a couple of places, including Missouri S&T in Rolla. That’s Missouri University of Science and Technology, or as we affectionately call it, Geek School. He’s interested in computer programming. We have a visit scheduled for next month, after which a decision will be made. And my mom’s new prescription drug card arrived in the mail, with a letter stating her premium remains at zero.
All of this achieved while simultaneously battling my arch-nemesis, Perimenopause. I can only conclude I have superpowers.
*Two words that lead to a whole story in themselves, but I’ll save it for another time.
Gen BLT 