  Spiritual
This week: Roll With It, Baby Edited by: Shannon  
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Welcome to the Spiritual Newsletter. My name is Shannon and I'm your editor this week. |
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When life is too much, roll with it baby
Don't stop and lose your touch, oh no baby
Hard times knocking on your door,
I'll tell them you ain't there no more
Get on through it, roll with it baby
I was twenty years old when Roll with It hit the top of the Billboard charts in the fall of 1988. I was young, I was invincible, and the idea that I wouldn't always be so never crossed my mind. The song was pure funkadelic fun, and the wisdom of Steve Winwood's words was lost on me.
Fast-forward three decades and they've become my mantra.
Times are tough. It seems every day there's another business closing its doors. In my hometown and the surrounding area, people have robbed banks; broken into boatyards to steal personal belongings that might be hawked for cash; snatched packages from people's front porches; busted down doors in broad daylight while the homeowners were inside, roughed them up, and stolen anything that wasn't tied down. Adult children are living with their parents and trying to eek out a living on minimum wage. Quinquagenarians are asking "Would you like fries with that?" at the fast-food drive-through while trying to figure out how they're going to pay for their father's stay in the local nursing home. People are being laid off or fired, and the ones who are lucky enough to keep their positions endure pay cuts and fork out more every year for increasingly crappy health insurance. More people are taking antidepressants than ever before in an effort to numb the pain 1, and opioid abuse is on the rise across the country. 2
At forty-nine years old I'm smack-dab in the middle of the madness. My 26-year-old son lives with my husband and me and my elderly father (74-years-old with Alzheimer's) was recently placed in a care center. My husband and I have good jobs that pay well, and the responsibility of making sure three generations have what they need falls on us and our siblings.
Last month I shared a little about my dad. The feedback I received was so supportive and kind I thought I'd update everyone on what's been happening over the past thirty days.
At 1:37 a.m. on October 4, one week to the day after my last newsletter went live, I received a call from my mother. We all know calls from our elderly parents at that time of night can't be good, so I answered on the first ring.
Mom: "I think Dad's having a stroke."
Me: "What are his symptoms?"
Mom: "He's leaning to the right, he can't sit up, he won't open his eyes, he can't talk--"
Me: "Have you called an ambulance?"
Mom: "They're on their way."
Me: "How long has it been since you first noticed something was wrong?"
Mom: "He went to bed around nine. At nine-thirty I glanced in the room and saw him lying in bed with one arm straight up in the air. I thought it was weird, but...."
Mom kept talking, but I wasn't listening. The nurse in me kicked in and I felt sick to my stomach. Four hours. FOUR HOURS had passed since Mom first noticed the onset of stroke-like symptoms. As a registered nurse, I know ischemic stroke victims have a three-hour window in which to get potentially life-saving tPA treatment. I was scared, I was heartbroken, and I was angry. Mom and I have had this discussion at length on numerous occasions. I've told her what to look for and what to do and still, she let four hours pass before calling for help. I turned on the bedside lamp, choked back tears.
Me: "Is he conscious?"
Mom: "Gary, talk to Shannon. Shannon's on the phone. Talk to her."
The sounds that came out of my dad's mouth that night ... I could have lived the rest of my life without hearing that: incomprehensible groans and low, garbled, drawn-out moans. I burst into tears.
Me: "Maybe that's all he could do--hold his arm up in the air to let you know something's wrong. He can't speak, can't call for help. He can't walk to get help. Maybe that's all he could do."
Mom: "Maybe."
After being rushed to the hospital, Dad was unconscious for two days. When he awoke he wasn't able to speak or swallow and didn't eat or drink for two more days. He passed a swallow eval on day four, so they let him eat. Two days later he choked on a granola bar and needed to have his throat suctioned. He has some residual right-sided weakness, but he can still walk. He's unable to speak or write and was transferred to a care center.
In the past month, I have made two trips to see my dad in Montana. It's 571 miles each way. I spend as much time with him as I can while I'm there, and I feel guilty leaving him behind. This experience has taken a toll on me physically, and I wake multiple times every night with panic-like attacks. My brother Sean says, "My God, will it ever end? I can't stand watching life pick away at him like this! When I look him in the eyes it's like watching a lightbulb slowly burn out."
That's exactly what it's like.
I miss his voice, and I miss listening to him tell stories. Dad is a great storyteller ... was a great storyteller. It's heartbreaking to see such an intelligent man wither away like this. He was a master carpenter, and all that knowledge is lost forever. He drove the Alcan highway back in the mid-60s with my mom and brother Sean, who was a toddler at the time. They left California behind and hit the road for a new and better life in Alaska. In the 60s, the Alcan Highway was 1300+ miles of nothing but dirt road in the middle of nowhere. He's built mansions for rich people, boats for commercial fishermen, and toy boxes for his grandchildren. He bestowed on me a love for this country and a passion for music. He exemplified hard work (when we were kids, Dad worked on Alaska's North Slope. His schedule was nine weeks on, two weeks off). He was a man's man, and he was ... IS a loving father.
The nursing home in the tiny town of Libby Montana couldn't handle Dad (he's got Alzheimer's and wanders into other people's rooms), so he's being transferred via ambulance to St. Peter's Hospital in Helena as I type this (10:05 p.m. on Tuesday, October 24). According to their website, St. Pete's is "Montana’s only dedicated geriatric inpatient hospitalization program for the treatment of acute dementia symptoms." The doctors say they will work with us to find long-term placement in Boise (where I live) or Coeur d'Alene (where my brother lives) after Dad is treated and stabilized on meds.
All any of us can do is roll with the punches life throws at us. When you get knocked down, get back up again. Love and support each other. Keep living life one second, one minute, one hour at a time.
People think you're down and out
You show them what it's all about
You can make it, roll with it, baby
When this world turns its back on you
Hang in and do that sweet thing you do
You just roll with it, baby
Peace and blessings.
Notes:
1. https://www.madinamerica.com/2015/11/percentage-of-americans-on-antidepressants-...
2. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/10/30/faces-of-an-epidemic?utm_source=ne... |
I hope you enjoy this week's featured selections. I occasionally feature static items by members who are no longer with us; some have passed away while others simply aren't active members. Their absence doesn't render their work any less relevant, and if it fits the week's topic I will include it.
Thank you, and have a great week!
| |  | I am.... (E)
Follow a woman in her descent into grief. Before finally, her recovery.
#1769359 by M Holman  |
| | | Forgiven (ASR)
Recovering after the death of a friend is hard. Aubrey did with help from a loving boy
#1775324 by Emilia Schwann |
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The following is in response to "The Usurper" :
Mary Ann MCPhedran  writes: Yes, afraid life is cruel, it just creeps up on you before delivering it's surprize. I was a very active person ontill 2009 and one day woke to find a jerking of my right hand. I was diagnosed Parkinson's. I just take life day by day and do the things I want to do and keep my brain alert. thank you for sharing. Aw, thank you, and thank YOU for sharing. 
shepherd46 writes: Shannon, love this piece! I can so relate to this. My Dad died nine years ago. I loved him but I seldom understood him. I don't remember my Dad ever saying "I love you" until he was a day away from death. He was a difficult man but I learned a great deal from him and I am glad I was able to communicate with him several times before he died.
I send my best prayers and wishes to you. You are going through a difficult and trying time but remember, God will be with you, your Dad and your family. We only have one Dad and one Mom--as you said, love and be with them as much as you can. Life is brief.
Prayers and love as a Christian,
Toni
Thank you so much, Toni. We'll take all the prayers we can get. 
Sally writes} A wonderful, poignant, moving newsletter, Shannon. Your words are always absorbing, but to tell us this very personal piece was so brave. I have had my mum in hospital a couple of times with heart attacks and various other ailments, so I know some of what you are going through. Huge hugs for you and your family.
I've read a few of your newsletters, and I would never have dreamt your were a great-grandmother. You have such a young 'voice' and outlook on life. High five to you!! Thank you for your kind words, Sally. I am the grandmother of three very lively and loveable grandsons. I'm not a great-grandmother yet, but I hope God blesses me with that opportunity. 
Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ 2025 writes: May peace and blessings surround you and your family through this painful time in life. I do not know if your dad is still here on earth as I write this comment, but he is in my prayers. We are at an age when more loved ones are getting on in years and leaving us behind in this world. It has been happening way too frequently for the past several years in our family. Wonderful advice, Shannon, love and treasure your parents while they are still here. There is such a void when they are gone. Thank you, my friend. Dad is still kicking; he's a tough old fart. Thank you for your prayers, love, and support. 
Quick-Quill  writes: The memory of these afflicted family members are a source of humor and prayer. I remember a friend's mother always wanted to sit near my husband. When asked if he reminded her of someone on the Farm, she retorted, "I wasn't a love affair or anything!" there were many such conversations as we took turns caring for her. Writing from the heart in memoir form can run the gammet from funny to tragedy. Just keep writing. Yes, they surely are. Thank you for sharing and commenting. 
An apple a day....  writes: Sending you ((((hugs)))! Thank you! 
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Spiritual: October 25, 2017 Issue [#8542]
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