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Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Radium Therapy

This is a very difficult blog to write.  In fact, just thinking about it has almost given me "blogger's block."  So, before I begin, I want you to know that I loved my mom very much.  She was a unique personality--and she taught me to be strong and most importantly that "home" was not four walls or a specific place, but "home" was my family and wherever they were--I was "home."

I want to write this, though, because for the past seven years I have worked in the "retirement living industry" managing an independent retirement residence.   I have cried with, commiserated with, laughed with, and even stomped my feet in frustration with many, many daughters.  I've hugged and soothed many mothers, too.  Why?  It seems daughters and mothers--especially those who are "strong willed" and passionate about life, sometimes (as my mother would say) "butt heads."  Because I often felt guilt and even anger and often frustration in my relationship with my mother I thought it was "just me."  I figured everyone else must be much nicer people than me--that they didn't ever want to run screaming out into the street and yell:  STOP!!!!  I CAN'T TAKE THE GUILT  ANYMORE!  So, I with this preamble--I write this blog.

RADIUM THERAPY

Several years ago my husband, daughter, brother, mother and I went on vacation together to our timeshare in Winter Park, Colorado.   Mom and I saw an advertisement in the elevator of the condo for a free mixer that included "great door prizes."  No way my husband or brother were going to attend---so mom, my daughter & I went for our free glass of wine, cheese tidbits and hopes of a door prize.   Of course it turned out to be a sales pitch--but we resisted and stayed till the end--and (woo hoo!) we won a free white water rafting trip for 2 down the Colorado River.  (OK, I was thrilled--mom wasn't.    Mom was in her mid-70's and had suffered a stroke--otherwise she would have led the pack down the river).

Leaving mom alone at the condo (can you tell how loaded that comment is?), my husband, daughter, brother and I headed off to the wild (not) headwaters of the Colorado River.  White water is a bit misleading.  Much to my relief, it was more like white ripples.  Not being a good swimmer, I was relieved to find it was more of a float trip along a very scenic part of the Colorado River. 

Let me interrupt the story to tell you a bit about my state of mind at this point in my life.  This vacation came right after a very stressful time at work that had meant a lot of long hours and extra week-ends, etc.  Mom had suffered a stroke the year before and recovered well, but my whole family was spending a lot of time helping her. Mom called me every morning at 6:30 a.m. and as soon as I walked in the door at night.  She and I both were frustrated at her lack of independence.    I developed a weird disease called chronic urticaria (chronic hives) that was only relieved by taking a steroid pill (which made me feel totally insane).   I literally felt as if my world was coming apart at the seams and that I had no control over anything in my life.

So--here we were, floating along the Colorado River.  We came to a bend and the guide pointed to a little settlement of maybe six houses.  Picture a dirt road, a railroad track and six little wooden houses.  "That is Radium, Colorado," he said.  "You almost can't get there--unless you take a long and rough dirt road.   The train drops the mail off once a week. Phone service is unpredictable. The residents there are almost cut off from the rest of the world."  I sat up in the raft--he had just described my dream abode.   You couldn't get there from here?   It would be almost impossible for people to visit?????  Wow.  Let me move there now.  I forced myself to make a mental photograph of Radium in my mind.  Oh, how I wanted to jump off that raft and swim ashore.  Thank goodness my swimming skills were limited, or I would be living there now.

Think how blissful.  No phone.  No Internet.  No 6:30 a.m. call making me feel guilty all day.  No boss with another crazy deadline.  Obviously I must have been dreaming I had won the lottery, too--I never considered what I would "do" to live.   I think I actually prayed, "Please, Lord, please.   Please let me live in Radium."  

Instead life went on and I eventually quit my pity party.  Dan and I "retired" and began working together managing a retirement residence.  My hives went into semi-hibernation...and life was kinda sorta normal.  But every so often, when I thought I couldn't take it...I'd take a mental trip to Radium.    My Radium therapy.

Mom fell a few years after that trip to Colorado and we discovered her back was like a fragile egg shell.  I was living in Dallas.  I would often take off on Tuesday afternoons and drive to Oklahoma City only to get up the next morning to get back to work in Dallas by 11:30 a.m.  On Thursday afternoons (our last work day of the week), Dan and I would drive to OKC to help mom and go back to Dallas on Saturday night in order to be at work on Sunday morning.  I would try to make arrangements for help for mom through home health or even a short stay in an assisted living community near her home--but I wouldn't make it to the Red River before she would call me and say she changed her mind.   Mom had a strong support group of friends who helped her, but instead of working with me and what I was trying to do--they would often go along with her plans and assist in undoing whatever I had set up.   I often wished I had a brick wall to bang my head against.  Instead, I would take "Radium therapy" and mentally visit that little town and wish.   Just the knowledge that there was a place on earth where it was difficult to be found, contacted or get to seemed to give me peace.

(After one trip alone to Oklahoma City, it seemed that every car that passed me on I-35 was either a convertible or a Wrangler Jeep with the top down.  I was driving a plain Jane Saturn stick shift with a radio and not even a C.D. player.   I pulled into our parking area and told my husband:   "We're either going to go get a Jeep or you are going to find a way to cut the top off this Saturn."  We got our first Jeep that night).  See, going insane sometimes has benefits.

Unfortunately, my mom did not get better and passed away that spring.  She had always told us that she did not want to live past age 80.  She was 78.    Our life became much quieter and I still miss those stupid, irritating 6:30 a.m. phone calls.  And I still take Radium therapy when life gets tough.

Last summer we found ourselves again at Winter Park.  This last year our good friends, Kathy and Dave, joined Dan and me on our trip.   We decided to take the jeep to the Colorado Headwaters Scenic Byway.  I looked at the map and saw a thin line that was the road to Radium.  I only had to ask Dan once--"Can we go there?"   He knew how much that little village meant to me.  So, 17 miles off the main (dirt) road we bumped along until we came to curve and a bridge across the river.  Fittingly,the first house we saw had a donkey in the front yard (to symbolize my stubborn tenacity at hanging on to this pipe dream?).  I am sure my good friend Kathy confirmed in her mind that I was insane when she saw Radium.   "Do you STILL think you want to move here?"  Yes--yes, I do...if only in my mind.


The Colorado River Scenic Byway--looking at the train track below


Me--under the road sign to Radium.  I am sure there is some subliminal reason
I decided to give the "Peace" sign in this photo.


The Radium Donkey



Road to Radium


Kathy, Dave and Dan--"Where does she want to go??"

Dan and Dave--On the Road to Radium