With all the talk of COVID19 and debates about the reopening of Walt Disney World, it’s nice to have something, and someone, to celebrate. Time has sort of stood still, and it’s hard to remember the date or day of the week, but I realize that it will soon be the end of the school year, followed by the anniversary of when Ben went into the emergency room and everything changed. It’s never been my favorite season- I hate the heat- but now there is the added set of memories. Also, a quarantine that’s being lifted in some places in a way that gives me little confidence. I definitely feel a certain level of anxiety, but as Dory taught me, I just keep swimming. Seems a perfect time to think about the fun and laughs we shared with Donald, even in the more difficult days.
I lose myself in the photographs, which bring tears of joy and sadness. Donald was always so much fun at the meet and greets. And, being a Spanish teacher, I did especially love when he was at the Mexico pavilion at Epcot.
I share these photos because photos and memories have played such an important and positive part of my dealing with the rough times of watching Ben decline as his ALS progressed, and dealing with grief. It does not mean that I don’t get upset or lament the times we will never have. But, I also think about how lucky we were to share this love of Disney that always shed much needed pixie dust on our lives. Donald is part of those special memories that comfort me. So, with gratitude and joy, I say Happy Birthday to Donald Duck.
Today is Mother’s Day. My grandmother believed that every day should be Mother’s Day. And, the truth is that when my mom was alive, every day WAS Mother’s Day. We were so close that we did not need an actual holiday to celebrate that fact. After I lost them, I can’t say that this holiday was like other milestones in terms of evoking much sadness. There was a feeling of not belonging, and the sting of realizing that I didn’t have the close and unconditional love of family anymore. Yesterday, I saw a lot of people carrying flowers and celebrating the occasion, albeit a day early. It hurt more than it has because I realized that I have lost all of the people whom I had celebrated throughout my life. I never forget all of the love that I currently have in my life, but there are times that I don’t like to face that the people I loved the most only exist in my memories now.
I think about the importance of mothers in Disney films. Often, they are not present, having died at some point in the childhood of our favorite characters. Who can forget the pain of Bambi’s realization that he has lost his mother? The power of a mom’s life remains steadfast in the lives of our beloved characters. The films show us that people we love and lose stay close in our hearts. This is such an important message for children who are caregivers and are grieving. I previously shared this clip from Disney’s live action Cinderella, where Cinderella’s father advises her that they must always cherish their home because her mom was the heart of it and they must honor her. This scene touched my heart. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine living after she died. I have learned to cherish my memories that keep my mom’s spirit alive and honor her. I get my childlike enthusiasm from her and, I believe, my natural caregiving skills, which even extend to my students. Of course, I embody her love of Mickey Mouse and all things Disney, but I hope that in some small way I have followed her example as a person. I do know that she is always with me. But, as I have also said before, as fortunate as I am, sometimes memories aren’t enough. Today kind of feels like one of those days.
Grandma and I were also very close. From the time I was a child, I was in awe of Grandma and her elegance. I loved her sense of fashion. She had a wonderful way of putting together colors and fabrics and styles. I still have some of her clothing and jewelry. The best shopping I ever did was in her closets and drawers. When I’m feeling lazy about dressing up or putting on make-up- it happens rarely, but it happens!- I hear her warning me that I never know who I am going to meet and I should always look my best. Clearly, she was hoping for a nice, Jewish Prince Charming. My fairytale was not quite exactly her idea of the “tale as old as time,” but Grandma always seemed to understand that I danced to my own beat. Sometimes we frustrated each other, particularly when I challenged her ideas of an ideal life. But, we had a special bond and an unconditional love for each other.
Grandma doing my hair. She crocheted my dress. She was very talented! I get my creative streak from her.
Grandma had four brothers and a sister, my great-aunts and great-uncles, and I loved them all dearly. I loved spending time with my great-aunts and great-uncles. Losing Grandma and my older relatives left a huge void in my life. However, through our loving relationships, I developed a tremendous appreciation of and compassion for elderly people that I have to this day.
Grandma was very artistic and I inherited her abilities and passion for crafts. She crocheted many aphgans and sweaters, skirts, dresses and ponchos. I remember choosing wool colors with her and how each item had to represent the gift recipient, yet had to be timeless and classic. I can see my own shifting tastes as I look at my childhood aphgan in its pastel colors and then the gray, maroon and cream colors in my college aphgan. I remember waking up in the morning covered with the squares she made while I was asleep. My dollhouse and dolls even got aphgans! I still have many things that she made. They hold such beautiful memories of time spent watching her and learning how to crochet. Eventually, she helped me to make an aphgan of my own. Ben used it often. Grandma’s talents extended to the piano, and she inspired me to learn how to play. I never played as well as she did, but she helped and encouraged me to play, and I’ve kept some of the sheet music.
When I was a caregiver juggling responsibilities for Ben and my dad, I realized how hard my mom worked, at a time when there was no real acknowledgment of the role of caregivers. My mom was at her core a natural, nurturing caregiver. She took care of my dad, brother, our dogs and me, as well as Grandma, but was also responsible for looking after my great-grandparents, great-aunts and great-uncles, and even my cousins. She even knew the treats that my friends liked and made sure to have them on hand at all times. She took care of everyone in myriad ways. My mom was the most selfless person I have ever known.
My mom visited my great-aunt, Tanta Rosie, with our Standard Schnauzer, Dulcie, almost every day.
I realize now that in many ways, my own caregiving days started when my mom died. I followed her example and began looking after Grandma, my dad, my great-aunt who was in a nearby nursing home. I was constantly on the phone with Grandma and my dad and helping them tend to various chores. I also loved and kept in close touch with my great-aunts and great-uncles. I went home every weekend to help in any way I could, and sometimes that was simply keeping everyone company and making them laugh. My grandma did not want to be cheered, and I understood that. I don’t think that anyone fully comprehends the loss of a child unless they experience it. My aunt, my mom’s older sister, also visited every weekend. But, after a sudden death, everyone floundered and tried to pick up pieces while still in shock and feeling profound sadness at the loss of the key person in our family. And, as in any family, the dynamics led to tensions that were, at times, explosive. I found that, just like I believe my mom would have done, I spent my time with them being a cheerleader and my private time at home collapsing in grief. Sometimes I came home, sat on the sofa and cried, and at other times I dropped my bags and took myself to a movie just to escape.
When Grandma was ill, I helped with her caregiving, and, although I was not her primary caregiver, I was the one she usually relied on for comfort. At the same time, although I was in my thirties, she wanted to protect me from the fact that she was dying.
As time has passed, I think mostly of the wonderful memories of my mom and Grandma and our time together. So much who I am and what I do reminds me of them. You won’t be surprised that one of my favorite memories is when my mom called me from Walt Disney World exclaiming, “Abby, I met Mickey!” Another was many years later, thinking about my grandmother’s laughter when I called her from Walt Disney World to tell her that I had seen Mickey Mouse. Every time I bake I feel Grandma with me, and she is a part of all of my creative and artistic endeavors, as well as my fashion choices.
Making humentashen is a tradition that started a long time ago!
Ben and I had no children together, but he had three daughters, so I suppose I can say I was a stepmom, though I only had a brief relationship with one daughter that I believed was closer than it turned out to be. I would like them to have been there more for their dad, but I knew that interfering would have added more tension to Ben’s already stressful life. I made no demands and have never had any expectations of them. It’s a shame, because I would have loved to be an active stepmom and would still like that.
Now, I am a devoted mom to my cat, Tinker Bell, as I was to Disney and Tiffany. My mom- well, my whole family- loved our pets, so their influence was present even as I cared for Disney and Tiffany as they coped with several illnesses. Today, as on most days, she is curled up next to me, napping and then waking up to chat and, I like to imagine that she is saying, “Happy Mother’s Day!”
My mom and our Standard Schnauzer, Dulcie. Miss them both!
On Disney’s “Gotcha Day,” February 18, 2019 at NYC’s Meow Parlour
Merida, from Disney’s Brave summed it up so well when she said, “I want you back, Mommy!” There is not a day that I don’t think of my mom and Grandma. I am proud to honor them on Mother’s Day, though in truth, I celebrate, treasure and miss them always. I wish a Happy Mother’s Day to mothers of all creatures, great and small, human and otherwise.
At the Pirates and Pals Fireworks Cruise Party with Captain Hook and Mr. Smee. They are probably the only villains we met!
May is ALS Awareness Month, and although ALS is always on my mind, even in the days since I lost Ben, I like to think that all of the Awareness months bring new information, insights and reflections into view. This post is probably a long time coming, but this seems a good time to address new issues and aspects of ALS and caregiving. In many posts I have mentioned that while Ben was fighting his battle against ALS, anger, resentment and profound sadness affected us. I would say that we both believed in the quote from the 2015 live action Cinderella to “have courage and be kind,” but it did not always happen. I have read many comments from caregivers of people with ALS and other illnesses expressing aggravation and devastation from the hurtful things their carees say to them. Likewise, they are upset with themselves for the ugly things they have said to their carees. I have not really delved into this topic, mostly because those conversations with Ben feel very unloving and uncharacteristic of our relationship and what I want to remember, and I don’t want to speak for Ben and potentially compromise his integrity. But, having suffered my own battle wounds as a caregiver, and having questioned my caregiving abilities because of incidents with Ben, I felt that sharing my experience might offer some perspective and consolation. To do this, I believe it’s time to invoke the Disney villains!
It must be said, and reiterated, that it is almost incomprehensibly difficult to need a caregiver, but it is also profoundly difficult, in a different way, to be a caregiver. Although the needs of a caree often must take priority, the challenges both face must be considered. Ben was diagnosed with ALS a couple of years after my dad was diagnosed and living with cancer. In my mind, there was no question that I would be their caregiver, though I cannot honestly say that I knew exactly what caregiving would look like. After his diagnosis, Ben told me that if I wanted to leave and have a different kind of life, that he would understand. I would never have done that, though many people thought I should, for a variety of reasons. To this day, I do not regret my decision. The only regret I have is that Ben and I did not communicate better. I hope that if this post resonates with any caregivers or carees, that they take to heart how crucial it is to have those uncomfortable and sometimes heart-wrenching conversations and to express yourselves before the ugly emotions and language spew forth, so that you can speak to each other respectfully, tactfully, and lovingly. In the case of ALS, communication itself becomes increasingly impeded, so those opportunities for self-expression and sharing should not be postponed.
Hold your tongue!– Lady Tremaine, Cinderella’s Stepmother,Cinderella (1950)
Ben’s ALS progressed slowly, which was a good thing. However, it allowed us to procrastinate on difficult discussions and decisions about what kind of home health care we would need, how we could organize our lives financially and practically, as well as emotionally, and even where he would live. When these subjects were raised, either by our loved ones or by his medical teams, Ben’s attitude was that these things were going to happen way down the road. I admired his optimism even when I was frustrated. I worried about these things, but I always reasoned that he was dying and if this was his way of processing these things, that I had to follow his lead.
After nearly four years, despite his denial, we hit that bump in the road where Ben’s needs were increasing, and I was struggling to juggle a full-time teaching job while being his full-time caregiver and my dad’s. To a large degree, I felt that Ben’s denial kept him healthier. On the other hand, because he did not concede to his limitations, he did not admit that I had to do much to accommodate him, which was not true, and I held my tongue and seethed rather than express my concerns about how overwhelmed I felt. Unfortunately, it came out in bad moods that annoyed Ben because he did not understand their source. It was becoming more and more of a battle to juggle caregiving with work, and to feel that I was slipping away from my friends, family and even myself. Frequently, when we were awake much of the night, I went to work exhausted. Sometimes, on those nights, I would cry while I was assisting Ben, which upset both of us. Of course, it was never his fault that he needed assistance. We both knew it was exhaustion but we had no solution.
When there was not an actual incident, I lived with the worry of one. While Ben was able to do some walking, I went to work every day waiting to get my daily text that he was okay and at his desk and I spent the rest of the day hoping that there would not be a problem. There were many times that I had to leave school because he was having a crisis, either falling, stuck on the toilet, or suffering severe anxiety for which he refused medication.
In one conversation about the difficulty I was having with full time work and full time caregiving, he told me that I did not do very much and what I did was half-assed. I think that even he knew this was not true, but it was not easy to hear and it cut me deeply. He asked me to list what I did for him, which I would not do, saying that I should not have to, and I ended the discussion, leaving both of us feeling angry. Clearly it had a strong impact, because I remember it several years later. Better communication about our feelings would likely have helped, even if it could not change our situation. Intellectually, I knew that Ben did greatly value and depend on what I did for him, and he loved me as much as I loved him, but he did not want to admit what was happening to his body, and he took it out on me because I was the closest person to him. He minded his temper more with his daughter because, unlike with me, he admitted that he did not trust that her support was unconditional and he knew that it was measured. There were certainly times that I dropped the ball or was not as patient as I could and should have been. With our own struggles and needs, it became impossible to be objective. We both felt anger, aggravation and helplessness and the reality was that both of our feelings mattered even when we couldn’t meet all of our needs. There was so much love over those years, and it still disturbs me that these memories still hover over me, but it would be dishonest, inaccurate and self-deceptive to ignore them.
Words are important, and Ben got impatient when I was irritated that he did not think he had to say thank you to me. To be fair, sometimes he did, but he had to deem it a worthy occasion. It may be a simple phrase, but he knew that it meant a lot to me, and that I felt that his not saying it was sending me the message that he felt entitled. Rather than argue these things, I withdrew into myself rather than dispute Ben, because, after all, he was dying and had his own inner conflicts. I wrote in my journal and vented to a social worker at the ALS local chapter, to his doctor, and to my friends and family. But, I also felt paralyzed, so nothing changed. I have to say that on so many levels I felt honored to be the person Ben relied on to be his caregiver, but the stress of his worsening condition, lack of acceptance of it, and our reluctance to admit and address our feelings and fears, led to a lot of sadness and resentment.
There were weekends when I simply needed time to myself. TGIF was not something I really looked forward to. Without question, I took care of Ben’s needs- prepared and fed his meals, washed him, transferred him to and from chair and commode, and whatever else needed to be done- but I was sometimes distant. I knew I was aloof and only doing what had to be done, with little conversation or affection. I stayed by myself in one room and left him in the other to play on his computer or watch television, but I could see and hear him. I knew he waited all week for time with me on the weekend and I felt guilty that I just could not be there emotionally. I knew that I was collapsing and I did not know what to do. Ben did not want to hear it. Staying in a quiet room staring at the television or my laptop was the way I coped. At those times I did wonder if I was a good caregiver. When Ben felt insulted, annoyed or impatient when I was distant, I seriously questioned myself as a caregiver. It’s taken me a long time, and a lot of advice, to reconcile my feelings. I still think about it though, particularly as COVID19 has us all homebound.
In my Disney way, I feel it is necessary to say that there was pixie dust, as Ben and I did find many ways to show each other our love and gratitude. When he did have some private care home health assistance, he sometimes texted me that he had asked his aide to stay an extra hour or two, so I could stay out for a while. He did try to find back-up assistance when there was an event that he knew I really wanted to attend. I kept Ben laughing and smiling, with my Vitamix concoctions, my dramatic presentations of shopping I had done for him, my surprise decorations around the apartment and little gifts, including snowballs after a storm. He knew that I would make the phone calls and write the emails to get him what he needed. There were so many loving gestures that showed the real Ben and Abby, but they were sometimes overshadowed by darker occasions that resulted from our Jaberwocky that was ALS.
Get to the part where I lose my temper! –Red Queen, Alice in Wonderland
One of the physical realities we faced was that I suffered a broken shoulder in 2012 and my back issues were amplified a few months later after a car accident with my dad (he was fine, thank goodness). Fortunately, Ben was able to walk on his own at that point and his ALS had not progressed drastically. However, even a year or two afterwards, when he did need more assistance, transferring Ben frequently was physically difficult, compounded by the emotional toll on both of us. On many weekends, Ben kindly stayed in the bedroom so I did not have to yank his chair across the apartment several times. But, there were times that it was unavoidable. Once, after getting annoyed with me, he asked me to transfer him back to his chair, minutes after asking me to put him into the bed. I felt helpless and irritated, and I asked him why he had to transfer so soon and his response was, “so I can make you as miserable as you make me.” This was one of the very few times that I lost my temper and I argued with him that I gave him 1000 percent and that he was ungrateful. I left him in bed for about ten minutes to gather my strength- physical and emotional- despite his protests.
During some of these kinds of moments, Ben said that if he didn’t have a life, why should I have one? There is no answer to that other than that’s the way things turned out and life was unfair to him. It did break my heart and it still does. It also made me question if I did have a right to want to see my friends sometimes or do some of the things I enjoyed, even if it was just a casual stroll across town after school. I was terrified and devastated by what was happening to him and to our life and I felt like I was not doing a good job of finding a balance of work, caregiving and life.
The trying situations were not always with Ben. There were medical professionals with whom we did not have a positive connection. Some were judgmental and not helpful. One social worker provided misinformation and did not help Ben with financial advice and we ended up researching and completing paperwork on our own, losing a year of benefits. In the hospital, we were fortunate to have many wonderful health care professionals. However, the goal was to move Ben on and out, and I learned that as an advocate, I was easily able to overcome my shyness and lack of confidence to communicate on Ben’s behalf. I aligned myself with the most supportive and helpful team members, and his incredibly patient and wonderful doctor, and enabled Ben to navigate his circumstances on his own terms.
I was also the liaison to Ben’s family, particularly when he was in the hospital. Throughout his illness, Ben was often disappointed by their empty promises, which left me exasperated. Few questions were asked but he and I were often judged despite their lack of actual knowledge of his condition, or their involvement, which was infuriating. Intellectually, I knew that it would not help the situation to lose my temper, but I could not refrain on certain occasions, like when one daughter criticized me for taking fifteen minutes to respond to a text when, in fact, I was talking to the medical staff in the hospital, and it had taken her over a week to even reply to a text telling the family that Ben had pneumonia. It helped me to set the bar very low in terms of expectations for logic as well as family support and involvement. A sense of humor also should never be underestimated. The balance in that came with handling their demands and expectations of me. I tried to establish a norm where I relayed particulars but kept my distance, which allowed me to keep them informed without compromising my feelings and enabling a lot of drama. I put aside my own resentments and was able to have meaningful conversations and a brief close connection to one of his daughters, as well. Believe me, in my fantasies and when venting, I was a veritable Red Queen!
“Life’s full of tough choices, isn’t it?” – Ursula, The Little Mermaid
Communication and delivery style are so vitally important, especially when tensions are high. On several occasions, Ben said that I had no choice but to take care of him. I remember that one day, I very quietly told him that I did have a choice. I was with him because I chose to be with him because I loved him, but I could also choose not to stay with him. His first reaction was anger, and then it seemed like shock that I would say such a thing. I imagine it scared him to hear that. But, Ben also knew me. He knew I would never leave him. I knew I would never leave him.
I was furious when, without any discussion, Ben told me that he was letting go his home health aide as soon as my school year ended and that I would be his 24/7 caregiver for the summer in addition to 3 hours each weekday of home health care provided by hospice. However, he only allowed them to sponge bathe him and feed him, preferring my “cooking” and with the knowledge that they would not transfer him to and from beds, chairs and the commode. I did ask him why he made that decision without speaking to me about it and he said I had no choice because he was concerned about finances. Ben thought I should not question his needs or his plans, and indeed, he needed 24/7 assistance. Although he did not admit it, I’m sure that there was an element of fear that I would refuse to take on this monumental task, so he created a scenario where there was no opportunity for debate, knowing that I would never leave him. The truth is that I really did not have a choice but to take care of him, not because he said so, but because despite these ugly moments, I was connected by my heartstrings- we loved each other and I would never have abandoned him. But, no one wants to feel taken for granted or stuck, and that was exactly how I felt. I felt very close to a breaking point at that time, but I did not feel that I had any options. It was not a safe or good physical environment, but we were stuck in the apartment. We plodded through these times recognizing, as the song in Cinderella says, “so this is love.” Unfortunately, when there was a conflict, our communication broke down.
We never had a chance to resolve the issue of my being his 24/7 caregiver because he had a respiratory crisis and ended up in the hospital just a few days after the school year ended. When Ben spent his last weeks in the hospital, despite a staff of people to tend to him, I remained at his side for at least 14 hours a day and frequently overnight. That was not a tough choice- it was exactly where I wanted and needed to be. I was the person he depended on. I wanted and needed to be that person. The tensions we had experienced largely disappeared. As he neared the end, it was all about love and how much we appreciated each other.
After Ben died, I heard kind things from so many people about what a good caregiver and how brave I was. I didn’t see it. More than that, I struggled with whether I really was a good caregiver if Ben didn’t think so, as he’d said in these worst moments. I wrote in a previous post about losing my identity, and this was one way it surfaced. I have come to realize that there was a Ben and Abby before ALS and a Ben and Abby after ALS, and in some ways they were not the same. Our relationship shifted from husband to wife to patient and caregiver. There were fears, physical and emotional pains, and challenging circumstances that brought out the good but also the bad sides of both of us.
“You poor, simple fools. Thinking you could defeat me. Me! The mistress of all evil!” Maleficent, Sleeping Beauty
As I reflect on the experiences and the related feelings and emotions, I see that it is so important to remember not to focus on the negative people and personalities, or even on the individual events. Stress, caregiving, and impending death are all things that cause tension and impact on our interpersonal relations. Vilifying people only deviated from the truly and painfully unsolvable problem.There was only one true villain in our circumstance, and that was ALS. While we could not defeat the disease, we could defeat the ugly feelings. Despite the struggles, and though we could not always acknowledge it while immersed in the experience, Ben’s and my relationship and love actually strengthened throughout our ALS journey. I choose to embrace the love that I was fortunate to receive and to give, without forgetting the realities of the big picture within the trajectory of our experience with ALS.
If you are a caregiver struggling with relationship issues with your caree, please remember that it’s been more than four years since Ben left this world, so I’ve had time to gain perspective. It is not as simple when you are in the midst of the situation, but please try to what the villain really is and open the lines of communication, filling them with love, even if that includes expressions of frustration. Cut each other slack- it’s okay and to be expected that nobody is always going to be at his or her best, even in the best of times. It has taken me a while to get to a point where my strongest memories are the beautiful times we had before ALS and the beautiful aspects of caregiving when the most powerful feeling was profound and boundless love.
2011- It’s a Small World allows a wheelchair to board the boat, and since that was so easy (and, ok, there are not long lines) we road it frequently! YAY! I choose to remember the love!
Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit’s home entrance, so Rabbit tries to work around the problem! From Walt Disney Production’s “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh” (1977)
With Easter here, I guess bunnies are on my mind. Since I have been thinking about how the current COVID19 pandemic would have affected all of Ben’s and my routines and rituals with regard to caregiving and grief, I am going to put the spotlight on Winnie the Pooh’s buddy, Rabbit. Rabbit is the friend who has to have everything just right, who gets flustered when anything goes wrong or things are not in their proper order. He sees himself as the caregiver of his friends Pooh, Eeyore, Tigger and Piglet. Chances are, as a caregiver, he would put excellent routines in place. He would organize schedules and supplies with impeccable care. He would also be sent into a tizzy at the slightest change in plans but would try to come up with a work-around. Crises like COVID19 might send him into an utter tailspin. I imagine that the fear of contamination and spreading of the coronavirus would have put Rabbit in lockdown mode before it was ever suggested or required. Rabbit would be the one to try to solve the problem, possibly more to maintain the order he needs in his world than to show compassion. I think that he might make me nervous if he was my caregiver. And, as caregivers know, trust and compassion are key. Although it still feels strange to state it, I am relieved that Ben and my dad do not have this worry. They are free of these constraints.
I think of the strong bonds of friendship that exist between the 100 Acre Woods friends. They understand and accept each other for their strengths and weaknesses. I imagine the 100 Acre Woods as a sort of sanctuary, free of the coronavirus threat. Even Christopher Robin would have been able to visit with his friends in this fictional, blissful world. Still, Rabbit would be the friend who worried and obsessed over the safety and health of everyone.
What would Rabbit and I do to manage caregiving for Ben during this pandemic? Although chaos became my normal during my years of caregiving for my dad and Ben, Rabbit probably would have valued that establishing routines was our starting point. Since I was working while Ben was at home, we had several routines in place for his safety and ease of getting through the day. If we were coping with ALS and the pandemic, Rabbit would likely be furious with my inability to keep things neat, but my priority was always to accommodate all kinds of supplies and move things wherever they fit to make other things accessible for Ben. All of our routines would have to be scrapped as we focused on staying safe and keeping COVID19 away from Ben. This would have been difficult for Rabbit, but my coping strategy was always just to plow through these conditions and not consider the physical and emotional messiness (which does not mean that they did not take a toll on me). I imagine that we would both be so nervous about going outside to run errands, which would have changed our shopping routines and methods for getting supplies. We would not have allowed anyone inside and our interactions with others- even routine visits from health care workers such as speech and physical therapists would be nerve-wracking, if they happened at all. I imagine that we could not have any paid home healthcare workers traveling to and from our home, which would have made our caregiving tasks more strenuous. Rabbit and I might clash in the way we expressed ourselves, because I tried to see the humor in things, if for no other reason than to make Ben laugh, but humor was never Rabbit’s strong suit. In a small space, we might have to put our personalities aside and focus on the caregiving routines. Our bond would be forged of a shared devotion to Ben and desire to keep all of us safe and uninfected.
This holiday time, as it intersects with the social distancing standards, leads me to reflect on how illness affects connections among family and friends, where it’s not the 100 Acre Woods. I used to try to create a festive environment for Ben and me when Ben was homebound. At that time, there were no widely used computer programs for connecting online, and that’s a wonderful advancement and use of technology. I remember the sense of isolation that Ben and I often felt, not just at holidays. That isolation was not imposed. It happened as the ALS progressed and Ben’s speech and dexterity in typing diminished. As communication became less easy, some family and friends drifted away. Some people simply did not know what to say so they lost touch with us. Some people were more superficial in their friendships, not really wanting to hear about Ben’s life challenges. We had not created routines for keeping in touch on a regular basis. Maybe that should have been done. On the other hand, maybe that would have seemed too forced. I do think about the people I had thought of as close friends who eventually only offered empty comments on Facebook posts about how we were always in their thoughts or how they loved us, or that they were sorry for being bad friends (exactly how did they expect me to reply?). It may not have been social distancing in the COVID19 way, but the distances grew to the point where the friendships now barely, if at all, exist. I prefer to recognize that I am so fortunate that my closest friends were always there for both of us.
Although my sense of order and neatness would have infuriated Rabbit despite my ability to organize and maintain routines, I realize that rituals are extremely important to me. I see people participate in Passover seders and talk of watching Easter services online and having virtual celebrations with family and, although I choose not to celebrate these religious rituals, I feel alone. Still, I find great peace in my rituals and traditions when it comes to honoring Ben and the things that were unique to our relationship. For example, every day I listen to my Ben playlist of special songs, and I watch his favorite Disney and Pixar films on important dates like his birthday. I keep some items placed in our home the way he liked to see them. Also, without much family connection, my friends have become a chosen family. I have created rituals like baking cookies and making Valentine cards to show my love, and those are very important to me. These routines honor deep connections that transcend sharing physical space together. No matter where life takes me, though probably not as structured as Rabbit would like, these routines and rituals give me a sense of security in the present and the knowledge that I bring the love from the past along as I move forward.
In whatever ways you celebrate and with the routines and rituals that give you peace and comfort, particularly at this stressful and challenging time, I wish you a safe, healthy and happy springtime.
Halloween 2012 at Walt Disney World. We never met Rabbit (there was probably too much frolicking), but had fun with his 100 Acre Woods buddies.
Visiting hours for Disney during one of her hospital stays.
Today is National Respect Your Cat Day. As my grandma used to say about Mother’s Day, in my cat Tinker Bell’s opinion, and mine, EVERY day should be a day to respect your cat! I certainly respect, and love beyond measure, Tinker Bell, as I did Disney, and my first cat, Tiffany. My cats have celebrated my joys and helped me through my most difficult times. I am grateful for any opportunity to honor them. Now, as I “shelter in place” here in NYC during the coronavirus pandemic, I am even more grateful for the company of Tinker Bell and reflective on the significance of pets in my life.
I grew up with dogs- Schnauzers, to be specific- and would have called myself a “dog person,” but when I met Tiffany, my world grew and now I am also a “cat person.” Actually, I am an overall animal lover.
Tiffany, my first cat, was adopted by the organization where I worked because she was going to be brought to a shelter where she would have been euthanized in a given period of time. The managers of the organization were animal lovers, and they also knew that I was grieving the loss of my family’s Schnauzer, Dulcie. Tiffany chose me as her human from the moment she arrived at our office. I was allergic to her, and people had to help me put eyedrops in my eyes, but I took to her as she did to me. What can I say? I got better at eyedrops and Benadryl has become a staple in my cabinet. Tiffany was my assistant at all meetings, and she complained to me when anyone used “her” conference room. If I had been out of the office in the morning, she put on quite a show pretending that she hadn’t eaten, as staff members told me of the treats she had enjoyed. In the summer, when we had Fridays off, I could not imagine leaving her alone for three days. After all, I only knew of dogs and that they could never be left alone for that long. So, every Friday, I went to the office with a yogurt that I shared with Tiffany- she preferred peach and blueberry. I took Tiffany home for holiday weekends, too. As a kind of joke, I put on the movie Born Free and sang the song, inviting her to sing along. Who knew that she would?! And, that whenever she was hiding, if I sang the song, she would come out to me!
When I did get a new job, it was agreed that Tiffany and I belonged to each other. In Tiffany’s case, I really was the only person she cared about. She was a feisty and funny girl and I used to say that she spent hours thinking of ways to annoy Ben. She was really good at it, hitting him if I wasn’t looking, staring him down until he moved so she could sit next to me. Ben would proudly bring home shrimp for her, but she would only accept it from me. And, my favorite event was one day that I repeatedly overheard Ben arguing for her to stop. I went into the room and Ben complained that she kept closing the door to the entertainment center each time he opened it. I looked at her and she walked away with her confident strut and dismissiveness. Of course, she didn’t get in trouble. I thought it was funny.
Tiffany loved our Disney toys!
Ultimately, Tiffany got mammary cancer. After intensive surgery, within three months, it was back and had spread. I had to say goodbye to her. Ben accompanied me to the vet’s office. Despite her antics, Ben never had a close relationship with a pet until Tiffany, and he loved her very much. On our way home after saying goodbye, Ben broke down. We comforted each other through that grief.
I knew that I needed a new baby, so we welcomed Disney. Ben had a bit of a hard time fully embracing Disney because he missed Tiffany so much. However, much to my delight, Disney was the sweetest and cuddliest cat I ever met, so she won him over pretty quickly. I probably compared her to Tiffany a little too much, but since Tiffany was not a cuddly girl, I did enjoy that Disney loved to be held and hugged. She helped me cope with the loss of my Tiffany. Little did I know that Disney would also help me to cope with the loss of Ben. Also, that she would help me to realize how important caregiving is in my life.
Disney was Miss February in a Bideawee Calendar!
After Ben was diagnosed with ALS, Disney witnessed and experienced Ben’s battle along with me. When he became homebound, she kept him company. She accommodated his desire to pet her by jumping on the arm of the sofa or on the bed. It was easy to see her concern as he had more difficulty navigating the space. Unlike many cats who are more territorial, Disney seemed to know that there was a reason for all of the changes in our apartment. Furniture was moved, things were stacked, her favorite corners were no longer available, but Disney handled it so graciously. She was there for me when I needed her, too. She sensed if I was crying or frustrated and was always at my side at those moments.
When Ben was in the hospice unit at Mount Sinai Medical Center, I was allowed to bring Disney to visit him. She was on thyroid meds and suffering from arthritis, so at first, she was not comfortable on the bed with him. She sat on a chair and watched him intently. When he asked me to bring her closer so he could stroke her, I put her on my lap and she pulled herself up on the bed, curling up on his chest. He asked me to put his hand on her, she turned on her side, and they both closed their eyes. I truly believe that they said their goodbyes in this moment.
Disney watched Ben throughout their visit in the hospice, even when he slept, as pictured here.
Disney did not realize that she was the comfort that Ben and I needed after we lost Tiffany. She also became the comfort I needed after the loss of Ben. The apartment was so lonely and there was no more structure to my day without my hours spent at the hospital. I don’t know what I would have done without Disney’s sweet face and presence.
Unfortunately, only a couple of weeks after I lost Ben, I noticed some physical problems with Disney, and I took her to the vet. It tuned out that she had diabetes and I had to inject her with insulin twice a day. Just as I had to do as Ben battled ALS, I had to put aside my squeamish nature. Once again, I was a caregiver, this time for Disney. We had several emergency visits to the vet, including one in the middle of the night, when I genuinely thought I would lose her. Terrifying as it was, it was this incident that showed me that I truly am a caregiver at heart. (You can read a little more about my experiences with Disney by clicking here) It is my strength and my fulfillment despite the challenges and sadness. Administering fluids was the next phase of Disney’s illness and although it took me a while to learn how to do it without pricking her, she handled it so well. I promised Disney and myself that I would never keep her here if she was not having a good quality of life. Eventually, I was by her side as I let her go. It was particularly difficult to let go of Disney because she was my closest connection to Ben. She may not have been able to articulate her feelings, but she saw, felt and responded to his ALS struggle and its effects on our family.
I was very excited to tell Marie that she was Disney’s favorite actress!
I knew that I could not be alone for long. Within a couple of weeks, I welcomed a new little love. Tiffany and Disney were more than eight years old when I met them, but this little girl was only two. She was half the size of them, which, in my way of thinking, was fairy-sized, so I named her Tinker Bell. She has a lot of kitten in her and it delights me to watch her run around and play with her toys. Over the past year that she’s been here, she has become much more affectionate and she is very chatty. She still does not like to be held but insists on sleeping pressed up against me. Her greatest joy is knowing that I am staying home with her, so the current mandate to stay at home is a dream come true for her. I’m glad she doesn’t understand the news. Still, I can talk to her about my worries and enjoy having her companionship. I know she thinks she’s training me well, but I love making her happy.
On Tinker Bell’s “Gotcha Day,” February 18, 2019 at NYC’s Meow Parlour
People who don’t love pets do not understand that my pets are family. Today is Respect Your Cat day, and I am happy to recount these many reasons that I respect, and treasure, my cats and all that they have brought to my life.
At home on the sofa with Mommy is Tinker Bell’s upside to the coronavirus pandemic! She loves her friends Sully, Bambi, Marie and Pooh, too!