One of the Four Agreements: Don't Take Things Personally

For many, many years, my mom was a Sunday school teacher at the Presbyterian church in my hometown. Her bible traveled in the backseat of her car and this well-worn book now resides on the antique table in the living room of her home in Wisconsin. Mom has also always been active in the Medicine Lodge, the traditional religion of the Hochunk people. I share this because the dogma of the two belief systems have been a constant in my life because of my parent's beliefs. When I was two I was baptized in the Presbyterian Church in the morning, and then I received my Hochunk name from my uncle Howard Windblow in the lodge in the afternoon.  I never really saw a difference between the two when it came down to their core teachings. Whether we were sitting in the pews of the church as dad sang in the choir and mom's circle group would prepare the coffee and cookies for the post-service fellowship, or we kids were sitting on the ground, peering under the canvas flaps, tightly bonded to the bent tamarack poles that maintained the secure foundation of the medicine lodge. The smells, the murmuring of the speakers and the prayers, and the acknowledgment that we all belonged to both were symbols of my connection to God or Ma oo nah (Earth Maker).

My favorite Bible verse also comes to mind:
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude.
Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
1 Cor. 4-8

These thoughts fill my mind and my heart this evening as I need these memories to help me to process through the emotions of this day. Beginning last month Mom has developed a serious dry, itchy skin condition on various parts of her body. Her scalp, left ear, right hand, lower back, and inside of her legs are constantly bothering her, resulting in intense scratching to the point of bleeding, and regular requests for lotion and a back rub. Upon consultation with her doctor, we've adjusted a diaretic medication prescribed to help with her swollen ankles, and the doctor has recommended at least two baths a week, followed by a liberal dousing with a recommended skin lotion. The doctor has also recommended that she drink less coffee and encourage more liquids, especially water. Well all I can say is "easier said than done." I can also say that tonight was painful and that this twice a week bath thing is going to be a struggle. And not a physical struggle mind you, but an emotional struggle if tonight's incident is an example of what's to come. After mother's dinner, I set up the bath area as I usually do, with her fuzzy pink bathrobe, towels, and fresh undergarments, and her bed area with fresh sheets, lotion and gloves. I was ready in my mind, prepared to convince her that bath time would be quick, enjoyable, and helpful as we work together to ease her discomfort and her itching.

Well, I was able to get her to the bathroom, but what transpired in the bathroom, will stay in the bathroom -- I won't go into full detail. But I will share that in spite of my pleading for her to take a bath (I was speaking in English), she pretty much told me off first in Hochunk, and when I asked her to please speak in English because I couldn't understand everything that she was saying, she apologized for bringing me into the world because I was a failure as a Hochunk woman and as her daughter because I don't speak Hochunk and I don't know the Hochunk ways. Wow, I never thought I'd hear those words come out of my mother's mouth. I now know that I hate dementia, as this chronic illness robs it's victim of those valuable filters and this illness isn't going to play fair. I also know that I would never make a good counselor because I don't have the thick skin necessary to be objective when hurtful comments are cast my way. And lastly, I know that I need to become fluent in my native language if I'm going to be a good care provider for my mom.

No one ever told me that this was going to be easy. If anyone would have told me that caring for my 86 year old mother was going to be a joyous and fulfilling period in my life, I would have told them that they were probably lying or crazy. I've known for the past 3 years that this was going to be trying at times, as my older sister had been mom's care provider up until mom's move down here to Arizona. My sister did the best that she could, but she often expressed that burn out and frustration were always lurking behind the corner -- just waiting to throw a rock and show their ugly faces. Tonight I felt the first pebble's sting.

As I look up from my work table and read The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz posted on my dream board, I need to remember and reflect upon the following:
1) Be impeccable with my words
2) Don't take things personally
3) Don't make assumptions
4) Always do my best

Due to her dementia, mom won't remember today. I kinda wish I could forget, too.