A Sunny Day in February

I wrote the following post about a month ago, unsure if Spring would ever arrive. Looks like it's finally here.

This winter has been cold and snowy. In the Midwest, this is not uncommon. But this winter seems to have had more cold and more snow than usual. Many cities around the country are breaking records for largest annual snow fall accumulation. The ice and snow, and more ice, kept my kids out of school for four days, an unheard of number for their large metropolitan school district. Trying to dig out of the ice was next to impossible. I broke the garden spade while uncovering a six-inch-by-six-inch patch of sidewalk. My young son broke multiple garden tools while trying to hack away at the frozen tundra. And my hard-core, bike-everyday-even-in-the-winter husband broke the hoe and left multiple gash wounds on the wooden deck while trying to make a safe path to enter our home. It was literally weeks before the temperatures rose high enough for the inches of ice to thin enough to begin to melt. We, the collective “we” meaning ME, are usually very prompt at snow removal which was not the case with this ice storm.

Sometimes the weather is just too strong and there is nothing anyone can do except wait for the weather cycle to run its course.
After weeks of ice and cold, the arctic air stayed farther north and some “tropical Gulf air” came our way. Cheers and praise for 40 degrees! Black mountains piled in the middle of box store parking lots are slowly turning into hills and then pools. Pothole-ridden obstacle courses are challenging drivers. Track through every doorway where slush and water create slipping hazards for all who enter. All of these things are forgotten when I walk outside and feel the warm bright sunshine on my cheeks.
Driving down the street with sunglasses on and heated seat off, I notice the sidewalks again. I see the brown yards waiting to turn green. I see trees waiting for buds of leaves. Mother Nature has not forgotten us. Spring will come. I will see tulips and daffodils soon. Fresh air will flow through open windows in my now pseudo-air-tight old home. Bulky sweaters and turtle necks will move to the back of the closet to make way for t-shirts and skirts. Just one sunny day is all I needed to be reminded that the dark, cold, solitary days of winter will come to an end, and days filled with sunshine, warmth and friends will come again.

When someone is facing a crisis, his/her world often feels like the cold, long, dark winter months. Bad news often is piled on like snow storm, on top of ice storm, topped with a little more snow. There is often no way at all to shovel out, no matter how hard one tries. All the snow and ice removal methods they have previously used just don’t work, or break down. Thoughts that spring will come again and bleak harsh days will no longer be a norm are hard to fathom.

It does not seem fair that it often takes a hard time to appreciate the small things, but often seems as though that is the case. Maybe there is something you can do to be the sunshine for a friend today: a note, kind word or small token of your thoughts. I know there are still more cold and snowy days ahead, and those days will return next winter. But I remember spring and would not be able to appreciate those days as much without my iced- in winter.

The Art of Helping: #5 Saying “I know you are struggling”

My friend Sandy and I have come perilously close to being kicked out of places that sell books and cards because we really enjoy ourselves, perhaps somewhat too warmly, amid words. We both love the excitement of the hunt: somewhere there is the Pulitzer of hilarious cards and one of us is going to find it.


It had been a long, long while since we had spent such raucous time together, and a long while since we had even talked on the phone. My days -- and nights -- were filled with Dad and there was no time for friends.


Then one dark caregiving day I got a card (of course) from her. On the front was a bit of a rainbow with a gift tag drawn on it; “For You” was on the tag. Inside was printed “I found this rainbow and thought you could use it.” Under that she had written “Thinking of you --” and her name. That’s all. But it made an enormous difference in my spirit because with that simple card she said “I know you are struggling.”


There’s a difference between saying “I know what you’re going through” and “I know you are struggling.” To the first I would say “No, you don’t!” and to the second, I would say “Thank you! You raise me up!” Sandy’s card raised me up.


That card came twelve years ago, and I still have it. It reminds me of Sandy’s artful helping: even though I was cut off from my friends, that card told me that she knew I was struggling, and I still remember the difference that made for me at the time.

-- Maureen O’Hern

About Maureen:
Recently repatriated to Indiana from California, I am a long-time single parent of two sons, a grandma, a retired educator, a rusty musician, a botanical artist, a gardener and a lover of all things herbal. As a former daughter and niece, I am working to finish a book about caregiving.

The Art of Helping #4: Leaving the one-way message

I had an answering machine that would blink a red light when I had any messages, and that red light became increasingly wearing. I had neither time nor energy to talk on the phone; I also did not have ease of mind: I had to keep one ear on Dad. Yet people would leave the message “call me.” No matter how kindly meant, it added to my frustration because it was a way in which people said they had no clue what it was like to live with a dementia victim -- in other words, no clue what my life was like.



But sometimes someone would call and leave these words: “Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you” or “I hope you’re OK.“ With those words the callers seemed to say that they did have a clue about my life: they knew I couldn’t talk so they didn’t ask me to call back, and their one-way messages were kindnesses to me.



I don’t know about all caregivers, but I do know a little about caregivers for dementia victims: those caregivers are always on alert in ways that others do not see or imagine, and so for those caregivers phone calls can increase stress by diverting attention from the cared-for. “Call me” messages can be discouraging to the caregiver when dementia is involved. Perhaps that is true in other kinds of caregiving also, when the caregiver must be attuned to the cared-for at all times.



The one-way message is an artful way to help: a great understanding is expressed in it.

--Maureen O'Hern

About Maureen:

Recently repatriated to Indiana from California, I am a long-time single parent of two sons, a grandma, a retired educator, a rusty musician, a botanical artist, a gardener and a lover of all things herbal. As a former daughter and niece, I am working to finish a book about caregiving.

Each day this week we will feature a new heartwarming and inspirational story:

#1 Being Present

#2 Discerning want and need

#3 Giving permission to vent

#4 Leaving the one-way message

#5 Saying “I know you are struggling”

The Art of Helping: #3 Giving permission to vent

Dorothy was the only one of my friends with caregiving experience, which happened to overlap mine. She understood the exhaustion, the anger, the bewilderment, the isolation, the tedium when no one else did. She knew that I could feel all that and still love my father. She let me say what I needed to say in order to keep going, and I hope I did the same for her. I had just got my first computer and the emails flew between us. Our mutual need to vent found the perfect medium in emails; in them we ranted and raved, whined and wailed, not at the cared-for but at caregiving.

She never told me that this too shall pass, or every cloud has a silver lining. She never told me to keep that stupid stiff upper lip, nor did she sing “Tomorrow” to me.

She never told me it wasn’t that bad; she agreed that it was indeed that bad. It was that bad for her too. She let my feelings stand without trying to talk me out of them.

If the caregiver or cared-for wants to lob verbal raw eggs at the wall of frustration, the artful helper tells him/her to lob away. Let the egg drool harden and the eggshells crackle underfoot. The important thing is that feelings, not the caregivers or cared-fors, crash against that wall. The artful helper stands by with more eggs.

--Maureen O'Hern

Check back tomorrow for The Art of Helping #4: Leaving the one-way message

The Art of Helping: #2 Discerning want and need

Wanting help and needing help can be two different things.

My friend Mary Jo understood this. Take the matter of corn chips and chocolate-covered raisins (if you can). To my horror, I ran out of both during Dad’s last days and there was no chance I could get to the store.

Mary Jo got them for me; she brought me corn chips and chocolate-covered raisins and did not tell me I should eat better, did not substitute raw carrots and yogurt, did not try to tell me that I needed to eat better. She went with what I wanted.

Helping is an art when it responds to want and need. Sometimes we think we know what people need but we don’t think about what they want, so asking the simple question “What do you want?” is a kindness. If the answer is something disgusting like “corn chips and chocolate-covered raisins,” try to go with it. Nobody said helping would be easy.

--Maureen O'Hern

The Art of Helping: #1 Being Present

Toward the end of his life, when the dementia was playing out dramatically, Dad was hospitalized for cardiac problems. Like many caregivers, I spent long days at the hospital. The head nurse was named Jean, and she was one of the inspired ones. At least once during her busy shift every day, Jean would come in to Dad’s room and stand by the chair where I was sitting much the way a wet rag sits, and she just stood there. She said nothing; she did nothing. She simply stood next to me, watching Dad with me, for a few minutes. It was strengthening, calming, affirming. Without speaking a single word, she told me I was not invisible, that I was not disposable, that I was not insignificant.

Sometimes presence is everything. Talk is not necessary. Acknowledgment is. A silent presence can be the most eloquent acknowledgment of the exhaustion of the caregiver by requiring nothing of her. Not even words.

--Maureen O'Hern

Check back tomorrow for The Art of Helping #2: Discerning Want and Need

The Art of Helping: Introduction

My father suffered from vascular dementia, an incremental brain deterioration caused by years of faulty circulation. I took care of him for the last three years of his life, as his dementia progressed from moderate to life-changing. For the most part, people were not much help, and that’s the truth of it. But there were instances of inspired, compassionate help that, even now, long after Dad’s death, I am still grateful for.

The following thoughts on the Art of Helping are derived from people of intuition, understanding and insight, all essential gifts for any artistic expression.

-- Maureen O’Hern

About Maureen:

Recently repatriated to Indiana from California, I am a long-time single parent of two sons, a grandma, a retired educator, a rusty musician, a botanical artist, a gardener and a lover of all things herbal. As a former daughter and niece, I am working to finish a book about caregiving.

Each day this week we will feature a new heartwarming and inspirational story:
#1 Being Present
#2 Discerning want and need
#3 Giving permission to vent
#4 Leaving the one-way message
#5 Saying “I know you are struggling”