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Posts Tagged ‘Valium’

yellow rose

Clipping the climbing yellow rose brings back memories.

I trimmed roses today.  The trellis had been filled to overflowing with yellow climbers; each blossom spilling onto the next until there was hardly space for the leaves and branches.  Each year they open in their entire splendor for Mothers’ Day.  Picking that first bouquet I buried my face in the aroma and smiled as my heart filled with joy. I wanted to tell them not to bloom all at once – to save some beauty for June and July — but they never seem to listen.  My consolation: they bloom again in September as if to bid a fond and colorful farewell to summer.

Many years ago Ken’s mother and I browsed through a nursery admiring, touching and taking in the fragrance of flowering plants. “Pick out whatever you like,” she said, “for your birthday.”  I selected the yellow climber, and it must have known right from the beginning how special it was because once it started to climb and the first blossoms began it produced a grand showing twice a year.

Even as a child I was fond of yellow roses remembering my grandmother’s farm in eastern Utah.  During a summer’s visit when I was eight Grandma taught me how to make tiny flower dolls with billowing skirts and bonnets from hollyhock blossoms, and whistles from the leaves of a cottonwood tree, but it was the yellow climbing roses covering her fence which I thought to be especially beautiful – and memorable.  So much so I had once began, one day to finish, writing a poem:

My grandmother’s house was set back from the road,

as much as my mind discloses,

And next to the lane was a long, long fence

filled with fragrant, yellow roses.

There were other pleasant memories pulled from the past as I clipped away under and over the trellis following a few days of playful breezes which had covered the patio with golden velvet petals.  My friend John had once said how much he liked to work with growing things and the earth, “It’s good for my soul,” he said.  “Well put,” I agreed.  And today, my soul felt good.

With Ken inside resting and comfortable under Crizaldo’s excellent care I felt warmed by the sun and relaxed, putting worries about Alzheimer’s momentarily out of reach.  However, thoughts of AD are never far away.  After all, the disease has been in and out of our lives for more than 35 years.  Even the yellow climber reminds me of priceless time lost, and the once-solid lives AD has stolen from our family.

My mother-in-law’s name was Rose, Rose Mary, but her husband Nick called her Rosie, and sometimes Roses.  Ken brought me home to meet the folks on our second date, later telling his mother that one day I would be his wife.  The bumpy road to romance was just that, but eventually we did marry and Rose became my mother-in-law.  In many ways she felt I was the best thing that could have happened to her son, yet in other ways I wasn’t, but we skipped over our differences and had a great, though a bit guarded, relationship.

She adored her grandchildren, felt privileged to babysit for us, and if we needed help she and Nick were there.  Eventually, we would be there for them.

So much of what we believe we know about Alzheimer’s is speculation.  It was during a melancholy time for Rose when her doctor, caught up with the hype about the new marvel drug, prescribed Valium.  “Calming with absolutely no side effects,” was the claim; so with her doctor’s permission, Rose would gulp down a pill as if it were candy whenever she felt blue.  Years later we wondered if the remedy triggered her entrance into AD, added to it, or if it had any effect at all.  Nevertheless, AD with all of its mystery and newness became a part of our lives. 

Nick was having times of odd behavior as well, but we never really knew which of the two was worse off, or whose odd behavior was actually a symptom, and the medical profession was of little help.  In retrospect it seems as if the couple was in a race with one pulling ahead and then the other coming from behind would be in the lead.  The one thing we did know with certainty was they needed help.

Both Rose and Nick had been avid gardeners; Nick was best known for his fruit and vegetables and Rose for the array of flowers she grew, specializing in gladiolas and roses.  Whenever they came for spring and summer visits her arms were filled with a bouquet of either – at times both.

I suppose their garden (or lack thereof) could have been one of the first symptoms of AD.  Somehow, digging the earth and growing things fell by the wayside as they became tired and forgetful.  Not working outside of our home allowed me more flex time than Ken or his sister Loretta.  I came often to my in-laws’ house where I cleaned, watered, mowed the front lawn, shopped, took them to doctor appointments, to the bank, and often cooked a few meals.  With not enough time, energy or hands to do all the chores, the vegetable garden turned to weeds, but the trees continued to produce even with little or no water – for a while.

“Do you know you have peaches on your tree?” I asked one day as I surveyed the yard.  I picked a few to show Mom and Dad, and then sliced some for lunch.  “Are you going to ‘can’ fruit this year?” I asked Rose knowing full well it was beyond her present capabilities.  “I’ll try,” she responded.  “Would you like me to help?” I continued, allowing her to believe in herself.  She was pleased and remembered where she had stored the lids, jars and bands.

I picked the peaches while she gathered everything we would need.  Together, we peeled, pitted and sliced the succulent fruit and chatted as we filled the gleaming jars for the cold-pack canner.  Her mind seemed to have cleared a little and we talked with the ease of good friends.  Laughing together, Rose told me stories about her “Buddy” and what a near-perfect young man he had been.  I chuckled quietly, knowing the whole story having heard it from the rascal “Buddy” himself.

Maybe, after all, I was everything she had wanted for her son.  Perhaps it was no more than a fleeting thing — as with many mothers — remembering my own feelings as I cradled all of my babies in my arms thinking how perfect and precious they were.  I suppose it was all about wanting the very best for our children, including a perfect and precious mate when they were ready for marriage.  Hopefully, Rose had allowed our differences and accepted me for who I was, not who she wanted me to be.

The following spring there was no fruit on the struggling tree and not much to be said about the gnarled rose bushes.  Furthermore, Nick and Rose’s Alzheimer’s had grown worse.  As a family, we knew there would be tough decisions to make – probably soon – possibly later — but all of that was long ago.

My task finished for the day I put away the ladder and clippers, and swept away the petals.  I would go inside and see how Ken was doing, all the while treasuring my afternoon in the sun basking in lovely recollections, yet recalling my first introduction to the Devil’s dreadful disease when it forced its way into the contented lives of Rose and Nick.  I also thought how interesting it is that time dulls the pain of difficult memories, yet remembering the happy times still brings joy to the heart and smiles to our lips in much the same way as a bouquet of fragrant, yellow roses.

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