Finding A New Normal

The concept of normal is a tricky one. I don't mean normal vs. abnormal, as in psychology, etc. I mean normal as in normal routine. How long does something have to happen before it becomes normal? And how do we deal with it when our old normal is replaced with a new one. I guess when it comes to something large enough, it forces us to reevaluate our priorities.

For me, the old normal started changing when Mom started showing signs of Alzheimer's, though it was a gradual thing. I tried to be home more and started doing my own laundry (Mom had always insisted, against my protests, that the housework was her job.), and some cooking. But it completely changed twice when she had her stroke. Once when she went in the hospital and again when she got home. I knew the first change was going to be temporary in that she was, we hoped, going to come home sometime, which was when the real change to a new normal took place.

Mom and Dad

Now, instead of getting up and quietly having tea, doing my devotions, and mucking around on the Internet or writing every morning, I'm responsible for Lola, our dog. I get up, take her out, feed her her breakfast, have my breakfast, get in and out of the shower as quickly as I can, and get ready for work before they get up so Dad can have the bathroom for Mom. If they get up in time before I leave for work, I make them breakfast. After school is another big change. I used to take my time coming home or not come home for supper at all when I had things to do in the evening. Now, I go straight home so I can take Lola for a walk before making supper, followed by cleaning up the kitchen. If I have time and energy left, I work on school stuff or read. But most of the time, I just have time to watch a little TV before passing out.

Don's in the center.

The key word in all that is responsible. It isn't lost on me that, until recently, I've had it awfully good, with nearly no personal responsibilities around the house beyond what I volunteered for. Now, I guess I'm still volunteering, though my services are a lot more vital than before. I just hate to think of how hard, maybe impossible, Dad's task would be if he didn't have my siblings and me to help. I know there are many folks out there in that exact situation and my heart really goes out to them.

Barb helps constantly despite
the fact that she lives far out
in the country and has a farm to
tend to. 

So I've had to re-prioritize, cutting back on some things, like going to my students' sporting events and other performances, and stop others, at least temporarily, like writing for ClutchMOV. Oddly enough, I have found time to work on my book and somehow got a couple thousand words written this week. But there's no routine for that like there used to be either. I just have to write when I find a little time here and there and be okay with not having hours to sit at my keyboard at a time. I'm happy to accept the disruption when it means I still have my mom.

Mom's been home for a week and, though it doesn't feel like it yet, I guess this is the new normal. Or at least it will be until my brother Dave gets here this week. He'll be staying here to help as long as he can, which will mean yet another new normal. So maybe normal is a tricky concept because it just doesn't exist. Maybe I need to quit thinking about keeping things normal and just take each day as it comes. It would probably be less upsetting each time something changes.

I just want to say that I'm not writing all this to complain about anything or for recognition. I have nothing to complain about and deserve no admiration for doing what any adult child should be doing for his aging parents. I'm so completely blessed to have, at age 53, both my parents still living. And my mother has spent her whole life since her kids were born dedicated to doing for us, so it's a privilege to have a chance to pay even a little bit of that back. I just hope reading about these experiences can help someone who's going through the same situation with a loved one.

Dave and Barb

And I don't want anyone to think that I'm alone in this. My brother Don and my sister Barb are here an awful lot--pretty much daily--and they bring so much food that there are many days when I don't have to cook at all. But all of our efforts pale in comparison to the time and effort that Dad gives. Except for short little snippets when one of us stays with Mom so he can go get a haircut or go shopping, Dad is with Mom every minute of the day. He checks her blood sugar before every meal, makes sure she takes all her medicines on time (she takes pills or gets eye drops five times a day), takes her to her physical therapy, takes her to the bathroom--I could go on and on. All the rest of us help when we're not busy with something else. For him, there really is nothing else. And though I know it's got to be wearing on him, he never complains. I'm proud to be his son. There's no question about it: God gave us a double portion of love when He chose us to be Dave and Nancy's kids.

Sometimes Love Takes Precedence

Mom absolutely loves dogs.

I had some ideas for what to write about today, but none of them seemed worthy of my time. You see, my mother is coming home from the rehab hospital today. She had a stroke about a month ago and she hasn't been home since. She spent about a week in the hospital followed by three weeks or so in a rehab facility, relearning how to talk and walk and use her hand. Some of that has come along very nicely, other parts not so much.

What I can't get past, though I know I have no choice but to get used to it, is the fact that, even if her hand, which is lagging behind everything else in terms of coming back, gets better, Mom is 81 and has what appears to be pretty rapidly advancing Alzheimer's. So even if she gets completely well physically, her mind will continue to deteriorate until one day she'll not recognize her family. And there's not one thing I can do about it.

We all knew this was a possibility. Her sister died of the disease several years ago. So it was always a spectre that seemed to follow us around. Early in 2016, though, I started to realize that she was asking the same questions over and over and not remembering conversations we had just had. I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed, so I asked my dad. At first, he chalked it up to the fact that she's 81 and, to be fair, has always been pretty absentminded. I definitely inherited that. Just ask my students, who are constantly having to point out my glasses or my coffee cup when I can't find them. But then it got so pronounced that there was no denying it any longer; she was losing her short term memory. Well, there was denying it for her and she was none too happy if anyone mentioned it. Mom and Dad had a number of arguments, all borne, I'm certain, of Mom's fear that the spectre had finally arrived and wasn't going to leave until it was done with her. I can imagine I'd be the same way: deny it and it's not real.

Mom and Dad at a
family beach trip
from a couple
summers ago

Dad finally bit the bullet and kind of tricked Mom into letting the doctor do some tests. She didn't do so well, so the doctor put her on medication that, at best may slow the progression of the disease. We don't know if it's helping because we don't know how much worse she would be without it. It certainly hasn't made her any better.

Then the stroke happened. It was what's called an ischemic stroke, which means that a clot formed in her heart and moved up to block the blood flowing to her brain. The good news was that Dad was right there and got her to the hospital quickly and the clot-busting drug started working immediately. Her speech came back within a couple of hours and her leg is almost as strong as before. I was wondering, but didn't want to ask, if maybe there had been a partial blockage all along that could account for her memory issues. The neurologist said as much, so we all got our hopes up for a bit. But then the radiologist, an old friend of mine, told us that the MRI did indeed show the telltale plaques that denote Alzheimer's. There is still the possibility that a blockage had been exacerbating it and she's not as advanced as we thought, but the reality is that, at least as it stand at the moment, she has shown no improvement. The doctors say it still could happen, but we shouldn't assume it will.

And even if she's not as advanced as we thought, that just kicks the can a little farther down the road. The can is still there. So what do we do? We do what I constantly tell my students to do: live intentionally. Make memories. Treasure every minute we have with her so that there will be no what-ifs or I'm sorrys after we've lost her. That may mean bypassing some writing time, or at least rearranging so that I do it when she's asleep or busy at doctor's appointments or such. And it may mean not spending as much time with friends or at my kids' activities, or even deciding that the hours

Mom and my sister Barb on a different family trip

I often spend grading papers in the evenings is just not as important as being with my mom while I can be.

Why am I telling you this? Because deny it as much as we will, we're all terminal and we don't know how much longer we have. So treasure your loved ones. Hug them. Tell them you love them. Maybe decide that ball game or work you brought home isn't so important after all. It's overused, but only because it's true--you don't know when the last chance you had to say I love you to someone will really have been your last chance. Don't look back and realize you didn't take advantage of it.

A Time For Thanks

Writers hate to be labeled as hackneyed or cliché, but one time of year that I don't mind doing what's expected is this week. Yes, we should be thankful all year long and I like to believe that I am, but this week is the time to pay special attention to all of the blessings in our lives. And I have a lot. So here's what I'm thankful for:

Samuel knows exactly
what to do when the
phone is pointed at him.

Family: Folks who know me are aware that I live with my parents. That's partly an economic thing, but it's also a family thing. My mom and dad took me in a few years back when I was going through a divorce and it's just worked out well enough that we decided to keep it this way. Yes, living as an adult with your aging parents has its unique challenges, but I believe the blessings far outweigh them. I love them very much and am thankful to still have them in my life. The same is true for my siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, and other family members, some of whom I don't see as often as I'd like, but they are also a great blessing to me. 

Friends: The gang of folks I hang around with, unofficially known as the Nerd Night Group, got a little larger this year. Part of that was by inducting new members--thanks for joining us, Cosbys--and partly by birth. Very shortly after Thanksgiving last year, Samuel Christian Schoenhut came into the world and completely stole my heart. There is just nothing in the world that
brings me greater joy than seeing him smile and hearing him laugh. I just love him more than I thought it was possible to love a miniature human. I know he's not my child, but I'm honored by the fact that Keith and Jennifer welcome me into their lives so that I feel like I'm actually contributing to his upbringing. So for my dear friends, I'm deeply thankful.

My wall of senior pics
that reminds me of all the
remarkable friends I've
had over the years. 

My Kids: I don't have any biological children, but every year I get the joy of temporarily adopting a bunch of kids who are officially my students, but I think of them as more than that. And there's a small group of kids who eat lunch in my room. Yesterday, on the last day before our Thanksgiving break, we all got together for what the kids dubbed "ThanksStephens." We had turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing--all the traditional favorites. But more than that, we had fellowship and laughter. It reminded me of just how amazingly blessed I am to do the job that I do. Sometimes I talk about retiring early if this writing thing ever takes off, but I'm just not sure I'm ready to give up these wonderful, loving, kind, hilarious kids. 

I could go on forever talking about all the remarkable things for which I'm grateful, but three seems like a good round number. I do want to say one last thing for which I'm thankful: you. All you lovely people who read this blog and buy my books. Your support means the world to me and I really do appreciate it. Now I leave it to you. I would love it if you would share what you're thankful for this Thanksgiving week. Comment here or on the Facebook link; either is great. But I'd really love to hear from everyone who reads this. 

Post in Writing Wranglers and Warriors

As you probably know if you follow me regularly, I am part of a blog group called Writing Wranglers and Warriors. Today, January 22, is my turn to post on that site, so I thought you might like to read it. You can either click the link above, or go HERE to read all about how I have a wonderful friend who serves as my sounding board when I'm trying to decide what to do and where to go with a story.

I Can't Not Be Thankful

When I used to teach underclassmen, I emphasized the rules of writing that were unbreakable. Now that I teach Advanced Placement senior English, I enjoy letting them in on some secrets about effective writing, one being that every rule can be broken if it's for a good reason. Hence the title of my post. It's a double negative, which is strictly prohibited. But it's exactly what I need to say, and when we have to decide between following a rule of grammar and communicating exactly what we want to, always choose the latter.

It's not that I have to be thankful. I don't have to be. It's not a requirement of survival. It's that I'm incapable of ingratitude. I can try not to be, but it's baked right in. And this isn't some statement about how wonderful I am. The exact opposite, really. It's a statement of just how abundantly blessed I am. So blessed am I that any person with just a shred of human emotion and decency would be unable not to feel a deep sense of thankfulness in response.

Here's a brief list of the more outstanding blessings in my life for which I'm thankful:

This is almost everybody. Wish Don could've made the trip.

• Family: At age 52, I find myself in a relatively unique position among my peer group. My entire immediate family, including my parents, are still living. Not only that, we all still love each other and enjoy each other's company. Family events are joyful gatherings, not tense affairs in which everyone walks on eggshells and guards their words. I'm more and more aware of the fact that this is not something to be taken for granted. Specifically, my parents have been such a powerful blessing to me. They took me in without hesitation in my time of need and continue to do so on a daily basis. I can't express in words how much that means to me. So for my family, I am thankful.

I hope you guys realize that you've saved me.

• My Other Family: I don't mean my extended family, though that is something for which I have reason to be grateful. I mean my spiritual family, and, more specifically, my close circle of friends. I've written about these folks so many times that I hope you guys who read this don't find it boring, but I can't overstate how powerful a positive force these folks have been in my life. Keith and Jennifer and Jonathan and Maria are family to me just as completely as if we had all been born blood relatives. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ, but they are brothers and sisters in a more specific way too (though they're all nearly young enough to be my children). They have been my port in the storm. I can text or call or show up at either of their houses without notice and they'll take me in. They love me unconditionally and I them. In the years since my marriage dissolved, they have kept me upright with their undying support. And on top of all these things, they are without question the most fun people I have ever known. I can't be around them and stay unhappy. So for my other family, I am thankful.





Many times through the years, my students have felt like my
family. In a couple of cases, they've become my permanent
children. I love you so much Jenna and Poonam. Could you
have ever guessed you would become sisters?

• My Work: Somebody somewhere said that the ideal job is the intersection between your greatest passion and the worlds' greatest need. Sadly, a lot of people can't say they make a living at that street corner. Their job is a way to make a living but has nothing to do with making a life. It's nothing more than a paycheck. Yes, we can learn to make meaning wherever we are, but I am doubly blessed in that I have a job that I actually enjoy that gives me the opportunity to make a positive impact on the lives of literally thousands of people. I get the privilege of helping to show generations of young people that they are loved and they matter and that they can make a difference in the world. Who could not be grateful for that? So, for my work as a teacher, I am thankful.

• My Other Work: When I sat down that first day to write that first book, I really had no idea at all how joyful a journey I was embarking upon. I may never get to a point where I make a meaningful amount of money doing this, but I've found that money is pretty much the least important form of compensation. I'm compensated in much better ways, like through the friends I've made and the places I've gone and the fulfillment I've felt every time I've finished a book and felt good about the story I've told. Writing, like my family, has been my refuge, my sane place. During those times when I'm writing and I'm the brave, smart, young, talented Harry Shalan instead of just plain old Joe Stephens, all is right with the world. After that, sales are just gravy. So, for my writing, I am thankful.

I could go on for quite a while, but who wants to read that? Before I close this, I want to point out that all of these things for which I'm thankful are from God, the giver of all good gifts. So, rather than having a separate point for that, I want you to see God as shot throughout everything I've said. My prayer is that you can say the same about your life.

Finally, for each of you who take time to read my blogs and books and follow my life as a writer, please know that I don't take you for granted. Sometimes I question whether you're out there, but never for very long because one of you inevitably comes along at just the right time with an encouraging word that sends me back to my keyboard to keep on writing. So, for you, I am thankful.

I Need to Live on the Outer Banks

Today is the last full day at our condo overlooking the ocean. Tomorrow morning, we get up early, stop for breakfast on our way out, and by tomorrow night we'll be back in the real world, the world of appointments, deadlines, work, and shoes. There are so many things about this place that I will miss. Enough to know that a single spindly week each year is simply not sufficient.

First, I'll miss the dazzling sunrises. Every year, one of the main highlights for me is that first morning when I get up a little before six to await, coffee in hand, the appearance of that first red sliver over the horizon. It never doesn't quicken my pulse. No matter how many days I'm here, I never tire of seeing it. I remember when I was younger and went to the beach, I had to set an alarm one morning to make sure I got up to see at least a single sunrise. Now that I naturally go to bed early and get up with the chickens, it's a normal daily experience. And I'm glad. Even when I was younger, I felt like morning was the best time of the day and I always felt like I was wasting the shank of the day by sleeping. So now my body is finally in agreement with my mindset.

Second, I'll miss the constant low roar and never-ending movement of the ocean. I can literally sit for hours on the porch just taking it all in. There wasn't a screen in my bedroom window, so the first trip for me away from the condo was to buy an expandable screen so I could go to sleep to the tranquilizing thrum of the waters pounding against the shore.

Third, I'll miss the togetherness of family being here in one place. We're all here in every sense of the
word. No running off to work or spending time with other folks that aren't part of the family. We do everything together. We cook and eat together, we go to the beach together, we go out to dinner together, we go to tourist events together, we sit and watch TV together. I could go on, but whatever it is, it's together. Trips like these (and I know this isn't unique to the beach, but the time we do this is always at the beach in our family) are the only time each year that this is true for an extended period of time. Even when everyone comes together during the holidays, someone's always having to leave early go off to see someone else or do work.

Fourth, I'll miss hours of uninterrupted reading time. Even though I kind of get paid to read and write, I still feel like there are more "productive" things I could be doing while I'm at home. Here, I feel no such impediment, so, as a result, I'm on my third book of the week.

There are many other things I could list, but I don't want to spend any more time writing. Breakfast is almost ready and then it's off to the beach. Or maybe some porch sitting. Or taking a walk. Or reading.

Summer Memories

The 4th of July, Independence Day to us in the States and a day commemorating to the British when those ungrateful colonials started getting all uppity. If you read my blog post on Writing Wranglers and Warriors, you know I see this day as the end of the first half of summer. From a citizenship standpoint, it's of great significance. But it is also a day on which I think of summers past.

One of my many favorite childhood memories is not of one particular event but something that happened many, many times. Over the years of my childhood, we had a couple of different boats that we took out on the Little Kanawha and Ohio Rivers quite often. We used them as fishing boats and also to pull skiers, but mainly we used them just to enjoy being out on the river. We also used go to something that is probably little known now. We, along with several people we knew (and many, many we didn't know), took the boat to the closest thing the Mid-Ohio Valley has to a beach.

Can't see it through the brush, but
this is the confluence of the Ohio
and Little Kanawha Rivers

On the far end of Blennerhassett Island, away from what would eventually be the state park, were little narrow strips of sand. On any given summer day, dozens of boats would tie up to downed trees and disgorge families who would spread blankets and beach towels, set out coolers and sometimes even grills, and spend the day just enjoying ourselves. Sometimes we would ski, though the ugly truth is I was a really sucky skier. I kind of became my dad's co-pilot, letting him know when the skier went down so he could circle back to him. But often, we would just splash around in the water, read, take naps, and pretty much do nothing all day. This was in the days before cell phones, so we had no contact with the outside world. We just enjoyed each other's company, along with sandwiches, chips, and cookies accompanied by the main condiment--sand.

The tip of Blennerhassett Island
as seen from Fort Boreman Hill

Eventually, often over the protests of the kids, we would pack up everything and head back to the boat ramp. After we got the boat back on the trailer, we would often stop somewhere to pick up dinner for the evening because Mom, the designated watcher and feeder of us all, often including all the cousins too, was too exhausted to cook. Sometimes, and this was always my favorite, we would stop and A & W Root Beer to pick up whole boxes of hot dogs and gallons of sweet, frost-topped root beer. I also recall stopping at Kentucky Fried Chicken or Roy Rogers (with their mythically epic sandwiches--but that's another story), but my preference was for the dogs slathered in sauce and onions and root beer so sweet it made my throat hurt.


The closest thing to a negative was that I always had this tendency to get water in my ear. Usually, I could just pound on the side of my head for a bit and it would work its way out, but occasionally it would still be there driving me crazy when we got home. When that happened, Mom would lay out a towel and pillow on the couch and have my lie down with the offending ear facing the pillow. I would often fall asleep, only to be awakened by that odd but satisfying feeling of the water, warmed by being inside my ear, trickling out onto the towel-covered pillow.

Then it was into the bathtub for me. I guess that was another sort-of negative. No matter how many baths we'd had that week, we had to have a bath after we got back from the river. If you've never swum in the Ohio River, especially back then when the chemical plants basically just flushed their waste directly into the rivers, you can't fully appreciate the level of stench that comes with you when you get out. Looking back, it's a wonder we didn't grow extra eyes or limbs or develop superpowers.

It's funny. I don't remember many specific details about any particular trip. What I mainly remember is always feeling loved and safe. We laughed constantly and there was never any question, though we didn't really talk about it, that we meant the world to each other. I've joked on here before that I grew up in a Norman Rockwell painting, but it's really not that far off.

It's that childhood that inspired Harry Shalan, a man who loves his family and believes in doing right and helping the less fortunate. Yes, he's stronger and more handsome than I am. He knows martial arts and can shoot straighter than I could ever hope to. He can't leap tall buildings in a single bound, but small ones for sure. But his values are my values. His happy childhood memories are inspired by my happy childhood memories. And his loving, dedicated family is mirrored by mine. The one way in which I'm better than Harry, though, is that you can't make a fictional family that could ever live up to my real one.

Harry Shalan's first adventure...

and his second.