Saturday, October 26, 2013
Dealing with Dementia
When you love someone and they have dementia, life becomes increasingly complicated. Someone with dementia usually does not realize that they have a problem. They are in their own mine who they always have been. To their way of thinking they can do whatever they used to do. They can become indignant easily, and resentful of their care taker, particularly if that care taker is their own child.
I have made all kinds of mistakes in trying to take care of my mother who is currently suffering from advanced dementia. I have found that it is somewhat like watching a two or three year old child who is inquisitive but lacks judgement. If a child is doing something that you think is not good for them or harmful in some way, it is easy to say something to the child even to divert them in some way. An adult who has dementia is not so easily diverted. You can say no do not feed the dog, and minutes later she has forgotten and is feeding the dog again. She can become indignant and argue, sometimes slamming down whatever is handy and stumping off.
At dinner time, or anytime that I am trying to get something accomplished, I have to endure a innumerable request to help. I try to find small tasks for her to feel useful , but more and more she is less able to preform these task. Even after helping she still continues, making my tasks at hand ever so much more difficult.
Recently, I have noticed that I am unable to explain anything to her. When I have tried to explain, it results in making her frustrated. I have learned, I hope, to use less words.
This is so hard to become accustom to. Mother was once a vibrant person, capable, a care taker herself.
Accepting dementia in a parent is difficult especially when they were always able and ready to be there for you. My mother has a form of dementia. The blessing here is that in her mind she is who she always has been, and in the moment that is true. It probably was much harder on those of us who love her to accept that slowly we were loosing the friend and mother that we loved so much. Once I accepted that my mother had changed, i was able to appreciate her as she was. Yes I have mourn for her...often wishing that I could ask her questions that she is no longer able to answer. Recently she lost her long time best friend. I think that I realized that I had lost one more link to the past that my mother was no longer able to supply.
I now after years of denial am able to deal with my mother and her dementia daily. I no longer fret over her constant questions repeated and repeated over and over as she struggles to keep her consciousness. I have no idea how frustrated she must be. I know how frustrated I had become trying to deal with it myself. I no longer correct her when she makes up stories about places she thinks she remembers. Somewhere in her mind these places strike a memory about another place and it transfers to what see believes to be true. Besides correcting her only serves to upset her. I am able most of the time now to keep my cool, when I don't it is my fault not hers. I feel terribly about it.
There are times when she is in the moment exactly who she is sharp and completely with it. She listened recently to a customer give me a very hard time and this much younger woman told me that I was being rude to her. Mom in a moment of total clarity said, "No, you are being rude to her." Yes, thank you mom, you've always been there for me.
Instead of becoming someone who does not know you or even who she is my mother in essence is still my mother. Hopefully she will remain who she is inside even if she can not remember what I said a minute ago. I love you, Mother, very, very, much. We are blessed that you do not have Alzheimer.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
I love my computer..BUT...
I love the computer....It has finally gotten me to write down my thoughts. I love the fact that I am able to contact and visit with old friends on Face Book, people who I have lost contact with. I love cell phones, no longer worrying about family and friends on the road. I enjoy the Television and air conditioning. All these things that make life easier are wonderful, BUT.... They have changed the way we live our lives.
Years ago before we had all these advantages we lead less complicated lives. We had to go to libraries to look up information. Who knew who we would happen to run into on our trek for knowledge? Now we grab our iphone or our lap top and search on line. Easy knowledge at our finger tips...BUT no social interchange. We socialize, but not face to face. Face to face you can read the other person's reaction. My grandson has friends on line that he has never met. They play games and talk to each other. He has friends that come over occasionally. most of their play is in side and on line. As a child we walked home from school and decided to play at either your own house or that of a friend. Sometimes several friends got together to play hide and seek, or red rover, or mother may I. Sometimes we would explore the fields near by. An empty lot could become a jungle to explore, and drainage ditch a flowing stream with adventure awaiting around the corner. We used our imaginations and lived our own fantasy world. Hot summer days were spent enjoying and exploring the out doors. We played in the dirt, and made pies of mud. We climbed in the trees, looking down on things that normally we would have had to look up to see. We tired to dig to China. Mostly we hit water. Our town was below sea level. But the thrill of thinking was that we might just do it. In the evenings we would take jars with holes punched in the lid to run outside and hunt for fireflies. Other times we would lay down on the grass, smelling of the new mowed lawn, and gaze up into the heavens and marvel at all the stars in the sky. A parent would point out the Big Dipper.or Orion's Belt. They would make up stories about how the moon was made of cheese or say look up there can you see the man in the moon. And behold there shining down at you from the full moon was that very man in the moon's face.
Without air conditioning we did things to avoid the heat of the day. We had screen porches. My grandparents home had three porches a front open porch, a screened back porch where we ate our meals during the summer hot months and a screened in sleeping porch next to the bed rooms. Even though we had television when I was growing up it was very limited and they replayed the programs in the summer. To escape the heat we would go out and sit on the front porch in the evenings. This was a time to sit and talk and to visit with the neighbors. People would take walks after dinner and often stopped to pay a visit. The ice cream trucks would come by sometimes and we could buy pop cycles or ice cream cones. Neighbors were much closer to each other as they had time to visit. The children played together as long as their parents would let them stay out. When bed time came they were tired and hopefully the house had cooled down some allowing them to sleep well.
As a child there were no computers, and when I was very young no television. There were radio programs for children on Saturday mornings. Our entertainments came from reading or listening to stories. We entertained ourselves using our imaginations. We girls played with our dolls and stuffed toys. My brother played with toy soldiers or his cowboys and Indians. Small metal cars and trucks rode the lines in the oriental carpets. houses and forts were constructed among card tables and chairs sometimes covered in old sheets. Three was an old magnolia tree whose roots were raised in a way that made the walls for small rooms. Seed pods, leaves and flowers made food for our dolls.
Attics and basements were a fascination for our fertile imaginations. Who knew who or what lurched there. Boxes and trunks of old clothes, even confederate money. All fueled our imaginations.
Years ago before we had all these advantages we lead less complicated lives. We had to go to libraries to look up information. Who knew who we would happen to run into on our trek for knowledge? Now we grab our iphone or our lap top and search on line. Easy knowledge at our finger tips...BUT no social interchange. We socialize, but not face to face. Face to face you can read the other person's reaction. My grandson has friends on line that he has never met. They play games and talk to each other. He has friends that come over occasionally. most of their play is in side and on line. As a child we walked home from school and decided to play at either your own house or that of a friend. Sometimes several friends got together to play hide and seek, or red rover, or mother may I. Sometimes we would explore the fields near by. An empty lot could become a jungle to explore, and drainage ditch a flowing stream with adventure awaiting around the corner. We used our imaginations and lived our own fantasy world. Hot summer days were spent enjoying and exploring the out doors. We played in the dirt, and made pies of mud. We climbed in the trees, looking down on things that normally we would have had to look up to see. We tired to dig to China. Mostly we hit water. Our town was below sea level. But the thrill of thinking was that we might just do it. In the evenings we would take jars with holes punched in the lid to run outside and hunt for fireflies. Other times we would lay down on the grass, smelling of the new mowed lawn, and gaze up into the heavens and marvel at all the stars in the sky. A parent would point out the Big Dipper.or Orion's Belt. They would make up stories about how the moon was made of cheese or say look up there can you see the man in the moon. And behold there shining down at you from the full moon was that very man in the moon's face.
Without air conditioning we did things to avoid the heat of the day. We had screen porches. My grandparents home had three porches a front open porch, a screened back porch where we ate our meals during the summer hot months and a screened in sleeping porch next to the bed rooms. Even though we had television when I was growing up it was very limited and they replayed the programs in the summer. To escape the heat we would go out and sit on the front porch in the evenings. This was a time to sit and talk and to visit with the neighbors. People would take walks after dinner and often stopped to pay a visit. The ice cream trucks would come by sometimes and we could buy pop cycles or ice cream cones. Neighbors were much closer to each other as they had time to visit. The children played together as long as their parents would let them stay out. When bed time came they were tired and hopefully the house had cooled down some allowing them to sleep well.
As a child there were no computers, and when I was very young no television. There were radio programs for children on Saturday mornings. Our entertainments came from reading or listening to stories. We entertained ourselves using our imaginations. We girls played with our dolls and stuffed toys. My brother played with toy soldiers or his cowboys and Indians. Small metal cars and trucks rode the lines in the oriental carpets. houses and forts were constructed among card tables and chairs sometimes covered in old sheets. Three was an old magnolia tree whose roots were raised in a way that made the walls for small rooms. Seed pods, leaves and flowers made food for our dolls.
Attics and basements were a fascination for our fertile imaginations. Who knew who or what lurched there. Boxes and trunks of old clothes, even confederate money. All fueled our imaginations.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Loosing a life long friend and a Link to the past
My very good friend, adviser, and my mother's best friend died recently. This has hit me hard. Betsy Martin was almost 94 years old. We do not live forever; however, her passing has come as a shock to me. I have know Betsy ever since I can remember. She has been as much a piece of my life as any relative. She was always there to support or to lend a helping hand. On Graydon Ave. she was a link to all the ties to the past. I can vision her sitting on our front porch, visiting with my grandmother, Lillie Maude Porter, my Nana. Their heads close together chatting.
Betsy came to Norfolk as a young married from Baltimore. She needed to fit in among the families on Graydon Ave. in Norfolk. Nana was more than happy to educate her. I remember her saying, "Now, Nana, how were they related to each other ?" My grandmother would explain the ins and outs of Norfolk families. There came a time when Betsy changed roles and was advising Nana of things that were happening in the area. This was not gossip, but getting relationships straight.
When I had polio, Betsy was there helping to take care of my baby brother so mother could visit me in the hospital. Whenever help was needed she was there.
I realize that she was my security, an alternate parent, that I could depend upon for good advise.
More importantly to me is the link that we had to a common past. To Graydon Ave. in the late 1940's through the early 1960's. The link to my grandparents and the warmth of living in a small part of a larger city that was like living in a small town. I remember her pushing her son, Bruce in a stroller by our home and having Bruce cry out "meat"... He loved to have lunch with us on the back eating porch. Nana would make up a large plate with meats, cheeses, and sliced tomatoes, green peppers and onions. There were baskets with bread and crackers. Also mayonnaise and mustard.
She provided a link to evenings sitting on my grandparent's wide front porch with neighbors walking out front and visiting with each other. Without air conditioning, we would all go out on to the front porches after dinner at night to cool off and visit. This was a time for friends and family to catch up with each other. The children played out on the side walks or caught lighting bugs in jars with holes punched in the lids, as the adults visited. This of a time lost in time. A time of warmth and love and friendships.
My parents generation are slipping away faster than I care to think about. My oldest son called to tell me that My ex husband's step sister had died. Honor MacNamee, was about my mother's age. She had diabetes ever since she was in her twenties, possibly longer. We had not been close for years, and I had known that she was elderly now, but I had last know her as a vibrant middle age Mother.
Betsy came to Norfolk as a young married from Baltimore. She needed to fit in among the families on Graydon Ave. in Norfolk. Nana was more than happy to educate her. I remember her saying, "Now, Nana, how were they related to each other ?" My grandmother would explain the ins and outs of Norfolk families. There came a time when Betsy changed roles and was advising Nana of things that were happening in the area. This was not gossip, but getting relationships straight.
When I had polio, Betsy was there helping to take care of my baby brother so mother could visit me in the hospital. Whenever help was needed she was there.
I realize that she was my security, an alternate parent, that I could depend upon for good advise.
More importantly to me is the link that we had to a common past. To Graydon Ave. in the late 1940's through the early 1960's. The link to my grandparents and the warmth of living in a small part of a larger city that was like living in a small town. I remember her pushing her son, Bruce in a stroller by our home and having Bruce cry out "meat"... He loved to have lunch with us on the back eating porch. Nana would make up a large plate with meats, cheeses, and sliced tomatoes, green peppers and onions. There were baskets with bread and crackers. Also mayonnaise and mustard.
She provided a link to evenings sitting on my grandparent's wide front porch with neighbors walking out front and visiting with each other. Without air conditioning, we would all go out on to the front porches after dinner at night to cool off and visit. This was a time for friends and family to catch up with each other. The children played out on the side walks or caught lighting bugs in jars with holes punched in the lids, as the adults visited. This of a time lost in time. A time of warmth and love and friendships.
My parents generation are slipping away faster than I care to think about. My oldest son called to tell me that My ex husband's step sister had died. Honor MacNamee, was about my mother's age. She had diabetes ever since she was in her twenties, possibly longer. We had not been close for years, and I had known that she was elderly now, but I had last know her as a vibrant middle age Mother.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
A Captive's Tale ..a story from our family history
My mother, Beverley, wrote this story that had been passed down in the Porter Family for generations based on a letter written by the grandson of William and Eleanor Kinkead to his son Blackburn, written April 20th 1847.
William Kinkead's family were originally from Perthshire Scotland. His branch of the Kinkead family moved to Northern Ireland. They were militant Presbyterians, who fled from Scotland fin search of religious freedom to Northern Ireland and the protection of the English, hence they were called Scotch-Irish. Ireland was a way station to the Colonies in America. The Scotch-Irish tended to settle in Pennsylvania's frontier area, and the Kinkead family were among these people as was the family of Eleanor Guy.
William Kinkead married Eleanor Guy in Augusta County Va. on November 30, 1756. Eleanor was 16 and he was 18. They set up their home about 20 miles from Stanton in what is now George Washington National Forest. They cleared their land and with the help of their neighbors built their log cabin.
They lived peacefully along side of their neighbors, but were always aware of the Indian to the west. On April 14, 1764, William was in the field away from the house. Eleanor was home with her children Margaret 6, Andrew 4, and her baby Isabel 2. She was about six months pregnant with another child. She had let the older children play outside while she was working inside while Isabel took a nap. All of a sudden she heard the children cry out in alarm. She looked up from her work to see Indians at the door. She froze in terror. The settlers had not expected Indians this early in the year. They had plans to build a fort for their protection. The Kinkead cabin was believed to be the most secure cabin in the area. Several neighbors had even brought some of their possessions to store there for safe keeping.
There were five Indians in all, four men and a young boy. The Indians immediately went to work packing up all the clothes and blankets. They cut open the bedding, getting feathers all over and smashing furniture. They tied all the soft ware up in bundles tying these to their backs. They also took the guns and a new saddle. It was amazing how much they were able to carry. They force Eleanor to pick up the baby and had her lead her other children pushing her out of her door. As she walked away from her home she looked over her shoulder longingly at her home that she was leaving behind.
William and Eleanor lived knowing that Indian raids were a possibility. She knew that she must try to leave some sort of trail for him to follow. As they walked across the newly plowed field she knew that their trail would be visible, but they soon entered the forest. She started trying to break some branches and dragging her feet to leave marks to follow. She was able to do this for some time until one of the Indians noticed her doing this. When they reached the top of a hill she was told to stop. She sat on a boulder already very tired and tears streamed down her cheeks. An Indian approached and gave her moccasins to put on herself and the children. She did this willingly as her feet were not use to walking miles and her shoes were rubbing blisters. Their rest was brief. Once more they were on their way. The path was rough and the Indians did not offer her any help. Holding her heavy baby in her arms she had trouble getting through the brush. Her bare arms were scratched and bleeding. As they pushed on the baby began to cry. The other children started whining. They were both hungry and tired. They finally stopped in late afternoon. She was given blankets to spread out for herself and her children. They handed her some sort of dried meat and coarse corn cakes as well as water. They were too tired to care and were soon asleep from pure exhaustion.
It was late that afternoon that William returned home only to discover his family was gone and the cabin vandalized. He alerted his neighbors and some of the men agreed to meet and start a search party in the morning as the light was already gone. They followed he trail as far as they could, but after a few days he was persuaded to turn back as they had lost the trail. They need both provisions and more help.
Morning arrive to son for Eleanor. She awoke anew to her nightmare. She tried to comfort her children as she encouraged them to eat the cold corn caked. They needed to keep going and to keep up with the march. They were already worn down from the march the day before.
During the course of the day it became harder and harder for little Andrew to keep up. His four year old legs were so short and he had to work twice as hard to just try to keep up. He kept stumbling, both Eleanor and Margaret tried to help him as much as possible. Eleanor even tried to carry him along with two year old Hamilton. That was almost impossible and she had to put him down. Two Indians approached and picked up Andrew. Relived, Eleanor thought that they would help carry him. They disappeared only to reappear later without Andrew. Eleanor never saw him again.
That night they pulled out her cooking pot from their packs. They had managed to kill two rabbits and forage some vegetables of sorts and indicated that she should cook. One Indian spoke some English and told her that the great spirit had led them to her. She thought at the time that the same great spirit would also take her out of their hands. That night lying with her two remaining children the realization of what must have happen to her son over came her and she lay there still with silent tears streaming. She knew she had to remain strong for her other children and her grief was changed to shear determination. This would not be her undoing, she would save herself and her two remaining children. She silently prayed for the soul of her lost son and for their rescue, and fell into a restless sleep.
They were awaken at dawn given something to eat and they were on the march once more. This time she was fortified with a steely determination. She kept her children close and also tried to stay close to the older Indian who spoke some English. She shied away from the two who carried her son away. That evening they camped near a small water fall and while the Indians were fishing she washed the children in the cold water. she soaked her feet and watched as the children splashed in the water near by.
It seemed like they walked forever. Eleanor lost track of time. The going got harder and she fell with her daughter, in her arms. Fear gripped her. One of the Indians took a branch and switched her motioning for her to get up and move. They grabbed her young child away from her. One of the Indians had a hatchet. She begged for her child back. The Indians confered with each other, then the one who spoke some English asked if the child's hair would be dark. She said that it would. Then one of the Indians made a sling of sorts and attached the child to her back. This made going much easier. She now had her hands to help her balance.
When they finally reached the Village, Zanesville, there were other captives there white women and children in the camp. Isabel was taken away and given to an Indian girl, who had lost a child recently. Eleanor herself was taken in to the tribe of King Beaver and treated as one of their tribe.
In the mean time William tried to rally support in his effort to search for his wife and family. It was the time to sow the fields for food for the rest of the year. After having lost the trail, the other settlers were reluctant to go on a wild goose chase. William was wild with worry in order to find his family he joined the army which was patrolling the Indian territory, in hopes of finding his family.
Eleanors life in the camp was not too hard. They were kind to her and she learned a great deal from the Indians. In return she tried to be of help to them. Because she was with child the men left her alone. When her time came to deliver the baby she was led by the women outside the village and tended to by the women. She gave birth July 25,1764.
That summer there was sickness in the village one of the people to surcome to the sickness was Eleanors oldest child, Margaret. Once more she was over come with grief. This time her new Indian family was there for her.
Hamilton in the mean time was thriving with her Indian family. She played with the other children chattering away in their dialect. She had grown inches and tanned to a nut brown. With her dark hair and brown eyes she looked like the other Indian children.
That fall the army went after the Indians. The Indians agreed to release all their white captives, more than two hundred were brought back by the Indians. Among these were Eleanor Kinkead her three month old baby and her young daughter, Hamilton. When William saw his young daughter, he did not recognize her as his child.
He thought that she was an Indian child. It was not until Eleanor pointed out a scar from a burn that he recognized her as his own. William had finally accomplish finding what was left of his family.
William Kinkead's family were originally from Perthshire Scotland. His branch of the Kinkead family moved to Northern Ireland. They were militant Presbyterians, who fled from Scotland fin search of religious freedom to Northern Ireland and the protection of the English, hence they were called Scotch-Irish. Ireland was a way station to the Colonies in America. The Scotch-Irish tended to settle in Pennsylvania's frontier area, and the Kinkead family were among these people as was the family of Eleanor Guy.
William Kinkead married Eleanor Guy in Augusta County Va. on November 30, 1756. Eleanor was 16 and he was 18. They set up their home about 20 miles from Stanton in what is now George Washington National Forest. They cleared their land and with the help of their neighbors built their log cabin.
They lived peacefully along side of their neighbors, but were always aware of the Indian to the west. On April 14, 1764, William was in the field away from the house. Eleanor was home with her children Margaret 6, Andrew 4, and her baby Isabel 2. She was about six months pregnant with another child. She had let the older children play outside while she was working inside while Isabel took a nap. All of a sudden she heard the children cry out in alarm. She looked up from her work to see Indians at the door. She froze in terror. The settlers had not expected Indians this early in the year. They had plans to build a fort for their protection. The Kinkead cabin was believed to be the most secure cabin in the area. Several neighbors had even brought some of their possessions to store there for safe keeping.
There were five Indians in all, four men and a young boy. The Indians immediately went to work packing up all the clothes and blankets. They cut open the bedding, getting feathers all over and smashing furniture. They tied all the soft ware up in bundles tying these to their backs. They also took the guns and a new saddle. It was amazing how much they were able to carry. They force Eleanor to pick up the baby and had her lead her other children pushing her out of her door. As she walked away from her home she looked over her shoulder longingly at her home that she was leaving behind.
William and Eleanor lived knowing that Indian raids were a possibility. She knew that she must try to leave some sort of trail for him to follow. As they walked across the newly plowed field she knew that their trail would be visible, but they soon entered the forest. She started trying to break some branches and dragging her feet to leave marks to follow. She was able to do this for some time until one of the Indians noticed her doing this. When they reached the top of a hill she was told to stop. She sat on a boulder already very tired and tears streamed down her cheeks. An Indian approached and gave her moccasins to put on herself and the children. She did this willingly as her feet were not use to walking miles and her shoes were rubbing blisters. Their rest was brief. Once more they were on their way. The path was rough and the Indians did not offer her any help. Holding her heavy baby in her arms she had trouble getting through the brush. Her bare arms were scratched and bleeding. As they pushed on the baby began to cry. The other children started whining. They were both hungry and tired. They finally stopped in late afternoon. She was given blankets to spread out for herself and her children. They handed her some sort of dried meat and coarse corn cakes as well as water. They were too tired to care and were soon asleep from pure exhaustion.
It was late that afternoon that William returned home only to discover his family was gone and the cabin vandalized. He alerted his neighbors and some of the men agreed to meet and start a search party in the morning as the light was already gone. They followed he trail as far as they could, but after a few days he was persuaded to turn back as they had lost the trail. They need both provisions and more help.
Morning arrive to son for Eleanor. She awoke anew to her nightmare. She tried to comfort her children as she encouraged them to eat the cold corn caked. They needed to keep going and to keep up with the march. They were already worn down from the march the day before.
During the course of the day it became harder and harder for little Andrew to keep up. His four year old legs were so short and he had to work twice as hard to just try to keep up. He kept stumbling, both Eleanor and Margaret tried to help him as much as possible. Eleanor even tried to carry him along with two year old Hamilton. That was almost impossible and she had to put him down. Two Indians approached and picked up Andrew. Relived, Eleanor thought that they would help carry him. They disappeared only to reappear later without Andrew. Eleanor never saw him again.
That night they pulled out her cooking pot from their packs. They had managed to kill two rabbits and forage some vegetables of sorts and indicated that she should cook. One Indian spoke some English and told her that the great spirit had led them to her. She thought at the time that the same great spirit would also take her out of their hands. That night lying with her two remaining children the realization of what must have happen to her son over came her and she lay there still with silent tears streaming. She knew she had to remain strong for her other children and her grief was changed to shear determination. This would not be her undoing, she would save herself and her two remaining children. She silently prayed for the soul of her lost son and for their rescue, and fell into a restless sleep.
They were awaken at dawn given something to eat and they were on the march once more. This time she was fortified with a steely determination. She kept her children close and also tried to stay close to the older Indian who spoke some English. She shied away from the two who carried her son away. That evening they camped near a small water fall and while the Indians were fishing she washed the children in the cold water. she soaked her feet and watched as the children splashed in the water near by.
It seemed like they walked forever. Eleanor lost track of time. The going got harder and she fell with her daughter, in her arms. Fear gripped her. One of the Indians took a branch and switched her motioning for her to get up and move. They grabbed her young child away from her. One of the Indians had a hatchet. She begged for her child back. The Indians confered with each other, then the one who spoke some English asked if the child's hair would be dark. She said that it would. Then one of the Indians made a sling of sorts and attached the child to her back. This made going much easier. She now had her hands to help her balance.
When they finally reached the Village, Zanesville, there were other captives there white women and children in the camp. Isabel was taken away and given to an Indian girl, who had lost a child recently. Eleanor herself was taken in to the tribe of King Beaver and treated as one of their tribe.
In the mean time William tried to rally support in his effort to search for his wife and family. It was the time to sow the fields for food for the rest of the year. After having lost the trail, the other settlers were reluctant to go on a wild goose chase. William was wild with worry in order to find his family he joined the army which was patrolling the Indian territory, in hopes of finding his family.
Eleanors life in the camp was not too hard. They were kind to her and she learned a great deal from the Indians. In return she tried to be of help to them. Because she was with child the men left her alone. When her time came to deliver the baby she was led by the women outside the village and tended to by the women. She gave birth July 25,1764.
That summer there was sickness in the village one of the people to surcome to the sickness was Eleanors oldest child, Margaret. Once more she was over come with grief. This time her new Indian family was there for her.
Hamilton in the mean time was thriving with her Indian family. She played with the other children chattering away in their dialect. She had grown inches and tanned to a nut brown. With her dark hair and brown eyes she looked like the other Indian children.
That fall the army went after the Indians. The Indians agreed to release all their white captives, more than two hundred were brought back by the Indians. Among these were Eleanor Kinkead her three month old baby and her young daughter, Hamilton. When William saw his young daughter, he did not recognize her as his child.
He thought that she was an Indian child. It was not until Eleanor pointed out a scar from a burn that he recognized her as his own. William had finally accomplish finding what was left of his family.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Found Treasure... writings of my Mother about family
My mother is 92 years old. Older than her grandmother Viola May Spence Jones, who died at 89 in 1956. I loved my great grandmother and the heritage of her family. I found just recently stories that mother wrote years ago as a legacy for her grandsons. Mother has problems remembering things now and is some what stuck in a period of time when she was in her late teens and early twenties when she had to take over the household responsibilities because her mother became ill. I will try to write this down as she did in her note book.
From the writings of Beverley Porter Lewis:
When I was a child, before the age of television, one of my greatest pleasures in the evening was to have my father tell me a story. He was a wonderful weaver of tales and dreams. The ones that I liked the most were the stories about the animals of the forest. They all became living characters to me. During the telling of these tales I learned about the habits of these animals and how they lived. What an easy way to learn snuggled in my father's arms.
My grandmother told different tales of growing up after the Civil War in rural North Carolina. It was a story of survival and heart brake. Her stories made me realize how brave and courageous my ancestors were.
I am writing this for my grandsons, and great nieces and nephews, so that you will know the stories of our family. These are stories that I would like you to pass on to your children and grandchildren. I hope that one day that you will enjoy reading them.
It is indeed nice to know that we come from wonderful, strong, brave, and courageous people who were able to endure hardships and still have exciting and happy lives. In my writings, I hope that I will be able to bring some of these adventures alive for you, so that you too will realize the the possibilities that you have within you. God and your ancestors have given you these wonderful traits, all you have to do is draw upon them.
My great grandparents were married in 1847, Dempsey Milton Spence and Polly Nash. He was known as Squire Spence and served as recorder of deeds in Camden County North Carolina. He also owned a Plantation on the Nancemond River. According to my grandmother he was very handsome.
The family did own slaves, as it was necessary to the running of their plantation. Years after the end of the Civil War, freed slaves came to visit my Grandmother to tell her how much they cared for the family. There was one instance where Polly had nursed a black infant along with her own child.
With the beginning of the Civil War life change from a happy easy living to hardship after the slaves were set free. Because he was a good Master many of the slaves wanted to stay, but the farm could not produce enough to pay them. The Spences worked continuously trying to keep the Plantation going. They had a large family, Marietta 14, Mortier 12, Cyrus 10, and John 4 with Roland Leigh born in 1862, and Viola May (my grandmother) born in 1864.
One of the stories that my grandmother told me was that during the Civil War they got word that the Yankees were coming. They set about protecting what was theirs. They hid the live stock in the woods and buried their silver in the garden. When the Yankees arrived, they managed to carry off whatever they could. After going through picking up the things that they wanted they started ripping up pillows and slashing paintings. One soldier even picked up her mothers hair brush and proceeded to brush his hair with it leaving behind heavy black hair in her brush. They generally wrecked havoc, but the horses and cattle were safe.
In 1865 Polly gave birth to yet another child, Nashville. She died in 1868 at the age of 38. Although she was only four years old at the time, she was able to remember many details. She was taken in to visit her mother one last time as she lay dead. They went into the dining room and she saw her lovely mother dressed all in white laid out on their dining table that had been covered with a white cloth. There were candles burning. Someone picked her up and told her to kiss her mother goodbye. When her lips touched her mother's check it was not the warm soft check that she knew so well. It was cold. It was then that she truly realized that her mother was gone.
Her older sister Marietta, who she called Sis, gathered her into loving arms trying to comfort her broken heart. From that day on they remained very close Sis trying to take the place of her lost mother. Sis married Albert Keeter and they lived near by.
Viola's father tried to take care of his family, but found it very difficult without a wife to help. He finally decided to marry a widow friend, Harriet Norcom Forbes, who had two daughters of her own. Together they had three more daughters and a son.
Life had changed drastically for the young Viola. Her siblings clung together, the older sibling had lives of their own, and the new wife pampered her own kin. Viola felt both left out and imposed upon. Her step mother was even cruel at times. She lost her favorite brother Leigh, who died at 23. Sis and her husband Albert and two sons, Nelson and Raleigh decided to join the pioneers going out west. They loaded all their possessions into a covered wagon and headed west. They had not gotten very far before Albert was taken ill in the Mountains of Virginia. They were alone and Sis and her sons had to bury their father along the side of the trail. Sis turned the wagon around and headed home.
Sis and her sons stayed with the family in Camden County until they were able to find a home in Princess Anne County Virginia. She became a dress maker in order to take care of her family. She was 32 at the time.
Mean while things were very hard at home for the young Viola, she was treated more as a servant than a daughter of the family. Sis realizing this asked her to come and live with her. Viola was delighted. This turned out to be a wonderful move for soon after that she met a handsome young lumberman, George Wilkes Jones. This was to be the beginning of her new life. They were married November 8, 1883. She was 19.
George Wilkes Jones was born in Portsmouth Va. in 1860. His father had a feed and hardware store. They lived in a big house on Court Street in what is now called old town Portsmouth. It was a tall house with the entrance and living room on the second floor. This style house was popular. It was called an English basement house. The windows in the living room went all the way down to the floor.
George Jones was my grandfather, he had two older brothers who were killed in The Battle of the Crater, Petersburg, Virginia.
When he was very young he own a confectionery shop. This was located on the Norfolk side of the ferry between Norfolk and Portsmouth Va. This same building was moved to the park area of the renovated East Ghent. Sometime after this he started working for Camp Manufacturing helping them buy lumber.
After they married they moved to Berkley Virginia. He traveled around purchasing areas of forest for the lumber to be used by Camp.
A strange thing happened. One cold winter day George went out with a Civil engineer named Sykes. The weather took a change for the worse. They were caught in a rare Virginia blizzard. Wet and cold they took refuge in a near by farm house. They were fed and cared for, but Mr. Sykes never recovered and died of pneumonia. The strange part of this story is that George Jones yet to be born granddaughter, Beverly Viola Porter, would marry Mr. Sykes' great nephew, Donald Sykes Lewis.
George and Viola Jones had two sons, Charles and William, who were named after his brother's who had died during the Civil War. Then they had a little girl, Lillie Maude. Later they had another son in 1902, George, who was named for his father.
Their home in Berkley was large enough to give the family plenty of room. They had wonderful neighbors. The Sears, and the Doughertys, who lived on either side of their home. They all enjoyed each others company. Their friendship lasted three generations. This was a case of friends becoming like family.
Viola loved her garden. She planted flowers and shrubs to hide the out house. Climbing roses were trained to climb the sides.
There was a well inside the kitchen. One day Viola had to rescue her maid who had fallen into the opening. George had the opening made smaller to insure that this did not happen again.
George loved his family and loved to spoil them. Once when Lillie Maude had been ill, she awoke in the morning to find her bed covered with dolls that her father had bought at a local church bazaar.
At one point George's mother came to stay with the family. Lillie Maude who was full of herself clashed with this grandmother. Angeline Jones, George's mother had no patience with little Lillie Maude. Even as an older woman, she remembered not liking this grandmother.
When Lillie Maude was in her late teens she met a young man, Ralph Wiley Porter, who had started working at the bank in Berkley. Ralph, who was five years older than Lillie Maude, fell in love with her at first sight. He kept this to himself until she was older.
George Jones was a loving father and husband. He was always buying something to please the family. One morning Lillie Maude sat down at the breakfast table at there was something under the table that bumped her toe. There was a big box under the table. When she opened the box she discovered fur muffs and neck pieces for her mother and herself that her father had purchased on his trip to New York City.
Another time he presented Viola May with her own house and carriage. He neglected to tell her that the horse had been retired from the local fire department. All went well until the fire almare went off and so did the horse chasing after the fire. My gram went as fast as the horse could go to the fire. The whole town had a good laugh and Gram received a new horse the old one wasretired to the country.
Grandfather convinced the Camps that by opening an office in New York City that they would increase their income considerably. They thought that this was a good idea. So he packed up the family and their possessions and moved to New York. He headed up the New York office. His two older sons had married so it was just his wife and daughter and young son who moved with him.
They rented a big apartment on Park Avenue. The apartment above was rented by William Randolph Hurst to house his Mistress the Actress, Marion Davies. His house keeper became a friend of Viola's. She gave Viola a beautiful silver loving cup when she returned to her home in England. This cup has remained in the family, and was used in the home baptism of her great great grandson, Donald Lewis Trimble in the 1976.
While in New york Viola lost a baby girl, Lillie Maude took over much of the care of her little brother, George. They became very close.
When Lillie Maude went with her family to New York, she was already very much in love with Ralph. He made the trip up to New York visiting as much as possible and in turn she visited her friends in Virginia.
At long last they were married November 8, 1911 in "the little church around the corner" in New York City. There was a reception at the Apartment with friends from Virginia and the city attending.
They moved into a large house in Berkeley on Main Street. There was more room than they needed so they invited her cousin Georgia Fentress and her new husband Duke Thomas to move in with them until they found a home of their own. They had a great time together.
Added by Leigh:
Sometime after that Viola and George moved to Bronxville, New York into an English Tudor Style Home at 13 West Way. Gram, Viola, was able to garden to her hearts content. Ralph and Lillie Maude with their children George and Beverley visited often. My mother, Beverley has told me that it was a large home with beautiful floors. She remembers that the Kennedy family live not far away and she remembers seeing their children playing with their pony in the yard. Their back door neighbor was no other than Mr. J. C. Penny. My grandmother, Lillie Maude, remembered that he believed in reincarnation and told her that he had known her back when the pyramids were being constructed. Grand father Jones suffered from some form of dementia before his death. I imagine that this would have been very difficult for Gram as she was always babied by her husband.
George and Viola took their young son, George, with them on two separate trips to Europe. They traveled on very large Luxury Ocean Liners.
From the writings of Beverley Porter Lewis:
When I was a child, before the age of television, one of my greatest pleasures in the evening was to have my father tell me a story. He was a wonderful weaver of tales and dreams. The ones that I liked the most were the stories about the animals of the forest. They all became living characters to me. During the telling of these tales I learned about the habits of these animals and how they lived. What an easy way to learn snuggled in my father's arms.
My grandmother told different tales of growing up after the Civil War in rural North Carolina. It was a story of survival and heart brake. Her stories made me realize how brave and courageous my ancestors were.
I am writing this for my grandsons, and great nieces and nephews, so that you will know the stories of our family. These are stories that I would like you to pass on to your children and grandchildren. I hope that one day that you will enjoy reading them.
It is indeed nice to know that we come from wonderful, strong, brave, and courageous people who were able to endure hardships and still have exciting and happy lives. In my writings, I hope that I will be able to bring some of these adventures alive for you, so that you too will realize the the possibilities that you have within you. God and your ancestors have given you these wonderful traits, all you have to do is draw upon them.
My great grandparents were married in 1847, Dempsey Milton Spence and Polly Nash. He was known as Squire Spence and served as recorder of deeds in Camden County North Carolina. He also owned a Plantation on the Nancemond River. According to my grandmother he was very handsome.
The family did own slaves, as it was necessary to the running of their plantation. Years after the end of the Civil War, freed slaves came to visit my Grandmother to tell her how much they cared for the family. There was one instance where Polly had nursed a black infant along with her own child.
With the beginning of the Civil War life change from a happy easy living to hardship after the slaves were set free. Because he was a good Master many of the slaves wanted to stay, but the farm could not produce enough to pay them. The Spences worked continuously trying to keep the Plantation going. They had a large family, Marietta 14, Mortier 12, Cyrus 10, and John 4 with Roland Leigh born in 1862, and Viola May (my grandmother) born in 1864.
One of the stories that my grandmother told me was that during the Civil War they got word that the Yankees were coming. They set about protecting what was theirs. They hid the live stock in the woods and buried their silver in the garden. When the Yankees arrived, they managed to carry off whatever they could. After going through picking up the things that they wanted they started ripping up pillows and slashing paintings. One soldier even picked up her mothers hair brush and proceeded to brush his hair with it leaving behind heavy black hair in her brush. They generally wrecked havoc, but the horses and cattle were safe.
In 1865 Polly gave birth to yet another child, Nashville. She died in 1868 at the age of 38. Although she was only four years old at the time, she was able to remember many details. She was taken in to visit her mother one last time as she lay dead. They went into the dining room and she saw her lovely mother dressed all in white laid out on their dining table that had been covered with a white cloth. There were candles burning. Someone picked her up and told her to kiss her mother goodbye. When her lips touched her mother's check it was not the warm soft check that she knew so well. It was cold. It was then that she truly realized that her mother was gone.
Her older sister Marietta, who she called Sis, gathered her into loving arms trying to comfort her broken heart. From that day on they remained very close Sis trying to take the place of her lost mother. Sis married Albert Keeter and they lived near by.
Viola's father tried to take care of his family, but found it very difficult without a wife to help. He finally decided to marry a widow friend, Harriet Norcom Forbes, who had two daughters of her own. Together they had three more daughters and a son.
Life had changed drastically for the young Viola. Her siblings clung together, the older sibling had lives of their own, and the new wife pampered her own kin. Viola felt both left out and imposed upon. Her step mother was even cruel at times. She lost her favorite brother Leigh, who died at 23. Sis and her husband Albert and two sons, Nelson and Raleigh decided to join the pioneers going out west. They loaded all their possessions into a covered wagon and headed west. They had not gotten very far before Albert was taken ill in the Mountains of Virginia. They were alone and Sis and her sons had to bury their father along the side of the trail. Sis turned the wagon around and headed home.
Sis and her sons stayed with the family in Camden County until they were able to find a home in Princess Anne County Virginia. She became a dress maker in order to take care of her family. She was 32 at the time.
Mean while things were very hard at home for the young Viola, she was treated more as a servant than a daughter of the family. Sis realizing this asked her to come and live with her. Viola was delighted. This turned out to be a wonderful move for soon after that she met a handsome young lumberman, George Wilkes Jones. This was to be the beginning of her new life. They were married November 8, 1883. She was 19.
George Wilkes Jones was born in Portsmouth Va. in 1860. His father had a feed and hardware store. They lived in a big house on Court Street in what is now called old town Portsmouth. It was a tall house with the entrance and living room on the second floor. This style house was popular. It was called an English basement house. The windows in the living room went all the way down to the floor.
George Jones was my grandfather, he had two older brothers who were killed in The Battle of the Crater, Petersburg, Virginia.
When he was very young he own a confectionery shop. This was located on the Norfolk side of the ferry between Norfolk and Portsmouth Va. This same building was moved to the park area of the renovated East Ghent. Sometime after this he started working for Camp Manufacturing helping them buy lumber.
After they married they moved to Berkley Virginia. He traveled around purchasing areas of forest for the lumber to be used by Camp.
A strange thing happened. One cold winter day George went out with a Civil engineer named Sykes. The weather took a change for the worse. They were caught in a rare Virginia blizzard. Wet and cold they took refuge in a near by farm house. They were fed and cared for, but Mr. Sykes never recovered and died of pneumonia. The strange part of this story is that George Jones yet to be born granddaughter, Beverly Viola Porter, would marry Mr. Sykes' great nephew, Donald Sykes Lewis.
George and Viola Jones had two sons, Charles and William, who were named after his brother's who had died during the Civil War. Then they had a little girl, Lillie Maude. Later they had another son in 1902, George, who was named for his father.
Their home in Berkley was large enough to give the family plenty of room. They had wonderful neighbors. The Sears, and the Doughertys, who lived on either side of their home. They all enjoyed each others company. Their friendship lasted three generations. This was a case of friends becoming like family.
Viola loved her garden. She planted flowers and shrubs to hide the out house. Climbing roses were trained to climb the sides.
There was a well inside the kitchen. One day Viola had to rescue her maid who had fallen into the opening. George had the opening made smaller to insure that this did not happen again.
George loved his family and loved to spoil them. Once when Lillie Maude had been ill, she awoke in the morning to find her bed covered with dolls that her father had bought at a local church bazaar.
At one point George's mother came to stay with the family. Lillie Maude who was full of herself clashed with this grandmother. Angeline Jones, George's mother had no patience with little Lillie Maude. Even as an older woman, she remembered not liking this grandmother.
When Lillie Maude was in her late teens she met a young man, Ralph Wiley Porter, who had started working at the bank in Berkley. Ralph, who was five years older than Lillie Maude, fell in love with her at first sight. He kept this to himself until she was older.
George Jones was a loving father and husband. He was always buying something to please the family. One morning Lillie Maude sat down at the breakfast table at there was something under the table that bumped her toe. There was a big box under the table. When she opened the box she discovered fur muffs and neck pieces for her mother and herself that her father had purchased on his trip to New York City.
Another time he presented Viola May with her own house and carriage. He neglected to tell her that the horse had been retired from the local fire department. All went well until the fire almare went off and so did the horse chasing after the fire. My gram went as fast as the horse could go to the fire. The whole town had a good laugh and Gram received a new horse the old one wasretired to the country.
Grandfather convinced the Camps that by opening an office in New York City that they would increase their income considerably. They thought that this was a good idea. So he packed up the family and their possessions and moved to New York. He headed up the New York office. His two older sons had married so it was just his wife and daughter and young son who moved with him.
They rented a big apartment on Park Avenue. The apartment above was rented by William Randolph Hurst to house his Mistress the Actress, Marion Davies. His house keeper became a friend of Viola's. She gave Viola a beautiful silver loving cup when she returned to her home in England. This cup has remained in the family, and was used in the home baptism of her great great grandson, Donald Lewis Trimble in the 1976.
While in New york Viola lost a baby girl, Lillie Maude took over much of the care of her little brother, George. They became very close.
When Lillie Maude went with her family to New York, she was already very much in love with Ralph. He made the trip up to New York visiting as much as possible and in turn she visited her friends in Virginia.
At long last they were married November 8, 1911 in "the little church around the corner" in New York City. There was a reception at the Apartment with friends from Virginia and the city attending.
They moved into a large house in Berkeley on Main Street. There was more room than they needed so they invited her cousin Georgia Fentress and her new husband Duke Thomas to move in with them until they found a home of their own. They had a great time together.
Added by Leigh:
Sometime after that Viola and George moved to Bronxville, New York into an English Tudor Style Home at 13 West Way. Gram, Viola, was able to garden to her hearts content. Ralph and Lillie Maude with their children George and Beverley visited often. My mother, Beverley has told me that it was a large home with beautiful floors. She remembers that the Kennedy family live not far away and she remembers seeing their children playing with their pony in the yard. Their back door neighbor was no other than Mr. J. C. Penny. My grandmother, Lillie Maude, remembered that he believed in reincarnation and told her that he had known her back when the pyramids were being constructed. Grand father Jones suffered from some form of dementia before his death. I imagine that this would have been very difficult for Gram as she was always babied by her husband.
George and Viola took their young son, George, with them on two separate trips to Europe. They traveled on very large Luxury Ocean Liners.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Memories and the advantage of age
My grandmother use to say that youth was wasted on the young. It is not until you've gotten older, that you have a better idea of what life is really about. From my vantage point of 70 years, I have the advantage of hind sight, as well as views to the future. It is much easier to put life into perspective. I am able to still be that little girl in my mind, the young woman in love for the first time, the hurried mother of three wonderful boys. I can vividly relive my life of experiences. Close my eyes and mentally walk through my grandparents home. Memory is such a wonderful thing letting us relive the good times, and remember all the people who were so important in your life. The interesting thing is that mentally you are that young person inside, only the body ages if you are lucky your mind allows you to be that same person that you always were.
On face book I read something about old crones. Old crones having lived though all the hard times in life and are still ready to tackle anything that comes their way. I think that I will channel my inner crone and be able to meet any more challenges that life brings. As we get older we also get wiser and more able to handle whatever life brings our way.
As life comes our way, there are things and events that we must handle about which we have no choice. Sometimes it is illnesses, that debilitate, some times terrible losses, or accidents. We have no choice but to manage as best we can. I find that a clear head and a lot of prayer gets me through these times. Determination to do and to succeed certainly helped me survive polio as a child and Post polio as an adult. Being able to be adaptable, and to find different solutions to problems that occur has been a great asset. Knowing when to ask for help and more importantly being able to accept help graciously is important. Being open to others is important.
Keeping a reserve of happiness. That is being content with what you have in life and making the best of what you have brings true happiness.
On face book I read something about old crones. Old crones having lived though all the hard times in life and are still ready to tackle anything that comes their way. I think that I will channel my inner crone and be able to meet any more challenges that life brings. As we get older we also get wiser and more able to handle whatever life brings our way.
As life comes our way, there are things and events that we must handle about which we have no choice. Sometimes it is illnesses, that debilitate, some times terrible losses, or accidents. We have no choice but to manage as best we can. I find that a clear head and a lot of prayer gets me through these times. Determination to do and to succeed certainly helped me survive polio as a child and Post polio as an adult. Being able to be adaptable, and to find different solutions to problems that occur has been a great asset. Knowing when to ask for help and more importantly being able to accept help graciously is important. Being open to others is important.
Keeping a reserve of happiness. That is being content with what you have in life and making the best of what you have brings true happiness.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Blessings
I remember my grandmother saying just count your many Blessings. Sometimes we forget just how many blessings that we do have. One of my many blessings is my wonderful family. I am blessed with three grown sons, two daughter in laws and a grandson, a wonderful brother, his wife and family. I have been blessed with my parents.
My Dad is no longer with us. The last father's day that my Dad was alive I thought at the last moment to write him a note to tell him how much I loved and appreciated him. This note was not fancy, just an expression of my love and gratitude. He died a month later. Just recently, nine years after his death, I went through some of his belonging that I had stuffed into one of my drawers. When I opened up an address book that he kept there was the heart felt note that I had enclosed with one of my paintings that he had admired. He had evidently valued it enough to have kept it close. This made me so happy that I had written that note on an impulse. Now I truly know that if you feel in your heart that you need to do something for or to visit someone, do it. I will be for ever grateful for the opportunity that I had to tell my father how very much I loved him,
I am extremely fortunate to have my Mother still living. Mother has always been kind and loving. I find that my friends who have lost their mothers come to visit her and all want and enjoy her hugs. She is the surrogate mother to most of my friends. She is always ready to distribute her love freely. Mother was not so lucky. My grandmother died when my mother was in her forties.
Mother was always there whenever I had a problem or needed some help. Since I had polio at age four, I have needed help often. She never complained when she had to drop everything to come to my aid when I broke my knee and had two small children to care for. Or another time when I broke my hip and was divorced with two teenage sons. She was always there. There were all those operations that I had as a growing child.
She was the best grandmother ever to my sons.
Mother is a talented artist, however she never made her art her priority. She gifted both my brother and myself by instilling the love of making art in us as children. She used art as a way of entertaining us. She always pointed out things in nature. She always encouraged us. I am very thankful to have such a wonderful mother.
My Dad is no longer with us. The last father's day that my Dad was alive I thought at the last moment to write him a note to tell him how much I loved and appreciated him. This note was not fancy, just an expression of my love and gratitude. He died a month later. Just recently, nine years after his death, I went through some of his belonging that I had stuffed into one of my drawers. When I opened up an address book that he kept there was the heart felt note that I had enclosed with one of my paintings that he had admired. He had evidently valued it enough to have kept it close. This made me so happy that I had written that note on an impulse. Now I truly know that if you feel in your heart that you need to do something for or to visit someone, do it. I will be for ever grateful for the opportunity that I had to tell my father how very much I loved him,
I am extremely fortunate to have my Mother still living. Mother has always been kind and loving. I find that my friends who have lost their mothers come to visit her and all want and enjoy her hugs. She is the surrogate mother to most of my friends. She is always ready to distribute her love freely. Mother was not so lucky. My grandmother died when my mother was in her forties.
Mother was always there whenever I had a problem or needed some help. Since I had polio at age four, I have needed help often. She never complained when she had to drop everything to come to my aid when I broke my knee and had two small children to care for. Or another time when I broke my hip and was divorced with two teenage sons. She was always there. There were all those operations that I had as a growing child.
She was the best grandmother ever to my sons.
Mother is a talented artist, however she never made her art her priority. She gifted both my brother and myself by instilling the love of making art in us as children. She used art as a way of entertaining us. She always pointed out things in nature. She always encouraged us. I am very thankful to have such a wonderful mother.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Post Polio No Way...
Post Polio no way, that was my attitude when I first heard the talk over the radio as I was standing in my gift shop. There was no way that I would have Post Polio. I would out smart it. The buzz was that people who had polio had a re-occurrence of polio. They brought this on by their active life style being type "A" individuals. Well I was a type "A" personality. At that time I ran a gift shop with my husband outside of Williamsburg, Virginia and I took care of my home and three sons. This was in the early 80's.
I had polio as a child, when I was four years old. That was in 1948. I had already had polio over thirty years. I was an active mother of three boys, and although I walked with crutches and wore a brace on my left leg I managed to do almost everything that all the other young mothers did. In fact I did more. My husband, and I had bought an established gift shop. I ran the shop doing the buying, and managing the sales crew. There were days just after Thanksgiving, where I never had a moment to sit down. I remember that my good leg hurt up to my knee from being on my feet all day long. These boom days just before Christmas were just too good to miss and I was one of my best sales ladies.
During this time, as if I did not have enough on my plate, I even took oil painting classes at William and Mary College. I would work all day and then come home to be with the boys and fix dinner. Little wonder that I never had the energy to clean up after dinner. I thought that I was just lazy.
It was during this time that my back started to bother me. I had scoliosis that began to develop during my teens. It was a result of the polio. I went to my GP doctor, who asked for X rays and when they came back he was amazed and wanted me to go immediately to see a specialist. He was afraid that if I had a bad fall that I might just end up having to sit in a wheelchair the rest of my life. The Doctor he sent me too referred me to the Scoliosis clinic in Minneapolis. My husband and I flew out for an appointment with Dr Bradford, who was there at the time and considered to be the best scoliosis doctor. He recommended surgery to straighten my back. Waiting for an appointment, I dieted.
Five months later we went out for the surgery. Now that I think about it this was more than likely the beginings of my onward battle against post polio. My recovery was slower than for someone "normal." My husband and I became estranged. I stayed with my parents to recover.
My life went on but everything had changed. My two sons and I stayed with my parents, and my oldest son went to College near by.
I tried to not over use my good leg by sitting occasionally in a wheel chair. I swam at the local YMCA to keep my weight down and to get exercise. I got too enthusiastic and felt so good that I pushed myself too much. I clearly remember one day after swimming that I had an unusual weak feeling in my arms. I wondered about that. I had that feeling reoccur after sitting out in the sun in Virginia Beach watching the surf with friends. Why did I have trouble with the steps? I felt so tried. I began to wonder if I had MS. I had a friend who had been diagnosed with MS in her thirties. Could that be what these periods of weakness were?
Needless to say, all I did was wonder. I did try to conserve my strength by sitting in my chair some. The effect was that it became harder and harder to keep my weight down. I have always been fairly careful about my diet, eating the right kinds of food. However, with the little weight that I gained I resorted to some fad diets. With each fad diet I would inevitably gain a few extra pounds. I was in my mid 40's.
Steps which had never been a problem in the past became more and more difficult. I thought this might have been due to the back surgery. Fast fore ward to my mid fifties, there was definitely something wrong. I fell going up the stairs to a friend's party. I was so embarrassed. I have always brushed off falls in the past saying that I knew how to fall. I fell so many times without hurting myself. But that time was different. I should not have fallen then. I became afraid to go places without one of my sons or a friend. My life became more and more restricted. Finally, I looked into getting a scooter. That would enable me to do more. My son and I were now doing antiques and in ordered to fined our merchandise I needed to be able to get around to find the items to sell. You can not order antiques out of a book.
Finally a friend insisted that I find out if I indeed had Post Polio. I found a doctor in Richmond Virginia, Dr. Wooten and was diagnosed with post polio. I had lost the battle 50 years after first getting polio. She advised me not to walk or to use my regular wheel chair as my arms were also effected by the polio. I needed a power chair, or scooter. I had gotten the scooter, but now I needed to use it full time. My Dad helped me get a van that had hand controls and a lift for my scooter.
My life actually changed for the better. I was no longer restricted to making sure I had someone with me. I had the freedom to go as I pleased. Of course there were those places that a chair or scooter could not go. I was still able to stand and walk some with my crutches. I could do the grocery shopping without help for the first time in my life. There were benefits. The doctor prescribed medicine to calm my nerves. Once I got used to living this way I was not as worried. After a few months I no longer needed the medication. She also prescribed medication for pain. After a while the pain I had felt in my arms and good leg lessen and I started using only pain medicines that were sold over the counter when needed.
I now realize that muscle soreness that felt like the flu was also Post polio. By pacing myself and trying not to over do has really helped. It is amazing that I can still be a type "A" personality in a wheel chair. Even with post polio, I used to paint daily producing a vast amount of oil painting. For the past nine years, I have run first an Antique mall and now a Twentieth Century Design Shop with my youngest son from a power chair. I care for my aging mother, that sometimes pushes the limits, but I can do it for now anyway. I just pace myself. I do believe in living life to the fullest.
I had polio as a child, when I was four years old. That was in 1948. I had already had polio over thirty years. I was an active mother of three boys, and although I walked with crutches and wore a brace on my left leg I managed to do almost everything that all the other young mothers did. In fact I did more. My husband, and I had bought an established gift shop. I ran the shop doing the buying, and managing the sales crew. There were days just after Thanksgiving, where I never had a moment to sit down. I remember that my good leg hurt up to my knee from being on my feet all day long. These boom days just before Christmas were just too good to miss and I was one of my best sales ladies.
During this time, as if I did not have enough on my plate, I even took oil painting classes at William and Mary College. I would work all day and then come home to be with the boys and fix dinner. Little wonder that I never had the energy to clean up after dinner. I thought that I was just lazy.
It was during this time that my back started to bother me. I had scoliosis that began to develop during my teens. It was a result of the polio. I went to my GP doctor, who asked for X rays and when they came back he was amazed and wanted me to go immediately to see a specialist. He was afraid that if I had a bad fall that I might just end up having to sit in a wheelchair the rest of my life. The Doctor he sent me too referred me to the Scoliosis clinic in Minneapolis. My husband and I flew out for an appointment with Dr Bradford, who was there at the time and considered to be the best scoliosis doctor. He recommended surgery to straighten my back. Waiting for an appointment, I dieted.
Five months later we went out for the surgery. Now that I think about it this was more than likely the beginings of my onward battle against post polio. My recovery was slower than for someone "normal." My husband and I became estranged. I stayed with my parents to recover.
My life went on but everything had changed. My two sons and I stayed with my parents, and my oldest son went to College near by.
I tried to not over use my good leg by sitting occasionally in a wheel chair. I swam at the local YMCA to keep my weight down and to get exercise. I got too enthusiastic and felt so good that I pushed myself too much. I clearly remember one day after swimming that I had an unusual weak feeling in my arms. I wondered about that. I had that feeling reoccur after sitting out in the sun in Virginia Beach watching the surf with friends. Why did I have trouble with the steps? I felt so tried. I began to wonder if I had MS. I had a friend who had been diagnosed with MS in her thirties. Could that be what these periods of weakness were?
Needless to say, all I did was wonder. I did try to conserve my strength by sitting in my chair some. The effect was that it became harder and harder to keep my weight down. I have always been fairly careful about my diet, eating the right kinds of food. However, with the little weight that I gained I resorted to some fad diets. With each fad diet I would inevitably gain a few extra pounds. I was in my mid 40's.
Steps which had never been a problem in the past became more and more difficult. I thought this might have been due to the back surgery. Fast fore ward to my mid fifties, there was definitely something wrong. I fell going up the stairs to a friend's party. I was so embarrassed. I have always brushed off falls in the past saying that I knew how to fall. I fell so many times without hurting myself. But that time was different. I should not have fallen then. I became afraid to go places without one of my sons or a friend. My life became more and more restricted. Finally, I looked into getting a scooter. That would enable me to do more. My son and I were now doing antiques and in ordered to fined our merchandise I needed to be able to get around to find the items to sell. You can not order antiques out of a book.
Finally a friend insisted that I find out if I indeed had Post Polio. I found a doctor in Richmond Virginia, Dr. Wooten and was diagnosed with post polio. I had lost the battle 50 years after first getting polio. She advised me not to walk or to use my regular wheel chair as my arms were also effected by the polio. I needed a power chair, or scooter. I had gotten the scooter, but now I needed to use it full time. My Dad helped me get a van that had hand controls and a lift for my scooter.
My life actually changed for the better. I was no longer restricted to making sure I had someone with me. I had the freedom to go as I pleased. Of course there were those places that a chair or scooter could not go. I was still able to stand and walk some with my crutches. I could do the grocery shopping without help for the first time in my life. There were benefits. The doctor prescribed medicine to calm my nerves. Once I got used to living this way I was not as worried. After a few months I no longer needed the medication. She also prescribed medication for pain. After a while the pain I had felt in my arms and good leg lessen and I started using only pain medicines that were sold over the counter when needed.
I now realize that muscle soreness that felt like the flu was also Post polio. By pacing myself and trying not to over do has really helped. It is amazing that I can still be a type "A" personality in a wheel chair. Even with post polio, I used to paint daily producing a vast amount of oil painting. For the past nine years, I have run first an Antique mall and now a Twentieth Century Design Shop with my youngest son from a power chair. I care for my aging mother, that sometimes pushes the limits, but I can do it for now anyway. I just pace myself. I do believe in living life to the fullest.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Dealing With Dementia
When you love someone and they have dementia, life becomes increasingly complicated. Someone with dementia usually does not realize that they have a problem. They are in their own mine who they always have been. To their way of thinking they can do whatever they used to do. They can become indignant easily, and resentful of their care taker, particularly if that care taker is their own child.
I have made all kinds of mistakes in trying to take care of my mother who is currently suffering from advanced dementia. I have found that it is somewhat like watching a two or three year old child who is inquisitive but lacks judgement. If a child is doing something that you think is not good for them or harmful in some way, it is easy to say something to the child even to divert them in some way. An adult who has dementia is not so easily diverted. You can say no do not feed the dog, and minutes later she has forgotten and is feeding the dog again. She can become indignant and argue, sometimes slamming down whatever is handy and stumping off.
At dinner time, or anytime that I am trying to get something accomplished, I have to endure a innumerable request to help. I try to find small tasks for her to feel useful , but more and more she is less able to preform these task. Even after helping she still continues, making my tasks at hand ever so much more difficult.
Recently, I have noticed that I am unable to explain anything to her. When I have tried to explain, it results in making her frustrated. I have learned, I hope, to use less words.
This is so hard to become accustom to. Mother was once a vibrant person, capable, a care taker herself. She has taken care of me many times through out my life. Having had polio as a four year old child, I needed much attention. Even after becoming an adult, there were times that mother would have to drop everything and help me and help with my family. Once I broke my knee and could not get out of bed to care for my small boys, I stay at my parents and my mother took care of the boys and myself. While my husband stayed in another town where we were living doing his job. Another time I permanently broke my hip on my paralyzed leg, the doctor said my bones were too thin, so just sit there and let it heal. By this time I was divorced with three teenage boys. Mother moved in and took over until I was healed.
I think wanting to help me is part of her DNA something that she has done so much and feels like she should be the helper not me. I keep trying to find a reason.
In essence the reason is her Dementia.
I have made all kinds of mistakes in trying to take care of my mother who is currently suffering from advanced dementia. I have found that it is somewhat like watching a two or three year old child who is inquisitive but lacks judgement. If a child is doing something that you think is not good for them or harmful in some way, it is easy to say something to the child even to divert them in some way. An adult who has dementia is not so easily diverted. You can say no do not feed the dog, and minutes later she has forgotten and is feeding the dog again. She can become indignant and argue, sometimes slamming down whatever is handy and stumping off.
At dinner time, or anytime that I am trying to get something accomplished, I have to endure a innumerable request to help. I try to find small tasks for her to feel useful , but more and more she is less able to preform these task. Even after helping she still continues, making my tasks at hand ever so much more difficult.
Recently, I have noticed that I am unable to explain anything to her. When I have tried to explain, it results in making her frustrated. I have learned, I hope, to use less words.
This is so hard to become accustom to. Mother was once a vibrant person, capable, a care taker herself. She has taken care of me many times through out my life. Having had polio as a four year old child, I needed much attention. Even after becoming an adult, there were times that mother would have to drop everything and help me and help with my family. Once I broke my knee and could not get out of bed to care for my small boys, I stay at my parents and my mother took care of the boys and myself. While my husband stayed in another town where we were living doing his job. Another time I permanently broke my hip on my paralyzed leg, the doctor said my bones were too thin, so just sit there and let it heal. By this time I was divorced with three teenage boys. Mother moved in and took over until I was healed.
I think wanting to help me is part of her DNA something that she has done so much and feels like she should be the helper not me. I keep trying to find a reason.
In essence the reason is her Dementia.
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