We've Just Landed!

In early March of 2014, my parents moved to Cali, Colombia. Dad found a retirement home there where he and Mom could live together, even with her Alzheimer's. The adventure worked out surprisingly well -- for a while.

Looking back, I remember how emotional it felt to have them go. I won't forget the panic that gripped me when Mom turned to me with fear in her eyes as they wheeled her into the airport security checkpoint. What were we doing?! But Mom in her fragile state and Dad in his characteristic confidence sailed safely off into a completely unknown situation, and not for the first time. If they had gone to any other city, I doubt if I could have accepted the move. Cali, though, was where I grew up. I loved this city and never dreamed I'd get to see it again. I knew I would love visiting my parents in Cali, and sharing the country with my husband and daughters proved deeply rewarding.

The home my parents stayed in was beautiful and the people could not have been more kind and attentive.  But in the end, two and a half years later, it was just time for Mom and Dad to come home.

My brother John and his wife Karin flew down to escort them back to Atlanta, and at 5:09 pm yesterday I received a text that said, "We've just landed." I didn't realize until that moment how much I missed having them in the same country again. Relief doesn't begin to cover it.

I know I'm not the only one who will miss being able to say, "My parents live in Colombia," but living in Atlanta will be pretty cool, too. My brother Dan and his wife Michele found an amazing place for them to live called Southside Personal Care Home. This licensed facility has a team of three people who take care of five residents in a large, comfortable house. I foresee homes like these becoming the favorite choice for those in need of care. This link has a few pictures.
 http://www.aplaceformom.com/community/southside-personal-care-home-1376858
It's doubtful I'll grow to love Atlanta as much as Cali, but my family plans to visit my parents soon, and no international travel will be required.

Flying Home

It's 6:40 a.m., and I am at the airport, looking at the Andes mountains. The sun has come up behind them. Earlier, for a few precious moments, their greens and browns were visible. Now I only see an outline in the sky -- a high, jagged dark purple pencil drawing against light blue and puffy white. The mountains are what I love most about Cali, and this sendoff feels like a gift. Thank you.
I buy a cup of coffee and wander through the little shops of colorful art and find bracelets my girls will love, thinking of how I didn't give Mom a goodbye hug. I thought we would see each other in the morning, but it was just too early to wake her. Even with the rush of getting out the door it hurt to leave the house without that closure, and now I am even more intent on visiting again.
Dan and I sit in the airport at the foot of those mountains and talk about the trip. How do we feel about Dad and Mom living in Colombia? We repeat the litany. They are in good hands. It's the best for Mom. The caretakers are kind and the home is paradise.
Our conversation turns to the more mundane. Were the beds comfortable? Not really. Did we like being served all the time, not getting to choose our meals? Absolutely. I loved what they had to offer: the juices, the meat, the mashed potatoes, the breads, the very simple salads tossed with oil and vinegar.
The breakfast coffee was perfect, too, I say, but Dan disagrees. He likes his scalding hot. I tell him I will miss the busyness of the place. Having so many people coming and going made me want to get moving, too.
It's time to board our flight, and we fly to Miami and then to Atlanta, where Dan will drive home. Just like that, our time together is over, and it feels like it's ending too soon. I will miss my brother. We have shared a rare and memorable journey.
On my flight from Atlanta to Pensacola, winding rivers reflect the sun and shine back up to me on this airplane as it hurtles through the sky.
It occurs to me that I look forward to bringing my family to Cali, not only to have them see my homeland, but also to introduce them to my parents' new community. I feel like a better person with Chris and the girls. It will be good to be home, and begin to plan the next adventure.
  

Colombia 9: Goodbye

My last day in Cali. I spend the morning with Mom, Maria, and Lycett while Dan and Dad go to church. I give Mom's helpers little gifts: lotions, scarves, and chocolates I brought from the States. It's apparent the tokens are woefully inadequate, and when they are accepted with kind gratitude, I cry. How am I to live like this, with my parents so very far away?
Sara, a schoolmate from Bolivar, takes me to meet others from our class for lunch. It's a welcome distraction, and we have a wonderful time. The food is delicious, the memories are alive, the jokes are light and fun. I had worried it would be uncomfortable -- too much time has passed -- but the connection I feel is enlivening. I've never been to a class reunion, and this must be what  I've missed: a shared feeling that a piece of our history is not gone, but lives on in a new way.
Another visit, to family friends who have known me since I was two is filled with laughter and catching up. "Aunt" Loraine is from a small town in Alabama and she married a Colombian, "Uncle" Simeon. They've lived in Cali for decades, through good times and bad. They both are contending with health issues now, but they are as energetic and entertaining as always. It's amazing to see them thriving, discussing chemotherapy like it's an unruly pet.
Dan and I go to a popular Panini hangout to swap soccer stickers and mix with Caleños. I like helping others get the stickers they need and sharing their enthusiasm about a soccer player from Cameroon, but I'm antsy to go home. I'm well aware that my time with Mom is slipping away as I stand out here studying a man people say survived the plane crash of 1995.
Finally home, Mom, Dad, Dan, and I spend the evening together watching Spanish television. Dan and I have a few presents for Mom, and then it's time for bed. As much as I don't want tonight to end, we all need sleep. 5 am is departure time. I give Mom a hug but don't say goodbye. I'll save that for tomorrow.

Colombia 8: La Ermita at Last!

Dad, Dan and I see the city today. I need to go, I want to go -- but most of yesterday was spent away from Mom and it would be nice to stay home. I would enjoy the relaxed pace of this paradise. The cook and the nurse are so entertaining as they go about the day, discussing this and that, teasing each other, and dancing to music on the radio. But I won't have this chance again. I will sit with Mom on the veranda later.
I kiss her goodbye and this time she seems grief-stricken, as though we will never meet again. It's so unsettling I almost stay behind, but Dad assures me that as soon as we drive out of the huge gate of the home she will have forgotten again.
At least she is in good hands; this is my mantra.
I look ahead to memories that are about to come to life. I have three places I want to see: La Ermita, our house in Miraflores, and the seminary. I freely admit I'm downright childish about my list, and I will regret my demanding attitude, but I've come a really long way to be here. Lucky for me, the others aren't as "exigente" and the driver humors me. Dan, my Harley-riding brother, is mostly interested in the astounding risks the scooters and motorcycles take, zipping among the cars and buses.
After the obligatory stop at the statue of Belalcazar, we look for our old house in Miraflores, a middle-class neighborhood tucked into the Andean hills of Cali. We don't remember the address for the house but manage to find it anyway, and when I see the black metal door, balcony, patch of grass, and big windows, the memories come in a flood: reading on the porch, catching the school bus, playing with our dog Goldie, entertaining grandparents, waking up to late-night serenades for neighbors. Part of me wants to see who lives there now, but we don't even get out of the car.
We drive along Rio Cali and park downtown to walk through Cali's crowded streets, and I'm surprisingly unafraid. It's as it was over thirty years before, only now the many street vendors are selling yellow jerseys for Colombia's soccer team. Colombia is one of 32 teams to play for the FIFA World Cup, and the country is enjoying the anticipation of the games to come. I will regret not buying a jersey, but I keep our group moving; I'm on a mission to see the iconic La Ermita.
I've been working on a novel, "The Existence of Pity," and La Ermita plays a role. Having never been inside it when I lived in Cali, I fell in love with the old Catholic church on the internet. Now I'm nervous. Will it meet my high expectations?
When I finally catch a glimpse of La Ermita, it is as beautiful and otherworldly as I hoped it would be. I run ahead of the others and try the door, but it's locked. I go to the front entrance, but it won't open either. I'm disappointed, but still glad to be here, taking in the white and gray Gothic spires, amazing against the blue sky.  La Ermita is more perfect than I dared hope. We take pictures and move on.
As we walk to Plaza Caycedo, we see a young woman selling Panini. This is the official sticker book and stickers for the World Cup.  Groups of adults and children gather all over town to trade the stickers to fill up their books, talking about the great Colombian team that could finally win that cup. I want to join in, so I buy my own book. A woman with short white hair starts up a conversation with me, but she's eyeing the bottle of Coca-Cola I'm holding. It seems she wants the rest of my Coke, so I offer it to her. She gratefully accepts, and finishes the drink I had started. I am definitely far from home.   
Back in the car, we take the scenic route to the seminary. By the time we get there, we only have time to drive by, but I am content. I've honored past memories, made new connections, and am ready for some lulo and pandebono with Mom. I will sit beside her on the veranda and tell her all about our day as many times as she wants to hear it. I won't regret that.
http://www.fifa.com/worldcup/news/y=2014/m=8/news=rodriguez-it-s-a-dream-come-true-2418837.html

Colombia, Part 6: Colegio Bolivar

To get right to the point, Cali's Colegio Bolivar is an amazing school. Anyone with the very good fortune to attend even one grade - from pre-kinder to 12th - is beyond lucky.
Today Dad, Dan, and I walk around the American school and as I sift through memories about good friends and teachers, the library and the gym, musicals and bake sales, I'm amazed all over again. Even as a child, I knew this was a special place, and it's more beautiful than ever. There's one thing they shouldn't have changed, though. The classrooms used to have only three walls, and they've added half-walls to the open side. I used to love looking outside at birds hopping along tree branches and at people walking along the center walkway, and those half-walls are really cutting down on some great distractions. 
Over the years my memories of Colombia have seemed less and less believable, and that's why I'm so glad to come back to Cali. Fellow schoolmates, you aren't dreaming. It really is wonderful here.
We take the scenic route back to Mom and Dad's house, and Mom knows us and is glad to see us all. After a delicious lunch of fish, rice, plantains, and more lulo juice, siesta is in the air. I settle in beside Mom, who's napping already. I watch her and remember that horrible day, May 17, 2012, when Dad called and said Mom didn't know who he was. I visited as soon as I could, and found her moving puzzle pieces around a perpetually unfinished puzzle. She wanted to go to her mother's house.
A part of me understood her dementia but another very stubborn part could not accept it. I drove myself crazy trying to make Mom's words true, at least in the beginning, when she was so convinced herself. I've never felt like I had such a strong grasp on reality - Lord knows reality is overrated anyway - so maybe Mom was right. Only she wasn't. Her mother was long gone, her mother's house, too, and there were no hobos in her neighborhood.
When I drove home after that first horrible visit, south on I65 from Montgomery, my heart hurt so badly I could barely breathe. But then Olivia called to let me know she was home from school and was wondering when I'd get there. I took a deep breath and assured her I'd be home soon. I didn't tell her she had just saved me. She and Natalie and Chris needed me, and for them I wouldn't fall apart.
Now I look at Mom and touch her hand. She's gone to me, safe from any lasting heartache. She opens her eyes and smiles. "Hey, darlin'," she says, like she has a million times before.
 P.S. Thank you to Jaami Clement Palacio, Sara Meneses, Carla Uribe, and Jennifer Tiffin for a lovely school visit!   http://www.colegiobolivar.edu.co/website/index.php/en/


Colombia, Part 5: Paradise

I am awakened on my first day in Cali by the aroma of the world's best coffee. Laughter floats in from the veranda.
Through my window, I see the sun is reflecting off the Farallones - a high jagged mountain range nearby. I am going to love being in Cali again.
I walk onto the porch and can't believe my eyes. My parents live in a park! This assisted living home has a huge yard with a pool, tall mango trees and shorter palms, an umbrella table, a soccer field, and birds of all kinds. Small storks, red-winged black birds, mockingbirds. Two canaries come up to our table for bread crumbs. Dad, still a romantic after 56 years, has named them Jimmie and Marilyn.


Maria's view over the kitchen sink

The cook (Maria) and the nurse (Lysett) are friendly and fun, and are excellent at taking care of my parents. If Mom has to have Alzheimer's, I'm glad it's here, in their loving hands and surrounded by this beauty. It's a cool morning, and they serve my favorite foods: lulo - a delicious fruit drink; pandebono - cheese bread; and café con leche - coffee with milk. Mom seems to remember me, and I am in paradise.

Colombia, Part 4: Thank God for Cristo Rey

"Linea unica, por favor," - with its translation "Unique line, please,"- is the sign greeting Dan and me as we get off the plane. I'm soaking everything in and the wade through immigration goes quickly. We make our way out the door and into the overwhelming throng, but Dad's smiling face in the center of the sea of Colombians is a reassuring sight.

Cristo Rey Hovering Over Cali

The airport used to be far from town, but Cali has grown toward it and on the drive I search for something, anything, that looks familiar. The city is so changed it's another place entirely. I'm disheartened that 25 years has turned Cali into a stranger and I wonder if this is how Mom feels; lost in a world that was home. 

I'm relieved when Cristo Rey, a distant speck in the sky, comes into view. At least he hasn't gone anywhere, even if he is now surrounded by cell phone towers.

Mom and Dad's street in the Daytime

Mateo, our driver, turns off a main road, then makes a quick left and pulls up to a huge white wall. We've arrived at Mom and Dad's assisted living home. It's a lovely house, feels very safe, has a pool and a veranda, and there are many people around to help out.

I'm thrilled to see Mom, but she isn't sure of me. Dad tells her I am her daughter and she looks suspicious. She smiles her distant smile, not my dear mom's smile for me. She loves her nurse, the cook, and everyone who looks after her, and Dad seems well. He is in high spirits. I leave the room and come back and Mom asks, "And who is this?" It breaks my heart and pisses me off at the same time. I hate this Alzheimer's. 

I've noticed there are no bugs, and can't wait to tell my Natalie. No bugs! No mosquitoes, no cockroaches, a moth or two, and some salamanders, but that's it. The weather feels damp and cool, like it just rained, and it's unbelievably quiet. A dog barks occasionally, a car drives by, but otherwise this house, with it's windows open wide to a neighborhood full of people, is silent. This is truly a different world, this city of 3 million. It's still hard to believe the number now includes my parents. But tomorrow I will see Cali in the daylight, and I can't wait.

Colombia, Part 3: Next Stop, Cali

 The Miami Airport's North Terminal is a wonderland. Even the air smells better, but that's because of the expensive perfume shops. The floor is inlaid with gorgeous pearlescent shells and sea life, and -- is everyone more good-looking? I love this, even if it feels like a weakness to enjoy such ritz.
Dan and I head for our gate, find chairs, and get comfortable. I doze, exhausted from being up since 3:30 am. I am aware, even as I rest, of more and more people surrounding me. Finally, I sit up, a kink in my neck, and Dan and I kill time talking about our kids, Mom and Dad, and how much flying takes out of a person. I swear it's because of the noise of the engines.
When it's time to board our flight, I call Chris and Natalie at home, then Olivia on her cell phone, to say goodbye. The flight will be three hours, seventeen minutes and the next time I am on land will be in Cali, Colombia, the city of my youth. We rise over Miami and it seems we barely miss the skyscrapers on the beach. We are immediately over water, and soon we are over land again: Cuba, they say. They serve us delicious snack dinners, then I listen to jazz and look out the window. I see the ocean end and Colombia begin, and am in awe of the clouds building up over the land. It's silly, I know, but I feel safer with that bouncy castle of white beneath me.
Soon we will see the Andes, and I push the tragic memory of Flight 965 carrying Ariel Felton and Catalina del Corral out of my mind. That flight, and those school friends, didn't make it over the mountains in 1995.
The sun is dipping beneath us and the sky, still blue, is rimmed with pale yellow. As I sit, my forehead pressed into the window, I try to separate what is new about this experience and what I grew up loving about flying. Speed; I always loved the overwhelming speed that makes flight possible. And those clouds. The cold, forced-fresh smell of the airplane's oxygen. The sense that I'm closer to God up here. The music in my eats that separates me, making me feel alone on this wing.
So what is new? Chris. The girls. The fact that I am thinking of them at every turn, and missing them. And Alzheimer's. That's new.
 The pilots lowers us into wispy clouds that will envelop us and darken the night around us. I remember this morning when tears stung my eyes as Chris glided down the escalator, waving goodbye. I'm on my own now, and I feel a momentary sense of rebellion. I didn't want to take this trip. After years of travel (my old passport opens like an accordion, stamped full) I am now a homebody. I didn't choose for my parents to move so far away. It all feels so dangerous, so frightening. I want my little life back. But I need to see my mom.
Then our airplane drops below the clouds and city lights shine in the distance. I can't deny the thrill I feel at seeing Cali, my beautiful Cali again. Like it or not, my world is about to get bigger once more.
Here is a link about Miami's North Terminal. Have you been there? http://www.miami-airport.com/app_north_terminal.asp

Colombia, Part I

“What if everywhere you went, you experienced so much more than you expected?” This TV commercial catches my eye as I wonder if the Delta Air Lines ticket agent will offer me a stand-by seat on a very full 6 a.m. flight. I guess I’ll be optimistic. Besides, here’s the worst thing that can happen: I don’t go. I don’t go to Colombia to visit my mother, who has Alzheimer’s, and my father, who has found them a home so far away. I'll be honest, there are lots of things about this trip that scare me.
Alas, and oh joy, Delta has a seat for me. In the row ahead of mine is a family with four kids. A blond, blue-eyed girl looks at me and I feel like I’m beginning again. I am one of four children and we used to travel often. It feels like a good sign.
Meanwhile, my seatmates and I are quiet, respectful of each others’ space, until Atlanta, tree-filled city, is below us. Only then does the woman in the middle comment on how strange it is that we three are left-handed.
In Atlanta's bustling airport I meet Dan, the oldest of my three brothers. We will be travelling companions to Colombia, but for now we have time to eat a biscuit at Popeye’s. Then we discover there’s no way we are getting standby seats to Miami. Dan is a mechanic for Delta and has been flying free for years. Dave, second brother, is now a ticket agent, and he recommends we fly to Ft. Lauderdale. We race to the gate, the last ones to hop on to Miami's neighboring city.
This time I have a window seat and I remember why so many close the shade. It’s unnerving to be reminded of how much space is between us and the ground. But the Florida's terrain is fascinating. Miles of housing developments stop abruptly at a strangely red desert with unnaturally straight intersecting waterways. Is this neverending land the Everglades?
In Ft. Lauderdale Dan and I step in line behind a young woman. She is beautiful and self-assured, joining the adult world without fear. I want my daughters to be like her. I want them to have this confidence. I catch her eye and smile at her, her hair in a high blond bun, her face lovely and bright. She is perfect in a serious black suit and pumps, with a smart rolling suitcase and I'm glad someone like her is in the world.
Dan and I need to get from Ft. Lauderdale to Miami’s airport, but before we go, I find myself next to the young woman at the restroom sink. I am washing my hands and she is brushing her teeth. She has changed into a lovely white sundress and I grab the opportunity to tell her I hope my daughters grow up to be like her. She rinses, then dazzles me with a smile as she laughs. She wishes my daughters well and I am off to find Dan, and a ride to  Miami.
To be continued... Any idea what part of Florida we were flying over? 

Freestyle Fridays: A Story of Love and Adventure

February 28, 2014Coping with a Parent Living with Alzheimer’s

Two weeks ago I guest posted on a wonderful blog called Winding Road. Actually, it was a conversation with Kerry about my parents, who are about to embark on a journey back to Colombia. This time my mother is suffering from Alzheimer’s and my folks seek a better life. Thanks Kerry for the opportunity!

Kerry: The idea of your dad taking your mom back to Colombia for better care in the spirit of their adventurous marriage really warms my heart and makes me tear up. True love is so inspirational and they seem to have it.
Jeannie: Yes, my best self agrees completely. But the child inside, the one who will greatly miss the touch of my mother’s hand and her still-strong hugs, is the one who thinks the whole idea is very, very bad. One of my brothers is a chaplain, and I told him my biggest fear is that when we say goodbye on March 2^nd it will be the last time she will remember my name. He sighed and said, “Jeannie, she’s going to forget you.” It made me realize that will be true no matter where she lives.
Kerry: When was your mom diagnosed with Alzheimer’s?
Jeannie: Her Alzheimer’s came on suddenly, on May 17, 2012, when she didn’t recognize my dad, and wanted him to leave the house. Now she knows who he is most of the time, but she has very limited short-term memory. I miss our conversations most – the laughter about some crazy situation my dad has gotten into – but we’ve been able to stay connected. We talk about the weather, the room we’re in, the food.  She’s from Oklahoma, and we love to sing “Oh What A Beautiful Morning” from the musical. I’m so grateful Mom always has a smile on her face, even though it must be awful for her world to be so incomprehensible. Dad had to put Mom in a nursing home this past summer because she kept falling. It’s a nice place, but they prefer my dad leave around 2 o’clock each day.
Kerry: I can’t imagine the pain your dad must feel leaving her every afternoon. Will they live together again or will she be in a nursing home in Colombia?
Jeannie:  My Dad and one brother went to Cali a few months back to see where my parents could live, and they found an assisted living arrangement where Mom and Dad can live together again. The place is near some of Dad’s friends, the healthcare will be fine, and it’s much less expensive!
Kerry: I’m glad they’ve been close enough for you to visit, but I know you must be tired from traveling back and forth so often to see them. How far away do they live?
Jeannie: They are in Montgomery, Alabama, a three-hour drive from here. They’ve lived there for the past 15 years. Before that, they were Baptist missionaries to Colombia for 30 years. I grew up there, from age 2 to 17, and returned for visits up until their move to the States.
Kerry: Their move to Colombia seems like a big deal. How are you handling all of this, Jeannie?
Jeannie: I was pretty heartbroken at the thought of them moving so far away, but I turned a corner when I realized I would get to share pandebono, delicious cheese bread, with my husband and two daughters when we visit my parents in Colombia.
Kerry: So you’ll visit your parents once they get settled back in Colombia…for the bread? Haha! What a great way to revisit your childhood and maybe your kids can see where you grew up!
Jeannie: Yes! I think people who grow up overseas have a hard time sharing their culture with their American families. It’s almost like we have to close off a part of ourselves. With the pandebono I realized I will finally get to share my childhood with my family. My girls will see with childlike eyes what I saw, and that’s so exciting!  I’m also looking forward to meeting up with school friends, seeing the amazing Andes mountains, and being in my beautiful vibrant city again.
I haven’t traveled overseas with my blond, blue-eyed daughters, though, and the thought of taking them to South America terrified me. Then I remembered my parents did the same thing when my brothers and I were ages 2, 4, 5, and 7. Compared to that, taking a 13- and 16-year-old will be a breeze!
Kerry: Your parents were really brave.
Jeannie: Yes, and committed to their beliefs. But my parents have always put their lives in God’s hands, and that hasn’t changed just because they are now in their 80’s. Dad told me he prayed that if this wasn’t the right thing to do, he wanted God to block the process. But the process has only been smooth and easy, so my brothers and I have to trust that it’s meant to be. It’s God’s will for Dad and Mom; it’s their fate.
Kerry: I know you said you couldn’t meet for writing group on the 2^nd because of a big family send-off party for your parents. Tell me about that.

Jeannie: This party came about because I found my cousin Larry’s phone number and called him to tell him about my mom. I expected him to simply give my mom a call, but Larry said he wanted to see my parents before they left for Colombia, and he’s already booked a flight from Colorado to Atlanta for the big sendoff. I wasn’t planning to go to the airport on that sad day, but when Larry turned the event into a party, how could I not? Now my three brothers and their families will be there too, and we’ll take over the Airport Hilton and have fun until we watch them walk through the security gates. And although I worry I might fall apart when I wave Mom and Dad off, at least I know I’ll be surrounded by family. It may seem a little late for my parents to start a new chapter in their lives, but they have never been known to play it safe. They are still teaching me to not be afraid of living life to the fullest.
Kerry: Well, bon voyage to your parents and good luck to you, Jeannie! I look forward to hearing how everything turns out. You’ll be in my thoughts at the sendoff, I’m sure you’ll feel some relief.
Jeannie: Thanks so much for the opportunity to share my crazy story with you and your readers. And I’d love to hear from anyone whose aging parents have retired to a foreign country. I’m sure I’m not alone!