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Do I owe it to them?

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Five years ago, give or take, I wrote about a Different Kind of Coming Out in which shared that Little Man, now Z, had come out to us and his friends/school/community as non-binary and pansexual. They changed their name from E to Z. We rode the wave as supportive, loving parents do. The Z quietly slipped away less than a year later, reverting back to E and he/him pronouns. Definitely still in the queer community, and when they got their drivers license, requested the X for their gender. They’ve had a boyfriend for over two years now, but it’s been crickets on the rest, until this past summer. And now I am back in that confused-but-trying parental space of new language, and wondering who I owe what, as far as explanations, conversations, information.

To put it plainly, last summer, Z was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. What that means is the body we see, and what they see when they look in the mirror at themselves does not match the gender they are in their brain. We were unaware of this struggle, but they have told us they have felt this since they were rather young. They are in therapy and have been since this diagnosis. We have met with their therapist with them, and are doing our best to understand and be supportive. This is still our child regardless of gender, sexuality, appearance, name. They did ask to wear makeup – eyeliner and mascara – which we’ve honored. They asked to use a different name, which we’re working on. They asked to start HRT – we’ve said no for now. More on that in a minute.

This isn’t my journey, and yet it is. Because Z – whom we will now call N – lives at home, and is just part of my everyday life, everyday conversations, it is my journey. They come up in regular conversations with friends and acquaintances, with people we see every day/most days and people we see infrequently. Honestly, I don’t know how to talk about them, with most of these people. But then I asked myself, do I owe it to them? Do I owe them our truth, or our truth for now, however that turns out? Do I just use the old name and old pronouns with some because it’s easier rather than going into a very long explanation, or if I believe they may be “unsafe” for my gender dysphoric child? I want to honor my child and who they are, no matter where this journey takes them, but at the same time, I need to protect them. To whom do we owe any explanation about our kids anyways?

I just struggle – one of my own hangups, besides protecting my children, is the comfort of others. I also avoid confrontation of any kind. And, to be honest, not knowing where this path is going to take N makes it challenging for me to just use their new name without any kind of explanation. Sometimes that makes it just easier to use their old name and pronouns so I can avoid any confusion, any conflict, any strangeness. But again, why do I owe the comfort of others more than I owe honoring my own child? I just never know in any given moment of any conversation about this child what I should say and how I should say it. That doesn’t mean to say I am ashamed or embarrassed of this development at all. It’s just not your run-of-the-mill topic, ya know? You don’t run into it every day.

Here’s the other part of the conversation – N is an adult. They are on their own path, as they have always been. We are walking a fine line of being supportive while they work through this, and holding the line on some things. They have asked to do hormone replacement therapy – yes, to transition. We have said not now……and set some boundaries and expectations. We want them to be in therapy for a good while working through all that is and can be as far as their gender dysphoria and what transitioning will mean, physically, mentally, and emotionally. We want to make sure their current wants “stick” if that makes sense. We have also told them we will not be paying for any medications, thus they need to get a full-time job and keep it for longer than six months. They need to show us they are a responsible adult who can truly be independent and take care of themselves. We aren’t there yet on any of those things. We have come to the agreement to use their new name, they/them pronouns, and keep open minds to what they’re going through. What I will not do is tell my child we don’t believe them, don’t accept them, don’t trust them. We have been down the road of them having suicidal ideation before. Once you go through that, it is never far from your mind. I live in a half-fear status when it comes to N. I will not do anything that pushes those thoughts back to the forefront for N, nor will I allow anyone in our lives to potentially push them into that corner. Gender dysphoric/trans people have a very high rate of suicide and I won’t be one whose lack of understanding and support makes my child a statistic. I will protect them at all costs – do whatever it takes to keep them in this world. They are my priority over anyone else’s capacity to care, attempt to understand, or be comfortable.

So if you know us, and suddenly we aren’t talking about E, but rather N, just know this is what it’s about. You may not accept it, you may not approve of it, you may not understand it. This is our truth, our journey, our path. We’ve had the most supportive network and community their entire lives. I’m sure that will hold even with this new path. If I seem lost or confused when my children come up, just know I am processing what words and how in any given moment I speak of them.

Not all at once, please

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I have a complaint to file with the parenting public in general…..well, the parenting public a generation or two older than me and Spouse. Now, we have three adult children now. But my first complaint was this – no one told us how extremely difficult parenting teenagers is. Whew! We survived parenting teens by the skin of our teeth. It. Was. Rough. We made it. But then right on the heels of that, we entered the phase of parenting what we’ve come to lovingly call “baby adults.” If you’ve had a baby adult, you know exactly what I’m talking about….they’re adults, but still figuring the world out, as well as discovering how not fun it is to be an adult. Yes, I get *those* phone calls…..where does a stamp go on an envelope? Where can I find XYZ in the grocery store? How do I deposit a check without my banking app, and what is “endorsing a check” mean? How do I make a doctor’s appointment/dentist appointment? How do I get my prescription here where I’m at school rather than our pharmacy at home? All of the things….I get those questions regularly. What do I? How do I? Where do I? And then, the question all parents love the most, “Can I please get more money for…….?” My complaint is, NO ONE TOLD US HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO PARENT BABY ADULTS!!! Jeeez….can a person get a heads up?

For the most part, our kids do great. Things have been pretty level with all of them for awhile. We’ve been enjoying them being at this stage, the shift in the conversations we have with them, etc. Here’s the deal though. When kids are little, their problems are usually pretty little, easily managed and dealt with problems. The older they get, the bigger the potential for real life, difficult, impactful, life-altering problems. We’ve helped the Herd through some of these bigger, baby adult problems. But let me tell you, when more than one of them has one of the bigger problems going on, it is exhausting.

Not gonna talk about what the problems are, but we currently have two of the three dealing with some things. Sleep has become a serious commodity the last week or so. Every time the phone rings, or FaceTime pings, I hold my breath. My mom worry monitor has been at level orange. I am mentally and emotionally pulled in different directions. I am mentally and emotionally drained. When more than one child is going through something at a time, it is overwhelming. Please, my lovely children, get in line. Take your turn. Not more than one of you may have a problem at any given time, for the love of all that is holy. This momma can’t take it!

I’m being facetious of course. We do what we must. We don’t get to control when life comes at us, comes at our kids. If I could control it, then not one of my kids at any time would ever face big, hard life stuff. Since I can’t control that, I would really love to at least be able to control WHEN they are facing stuff so I can focus on one kid at a time, when they each need us most. Since I can’t control that, I will just take a freaking big breath, make sure I’m taking care of me, dig in, and help my babies through.

Goodbye, Together

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The first time our family went to an Oakland Athletics game at the Oakland Coliseum, my sister reminded me, our mom had collected the points that used to be on the side of Mother’s Cookies bags to buy discounted tickets. We sat on the third (top) deck. I honestly only have a very vague recollection of that game. I couldn’t even tell you how old I was. I do know the A’s started playing in the Coliseum in 1968. I was born the following year. I was probably between 6 and 8 years old when we went. We did not have much money for extra things like Major League Baseball games. My Daddy, however, was an A’s fan from the time they moved to Oakland, thus, I was an A’s fan.

I do think we went to a couple of games when I was in high school, again, vague recollections of tailgating and sitting in upper decks. In later college years, and then in my early career years, I would meet my brother and Daddy at the Coliseum, sitting with them in the bleachers (before the Mt Davis monstrosity that was built out there), eating dollar hot dogs and cheap beer. Bleacher tickets could be had for $5 back then. I loved sharing those games with Daddy and K. And it was an exciting time to be an A’s fan. In 1994 – yes, the strike-shortened season – my brother and I bought season tickets together, moving up in the world to the lower field level by the pitcher’s mound in the A’s bullpen. We had those tickets until 2002, when Spouse and I moved to Southern CA. We got to know the people with season tickets around us. We got to know vendors. We got to know bartenders who became friends in the West Side Club. The Coliseum was home. Our beloved team had good seasons and bad, but we loved them.

So much life was lived in that stadium. Most years for Daddy’s birthday, we’d tailgate in the North lot, getting group tickets and occasionally a suite, for as much family as could show up. Relationships came and went, but then Spouse came along. I dragged him along to so many games, which he endured despite the A’s not being his Cubs. In fact, it was on a trip from San Jose to Oakland for a game on Daddy’s birthday that my parents finally came to see Spouse was the right man for me. When Big Man was born, and still in the NICU, I took the BART from where his NICU was in Berkley to the Coliseum to watch the A’s play the Yankees in Game 5 of the 2000 ALDS, which we lost but it was such an exciting game. Big Man went to Opening Day 2001, when he’d been home from the NICU just a few months. He spent a lot of his first summer at A’s games. The Princess was days old when the A’s lost Game 5 to the Yankees again in 2001, although we watched that one from home. She and Big Man went to Opening Day of the 2002 season, months before we made the move to SoCal.

After our move, I went home when I could, often trying to get a game in at the Coliseum if the schedules lined up. At some point, going to Opening Weekend just became a thing for me and my sister, often meeting our brother there.

When the A’s announced they were moving to Vegas early in the 2022 season, we were gutted. Then very early this past season, when Fisher said the A’s would play the 2025-2027 seasons in Sacramento rather than playing in the Coliseum until their new Vegas stadium is built (if that is ever built, but that’s a whole other post for a different day), making September 26, 2024 the date for the last Oakland Athletics game in the Coliseum, my siblings and I knew we had to go. Tickets were purchased, calendars marked. The season marched on. The A’s were better than expected, but still not very far from the bottom of the league rankings. It didn’t seem possible the move was actually going to happen. We kept waiting for news of a different nature – that somehow our worst fear would not be realized. But no one was swooping in to change the fate – the A’s would leave Oakland.

My sister and I (along with three of my nieces and one nephew) met our brother at the Coliseum. We got there five hours before the game started, however the parking lot was already half full. We got in line nearly two hours before the gates would open to the stadium. We got into the Coliseum over two hours before first pitch. We wanted as much time as possible to sit there and take it in, soak the views into our brains. This would be the last time watching our team play in this stadium. I’m not going to romanticize it – that stadium is old. It’s a concrete beast. But it’s OUR concrete beast. It’s my most-familiar place to watch games, and we’ve seen so much there…..I’ve had the gift of seeing a Nolan Ryan no-hitter in 1990, Dennis Eckersley’s 300th save in 1995, Rookies of the Year, incredible pitchers, incredible fielders, close games, blowouts, disappointing seasons, exciting seasons, Opening Days, Opening Nights, playoff games, Closing Day games. I’ve watched banners unfold, Gold Gloves handed out. And this was it – our last time to sit in those stands, watching our Oakland A’s play.

Not gonna lie – there were a lot of tears. Even watching the grounds crew prep the field for the last time, turning their heads to take it all in one last time, moved me. Dave Stewart and Rickey Henderson throwing out the first pitches, the flyover during the anthem, hot dogs, beer, the 7th inning stretch, the final out, and Mark Kotsay gave his final speech….we were there for every possible minute. We held each other, and we cried. So many around us did the very same. We stayed in those stands long after the last out. Most fans did. When we finally made ourselves walk out to the parking lot, it was so surreal, so heartbreaking. But we were together, as we had been for that very first game on the third deck with tickets bought at a discount with those Mother’s Cookies points. We said goodbye together.

An Update From Our Corner of Autism Street

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I’ve been asked, fairly frequently in the past few months, how Z is doing, what he’s up to these days. As with anything else autism-related, it’s complicated. Long story short, he’s in a pretty stable place, and he’s been there for a good bit. Long story long…..if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. They’re as individual as you or I, but the one thing you can count on as an autism parent is to not get cocky or comfortable. What is working now won’t work two weeks from now, and just when you think you’ve got it, you’re more likely to be wiped out by a new wave. I never take good places for granted.

Z has been taking classes at the local community college for two years now. He will honestly tell you he messed up his first semester, but he’s been fine ever since. I haven’t checked recently, but at the beginning of last semester, he was carrying something close to a 3.4 GPA. He takes three classes and a lab each semester. He’s decided he wants to study behavioral psychology with a bent towards marketing. He should have his Associate degree following this upcoming semester. He isn’t sure he’s ready to transfer to a four-year university quite yet. I don’t think he’s ready to move out of the house yet as it is.

We still struggle with some things. His anxiety has tamped down, but it can rear its ugly head here and there. Spouse and I travel a lot these days, for work and pleasure. I usually get one late-night call each trip we’re gone longer than a couple of nights. I don’t see much of the pacing around the house he frequently did in the past. I think having classes only a few days a week, and not having the same classes every single day helps. Not having to be “on” for 6.5 hours each week day, on campus, surrounded by hundreds of other students, helps. He has more control of his time, and thus his opportunity to decompress. He enjoys his classes because he can choose them, because everyone in class is there by choice. It’s just a different learning environment, different learning experience. He has admitted he feels he needs to learn how to study better, handle teachers who don’t particularly teach the best way he learns.

We have told him we have certain things he needs to do before we will let him move out on his own. He has to get a job and keep it for longer than two months. He has to learn how to manage his money, and take care of bills, expenses, etc. He has to show he can consistently take care of his hygiene and the cleanliness of his spaces. We aren’t really anywhere close on those and this is probably the most-frustrating thing to deal with. He’s twenty years old…..he’s not seemed very motivated to job-search, and when he does go out, he won’t “dress for success”, showing up in t-shirts, shorts and flip flops, unless I happen to catch him on his way out the door. He does have a YouTube channel on which he streams on a near-weekly basis, even obtaining some Patreon members, to the tune of $46 a month! But as we’ve told him, you can’t live on $46 a month with such things like rent, utilities, internet, groceries, gas, etc. Not to mention the fact that as soon as he has money in his account, it’s quickly on its way back out again. He applies for jobs, but then gets no response and doesn’t follow up. Getting him to move his body and also shower on any kind of a routine schedule has been a failed endeavor since he was little. We’ve made almost zero progress there. He did have a conversation with me and another with his sister that he often has to trick himself or find some kind of motivation to do the things he knows he needs to do, like shower, clean his room, do his laundry, clean up his meals (he cooks most of his meals as his food choices are still rather limited).

He does have a boyfriend. They’ve been together for nearly a year, although it is long-distance. C lives in Minnesota. They met a couple of years ago in their online gaming group. They were friends first, and it developed into more last year. C has been out to visit twice, for a week each time. He is adorable, and they are sweet together. It is strange to see the child who never liked to be touched actually holding hands or leaning on shoulders of someone. They seem good together – C is also on the spectrum and ADHD. Their sense of humor is much the same. They have very similar interests and outlooks. They currently plan to transfer to the same university and get an apartment together in a year or so (see the paragraph above on our approval of that timeline). Z is happy, and that’s what matters.

That’s pretty much where we are. Z has become much more self-aware in the last year or so. He seems happier and less stressed than a couple of years ago. We are hopeful and confident he will be fully independent at some point, although his life will always look different than that of his siblings. He will always be autistic, he will always see the world a bit differently (I actually generally love the way he sees things and I love having conversations with him). So our corner of autism street is pretty quiet at the moment. I’m going to revel in that for as long as we have it.

I remember this

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It has been three days since Mom passed. I find myself walking around in a fog, my brain and body only capable of the most basic tasks. My skin, my soul feels sensitive….you know that feeling when you have a bad flu, that everything that touches you is too much? That’s how I feel walking around in the world. Words are too much, loud noises are too much, bright lights are too much, expectations are too much. It’s nice to have people ask how we’re doing, but at the same time, I almost dread it. I don’t know how I’m doing.

I was walking yesterday, listening to a random fantasy novel because that’s about all my brain can process, and it hit me…I remember this feeling. I remember this fog. I remember this space in grief. We just went through this three years ago when Daddy passed. Once I got home from the days following his passing, where Mom L, my siblings and I spent our time planning his services, putting his obituary together, taking and making calls, when I was back home, I entered this space right here. It’s a strange bubble of sadness, pain, grief. I struggle to focus. I struggle to string thoughts together. I struggle. Anything that might tax my brain, my energy, my body feels like an affront. Doesn’t the world, all of nature understand where we are in this moment? I feel out of sync, separated from life.

There are moments of brightness. I know that Mom has her words back. I know her right hand is unclenched, the tendons stretched back to their normal length. I know she can walk on her own again. In a way, I was so happy for her. Her Daddy passed on her 19th birthday. Her mom died in the summer of 1998. Her sister has been gone for years as well. She was the last. But now they’re all together again. When I picture that reunion, it brings joy to my heart for her.

It is weird when your mother and father have both died. My siblings and I are now the oldest generation. There’s no one to ask about our childhoods, no one who remembers us being born, what we were like as toddlers, no one to ask to tell their stories to our children. I am grateful to have my brother and sister in this journey. I am so very thankful my Daddy married Mom L and that she is such a huge part of my life…she’s been my mom for over 30 years, so I am not an orphan even now.

Grief is a strange journey, one I remember. I know this foggy part will end, and we will begin to move back into the world. I miss her already, so very much. I am so grateful for the time we all had with her before she died…those days leading up when she was fighting, when she kept making sure we were there, when she continually told us she loved us, when her humor and spirit filled that room. What a gift to have those days, those hours, to say goodbye properly, to ease her journey, to tell her it was okay to let go.

I remember this……I will be gentle with myself while I walk down this road again.

Out of Time

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We are currently in the hospital with Mom. She was brought in last night and has pneumonia. Because of her DNR, they will not intubate nor resuscitate. And her heart isn’t holding up. The doctor told my sister to have the family come, so I left the house at 1am to make the 7.5 hour drive up. It went quickly, but I was terrified every moment I wouldn’t get here in time. We got here just before 9am. It’s not 7:30pm and she continues to fight. She’s on palliative/comfort care. The hospital is doing everything to make her and us comfortable.

Here’s the thing about being in the hospital, just waiting for the end, or really being anywhere with anyone waiting for the end. Those few days before Daddy passed three years ago were a similar experience. You enter a place out of time – time flies by but you don’t feel it. You can’t tell what day it is, if it’s morning or night, what’s going on outside of the bubble of the room you’re in with your parent, just waiting and watching.

My siblings and two of my nieces are here. We’ve told lots of stories. Laughed, and made Mom laugh. She keeps opening her eyes to make sure we’re here, then tells us she loves us. I look at her face, trying to memorize it. I brush her hair with my fingers, gently pulling the strands back from her face. I watch her labored breathing wondering how we will possibly know when the end has come, and yet I know we will just know. I hold her hand, remembering all the times in my life when she’s held mine. I keep telling her to rest, we’re here, and we aren’t going anywhere. She doesn’t have to be on high alert – we’re not leaving her side for more than a bathroom break or to grab more coffee or water.

We’re out of time in this room, and our time with her is running out. It’s brutal and yet filled with love.

Her Things

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It wasn’t long after Mom’s stroke over four years ago we knew she would never be able to live independently in her home again. I think we had hope at the very beginning, but it soon became clear that just wasn’t a possibility. Just over a year after her stroke, and three months into her living in assisted living, my sister and niece cleared out Mom’s house, and got it sold. We took very necessary things to her apartment, and those things she cherished most and had space for. The rest, those things that weren’t immediately tossed or donated, went into storage.

In May, my brother, sister and I went through that storage unit, sorting further the things we each wanted to keep, things to be donated, and things that were beyond saving. As an aside – Mom was something of a hoarder. She never got rid of anything, it feels. She is a child of the Depression. We each got things from our childhoods mom had saved (well, those things we wanted to keep), things of Mom’s that were important to us. There wasn’t any arguing – if there was something two or more of us wanted, we put it in a separate pile which we then went back to and separated as evenly as possible. But I digress, as per usual. I kept thinking I was glad we were able to go through this process while Mom is still alive, that we weren’t dealing with the grief of her loss at the same time we were sorting her things. That may sound macabre, but we all felt that way. While there was much grief in what we had lost, and the reason we were sorting her things, she was still here for us to go see after we finished going through her things.

Earlier this summer, Mom was moved to a skilled nursing facility, as her care needs finally exceeded the capacity of the assisted living facility. She has declined quickly both in physical ability and in speech. The stroke dementia is doing its work on her. I saw her this past weekend for her birthday (she turned 82 yesterday!), and the difference was so very marked. She is tired. She has lost or refuses to use the words she did have. My sister said she no longer FaceTimes her daily/multiple times a day, as she had before. She is much more sedentary. She is also getting all her medications every day – something we were suspect wasn’t quite happening when still in assisted living as she was self-administering – so her moods are much more settled. She isn’t lashing out at her caregivers. She isn’t screaming or yelling at the aids any longer. She has lost more weight. She is quiet.

My sister and I went through the things they’d moved out of Mom’s apartment. Other than some clothes and photos, these are the last of Mom’s things, the last pieces of her independent life. We sorted through jewelry (nothing of real value, except memories) and more photos. My sister and I both reiterated we are thankful to be going through this process while she is still with us. That layer of grief is removed. And yet there is a grief all its own. We have lost our mother in stages, with just the final goodbye remaining. There have been many conversations of living on borrowed time, although this is the woman who in all reality should have, could have died, many times at various times in her life (trust me, it’s a standing family joke).

Grief is strange. Losing your parent, whether expected or not, whether quickly or in a matter of days, months or years, is still a process. Revisiting all those memories, good or bad, by going through their things, deciding which you want to keep with you, which you don’t need, which you know she kept because it mattered to her, carries its own kind of grief. We’ve now gone through all her things. When she does pass, we will not face that task at least. I wonder at her loss of her things….letting go first of her home and independence, then her apartment in assisted living, her space now limited to her 1/3rd of a room in a skilled nursing facility, with just her bed, a night stand, and a small closet. I think about all the things she kept around her for a reason that she’s had to let go of, that we’ve now gone through, divided up, decided what mattered and what didn’t. She can’t verbalize her own grief, but I imagine it must be there.

I woke at 3:20 this morning, and I felt a loss so immense, I was sure my phone was going to ring any moment and be my sister telling me Mom was gone. That didn’t happen, but I’ve carried that sense of loss all day. Maybe it is just my mind imagining how Mom feels at where her life has gone the last four years. Maybe it is my brain working out having finished going through all her of things. Whatever, the grief process has begun…we are on the long road home.

Herd Huddle

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It’s been nearly seven months since the five of us were all together in one spot. We normally alternate summer trips between fly-somewhere getaways, and RV/camping type trips. This is an RV trip summer, but since we’re all still somewhat damaged from our last RV trip two years ago (see the first post of the set regarding said RV trip here ), we decided to AirBnB it in Mammoth Lakes, CA for a long weekend. We would do all the things we’d do were we camping in the RV, we’d just have the comfort of real walls around us, and no possibility of the condo “breaking down”.

Six days seemed like plenty when we were planning the trip. By the third night, I realized it wouldn’t be enough. There’s never enough time it seems, now that the older two are off living their lives. I was nearly in tears our last night, knowing we won’t all five be together again until Thanksgiving, if then. This is the hardest part of your kids growing up. They’re all doing what they’re meant, but I miss them; I miss having us all under one roof.

We did all our things…..we hiked, we cooked breakfasts but went out for dinners (hey – it’s my vacation too!), we played games, we watched movies, we talked and laughed so much oh and P and I also worked on the friendship bracelets we will be trading at the Taylor Swift concert in a few weeks. We haven’t been up to Mammoth since the kids were little. I’d forgotten what it looked like, where everything was. The kids had only very vague memories of camping up there – I think Z was maybe four the last time we went up. It is so incredibly beautiful, and the air so fresh, full of smells of pine. There was still snow on the ground in areas – they did get 715 inches of snow, total, for the 2022-2023 ski season! There are a lot of little streams and creeks all over from the continued snow run-off.

Spouse and the kids decided, when they found out one of the ski resorts was still open, they wanted to hit the slopes. How many times in your life will you have the opportunity to ski/snowboard in the middle of July? So Sunday morning, we all got up and headed up the mountain. Once lift passes were purchased and gear secured, the four of them hit the lifts. I am not a skier. I have skied in the past. I’ve even taken lessons a couple of times. I just don’t love it. I don’t find the process of sliding down a mountain on two long sticks, with just poles to help me stay up, the least bit fun. So, once they were off (and photo documentation taken), I went into the shop, and then took myself to the bar where I could see the bottom of the runs. Cranberry mimosa in hand (bless the bartender who knows how to make a proper mimosa – you just wave the cranberry juice over the top of the champagne), I sat and watched for my family to come down the slope. I saw Big Man and the Princess first. They are our snowboarders, but it’s been at least eight years since the last time they went up. They were going pretty slowly, and I saw them both fall at least twice each. Not long after, about midway up, I could see a tall man skiing, and holding a set of skis in his hands, with another guy literally walking down the hill in his ski boots. I knew instantly it was Spouse and Z. I couldn’t wait to get this story!

The last time we’d taken the kids skiing and snowboarding, Z had shut down the lift getting on and getting off at the top of the bunny hill. Spouse then spent 90 minutes with him walking up and skiing down a section of the bunny hill. I was nervous about Z skiing this time, but he was adamant he was going to do it, wanted to do it. I watched anxiously as he got his skis on and made his way over to the lift, successfully getting on the chair and head up the mountain with Spouse. Apparently, at the top, the wheels came off. He didn’t fall getting off the lift, so at least he wasn’t the cause of the lift shutting down, but he did fall once he got down the little hill heading down from the lift. And that was it. He took his skis off, and walked all the way down the hill. I will never get that picture out of my head, and it makes me giggle. He was fine – he didn’t have a meltdown at all, he just knew he was not going to get to the bottom of the mountain by skiing down. Know thyself, yes?

Spouse was the only one to go back up the mountain for more runs. The Princess said, “Snowboarding in July is meant for people who really know what they’re doing. I feel the need to apologize to everyone else up here for being on the mountain today!” The four of us sat in the bar/restaurant while Spouse got his runs in. BTW – I still find it weird I can sit at a bar and drink with my older two. Strange thing, life and parenting.

Our last day, we hiked the lakes. I’d left the route-planning to Spouse. Oof. It didn’t help some of the trails were blocked by snow and snow runoff. We were headed up to one of the higher-up, more remote little lakes. There was no one around – just the five of us. I said, “This is how people die,” fairly sure we were going to run into at least one bear. Bless – no bears. We survived the 3.4 mile hike (Z in flip flops because he didn’t pack the tennis shoes I’d had on his packing list), but there was a fair amount of grumbling, and having to find alternate paths. I’m not a strong hiker, and I am so terrified of falling it often results in me sliding down/creeping down on my butt. I get vertigo very easily. Twice we had to take shoes and socks off to traverse through a creek to get to/from a bridge. But we did it! And then we were rewarded with beer and burgers.

The six days passed entirely too quickly…..Too soon, it was time to head back down the mountain. The Princess headed back towards the coast, and the rest of us continued home. We have Big Man for another ten days (that’s a whole other post), but yeah, we won’t all five be together in one place until Thanksgiving. The Herd Huddle 2023 is over.

From an Oakland Athletics Fan

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It’s been over a week since the news was leaked Oakland Athletics ownership/management had agreed to a deal to purchase land near the Strip in Las Vegas, planning to move the team there. When I first saw the tweet from the overnight announcement, my initial response was shock and disbelief. This couldn’t be true. They simply can’t move my team to another state. The timing of the announcement – right after the team left for a road trip, following yet another loss – and in the middle of a week they were supposed to be in constant, mediated negotiations with the City of Oakland – felt like a slap in the face. Since that initial response, I’ve moved on to anger and deep sadness, along with resignation and determination.

I have been an A’s fan my entire life, and there is zero exaggeration in that statement. The team moved to Oakland the year before I was born. If you grew up in the Bay Area, you knew your family were either Raiders/A’s fans, or 49’ers/Giants fans. Oh, you’ll see people with the split hats or jerseys supporting both teams. I’ll contest those aren’t real fans. The lines of fandom seemed to mostly be drawn down white collar vs blue collar. My parents worked in the auto industry. We lived in a blue-collar area of San Jose. My dad finished eighth grade, and then went to work to support his family, had worked at odds and ends jobs most of his life before joining the Navy at 17. We solidly fit that blue collar category. We were tried and true Oakland Athletics and Oakland Raiders fans.

We didn’t get to go to many games when I was little. Even then, tickets seemed too precious. We did, however, watch games when they were televised, which, in the early 70’s, with winning three World Series in a row, meant they were on tv a lot. We spent more time at the local minor league team’s games, then the San Jose Bees. As I got older and our financial situation improved, we began to visit the Coliseum, sitting out in the old bleachers (long before Mount Davis was built in the 90’s) where tickets and hot dogs were cheap. In college, I would meet my brother and father there. After college, my brother and I shared season tickets for 7 seasons. Those with season tickets around us became friends. We had our favored parking spots in a preferred section of the parking lot, the vendors we liked to see and buy our snacks/pizza/red ropes from, the West Side Club with the best bartenders. I went to Spring Training a few years running to get an early look at our team for the coming season. We did annual tailgate parties in the parking lot for Daddy’s birthday. To be part of our family was to know the A’s, spend time at the Coliseum, mourn the rebuilding seasons, celebrate the successes, the championships, the characters that were our A’s players, and coaches, and broadcasting team.

In the fall of 2000, with our oldest son in the NICU, the A’s were playing the dreaded New York Yankees in the Wildcard series. I went to visit my tiny, 1-month old baby in the NICU the morning of Game 5, then boarded BART to go meet my brother at the game. The A’s lost that game, but the excitement of a playoff game, the excitement of a win-or-go-home, particularly against the Evil Empire….it was a night I will never forget. The following Spring, Spouse and I took our infant with us to Opening Night.

Much as I grew up at the Coliseum, my older two spent much of their infancies going to A’s games. Even after we moved, I tried to get them to games when we visited home. We did one more family tailgate for Daddy’s 75th birthday. I have so many memories there….Ricky Henderson’s stolen bases, the Bash Brothers, that Game 5 vs the Yankees, wins, losses, family, the song Celebrate played at the end of each winning game, Eckersley’s record-breaking save, good seasons, bad seasons, hopeful beginnings and heartbreaking endings. Every time Moneyball comes on TV, I will stop and watch at least a few minutes. The Coliseum is home, and I was at many of the games shown in the movie. I knew those players, watched them play their hearts out, watched a new game of professional baseball emerge, had my heart broken more years than I can count.

We have traditions, memories, family bonding ingrained and wrapped up in the Oakland Athletics, in the Coliseum. I’ve been ready to let go of the Coliseum itself for years….it is an old, round beast with that giant obscenity in the outfield, built because Al Davis wanted it for his football team. I told myself I could let go the old stadium as long as the team stayed in Oakland. The City of Oakland, the fans of Oakland, deserve it. They deserve the team, they deserve a new, beautiful, waterfront stadium. They deserve ownership that will spend money to keep talented players to play in that new, beautiful, waterfront stadium.

I was at Opening Night last month, as I almost always am. You should have seen the excitement in the fans, the number of people in attendance. The stadium employees – ushers, security, food & beverage people – were as nice and helpful as they always are. Everyone had a smile. We had hope – hope for a new season, hope the Howard Terminal stadium deal would finally crystalize.

But no…..it looks like a deal is almost a done deal. Ownership has traded or sold off all the good players, or refused to sign them to new contracts worthy of their talent. They’ve driven down attendance with that, as well as raising parking and ticket prices, and then they blame the fans. They put a barely-Triple-A team out on the field each day this season against real Major League teams and gaslight us into wondering why we can’t win. There is so much shadiness behind this whole process on the part of A’s ownership and MLB execs. I don’t know what they have against the City of Oakland and its fans, but we’re getting screwed, for lack of better words to use.

I am sad and gutted. I’m heartbroken for the Oakland A’s fans, for the City of Oakland which will likely watch another professional team leave. I’ve been asked if I will become a San Francisco Giants fan. That is a SOLID NOPE! Ugh. Gross. Never. They have a great stadium to watch baseball, but I cannot stand that team. Will I still be an A’s fan if they do move to Vegas? That’s also a solid no. I won’t support this ownership and management team. Vegas won’t see any of my money for a professional baseball game, not one penny. The A’s will never be a home team there, let’s be honest. And it’s a billion degrees there in the summer. I’ve also heard the traffic disaster caused by Raiders games, on and off the Strip. No thanks. I refuse. You can keep your Vegas A’s, Dave Kaval and John Fisher. They won’t be my team. In the meantime, I will remain a proud OAKLAND Athletics fan, wearing my gear and going to games in Oakland while I can. One can only hope at least one of the loopholes will close, one of the caveats will fail to go through, and the A’s will get to stay in Oakland where they belong. Vegas can have an expansion team. They can’t have my A’s.

Signed –

A Forever OAKLAND Athletics fan

A’s Fanfest
A’s Fanfest

She Wants to Go Home

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I was up visiting my youngest sister this past weekend. While I was there, we had a care conference for Mom. Her dementia is progressing rapidly, and she is losing what strength she had quickly as well. The Hospice nurse had ordered a Hoyer lift for her for transfers, but she’s been refusing its use. That, along with other things, necessitated the care conference with the Hospice nurse, the Hospice care coordinator, the facility director, and lead caregiver at the facility. It was a rough but needed hour to get us all on the same page for as long as Mom remains in assisted living, which isn’t long, to be honest. We are, at this moment, looking for a skilled nursing facility for her. It’s time. She is getting beyond their limits of safe care at her current facility.

We went to see Mom after the meeting. There were some things we needed to convey to her – some changes that are coming, and to let her know the Hoyer lift is not a yes or no option any longer. For her safety, and the safety of her caregivers, it has to be used for her transfers. She is a stubborn woman – always has been – but the stroke dementia is only exacerbating that stubbornness. There are other things I won’t go into, but mostly the transfers are the issue at the moment. She lets them know she isn”t happy, and if they go too quickly, she yells and lashes out. It’s just a difficult situation all the way around. So these were the conversations we had to have with her.

It didn’t go well at all. When we told her the transfer poles were going to be removed, fully taking that option away, she started screaming. It was continuous wailing. I was kneeling next to her, and for a moment, I was sure I was going to get hit, or that she was going to pick up her remote control for her tv and chuck it at me or my sister. She was angry, heartbroken, pissed off. Since she has so few words anymore, the screaming was really her only way of conveying the depth of her feelings. It took us ten minutes to calm down, but then she was just crying. And she was so angry. We continued talking to her, letting her know we are doing our best, but this is no longer a choice. There are things we can give her options over, but this isn’t one of them. It hurts us too, and we would take it all away if we could.

She pointed at the photo she has of her father sitting on her entertainment armoire, then pointed up. My maternal grandfather died on her 19th birthday. I said, “yes, he’s watching over you.” But then my sister said, “You want to go home” and my mother just nodded emphatically yes. The tears fell.

She isn’t living anymore, she is just waiting to die. There’s a huge difference. We feel like the worst sort of children to be making her live this way, but we have no choices any longer. The stroke and at the stroke dementia are taking all choices away. It feels like the worst sort of torture to inflict on a person. She used to be so independent before her stroke. She did her own thing all the time. She gardened, she cooked, she shopped, she sold her MaryKay, she worked. Now, she sits in her recliner in her room all day, watching Hallmark movies and baseball games alone. She does go to the dining room for a couple meals a day, but she sits alone. Her loss of speech has encouraged her separateness. She doesn’t participate in any of the activities the facility puts on – no ice cream socials, no happy hours, no game nights, no card games. She just sits in her room, alone, waiting.

It isn’t like her to not fight. She has fought her whole life. Now, there’s no fight left in her. It’s heartbreaking. But to hear that sentiment from her – she’s tired of fighting, she wants to go home….she’s given up. Honestly, I think the move to a skilled nursing facility will only speed up the process. She hated it when she was in one after her stroke, after they released her from the rehab facility, and before my sister took her to her house. Going back to one is going to break her further, I’m afraid. We are just out of options, beyond the capacity of assisted living, but not needing hospital-level care. She wants to go home. She’s tired. She’s done fighting. And so we wait.