The Stainiest Years

"Ugh. Look -- a mustard stain and peanut butter oil smear on my pants. Dang it," said the Mama.

I smiled. "Honey, the stains have only just begun with these two." I tilted my head toward the backseat where Beatrice and Bryce sat snuggled in their car seats watching a movie.

The Mama shrugged. "Hey, I think these are the stainiest years."

"The stainiest years?"

"Yes, the stainiest years."

We both laughed. We were on our way to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for some Easter fish fun, but the "stainiest years" persisted for me like coffee spill in carpet padding that keeps seeping up month after month after month...

As parents of young children, many of us develop a visual eraser of sorts, one that scrubs away those new stains on the cabinets, the walls, the furniture, the bathtubs, the beds and the carpets. It's easier not to see them than to constantly clean them, especially when you're tired and still haven't completely cleaned off two-year-old hot chocolate stains from the dining room blinds.

But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that the stainiest years for the B-hive have yet to come. The "stainiest" stains are the ones that come with the living years, the ones throughout childhood, teengage-land and adulthood.

There are the literal and minor yet pleasurable ones like the bacon grease stains on my San Jose State University sweatshirt I received when cooking breakfast for the family, or the bigger literal ones when the garage guest room carpet was rain soaked and stained because we neglected to clean the rain gutters (cleaned most of that up though).

Then there are those with much more visceral impact on our lives, the stainiest years that come and go. But mercy me do they always come, relentlessly and without apology. They can be a mix of joy and sorrow, although much of it we usually associate with the sorrow we experience in varying capacities through life, which we then try to erase with whatever measures at our disposal -- conscious and subconscious partitioning, therapy (of any kind) and drugs and/or alcohol. Hopefully there's also the self-awareness ability we learn and develop to assess, manage and adapt to the stainiest years.

The latter is one thing I've learned from the Mama as well as my parents. Unfortunately now the worst of stains are upon my parents, with my dad dying of cancer (since the radiations treatments didn't work), and my mom in the hospital yet again (being chronically ill for decades and for the rest of her life). I don't share this lightly; it's been an arduous journey for them both and we're working to provide them the best quality of life possible. However, their legacy of love and perseverance continues in them as well as in the lives in their five children, eight grandchildren, one great-grandchild, a myriad of other family and friends as well as an amazing church community where they live in Oregon.

Many of us want our worlds to be continually scrubbed clean, to be shiny and new, but our powerfully human stories move others from the stainiest years. We hope to teach our daughters to unfurl theirs on high, proudly and without regret.

Displaced and mad as hell

Once it spreads to other parts of the body beyond the skin, it is difficult to treat.

Without even knowing his complete diagnosis yet, I can't get the "once it spreads -- it's difficult to treat" out of my head.

My father has melanoma, a very serious kind of cancer, and it's metastasized into his lymphatic system. How far beyond that we don't know yet. But he's mad as hell and he's beat the devil more than once (so's my mom for that matter).

Metastasis means "displacement" in Greek and that's how he feels, to be moved out of the proper place. When you're sick, there's a palatable disconnect from the rhythm of everyday life.

About 160,000 people are diagnosed each year with melanoma, more frequently in women than men.
How many of those become displaced from family, friends, co-workers and communities? Conversely as well?

Beyond displacement, nearly 50,000 people tragically die from melanoma every year, leaving hole-ridden hearts behind.

Sure it's all in the caring now, but this morning as Oakland and the rest of the world burns, I'm displaced and mad as hell.

All I want to do is dig a shallow grave in the backyard for all the world ills and my father's cancer and bury them.

All about containment and sustained quality of life. Everything else can go to hell.

During the summer of 2002 I spent over 3 months living with my parents in Visalia, CA. I had been consulting and freelancing at the time - after my previous company beached itself - which is just another way for saying the partially employed unemployed.

But that's not why I lived with them. I actually lived in Santa Cruz with my then fiance now wife Amy.

No, my father was very ill and my parents were also caretakers of my grandmother at the time. My sister lived in a house behind my parents and definitely helped out, but she had two children of her own to care for.

We, however, had none.

It was a perfect storm that I could help my family traverse. My dad pulled through. Grandma went to stay with other family temporarily. I went home.

Fast forward to today: my parents live in Oregon, 13 hours away drive time, and although they have a loving and supportive church community network, the distance takes a caretaker toll on the family.

And we now, however, have a child. A baby. A wee little dependent one.

My mother's been in the hospital two times in the past month but we could only be there for one of them. They've actually both been in and out of the hospital over the past few years - remote and out of immediate view.

We're more involved in understanding their healthcare needs these days and doing what we can to help, but it's just not the same when you don't live next door or even in the same town. Goodness, an hour away would work.

I wrote about being a sandwich earlier this year - caring for parents and baby - and we've only just begun. Thankfully one or the other of my folks have been well enough to care for the other - never simultaneously.

Unfortunately they keep making lengthy necessary/unnecessary trips that increases exponentially the probability of disaster. I love my folks, but c'mon. If they were both healthy, wealthy and wise...

But if anything bad ever happened simultaneously, or singularly tragic, on the road and away from home, that's when the universe opens and swallows us whole; into the whale belly goes Jonah.

Saints we're not. I'm just all about containment and sustained quality of life for all of us. Everything else can go to hell.

Fixing a Hero Sandwich: Caring for Both Children and Parents

This is a Guest Post for Who’s in da DAMN House Wednesday?

I was honored when Kristy Nuttall from Where’s My Damn Answer asked me to be a guest blogger. I’ve known Kristy since high school and when we recently reconnected I was introduced to WMDA, which is high up on Google Reader list.

I was also a guest on their radio show Today’s Woman last month and the topic was on Facebook and Twitter - two of my favorites for business or pleasure! Although the host Karena, a pilates expert, and the other ladies of WMDA, started off on a kegel tangent that rocked my boat a bit.

Girls, girls, girls -- that's what it's all about for Daddy K!

Mama A, Baby Bea and Chelsea the 300-year-old cat -- I am a chick magnet (wink).

Now on to my serious post...

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Two weeks ago one of my firm’s new marketing/PR verticals, SeniorCareMarketer.com, exhibited at the American Society on Aging and the National Council on Aging 2009 Annual Conference in Las Vegas, NV. Besides being in Vegas - the most fun I’ll ever have losing $20 in less than three minutes while staying up way past my bedtime of 9:00 p.m. to watch others blow thousands - the conference was very informative for me personally as well as professionally.

Read the entire post at WMDA...