After writing yesterday's post, I engaged in a session of EMDR.
Upon expressing my theory, concerning the brain's ability to record each experience, verbatim, and store each file in subconscious memory, my therapist validated everything I've come to believe. 'Annie, you just offered a layman's explanation of the benefits of EMDR, which is fast receiving world wide aclaim. You may be interested in reading this book, written for the general public, by the founder of EMDR therapy, GETTING PAST YOUR PAST.'
Upon arriving home after my session of EMDR, I reread yesterday's post, and needless to say, certain insights, in need of being expressed more clearly, were tightened up, while others were added …
So … having received official validation from one who co-authored the text book on EMDR, as well as authoring a book, concerning healing trauma in children, which has recently been translated and published in China, let's investigate this memory that gives me the shivers each time it emerges from deep within my mind:
Sadly, during her eighties, Grandma Bailey, suffered from dementia. One day, when she'd disappeared from my aunt's house, where she'd made her home, the police were called. Thank goodness, the officers found Grandma safe though not sound, wandering around a lagoon, unable to communicate clearly enough to tell them where she'd lived. At that point, a heartwrenching decision, concerning Grandma's safe-keeping and everyone's sanity was made. It was time for Bailey to reside in long-term care facility. Mind you, I'm offering bare bone details while omitting emotional reactions that we'd all shared.
Whereas many of the residents on Grandma's floor complained bitterly over most everything, Bailey's dimentia saw her sitting quietly, watching life go by as if she'd never had a care in the world, and while her strong heart and hearty appetite kept her body pulsing with life and her warm smile won caring affection from everyone on the staff, Grandma's think tank lay, seemingly, fallow, day after day, week after week, year after year ...
By the time Grandma was unable to dwell with family, Will and I had transplanted ourselves and our two eldest sons to live, work and frolic in the desert sun. Though it's true that our move had delighted us, all, I flew 'home' with the boys at the drop of a hat, because family ties and valued friendships remained tight. Upon settling into the spacious childhood bedroom I'd shared with Lauren, six year old Barry, four year old Steven and I would pile into my father's car and off we'd go to visit my grandma with Dad at the wheel. (Grandma Ella had been laid to rest when Barry was one.)
At that time, long term care facilities were much more institutionalized than assisted living options, which prove available, today. Each time we'd approach Grandma Bailey, she'd most often be found sitting peacefully, wherever a staff member had placed her in the dayroom, which, thankfully, was a sunny place.
On this particular occasion, I remember Grandma sitting near a window, overlooking the lush foliage of the park, across the street. I remember wondering if anyone ever took Grandma outside, where she might sit on a bench, enjoy a bit of fresh air and listen to the singing of birds. I recall asking that question of Dad. Though I don't consciously recollect his exact answer, I have a feeling that his response had to do with safety and the fact that a small, fenced in, outdoor area offered fresh air to residents, who proved able to handle that small degree of freedom. This was not an 'independent, senior living complex' as we know it, today. Grandma had been in need of assisted living, 24/7, which is quite another thing.
In the aftermath of the surrealistic experience, which I've not yet revealed, I'd write to Grandma, and mail each letter to my aunt, requesting it be read to her in case she'd taken in more than the present state of her brain had been capable of conveying. After having witnessed Grandma's moment of clarity, I wanted to ensure that my beloved Grandma felt the lasting nature of my love. You see, in addition to being family, Grandma had always been my precious friend.
Please don't think I'm being cagey by winding down, today, without apprising you of that turn of events, which took my breath away. In truth, my mind feels too weary to think clearly enough to do this daunting experience justice, right now.
Though I'd loved creating our Monday night seder and feast with Will for our family and friends, several days of standing and cooking did me in. My back is acting up, and pain drains energy. (Echos of … listen to your body …)
In addition to that, this is the first holiday we've celebrated since Mom's passing, and a dip in my spirit suggests heaviness of heart, as well.
While I've been sitting and writing, intuition keeps whispering—Close up shop, Annie. Hang the sign on the door and go fishing—
And today, when intuition whispers, I've learned to react attentively :)
Wishing you a five star day,
Your friend,
Annie
Upon expressing my theory, concerning the brain's ability to record each experience, verbatim, and store each file in subconscious memory, my therapist validated everything I've come to believe. 'Annie, you just offered a layman's explanation of the benefits of EMDR, which is fast receiving world wide aclaim. You may be interested in reading this book, written for the general public, by the founder of EMDR therapy, GETTING PAST YOUR PAST.'
Upon arriving home after my session of EMDR, I reread yesterday's post, and needless to say, certain insights, in need of being expressed more clearly, were tightened up, while others were added …
So … having received official validation from one who co-authored the text book on EMDR, as well as authoring a book, concerning healing trauma in children, which has recently been translated and published in China, let's investigate this memory that gives me the shivers each time it emerges from deep within my mind:
Sadly, during her eighties, Grandma Bailey, suffered from dementia. One day, when she'd disappeared from my aunt's house, where she'd made her home, the police were called. Thank goodness, the officers found Grandma safe though not sound, wandering around a lagoon, unable to communicate clearly enough to tell them where she'd lived. At that point, a heartwrenching decision, concerning Grandma's safe-keeping and everyone's sanity was made. It was time for Bailey to reside in long-term care facility. Mind you, I'm offering bare bone details while omitting emotional reactions that we'd all shared.
Whereas many of the residents on Grandma's floor complained bitterly over most everything, Bailey's dimentia saw her sitting quietly, watching life go by as if she'd never had a care in the world, and while her strong heart and hearty appetite kept her body pulsing with life and her warm smile won caring affection from everyone on the staff, Grandma's think tank lay, seemingly, fallow, day after day, week after week, year after year ...
By the time Grandma was unable to dwell with family, Will and I had transplanted ourselves and our two eldest sons to live, work and frolic in the desert sun. Though it's true that our move had delighted us, all, I flew 'home' with the boys at the drop of a hat, because family ties and valued friendships remained tight. Upon settling into the spacious childhood bedroom I'd shared with Lauren, six year old Barry, four year old Steven and I would pile into my father's car and off we'd go to visit my grandma with Dad at the wheel. (Grandma Ella had been laid to rest when Barry was one.)
At that time, long term care facilities were much more institutionalized than assisted living options, which prove available, today. Each time we'd approach Grandma Bailey, she'd most often be found sitting peacefully, wherever a staff member had placed her in the dayroom, which, thankfully, was a sunny place.
On this particular occasion, I remember Grandma sitting near a window, overlooking the lush foliage of the park, across the street. I remember wondering if anyone ever took Grandma outside, where she might sit on a bench, enjoy a bit of fresh air and listen to the singing of birds. I recall asking that question of Dad. Though I don't consciously recollect his exact answer, I have a feeling that his response had to do with safety and the fact that a small, fenced in, outdoor area offered fresh air to residents, who proved able to handle that small degree of freedom. This was not an 'independent, senior living complex' as we know it, today. Grandma had been in need of assisted living, 24/7, which is quite another thing.
In the aftermath of the surrealistic experience, which I've not yet revealed, I'd write to Grandma, and mail each letter to my aunt, requesting it be read to her in case she'd taken in more than the present state of her brain had been capable of conveying. After having witnessed Grandma's moment of clarity, I wanted to ensure that my beloved Grandma felt the lasting nature of my love. You see, in addition to being family, Grandma had always been my precious friend.
Please don't think I'm being cagey by winding down, today, without apprising you of that turn of events, which took my breath away. In truth, my mind feels too weary to think clearly enough to do this daunting experience justice, right now.
Though I'd loved creating our Monday night seder and feast with Will for our family and friends, several days of standing and cooking did me in. My back is acting up, and pain drains energy. (Echos of … listen to your body …)
In addition to that, this is the first holiday we've celebrated since Mom's passing, and a dip in my spirit suggests heaviness of heart, as well.
While I've been sitting and writing, intuition keeps whispering—Close up shop, Annie. Hang the sign on the door and go fishing—
And today, when intuition whispers, I've learned to react attentively :)
Wishing you a five star day,
Your friend,
Annie
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