It's Marty's Birthday

Today is Marty’s 59^th birthday.  

Today we are nine years post diagnosis of her multiple sclerosis.  Today we are eight years past her ruptured aneurysm.  Today we are seven years past her last stroke.

In those years Marty has been in the hospital literally dozens of times, endured brain surgeries, countless indelicate procedures, taken way too many antibiotics and fought against death more times than I care to recount.

In those years Marty has lost her ability to care for herself, to walk, to drive, to work, to think clearly and independently.  In those years Marty’s life, our lives, our perspective and basic understanding of each other and the people around us has radically changed.

In those years Marty has seen her baby girl graduate from college, twice.  She has danced at her daughter’s wedding, seen the birth of three grandchildren and kissed each one as they were baptized.

In those years since the strokes Marty has seen both of her children grow, develop more independence and thrive in their own lives with their own families.

In those years Marty has touched her ailing mother and eventually buried her, and she let go of part of her history, her past.

In those years Marty has touched and affected the lives of countless strangers and friends who have come to know her in her “new normal”.  Marty has brought new people into our lives we would never have know otherwise and we are better for it and so are those new people.

In those years Marty has beaten the odds, she has survived an uncompromising disease and disability.  In those years Marty has exemplified Dylan Thomas’s thoughts about, “do not go gently into that good night.”  In her own inimitable fashion she has “raged against the dying of the light.”  In those years Marty has become the symbol of living through adversity.

In those tumultuous days, weeks, months and years since the first stroke, when no one thought she would live or come home Marty has felt pain, loneliness, fear, hopelessness and love.  Marty has seen the love of her family, she has felt the love of a husband, she has known the loyalty and steadfastness of her children.  

In the years since the events Marty has taken a rare and dangerous survival trek and because she chose to survive, because she did survive, she wins, she gets to know something many will never know, on this her birthday, she knows she is loved without pause and without condition.

It’s a really difficult trade, but sometimes you have no choice and you must search for victories.  

“And the greatest of these is love”.

Names, Names and More Names

Names.  Marty Jean, daughter of Ethel Jean and Arty Jewell, you can see where they found her name.  Larry Carlisle, son of Bettye Lou and Larry Carlisle Sr., I am a junior; it’s part of my heritage.  My nickname, Ginger, is a part of our family lore.  Our names don’t define us, but they are gifts, of a sort, for our past.

The names we carry are signs of where we came from, where we started.  Marty never particularly liked the name Jean, her mother went by Jean because she didn’t like the name Ethel and I was married to Marty for 20 years before I knew Arty’s middle name was Jewell, he truly wasn’t a Jewell kind of guy.

Marty and I worked hard to provide our children names they would be proud of and wouldn’t scar them in some way.  It’s my memory that I named our children, I’m betting Marty remembers differently, but since I’m the scribe, I named our children and named them well.

Matthew McCauley is a great, strong name which has fallen to the derivative Matt, but it really fits my son, he is Matt.  The McCauley is a family name, people who raised Marty’s maternal grandfather and at the time we wanted to honor Marty’s family but Arty and Jewell just didn’t seem to work in 1979.

Our daughter’s name is Erin Elaine mostly because I liked the name Erin, it’s a Celtic name and we aren’t Celts, but I liked the name anyway.  Elaine came about because it was my sister’s middle name….sorry Martha, not really, it just seemed to fit with Erin and Erin Elaine rolled trippingly off the tongue.   

I tried to exert what patriarchal influence I thought I might have when grandchildren started to appear.  I strongly lobbied for a good strong Texas name that would reflect the powerful lineage of both families, a Larry on our side and a Robert on the mother’s side led to the logical name, Larry Bob.  Larry Bob died a long death, and morphed into Noah Robert which is probably a better reflection of the budding train engineer that is Noah, but I’m going to call him Noah Bob and I don’t care what they say.

When daughter Erin came to be with child they decided they didn’t want to know the sex prior to birth, it was to be a surprise, much like the whole being with child thing.  Because husband Lyle’s family has an L thing going with names and because Erin had put dibs on Luke for a child’s name since she was 12 the boys name was to be Luke something or other, we didn’t get to the something or other because we got a Lily, a perfect little baby girl.  In fact, we got a Lily Jewell and got to use Marty’s father’s name in a very appropriate fashion and I get to sing “Hi Lily, Hi Lily, Hi Lo” endlessly when I hold Lily Jewell.  

Now we have a new one on the way, a new baby girl.  My son and his wife are keeping names close to their respective vests.  Sarah, Noah Bob’s mother, keeps saying she just doesn’t feel any of the names proffered.  I keep reminding her of the plethora of strong family names we have, Ethel, Beatrice, Lula, a Bettye Lou, Ebba Bird or Grace, all kinds of really cool names.  I’ve offered Sally Jo but that was a no go.  I suspect they will know her and her name when she comes next month.

The semi-remarkable thing about all of these names is that Marty knows them, remembers them, recites them.  All along she has been remarkably good at remembering names and faces of people she knew before the strokes, but she struggles with names of people she has since come to know. 

 Marty trusts our three amazing caregivers, Nikkie, Renae and Erica, completely.  She spends hour upon hour with them, listening, talking and getting to know them.  She knows who they are, she knows what they do for her, she struggles with their names.  If you say their name, recognition, if you ask what their names are, the recognition is there, but the names are not close to the tongue, her brain knows who they are; getting it to the mouth doesn’t work.

Her grandchildren however, she knows and remembers their names.  She can’t get down and play with them on the floor, she can’t really interact to the degree she would like, but she is absolutely enchanted with both Noah Bob and Lily Jewell.  She knows she is attached, she knows they are hers; she knows they are a part of her life.  Marty knows their history and their names are in forever in her brain and on her tongue because they are a part of her.   

I like my name; I like the fact that it ties me to my family and is a part of my past.  I really like the fact that Marty remembers her grand kid's names, I really like the fact that she is still here to see and appreciate her children passing on names and passing on her family's past.  Mostly, as always I really like the fact that she is still here, with me.

500 Miles for Marty

We are Dalhart bound. For those not in the know Dalhart is like the next to last outpost in the upper reaches of the Texas panhandle. Marty grew up in Dalhart, she went to school in Dalhart, her father farmed and raised cattle in Dalhart, her mother still lives in Dalhart and we make a semi-annual 500 mile odyssey to Dalhart to revisit roots and Mother Jean. We went to see Great and Wise today, had blood tested and the good Doctor passed us as good to go, so color us gone early in the a.m...

It is a long way to Dalhart from our home and for Marty, the only way to go is to drive, so we load up the van with all of the associated appurtenance and drive. It's nine hours, one way, no matter how you cut it, so for Marty and Erica, our caregiver, I have two seasons, yes two, of The Shield; for me I have three books on tape, it's gonna be a real party.

This trip Matt, Sarah, baby Noah, Erin and Lyle (all our children) are flying out to meet us. We all really want baby Noah to meet Great Gran Jean for the first time, it should be interesting to see the interaction as Jean has a bit of age-induced dementia. I suspect she will be thrilled; she is always happy to see Marty and somehow seems to remember Marty's fate.

Marty and I got married in Dalhart; we spent many Christmas's there, at least one white Christmas, a bit of a rarity in Texas. Marty had deep roots there, and through her, I developed a real affection for that part of Texas. Marty's father is buried in Dalhart. He was quite a guy, sometime I need to tell about how he shot me. Regardless of the assault we both really miss him. Marty’s Mom is in a really small, well run nursing home and has managed to do well given her circumstances.

The panhandle is a unique part of Texas, flat, pristine, and clear where you can literally see as far as the eye can see. Farming, ranching and the support commerce for farming and ranching are the life blood of the area and you see cattle, wheat, oats, corn and pivot irrigation systems everywhere. The people there are the people of this country, strong, straight, frank, independent and marvelously kind. That country is a part of Marty and part of what made her who she was and is.

The land and the people provide a sense of connection, a real sense of heritage. That’s why our kids still want to make this trip every now and then. I think our kid’s want to take their significant others’ to Dalhart for this sense of connection. Neither grew up there, but both are proud they have a connection to this land, both want others to know their families history there even though there isn’t that much of our history left. We all still see Dalhart as part of our home, as part of our life, as part of our personal history, so we go back, almost instinctively, like salmon swimming up-stream.

As is our life everywhere we have something of a routine in Dalhart, go see Marty's mom, drive through the country, see family friends, eat out, pack up and go back home. It's hard, its’ something of an arduous journey for both of us, but it is worthwhile.

Marty feels a sense of normal there, she feels like the caregiver for her mother, she feels loved by the friends who come to see her or take her out to eat. Marty remembers there, she remembers her life before, she remembers the snow, she remembers the friends, she remembers how good life was particularly if you are looking backwards. For Marty it’s home like no other place will ever be. Dalhart still has a hold on Marty, me too.