Tag Archives: Right Decision

Madame Leota’s Crystal Ball Says. . .

We are all time travelers: moving into the future second by second.

Which does us absolutely no good at all as far as planning for the future goes because we can’t see the future until it’s the present and then it’s too late to change it into anything but the past.

Ugh. Time travel makes my head hurt.

Anyway, I was reminded about this issue recently when I was discussing with She Who Must Be Sleeping Because It’s Dark After All a course of action regarding our oldest dude.

The actual specifics of the discussion aren’t all that important (well, they’re important to us and certainly important to him. However, for the sake of this bit here, it’s more the results rather than the cause.), but I found myself thinking of Robert Frost.

One of my favorite poets, Robert Frost wrote about “The Road NotRobert Frost, one of America's best poets, extolled the virtue of taking the road less travelled. Taken.” In exactingly precise words of immeasurable beauty, Frost talked about how we often face choices in our lives and we can think of them as forks in the road.

We take one fork, make one choice, and that forever shapes all that is to come. Take the other fork, make the other choice, and that also forever shapes all that is to come.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

So we sat discussing our course of action and because the substance of the discussion, the nature of the choice, was so important to Sarcasmo’s future, I’ve never wished more fervently to be able to see the future.

“Are we making the right choice? Will this work out in the long run? Will this be good for him or hurt him?”

This is something we parents have to think about every single day in almost every single decision. It’s not often such a stark choice, but it is there.

Do I make him eat those zucchini slices or not? If no, am I teaching him that he will get his way when he whines? If yes, will I be teaching him that bigger people can make smaller people do things?

The more I think about it, the more debilitating it becomes until I can enter into a state of analysis paralysis. For those of you not up on your rhyming aphorisms, analysis paralysis means you start thinking about something so much that you never make an actual decision. Which is, in effect, a decision. If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

There’s an old saying in project management: There comes a time in the life of every project when you simply have to shoot the engineers and run with it.

Now, that’s not actually encouraging people to kill engineers. The issue is that engineers are never finished. They always see one more thing that can be improved upon. One more thing that needs just a little adjustment.

I like to think it’s something similar in parenting. We don’t know what we’re doing.

We don’t know how our actions today will affect the life of our child tomorrow.

All we can do is make what we think is the right decision and then work for the best outcome. Which is, in and of itself, a significantly frightening thought.

So, now that I’ve spent two days scaring the pants off you, I’ve only got one thing to say. . .

You’re not wearing any pants! Neener Neener Neener!

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Life As We Know It

by Richard

Forty years of multiple sclerosis. A bout with breast cancer a decade ago. Osteoporosis. Osteoarthritis. Through it all, Mom managed to stand stronger than any disease. She took whatever life threw at her, spit in life’s eye and dared it to do more. It took meningitis to lay her out flat on her back.

In a way, Mom knew something like this was coming. For years, she’d told my sister and me that she never wanted to be dependent on a tube to breathe or a tube to eat. Her worst nightmare was to be unable to move, unable to think and only be alive through the grace of a machine. And we were right on the doorstep of making that decision.

As my mom’s children, my sister and I had no problem at all with doing whatever it took to keep her alive. She was our mom, after all. There was nothing we wouldn’t do to keep her with us. Unfortunately, she raised us too well.

Mom made my sister and I be her guardians should she ever be sick. Because she gave us her power of attorney, we could make decisions for her, both medically and financially. And that meant we had to do what she would have done had she been able to make a decision.

The doctors at her hospital told us that they could do nothing else for my mom unless we allowed them to intubate her and insert a feeding tube. We wanted it. Oh, dudes, how we wanted it. The problem was that we knew our mom wouldn’t want that. She would never want that. She had spent the last several years drilling into our heads that she would never want to be kept alive by machines.

We didn’t want to do it, but we made what we think was the right decision. We checked Mom out of the hospital and into a hospice, where she could be made comfortable until she and her body decided what they were going to do. She might continue to decline and eventually pass on. She might stabilize and then move to a rehabilitation facility, there to regain whatever of her mind and body that she could. We just don’t know.

Every day here in hospice is different. The first day she was more aware than she’d been in days, responding to visitors, nodding her head, sometimes speaking. The second day, she spent most of her time asleep, opening her eyes only rarely. We just don’t know what she’ll do.

As I write this, I’m sitting in her room, looking at her on her bed. She’s breathing deeply, soundly and, if I closed my eyes, I could almost believe she was asleep. But then I open my eyes and I see that one eye can’t close all the way and one side of her mouth droops down uncontrollably. And I know she’s not sleeping normally.

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