Vomit in the Mail

When I came home from the office the other day, Recon was so excited to see me he danced around my legs twice, jumped up to lick my face, then promptly ran away and threw up under the ironing board...twice. I cleaned it up good-naturedly and told him I was happy to see him, too...and that I was grateful he licked my face BEFORE he threw up, instead of after.

In my silly, inarticulate eagerness to tell my loved ones exactly how grateful I am for their generosity, I feel like Recon - SO excited to get my point across, it all comes out in a huge wet mass of word vomit. This is probably some of the most awkward-sounding writing I've ever done, but at the same time, it's some of the most gratifying.

As I said briefly a couple of posts ago, Mom was, of course, the one who taught me the art of the thank you note. She said it wasn't supposed to be like a dutiful and perfunctory form letter, it was supposed to make the person doing the giving feel as good as you did when you did the receiving. "Don't be embarrassing about it or they won't think you mean it," she said. "Just be honest and tell them how you feel."

Since I wrote those first early thank you notes for Christmas and birthday gifts, and holiday money sent in the mail by various relatives, real mail - the unsolicited kind sent from someone who loves you (as opposed to bills and junk) - has become something of a rare commodity. But I think it's all the more meaningful for its rarity. It's been such a treat for me to come home to amazing gifts of money and encouragement in the mail the past month and a half (and to have them turn up in my email inbox during an otherwise nasty day at the office), it's an honor and a privilege to send some of that love back through the mail. Even if it's love in the form of word vomit.

Mom would scold me for the timeliness - or lack thereof - though. Sometimes I get into a rhythm and I'm able to get out four or five cards in a day. Other days, it's more like one...or I'm not in the mood and don't send any. But I also consider it an incredible gift that I've been unable to catch up on these notes - for every one I send, I add three new people to my list.

Still overwhelmed and amazed by you all.

A Few Words About The Most Amazing Friends and Family, Ever.

The Thanksgiving after Hanna's engagement to The Ninja, Dad sat the rest of us down, in true Jacob Marley fashion, to discuss his Vision of Christmases Yet To Come.

"As you guys get older and get married and especially after you have kids," he explained, "you'll discover that Christmas turns into a logistical nightmare. Everyone wants to see you within that same 4-5 hour window, so they can watch the kids open presents and stuff. So I'm going to make it easy on you by surrendering now. Instead of fighting to see everyone at the same time on Christmas Day, I'm staking out Christmas Eve. We can open family presents then and have dinner together, and then you can be free to do whatever else with whomever on the actual day. Your mother and I will go to the beach. Those of you who are free are more than welcome to join us."

To me, unmarried and childless with no real threats in either direction but a love for the beach almost as fierce as my hatred for winter, and a job (for KU) that let me travel between Christmas and New Year's, this was fantastic news. And for a couple of years, it worked out perfectly - we celebrated as a family Christmas Eve, then the rest of us would leave for the beach and Hanna would see to her in-law obligations in town. Then Mom's condition started getting worse and real life started getting in the way, and the Hodges Christmas Vacation, Dauphin Island Edition, was no more. 

Those last few family Christmases at Dauphin Island were, in fact, the last time my family traveled as a family. I see my family often, sure, but I miss the trips. So many good memories were made during those trips. So when Dad announced, shortly after my acceptance to Team Run2Remember, that he would come to NYC for marathon weekend, I was thrilled and my nerves about accepting such an enormous undertaking immediately began to recede. When he said he'd use his plethora of Southwest frequent flyer miles to buy a ticket for whomever of my siblings cared to join (duh - all of them!), the misgivings totally vanished and I started to get excited about another Hodges family vacation. The idea of a trip without Mom makes me sad, but the idea of a trip in her honor is the next best thing I could have hoped for.

So then, when some of my family's longest-time friends, Beth and Shane Coughlin and Tom and Gayle Baddeley, made plans to come join the party, it was icing on the cake. My best friend from high school, Megan, rearranged her plans to visit her boyfriend in NYC over marathon weekend so she could see me run, and the first friend I ever had, Elizabeth Baddeley, a grad student at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, is going to make me my first-ever race signs. And of course, Brian, the one who's seen the blood(y toenails), sweat (with the heat wave, a whole bunch), and tears behind each and every training run, will be making the trip with me and probably wishing he could run it, too. This, on top of the enormous outpouring of love and generosity I've received in response to my request for donations, has me thinking perhaps I was too pessimistic in my initial goal-setting for both running time AND fundraising. Two months out, I'm running better than I ever have, and at the moment, I'm sitting on a cool $5075 in donations - a mere $925 away from my goal of $6000.

Not bad for someone who's uncomfortable asking for money, right? Perhaps I'm warming up.

The other incredible thing about the donations I've been receiving is that although my fundraising has been immensely personal and geared mostly towards the people who know and love Mom and Grandma the best and most, 14% of my donations came from people who've never even MET Mom or Grandma and wanted to show their support for me and for the end of Alzheimer's Disease, and of those donations, 46% are from people who haven't even known me a year. (I even received a very surprising $25 online donation from someone I've never actually met!) I'm trying to come up with a good way to incorporate the names of all my donors - all my heroes - onto the back of my shirt. They carried me to the starting line; it would be my honor to carry their names on my back for the million or so spectators in New York City to respect and admire.

Seriously. Mom and Grandma would be proud. Of me, yes, but especially of all of you.

And in case anyone was wondering, it WAS Mom who schooled me in the fine art of a good thank you note. "It shouldn't be a form letter, it should come from your heart."

I received this photo (among others) along with a generous donation from Joe and Joanne Cox, Mom and Dad's roommates in Paris in 1976, when Dad was taking an international law class. This was also the trip they met my godfather, Uncle Jimmy (in the tie). Click to enlarge.

The city hasn't changed much...and I still have the most beautiful mom ever. :)

Some Like It Cold

Around the time I began training for my first marathon, Christopher Elbow, the genius chocolatier, opened Glacé, his ice cream concept, a couple blocks south of the Plaza. Brian and I became Saturday evening regulars, and my long run buddies knew they'd be treated to at least a mile or two of my flavors-of-the-week commentary the following Saturday. I was pleased to hear reports back from others who'd overheard my rhapsodizing and decided to try it for themselves. It became a running joke (no pun intended) that if I ever went pro, I should seek Glacé sponsorship.

Three weeks into my NYC training program and three Saturday nights worth of ice cream later, it occurred to me that maybe, joking aside, I SHOULD seek Glacé sponsorship. After all, more people have a very poignant and painful connection to the disease than I'd ever imagined, I've been surprised and overwhelmed by the generosity shown so far, and I'm assuming the decision-making process in a small business would be much more manageable than, say, trying to get sponsored by Chipotle. I wouldn't have anything to lose by writing to Christopher Elbow and asking him for a sponsorship, minus the cost of a stamp. If I succeeded, I could truly say I was "powered by artisan ice cream."

Then it occurred to me - maybe in lieu of a sponsorship check, I should request something a little more ambitious, something that would give more back to his business. Something like, say, an ice cream happy hour, where a certain percentage of all funds raised would be donated to my Alzheimer's Association fund. I could advertise and invite all my friends/family...and instead of feeling vaguely guilty asking people to fork over their hard-earned money as a donation, they could be donating AND getting something that I love in return.

This sounds like a made-up story, but it isn't - after the birthday fiasco, I was terrified to give Mom anything to eat, for fear she'd choke on it, I'd be paralyzed and wouldn't know what to do, and I'd be the one that ended her life. But, as someone who couldn't usually sit through a full meal and tell you she's hungry, it was usually a pretty good bet that she was needing something to eat. So, surveying the refrigerator and trying to decide what I could give her that would be safest to eat, I spotted a pint of Glacé strawberry balsamic ice cream I'd purchased for Dad's birthday a few weeks prior. What could be more choke-proof than something that melts? I grabbed the ice cream and a couple of spoons and led her out onto the back patio. We sat in a couple of adirondack chairs and I brought a spoonful of ice cream to her lips.

At that point, Mom was well beyond pretty much any kind of verbal communication. She would rattle off bursts of speech that sounded like a Dr. Seuss brainstorm, or walk around asking for Michael (Dad), but otherwise, the way she was feeling had to be inferred from her physical responses. Her feelings on things had (and still have) to be mostly inferred from physical cues, and from what we already knew of her likes and dislikes. In turn, communicating with her was usually just as much of a guessing game. For a big talker, like me, and a great listener, like Mom, our gifts had been pretty much reduced to nothing in the wake of her dementia.

But, in merely wanting to give my mother something safe to eat, I'd forgotten that a well-crafted food can speak for itself in a language anyone can understand. After a moment's surprise at the cold sensation in her mouth, Mom's eyes closed, and she smiled. And for a few priceless minutes, we were just a normal mother and daughter, sharing a pint of really great ice cream in the sun.

Keep your fingers crossed my proposal goes over well. In the meantime, I think I'll bring Mom some ice cream this weekend.

Fundraising Letter - First Draft

I have a confession.

For someone who set her fundraising goal well above the minimum amount, I am absolutely terrible at asking people for money. In fact, there are only two people I've EVER felt comfortable asking, and one is sadly no longer in a position to have any to give.

So when I told myself I wasn't going to do any writing here until I finished my fundraising letter - pretty much the cornerstone of my effort - I had no idea it was going to take me THIS long. After all, I knew after last week that I wanted to center it around what I wrote on my fundraising page. That's probably the best piece of writing about this whole messy business that I've done to date, and if they pull out a checkbook instead of visiting my site, I want to make sure they've read that letter. But it was still difficult to get the expository stuff out without sounding like, well, a charity infomercial. I've been banishing images of homeless pets (to Sarah McLaughin's voice), starving Somalians, and harelipped children from my mind all afternoon. Argh.

For better or for worse, I wound up canning the PR stuff about the Alzheimer's Association and the statistics about the disease. I'm not trying to scare anyone into giving money - if they aren't partially intimidated to scared shitless about the deterioration of my mother's mind, they're probably not going to donate anyways. Even in the inevitable paragraph where I actually have to do the asking, I tried to put as much emphasis as possible on the personalized aspects of what's actually being lost here - not neurons or dollars spent on home health care providers or anything that can actually be quantified, but memories, both past AND future. And who can put a price on those?

Anyways, here's my first draft. Too weird? Based on what you've read of me, does this sound like me?

Dear ,

The news coming out of the Hodges household in recent years hasn’t exactly been the kind of stuff Christmas newsletters are made out of, so we stopped the presses quite awhile ago. If you haven’t seen me since Max and Jen’s wedding, you probably know me as a violinist, a writer, a golfer, mother to a huge furry dog Dad hates, a student, or some combination of those things – but probably not as a runner, let alone a marathoner.

With Mom’s mind steadily withdrawing and with Grandma Nancy’s recent passing, I’ve started doing a lot of things I never thought I’d do. A good portion of every day is devoted – whether I like it or not – to worrying about what’s going to happen to my family, especially Dad. I keep my phone on and with me at all times, in case someone needs me. I cry – a lot. And because things lately have a tendency of getting to be too much, too fast, I run.

Maybe I’m biased because she’s my mom and well, she wanted me so badly she sent for me from halfway around the world, but if you’re reading this, I have a hunch you agree – there’s nothing about Janet Elizabeth Henry Hodges that isn’t special and unique and wonderful. When she started losing her memories and her personality and everything that made her her, a big part of everyone who knew and loved her was lost, too. So when I decided I wanted to run a race in honor of Mom, there was no distance for me but the marathon – 26.2 miles – and no stage big enough but the streets of New York City.

So on November 6, 2011, before most people have started their first cup of Sunday morning coffee, I will be shaking off my nerves at the starting line of the biggest, most famous race in the world – the New York City Marathon. I am running as a member of Team Run2Remember, a group of 80something people who run in support of the Alzheimer’s Association to fight back against the disease that has stolen memories from our loved ones. So not only have I dedicated myself to completing a 26.2 mile race for only the second time in my life, I have set an ambitious fundraising goal of $6000, a small amount when stacked against all of the things I’ll never get to share or reflect on with Mom.

This is where you come in. I’ve never once thought this goal was unattainable because of all the people out there who love me AND my family, and who miss the real Mom with all their hearts. I’m writing to request your support with a tax-deductible donation to the Alzheimer’s Association in memory of all of her lost memories and the lost opportunity to make more. I can accept credit card contributions in any denomination on my personal New York City Marathon fundraising page, at http://2011teamr2r.kintera.org/elizabeth, or checks can be mailed, with the enclosed donation form, to my home address: XXXX, Kansas City, MO XXXXX. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to get in touch – elhodges@gmail.com, or (XXX) XXX.XXXX.

Of course, it would be remiss of me to ask for an “investment” in my undertaking without providing an investor report, of sorts. To this end, I’ve started a blog with the aim of writing about my life as framed by both my running adventures (and misadventures) and my experiences with Mom’s condition and the effects it’s had on my family. It’s usually not a very easy thing to write, and from what I’ve heard, it’s equally difficult to read, but if you’re interested, I’d love for you to join me there – http://roadfullofpromise.blogspot.com.

When I initially received notification of my acceptance to the team, Dad was the first person I called to tell the good news. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, when wrestling the best way to personalize my fundraising page, that I found the best way to tell Mom – by telling everyone who loves her.

Dear Mommy,
Remember the journal you gave me when I was younger – the shiny red one with the Labradorpuppies on the cover? You told me if there was anything I wanted to know and might be too embarrassed to ask out loud, I could write it in a note to you in that book and you’d write back to me. We only wrote back and forth a few times before one of us lost track of the book…but I found it on a bookshelf the other day. My silly questions – written in teeny tiny handwriting and all signed “Me” – made me laugh, but your careful, considered responses, written so non-judgmentally and with so much love, made me cry. I’ve put the book in a safe place, where it can still be our little secret.

When I couldn’t think of what to write here, that book was the first thing I thought of. Twentysomething years later, confronted with the need to “write something meaningful” on this page, the only way the words are actually coming to me are in a letter to you – and believe me, I’ve tried pretty much every other angle possible. I think this is what they call “coming full circle,” except, in a horribly unfair twist of fate, you’ll be the only one who doesn’t get to read it.

Remember the time you decided to move that ugly white-tiled coffee table from the living room to the family room and you had a 5 year old Max screaming and crying, clinging to your leg, begging you, “Don’t change! Don’t change!” I’m not sure if anyone else actually remembers that, but for some reason, I think of that moment a lot lately. At the time, I thought he was being stupid…but nowadays, there’s a big part of me that screams every time something happens that wouldn’t have if you were still healthy and wholly you. We know you’re not getting your memories back, and that your Mom-ness is gone, but as all of our lives move on without you, I think it’s like we feel the space all the more as time passes. Does anyone ever get used to having their heart broken over and over again? Would anyone ever WANT to?

If I were a more religious person, I could fill that emptiness with my faith in God and my belief that he has a plan for everyone…but I’m not. I believe in God, but I’m also pretty sure that this couldn’t be part of anyone’s plan. It’s horrible and evil and awful and we miss you every day, even though you’re still, in the vital signs sense of the word, with us. There are so many things I’d like to ask you, and so many moments I wish you could have been a part of, that it could crush me if I let it. I know the same is true for Hanna, Max, Alex, and Dad.

It seems like people pat me on the back an awful lot these days and tell me to take care of my family. But really, I think we take care of each other. After all, we learned from one of the best, and I think we do you proud in the way we’ve come together. It’s for you and Grandma that I’m signing up for this, but it’s with the strength of Hanna, Max, Alex, Dad, and everyone that loves you and misses the real you with all their heart that I’m going to be able to finish it. I can’t think of a nobler cause to run for than the end of this terrible disease that’s robbed you of your you, and so many families of the people they love most. I wish you could be there with me, but in a sense, you’ll be with me every step of the way. With any luck, we’ll get a chance to talk about it someday.

In the meantime, don’t worry if you can’t remember. We’ll never forget.

Love always,
Me

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your love and support.

Love,

Elizabeth

If you read this, would YOU donate?

Saturday's To-Do List:

14 mile run - check. One of the things I have to do to solidify a time goal for NYC is to see if I can actually sustain faster paces for longer periods of time. This was the first time I tried this in the group environment. Last season, I trained with the 11:20 minute mile group and had a BLAST. This season, in the interest of getting faster, I decided to jump up a few groups for the first run of the season, and attempt a run with the 10:30 minute mile group. According to conventional wisdom, for a 4:15 marathon (9:30 minute mile pace - a VERY early, VERY tentative goal), this is right about where I should be for long runs. It was different - we didn't take walk breaks at the mile markers, and the aid station breaks were brief - but I enjoyed it, and I actually averaged a 10:07 pace for the entire run.

My friends turned back at the 12 mile turnaround, but I was committed to 14, so I kept going. The skies pretty much opened up on me at the farthest point from the start, but it made for a refreshing, unusually cool morning for late June in Kansas City. It was a nice confidence builder. I'm not sure that a 4:15 marathon is actually the end goal - people keep cautioning me that it might be too optimistic - but what they don't understand about me and running is that I have no ego. Every time I thought I might be getting faster, I've been knocked down by GI tract issues (the KC Marathon was basically a 26.2 mile toilet tour) or injuries (which, incidentally, also began with GI tract issues and an inopportune pit stop and culminated with a DNF at Illinois). I have absolutely no problem changing the goal to a slower time, or even just a "do it" goal.

Though, if I can, I'd really, REALLY like to come in under the 4:30 mark. Any time longer than that, and I won't make the deadline for the marathon edition of the New York Times...and that'd be a great memento for my trip to NYC.

Splits: 11:12, 10:26, 10:09, 10:01, 9:55, 10:15, 9:31, 9:36, 9:58, 10:18, 9:55, 9:47, 10:00, 10:04. I am not fast, but I am consistent. :)

For the uninitiated - in the future, if you'd like to read the daily details I write about my runs, click on the dailymile link on the left side of the page. I have about a year's worth of documentation on there, it's kind of fun to read back through.

Finish fundraising page and go live - check. Thanks to a couple of close friends who know both me AND my mother, and whose opinions I value beyond measure approving of the very nonconventional text for my fundraising page...I went ahead and posted it, along with a favorite photograph and an Elie Wiesel quote I thought was fitting. The only thing that concerns me is that Dad won't think it's appropriate. Guess we'll see. After playing around with some of the icons I found on the actionalz.org site, I switched the html code to refer to my fundraising page. Hope that's kosher.

Celebrate!!! - check. Usually I save the big meals for the 20+ mile training runs, but today I felt like I really achieved something. So Brian and I went to Oklahoma Joe's for dinner - I had the rib/pulled pork dinner and we split some of KC's best fries - and Glacé Artisan Ice Cream for dessert. The caramelized pineapple ice cream was fantastic, but I wasn't as crazy about the peach - I think it was the cinnamon.

I'd chase such a productive Saturday with a lazy, laying-in-the-sun Sunday, but there's still work to be done!

Stay Tuned...

Yesterday I spent the day writing about NOT writing for the fundraising page...and today, I wrote for the fundraising page. It's very nonconventional. I can't tell if it's my sense of relief at finally having written something that makes me think it works, or if it actually works, so I've run it by a couple of loved ones who know both me and my mother to see what they think.

I was going to ask Dad, Hanna, or one of my brothers, but I'm afraid it would make them sad, and maybe they've had enough sadness for awhile.

The Darker Side of Honesty

Having finally conquered my blog-stipation yesterday, and after receiving several positive comments on my first post, I felt more than capable to take on today's writing challenge - the fundraising site.

I've had several requests already for the link to my fundraising site, so I want to go live as soon as possible. But the generic "Thank you for supporting the Alzheimer's Association New York City Chapter. Your contribution is greatly appreciated" doesn't do Mom justice, and I don't want anyone to contribute thinking I couldn't find the words - about Mom, about the marathon, about the overwhelming sense of gratitude I feel for their support.

Thing is, for something so personal that I've discussed countless times with family and friends, I've never actually had to write anything down for public consumption. If people ask me how Mom is doing and I don't feel like talking about it, I give a wishy-washy answer like, "Oh, good days and bad days," or "Same ol, same ol" and kind of leave it at that. (Most people don't want details anyways, because there's never anything really positive to say.) I'm still paralyzed by this need to be articulate and polished and evocative, that will inspire people to donate more than they originally intended to do...but it's hard to fit a raw, awful, messy, ambiguous situation into a neat little presentable word package. I'm not sure it's even something I WANT to do, because doing so indicates some level of comfort with the situation...and I'm still anything but comfortable with it. I'm not even sure I ever want to be.

And this is where the confusion takes a darker turn, because when it all comes down to it, this is starting to feel an awful lot like an obituary for someone who isn't actually dead yet. I don't want to offend anyone by saying this, but the Mom-ness isn't there anymore even though she's still alive. To what degree she's "still in there" I'm not certain - her eyes light up when she sees me sometimes and I think that deep down, she knows who I am...but then I watch her struggling with other things she did effortlessly her whole life (going up stairs, say) and realize it's probably more coincidence than anything else. But she is still very much alive in the vital signs sense of the word, and in writing about her like she's gone, I can't help but think of the "Bring out your dead!" Monty Python scene, where the man in the wheelbarrow screams, "I'm not dead yet!"

As a result, "I'm not dead yet!" has been running through my head on a loop all afternoon, blocking any hope of logical thought on the matter. Mom used to tell me that my voice carried when I spoke, and that if I couldn't remember to talk softly, I needed to watch what came out of my mouth. Maybe this is one of those times. But that's all I can think about.

I'm beginning to think that when it comes to the New York City Marathon, the running - and writing about the running - might actually be the easy part. I have 5 miles on the schedule for this evening. Maybe that'll help me get some clarity.