I heard about When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzén, translated from the Swedish by Alice Menzie, on an episode of Sarah's Bookshelves.
So, there was recently a discussion about the last book that made you cry in my corner of the blogosphere and I couldn't remember. I just don't cry much at books. So along comes When the Cranes Fly South which seemed to accept this as a personal challenge.
My parents both died young. They died before we had to have discussions about whether or not it was safe for them to drive, it was appropriate for them to live alone, or if they could care for their pets. And I frequently wish I had more time with them, but I'm forever grateful that those were conversations I got to duck out of.
My mom loved her dog more than she loved me. I knew that in the pecking order of my mom's affections, it was her dog, my sister, her younger brother, and then me. That's fine. I actually think Dusty and Red deserved more love than I did, so she wasn't wrong in that aspect of the pecking order (the others...I might have some beef). But the idea of having to tell my mom that she was not capable of caring for her beloved pet and having to have the responsibility of removing her dog from her house? That seems impossible to me and I don't know if I would have ever done it. My mom would have preferred to die slipping on the ice taking the dog for a walk than in a home alone without her dog. (YOU GUYS. I'm crying just typing this.)
Bo is a retired mill worker. His wife has dementia, the mean kind, and she is in a home where she doesn't remember Bo and reacts violently when he visits her. Bo still lives at the house he lived with his wife with his dog Sixten and carers come in multiple times a day to check on Bo and help him get dressed, shower, eat, and let the dog out. Bo's son Hans is dealing with a lot - he has a high-stress job, his mom is in a home, and his dad refuses to acknowledge that Sixten is too much for him to handle.
How's all this going to play out?
With lots of tears on my part, friends. Lots of tears.
I am glad I read this before I was in a more tender state. It was beautifully written. I dread the conversations about what a person can or can’t handle at an advanced age. I am the 4th of 5 so maybe I won’t have to have those discussions. Phil is his mom’s only living child so he will. And he had to help put his dad in a memory care center which I know what a hard decision but his Alzheimer’s was advancing fast and it wasn’t safe for his mom to care for him anymore. Gah. Aging is hard.
ReplyDeletePlease don’t say you weren’t worthy of more love from your mom, though! You are and were!
Woof. I don't know if I can read this right now, but I will put it on my "for later" list. I will say my dearest and oldest friend had this kind of thing with her MIL, who had dementia. Her FIL was the caregiver but she was so angry that she was in this house with this strange man who was going to kill her or worse. It was so upsetting because to the FIL, this was the love of his life. He wanted to care for her. And then, tragically, he died. Probably from all the stress. And now she is living VERY HAPPILY in a memory care home, as pleasant and lovely as can be. And it just seems so cruel and sad, that this is how it ended. My parents are in their mid seventies and are still in their big giant house with a big giant property and I am ten hours away...well, I can't think too much about it now. Anyway, I'm sorry about your mom, from my perspective I can't understand how a pecking order can exist with your own children, but I know it does happen, and often. And I am sorry that is how it was for you. xoxoxo
ReplyDeleteAlso, this is wild, I think I read another book that was translated from Swedish by Alice Menzie, and the only reason I would ever remember that is that one of my great-grandmas was Alice Menzies. The plural of Alice Menzie, I guess.
DeleteNOOOO!. I cannot read this book. Everything about it screams "sad" to me. I can see why you were crying as you read it. I hope you've had some happier reads to cheer you up. Ugh. 2025. Let's move right along to the New Year!
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