Thoughts on a Nursing Home Visit. . .

I just spoke to my mother, who is gearing up for a visit to my grandmother, who has been in a care facility for probably a year and a half now. She had been having some problems with slipping in and out of consciousness in the sense that she was technically conscious, but unaware of her actions and surroundings. She had recurring UTIs that worsened whatever was wrong in the first place, which doctors have yet to pinpoint--which doctors have stopped trying to pinpoint. They tell her children that "Mama is old." My aunts and uncle have come to believe that a radiation treatment on her eyes is to blame. I saw her during Hurricane Katrina, when I was 7 months pregnant with Doodle, and she was strong--sad, but strong. I saw her when Doodle was 6 months, and have pictures of her holding my older daughter--her second great-grandchild. She was having some hip problems, but was very much herself--though lonely, and sad. Praying her rosary on her porch when we drove up; she had thought that we wouldn't make it to see her before heading back to Texas, but I felt very strongly that she needed to see Doodle. The last time I saw her, I was very newly pregnant with Chiclette. She had been in the home for months by that point, but was in the ER after a fall and another UTI was discovered. After weeks of not seeming to recognize anyone, she was aware that we were coming to visit, and asked about us. She faded out once or twice while we were there, but for the most part, she was herself, only weak and sad. Not too weak to banter with the physical therapy people and give them a difficult time, and aware enough to express her humiliation and the pain it caused her. She asked my son about school, tried to get a shy Doodle to talk to her. On my way out, I told her that I was pregnant. She was so pleased & surprised. I wasn't used to the idea myself, but I thought it would be good to leave her with some hopeful news--something to look forward to. Returning home, I agonized about her care, which, I understood, was not too good. Her 6 surviving children (of 7) visit her daily, as they can. None of them know about me calling the nursing home to make sure she was taken the Eucharist regularly. It seemed like the only thing I could do. The woman I spoke to understood my concern, and knew what I meant when I said that I doubted that it would seem a priority to any of her family who were there. She had been taken out of Mass one day by one of my aunts, who was indignant that she had been in Mass in the first place. This did not surprise me, and it may have been that she should not have been out of her room. After all, they did not heed the sign that said that my grandmother was a "fall risk," and they let her fall, which was the immediate cause of her hospitalization the last time I saw her. . .

I have heard very little since then. I understand that she has varying levels of awareness from day to day, week to week, hour to hour. Very soon after I had my Chiclette (a week or two), someone printed a picture of me with both girls on my lap rocking them to sleep and brought it for her to see. She was aware enough to tell them to tell me that I was doing a good job. It wasn't just postpartum hormones that brought tears to my eyes. Since then, I have fished a bit to see if she was aware of the pictures I sent at Christmas, but no one will say. My mom will be taking new pictures of us to her tomorrow. My mom wants to print them out in poster size. I wish my grandmother could see my Chiclette in person. I want her to be aware. I pray for her to be aware. But when I asked about it, my mom remarked that she eats well sometimes, and has better days and worse days, but that my aunt thinks that her responses are automatic--that my grandmother has memorized what the correct responses are to certain questions and comments. Basically, that there is no consciousness or self awareness behind the responses at all. And how does she know this exactly? Is there anything to this assumption besides weariness and loss of hope from someone who has been bearing the weight of her mother's illness for going on two years now? Might there be some comfort in thinking that her mother is not aware of the bad things if she's not aware of the good? I see this as very dangerous thinking. The family has criticized my grandmother's doctor for waiting for her to die. Well, that's the feeling I get from this doubting of her awareness. And I am more apprehensive since I have no idea that there is any religious belief at all left in my extended family. I know that one aunt's MySpace page indicates that she considers herself agnostic. When I see "atheist" or "agnostic" listed on the profile of someone I care about, I feel a little spasm inside. My aunts & uncle fell away from Catholicism decades ago, though I'm sure there is an element of Christianity remaining for all of them in some corner of their consciousness. But then, I considered myself Christian for many years while embracing the notion that as long as I was "true to myself" (whatever that means) and vaguely ethical, I would be O.K. with God since he must be too busy to worry about me, right? That Christian-flavored-agnosticism made any manner of things O.K. And, well, I'm concerned with the implications of this line of thought for my grandmother. Christian-flavored-agnosticism does not view dignity of life issues in the way I have come to view them through Catholicism. Because really, that worldview is one without hope. And when you have no hope for the next life, one's comfort and awareness in this life is of ultimate value. If that is gone, then one's life is invalid.

I believe that my grandmother is conscious and aware on some level. I hope for her to be able to express this awareness. I pray for her patience and endurance and comfort. I would like, above all things, for the pictures of my family to allow her self to be manifest to those around her, so that they will know that she is still who she has always been.

Words: "Conversion"

Well, it's happened. Someone has made me think! ;) Blogging around this afternoon--something I have neglected this week--I discovered this post by Entropy on the subject of being a "Cradle Catholic" vs. a Convert. Now, this is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, so I couldn't help adding my $0.02. I think it becomes a particularly relevant question to Catholic converts, or should, whether converting is "better," somehow, than being raised in the Faith, since practicing Catholicism involves choosing Catholicism for one's children, which is not something that can be said of most Christian churches, and which is in contrast to the experience of some (many?) coverts to Catholicism. In particular, the churches I was exposed to as a child required a personal conversion experience, and in fact, many tried ("revival"-style) to induce a conversion experience (in the manner of Langston Hughes' "Salvation," which has always been a favorite short story of mine). So I was "touched by Jesus" several times when visiting weird youth-groups with friends, only to realize when I returned home that what I mistook for "repentance" was actually guilt for some minor or imagined teenage transgression, and that I had been duped into feeling something that was not, in fact, genuine. Over the years, one of my issues with the churches I had attended (the more mainstream ones, that is) was this emphasis on the Ultimate Conversion Experience--that is, the moment of Being Saved. It struck me as being so intangible as to be unreliable, first of all (child of reason that I was), and second, so wrapped up in emotion as to be, to my mind, distasteful. (I've said before that I've had to gradually "grow into" spirituality, in part because I had been warm & fuzzied to death over the years. . .) I wondered how one recognized the One Moment, what happened if one lapsed (this from observing the "Saved" around me, or the hairdresser who declared her son to be "Saved" anew every time he came back home needing money), and any number of other things. I believe I understand things a bit better now, but suffice it to say that I was skeptical, and rejected the whole concept out of hand. I came to wonder if not everyone was capable of the Ultimate Conversion Experience, so when I was looking for a conversion experience, I looked to reason rather than the lightening bolts I was told to expect. (Is it any wonder I liked the Hughes story?)

Now, this is not to say that my conversion experience, when it came, was not recognizable as something unique and momentous, and suffused with emotion, but that's not where I'm going with this. Rather, I want to think about the difference in the way "conversion" is represented within Catholicism. Certainly, "conversion" is the act of becoming Catholic--or Christian, if one is not Catholic. It involves Baptism if one is not Baptized already, and in Catholicism, it involves the acts of receiving the other Sacraments of Initiation--First Communion, First Reconciliation (if one is already Baptized) and Confirmation. But I was surprised to find, within Catholicism, a discourse of conversion that went beyond initiation into the membership of the Faith--something beyond that first acceptance--of the individual by the Church and of the Church by the individual. During Lent in particular, there was a discourse of "turning away," of "converting"--turning one's mind and actions away from sin and toward God. Those Catholics who had turned away from the Church, but returned were described as having "conversion experiences" (though they were not called "converts"), and even those who had never left the Church were sometimes referred to as having a conversion of mind, heart, spirit, etc., sometimes to a new acceptance or a closer understanding of Church doctrine. In addition, the Eucharist is a means toward our continual conversion. I found comfort in this expanded definition of "conversion" which placed emphasis on a continual affirmation of faith rather than a one-time faith event that was supposed to sustain the love of God and the will to remain relatively sinless. It placed more responsibility on the individual and acknowledged the individual's weakness simultaneously. It also somewhat modified my understanding of what "conversion" means.

Thinking about Entropy's post, then, my initial response addressed the question of what I gained from being a convert, and what I thought my children stood to gain from being raised Catholic rather than being allowed to convert later, in the manner of many Protestant denominations, which teach that Baptism should follow the individual conversion experience rather than being chosen by the parents. I did value my choice, but this was from the perspective of rejecting organized religion (int he form of all Christian churches). However, I do think that even had I been raised Catholic (as I "should" have been, given that my parents were Catholic and were married in the Catholic Church), I would have rebelled at some point. But perhaps I would have had a better vantage point for converting, that is, for turning back. I still would have had the ability to "claim" my faith, and perhaps (ideally) I would have had a better idea of what I stood to gain or lose. Who knows? But this is my point: that what we really mean by "converting" when we talk about the Ultimate Conversion Experience (or even Being Saved) is the act of Claiming one's faith. And though Catholics are Baptized at birth, all Catholics have various opportunities to claim our Faith. Inevitably, it is (or should be) an act of will to convert--to claim one's faith; however, everyone should at some point exercise their own will in choosing their faith, even to choose the faith that they were given from birth by their parents.