MAMASITA-SAN to the Rescue (laughter is the best medicine)

No, I will not abandon you or leave you as orphans in the storm—I will come to you. (John 14:18; TLB)

My nightly routine includes an 8:00 p.m. phone call to mom, just so she can hear my voice before she goes to bed.  Her memory, agitation and confusion levels are much worse when she's tired ("sundowning").  So, it is a beautiful sound when I can make my mom laugh during our nightly call.  It defers her from asking the same questions again -- "where am I living" or "why am I still alive."

When she answers the phone, I try different accents or different greetings, like "Mamasita-san, this is daughter-san Cheryl-san" or "Is thhiiiiiisssssssssss mmmyyyyyyy Maaaaaaaaaaaah-meeeeeeeeee?" or "Is this the mother to whom I AM speaking?"  Her childlike laughter is so soothing to me, particularly because I never quite know if I'm going to get "Mother Jekyll" or "Mother Hyde." 

Today was an eye-opening reminder that laughter is truly good medicine.

When I picked up mom for church, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, rather than her usual black dress slacks with one of her favorite tops.  Even though I reminded her last night about church during the phone call, and even though it was marked on her calendar, and even though she asked the nurses what day it was, she did not connect up that it was Sunday church day.

Church went very well.  She recognizes people, but doesn't know their names.  Before the service started, mom and Rosemary talked about dad and his great sense of humor.  Mom burst out with "why did he have to LEAVE me?!?!?"  My standard answer now is, "mom, dad didn't leave you; Alzheimers took him."  But, when we got back to her assisted living apartment, she yelled and complained about a variety of things -- from only have five dollars that she keeps in her pocket, to agitation over not having a loaf of white bread, to asking why did dad "leave her."

For the second time today, I reminded her that dad did not leave her and that Alzheimers took him.

This time, she got rather persnickety with me, saying that he abandoned her and she's anxious to die and be with him.  She says there's no reason to live and nobody cares about her.  I reminded her we moved 800 miles, leaving the rest of our family, in order to be close to her because she's worth it and we love her.  "Well, you don't come over very much."  I reminded her that we call her every morning and every night, we see her every Sunday, take her to all her doctor appointments, and visit her other times, like birthdays, holidays, and "just because."  

She muttered, "well, whatever."  I was hurt, and saddened. So, I said with a smile, "But, Mamasita-san!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  We have many laughs together!!"  Her eyes lit right up as she said, "You DO call me.  That's YOU!!!"

"Yes, mom.  That's me."  She doesn't remember my calls, but she could remember the emotion of joy that my silliness spoke into her life.

We hugged over "Mamasita-san."  Mom's agitation and confusion were diffused.  For now.

For people with Alzheimers, they simply cannot remember phone calls, visits, conversations.  So, they live in their dark world, convinced that no one cares because THEIR reality says no one ever contacts them and that the world has abandoned them.

On the drive home today, I started thinking about what I learned from my friend and mentor, Dr. Tracy Kemble, regarding abandonment.  For those of us who have ever struggled with rejection or abandonment issues, those issues have a trigger point that may have started in our childhood or later.  If we don't deal with the root cause, we carry the pain of abandonment with us throughout our lives.  Dr. Tracy used the example of a weed, such as a dandelion.  We can pluck out the dandelion, and we can think that it's gone.  But, if the root remains, the dandelion will grow again.  In order to heal from an abandonment issue, we need to discover the root cause and disable it.  Dr. Tracy helped me walk through my root cause, and I experienced great healing.

Over the years, mom has shared some personal information with me that could be the root cause of some of her feelings of abandonment.  But, in stage 6 of Alzheimers, she wouldn't be able to process working through it and experiencing healing.  She couldn't even process that, even though she was told it was Sunday, today was church day.  There is literally not enough gray matter in her brain to make appropriately cognitive decisions.  In both her actions and her MRI, she just does not have much brain capacity anymore.  She has severe white matter disease.

Mom is truly experiencing a tremendous storm.  Some days she gets a reprieve and she gets to stand in the eye of the storm.  It still swirls around her, but she can live in the moment and be at peace.  But, as soon as she mentally strays outside the calm eye of the storm, the wind and the waves begin to consume her.  She can never leave the storm; she won't ever be able to stand on the shore again and watch the storm go out to sea.  But, I'm grateful for those times, those "Mamasita-san" times when her joy can be in the eye of the storm.

When she is consumed by the wind and waves, I can remind her by my words or by my actions that Jesus said, "No, I will not abandon you or leave you as orphans in the storm—I will come to you."  By God's grace, in the midst of a storm, He promises to never abandon us and will come to us.  As a caregiver, I rely on His promise to never leave me.  That frees me, then, to regift God's grace to mom.

I can't heal her memory nor her sadness of feeling abandoned.  But, my love won't ever leave her as an orphan in the storm.  I will continue to come to her.

And, make her laugh.

©2015 Regifted Grace Ministry LLC

Ground Hog Day . . . Ground Hog Day . . . and a Lamentation

Joy is gone from our hearts; our dancing has turned to mourning.  (Lamentations 5:15)

Yesterday was a tougher day for me with mom.  Some days just seem to be tougher, even though nothing about the situation really has changed.  If you've seen the movie with Bill Murray entitled "Ground Hog Day," you've now seen a glimpse of a life caring for someone with Alzheimers.

My husband calls my mom every morning, and I call mom every night.  We truly believe that she’s better able to remember who we are when she hears from us every day.

Yesterday morning, when my husband called mom, and she was already agitated, stating “don’t they have any heat around this place?”  She woke up cold and was quite upset about that.

When I picked her up for church an hour later, she was dressed in a fleece top and had her heavy, leather, winter coat pulled out to wear to church.  It was 55 degrees outside with a high expected near 70.  I explained to her that I would look at her thermostat when we got back, and that she needed a lighter coat because it wasn’t winter yet.  I pulled out her fall coat, reminding her it was a little small, but would work just fine.  Months earlier, she accused me of stealing her coat, washing it in hot water, and purposely shrinking it.  I tried the best I could to explain to her that she had grown by about 20 pounds, which she rebuked.

I also noticed that mom doesn't smell as fresh as usual.  A few weeks ago, she was upset because of "these" as she pointed to her chin.  I said, "mom, your wrinkles?"  She said she wasn't using soap anymore because it gave her wrinkles.  I got her a moisturizing soap, in hopes she would use it.  It dawned on me yesterday that perhaps she no longer uses shampoo, either.  Deeper into stage 6 she goes . . . dressing not quite appropriately, and beginning to lose her sense of hygiene.

But, mom loves going to church.  Sadly, the faces no longer are familiar, even Rosemary and Chuck, long-time friends of mom’s and dad’s.  Sweet Rosemary was dismayed and told mom, "Beverly, you can't forget your friend Rosemary!!"  Bonnie and Harold wanted to take mom out to lunch later in the week; I had to kindly tell them that it wouldn’t be good to take mom out of her routine.  I explained to Bonnie that mom was in stage 6, even though it usually didn’t appear that way to others.  But, I urged her to visit mom.

As mom and I walked down the hallway to leave church after Sunday School, her gait was prominently listing to the right as she came ever so close to running into the wall and the corners.  Alzheimers, as it continues to destroy more of the brain, can take away the ability of the brain to know what the eyes are seeing, and can also cause a three-dimensional world to become only two-dimensional.  I've seen mom lift her leg way up in order to get across a crack in a sidewalk.  Mom can read sometimes, but sometimes she can't.

When we got back to mom's assisted living building, we went to her mailbox to check for mail.  Again, she cussed as she couldn't navigate the key.  She always angles it downward, not allowing for it to be inserted into the lock.  I asked if I could help her; she gave me her key.

Going back to her assisted living apartment, she cussed as she couldn’t get her key in her door the first time (she had it pointed the wrong way).  I told her, gently, that cussing and swearing wouldn’t help to get the door open.  She got it the second time, as I held the flashlight to make it a little easier.

I looked at her thermostat, and changed the button from “cool” to “heat” and set it for 75 degrees.   Problem solved.

We walked down to her dining hall; first stop, the salad bar.  She picked slices of her melon with her fingers and snarled at me when I handed her the tongs.  She cussed again as her hands were not able to navigate the tongs.

I escorted her to her assigned table and assigned seat.  Her friend Florence, who is still recovering from a bad fall outside, joined their table.  I asked her if I could get her anything; she asked me to get her some fruit, which I gladly did.

I asked mom and Florence if they wanted some coffee; both said yes.  I walked five steps to the coffee machine and grabbed a coffee pot to fill from the coffee machine.  As I was filling the pot, mom called out, “can’t I get any coffee around here?”  I told her I was working on it.  When the pot was nearly full, I poured a cup for both her and Florence.

The nurse came by to take mom’s order for lunch.  Mom pointed to someone else’s plate, filled with ham, sweet potatoes and peas, and said she wanted “that.”  I reminded mom that it was “waffle Sunday” and asked if she would rather have a waffle.  Her eyes lit up, and she told the nurse she would like a waffle.

I took mom’s glass so that I could fill it up with milk.  The nurses can pour coffee and get milk, but I like to do that for my mom.

As I handed her the glass filled with milk, she said, “can’t I get any food around here”?  I breathed, paused, and responded that she ordered a waffle and it would be coming soon.

When her food arrived, I asked mom if it was okay if I visited our 96-year old friend Lois in independent living.  She was fine with that.

Life is interesting and refreshing in finding solace in the face and hands of my “adopted” grandma Lois.  She asked about mom and wept as I updated her.  They were once “best friends.”  Lois and I held hands, finding joy in just being together.  I told her I just try to find moments that make me laugh, like discovering that mom keeps her toothpaste in her underwear drawer.  I told Lois about the book called Regifted Grace that I’m writing; she asked for an autographed copy.  She’s so sweet, and my visit meant so much to both of us, through our tears.

And, to complete the 24-hour cycle, I called mom at the usual time last night.  She again asked, for at least the tenth day in a row, if she was able to stay wherever it was that she was living.  Because this disease has robbed nearly all of her short-term memory, by nighttime she can’t remember having woken up there.  She can see her “stuff,” but she can’t remember being there.  I told her that she can go to exercise class the next morning.  She’s been going to that exercise class in the same location for over three years, but still asked, “where is it?”  Through my exasperation and sadness, she told me again, for the tenth day in a row, how much she loves me and thanks me for everything I do and manage for her. 

Every day feels like the movie “Ground Hog Day” to me.

As I write this, I’m listening to “Rhinestone Cowboy” by Glen Campbell.  As he continues to battle the final stage of Alzheimers, and I sing the words to the song, I weep for his family.  I lament over this stupid disease called Alzheimers affecting over five million Americans.

But, I remember God’s calling, and His instruction in the Beatitudes to have a broken spirit, to mourn, to be meek, to be filled with His mercy, and be pure in heart.  Then, He can fill us with the fruit of the Spirit – love, joy, peace.  Lord, fill me up, please.  And, thank you, Lord, for mom remembering who I am in her life.

God is stronger than Alzheimers.  But, on this occasion, my broken spirit laments.

©2015 Regifted Grace Ministry LLC