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
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