Monday, April 21, 2014

Up early. Off to the gym. Then to walk the pups. Found Rob and Betty in the process of walking the kids. Rob was so tired, I sent him back home to rest. Returned home and then to work. Deadline tomorrow night. Mom was up when I returned home from the gym. No rest for the weary. Calls while I worked from Mark D. (the clinic is in need of new shrubs), Bob H. (question about an abstract I put together), and Betty (Charlie is fixing the leak and she’s getting a new sink in the process). So I took an enforced break. Had some tea and some raisin bread—speaking of which, there was a hard boiled egg in one of them. An Easter design, just like my grandmother Guiseppina (dad’s mom) used to make. I asked mom if she remembered dad’s mom. She does not. Then I asked her if she remembered her own mother. She does not. Says it was too long ago. How sad it must be not to remember your own mother.

Easter Sunday, April 20, 2014 

No church this morning. Instead, I attended Eugene Abramovicz’s burial. Eugene was 86 years old, and was a survivor of Mohs concentration camp on the Rhine during WWII. He was snatched out of school at an early age and made to clean up Berlin (as part of his work with other boys). The Nazis called him “Israel,” and the name stuck. He said he helped clean up Berlin stone by stone. Because he spoke fluent German, English, and Hebrew, he was eventually hired by the American army—probably as an interpreter. Eugene did earn his high school diploma when he reached this country. We used to greet each other at market with a “Grüß Gott,” answered by “Wenn du ihn siest!” (Aber nicht so bald!) I will miss my friend. I shoveled dirt over his coffin along with the rest of the mourners. I noticed the stones on the tombstones and asked Jake about them. Here was his reply: 

All of our lives we pursue worldly goods. Years ago, crockery was considered symbolic of worldly wealth and the Jews would smash a bowl or teapot made of crockery or some other precious material and place the shards on headstones. This is to symbolize that in the end, after all of our pursuit of worldly goods, we, as well as our “worldly goods,” return to dust. 

Today, we replace the “expensive” crockery with stones. The fact that some people and in all honesty, it includes me, place stones on the graves of “others”, is a courtesy. I do it because I do not want people visiting my friends upon whose gravestones I have placed stones, only to see other nearby monuments devoid of stones. It is somewhat like saying hello to the roommate of a friend we may be visiting in the hospital. We do not want to give any other visitor the idea that someone is forgotten. 

I will go back soon to place stones on Eugene’s tombstone and gravesite, and perhaps to other gravesites nearby. I will say hello in this lifetime. Who knows but that I might be greeted by these souls in the next lifetime.

Later– 

Easter dinner at Cheryl’s: Roast leg of lamb and mint jelly, scalloped potatoes, asparagus, tossed salad (my dressing), and a lemon tort (mine). The tort was quite a piece of work. It was doing beautifully in the oven when the cookie sheet I had under it warped seriously, spilling the contents of my tort all over my stove. I had to lift it out carefully, attempting not to lose much more of the contents, and replace the horrid cookie sheet with a more reliable one. My sided pans were not large enough to accommodate the 11” removable bottom tart pan I used. Quite a job to manage. Spilled quite a bit, but had some reserve filling. Was good, but quite tart. Next time I make it, will reduce the lemon juice by half!

Saturday, April 19, 2014 

Betty and I walked the pups, but not before I listened to Yuja Wang play the Kreuzer Sonata, among other things, on YouTube. What a way to start the day—listen to an extraordinarily talented and energetic young woman, who also happens to be a fashion icon. Oh well, God has ordained other things for me. 

Got back from the lovely walk, where some of the daffodils survived the onslaught of the frigid temps; fed the pups; then tended to mom. I read Betty’s Easter card to mom, who thought the card was for me. Betty also parted with a favorite shirt that mom used to like. She thought mom would like it for herself. After her sojourn in the bathroom, mom stopped by the hall mirror. She had remembered that today was the day she would get her haircut and color. I think I should get a different color. Don’t you think I should? This from a woman who does not remember and denies that she has been living here for nearly a year (Oh no, I just got here!). She does not know that I am her daughter, nor that this is my house. (Yesterday, she attributed it to Margie.) But mom knows what she wants to wear and how she wants to look. “Vanity is the flatterer of the soul.” 

Later—

Took mom to a beauty salon nearby. Nice not to have to drive 45 minutes to Pottstown or elsewhere for a change. Then off to do some banking, to Office Depot, and Sam’s Club (more mom supplies). Then off to pick up mom. Apparently, I am still her “sister.” Seems I have lost my status as daughter. Later, I asked mom if she liked her hair: Why? I didn’t have anything done to my hair? Then she touched it and felt the spray and curls. Oh, I forgot. [laughter] 

I finally finished editing part of a large job. Am wiped out! And I have to bake a tart for tomorrow. Oy! 

Good Friday, April 18, 2014 

Yesterday, I received the message at market at Eugene Abramowicz had died. Eugene was a survivor of the Holocaust. He spoke often about his experiences, much to the dismay of his brother, Alex, who felt the past should be put way behind. But I think Eugene was right: We need to keep the candle of his experience and his life burning for as long as possible, because we know this can happen again. Eugene and others his age (~10 years old) were made strong when they were ordered to clean the war-devastated streets of Berlin—rock by rock. I will miss talking with him and seeing him at market. His number is the first on my caller ID. I see if often and am reminded of him. I shall not erase it. May my friend rest in peace at long last. Today marks the crucifixion and death of Our Lord and Savior. I mourn, but I rejoice in knowing that someday, we shall all rise again. 

Yesterday, we told mom that she would finally be getting her hair cut and colored on Saturday at 1:00 pm. Apparently she worried about this all night long. At 7:00 this morning, she was up and holding a pair of Depends and her stocking, asking what she should wear. I assured her that her appointment was for tomorrow, not today, and bade her go back to bed. There are some things she remembers and clings to when she is still capable of remembering.

Thursday, April 16, 2014 

Last night, my neighbor Barbara and I went to a discussion about Alzheimer’s and dementia over at Rittenhouse, a local nursing facility. I wasn’t sure I would learn anything new, but I was wrong. Nothing new about the disorders themselves, but I did learn a bit about how to handle mom. I had intended to take her with me to Cheryl’s for Easter. How great to celebrate the holidays together, but when I heard the other women talk about that time when their parent wants to “go home,” I was taken aback. Mom was always nervous about getting home before dark, hurrying to be home. Apparently now it has more to do with the dementia and not feeling comfortable in their surroundings and seeking to back back to where they are more familiar. Rob protested, saying that she likes to see baby Lucas, Steve, and Jamie. But I told him that her efforts to make conversation are ways of hiding her confusion. She really doesn’t know them, nor does she remember ever being at Cheryl’s house (Were you ever here before? Rarely does she ask if she had ever been here before. This is a way to mask confusion. Somewhere in there might lurk the memory or a memory, but ever so unclear.)

So I am making plans for someone to come here and sit with mom while we have Easter dinner. Of course I will feel guilty, but my own feelings do not reflect where my mother is. And that’s the key to dealing with demented patients—trying to understand where they are, not where you think they are. 

Betty and I walked the pups this morning as usual at 7:00 am. When I returned, mom was watching television. This is highly uncharacteristic. She usually sleeps until around 9:30 or 10:00. Beside that, she was able to turn the television on despite the myriad buttons and choice of two remotes. I was momentarily heartened, until she spoke:

Whose house is this?
It’s my house, mom. But it’s your now, too.
Oh, I thought it was Margie’s house. (This is mom, masking her ignorance.) How long have I lived here?
Nearly a year, mom. You came last June. You were here through the summer, the fall, and the long, cold winter.
Oh no, I wasn’t here that long. Where’s my house? Has it been sold?
Yes, mom (my heart sinks—I try not to cry). It was sold.
Oh. I didn’t think I lived here that long. (I touch her face.) Oh your hands are so cold.
I was outside walking the pups and it’s cold out there.
Go put your hands under hot water. Go ahead. Hurry now.
OK mom.

She’s still my mom! 

She’s still my mother from time to time. But I am not sure she knows I am her daughter, even though I remind her diligently. I want so much for her to know me. I want so much to avoid that moment when she doesn’t know me at all. I am not sure I could bear it. I listened to others talk about it last night, but it was terribly hard and also terribly foreign. I think mom still knows me, but she does refer to my father as “her husband” and my brother as “her son.” Sometimes I think that works me out of the equation. Sometimes. But I still hope, while I have a little hope. 

Have a new job. Just came in last night. Huge and it’s due on Tuesday EOD. On top of that, I have two short articles to edit for Linda. Doing those first. Mom keeps calling me. She wanted to tell me that Rob is good to her. I need to go in and see her. She’s still lying in bed, but she needs to tell me things. I must listen. Mom needs company. She asks what I am doing. I tell her I am working. She tells me to go back to work. Oh, OK, you go ahead. She’s disappointed that I cannot stay and chat with her about how Rob does the dishes or about how quiet the dogs were this morning. (The heck they were! Today is garbage day again!) 

Back to editing. I can’t find my sweater. So cold in this office. Below freezing during our walk. But I cannot take the time to look for it and chance letting the pups out of my office, so I put on my parka. At least they are quiet and I am a bit more comfortable.

Monday, April 14, 2014 

Mom is having a tough morning. I was with her earlier, then took the dogs for a walk with Aunt Betty. We saw “Uncle” Doug and Kahlua and “Uncle” Dick, who fed them their treats. The bugs were out in force this morning, probably because of the coming rain. Otherwise, a beautiful morning. “Uncle” Joe was getting his super-duper riding mower ready for his first go-round. Daffodils all over the place. And my pink star magnolia is in full bloom. This year I might trim the bottom and make it look more like a tree. (It’s fully 20-feet high.) But then again, maybe I won’t. I can see my beautiful tree from my office window as I type. Next in line, my redbud. Can’t wait. Bought another redbud last year. A smaller variety that changes leaf color throughout the season. Ah, glorious spring! 

When I returned, I heard mom stirring. Thought I could get the pup’s breakfast ready before she reached the bathroom again. No luck. Mom was quick this trip. She strains something awful, but refuses to drink water. Back to MiraLax, but it won’t work this quickly. She missed her dose yesterday. So I put it in cranberry juice and gave it to her while she sat earlier. Back to the dogs, who are waiting for their morning yogurt. 

First thing mom does in the bathroom is to close the window. It’s too cold. You had the window opened! She sits, I go back to tend to the dogs. Mom is calling me, begging for help. But there is little I can do. She seems to think that if I wipe her continually, it will help. No deal. Sit! Finish! Then I will come in. She calls and cries out for me while I am dishing out the dogs’ yogurt. I give them each three teaspoons-full: first to Lucy, then to Val, and so on. After the third teaspoon, it’s a “licky” each. Dog dishes in the sink, back to mom.

I take care of mom and she is off to bed again. It’s only 8:00 am, and grooming day for one of the dogs. They’re scheduled on two consecutive days. And tomorrow, we are supposed to have torrential rains. Val is the best candidate for today, as he does not like to go out in the rain. Then I will run over to the gym until Val is ready to be picked up.

Bathroom window is opened. Fan is going. Later I will open mom’s bedroom windows and sit her on the porch, where the screens are not yet in. It’s quite warm out there. She protested yesterday that her room was too cold and made me close the windows. Does not portend well for the summer. It was quite warm in her room and it desperately needed airing. If need be, I will keep her sweaters on hand for when the A/C is on. 

It is 8:19 am, and I feel as though I have put in a day’s work! Time for my own breakfast.

Later—

Dropped Lucy off at the groomer, much to her dismay. Stopped at the post office, where I mailed most of my savings to the Feds, then, on to the gym, where I was the youngest person there, barring one fellow apparently in his 20s. Most of the women were in their 80s. Well, at least I know I will fit right in 20 years or so. Just got the call to pick up Lucy. Off I go again! Heavy rains tomorrow. Must get as much as I can done today. Also need to drive to Pottstown. My patient needs supplies. I feel as though I am back at the gym. Don’t call me now, mother!

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Betty and I took the pups out for their morning walk in the sunshine, but not quite the warmth. It was still in the 30s when we started out. For the second day in a row, I didn’t wear gloves and regretted it. Pups were fine though, and as this is garbage day, they are holed up with me here in the office. Valentino puts on a show of bravado every time a garbage truck goes by. I am trying to spare the rest of the household an early awakening.

Just finished editing the article on seat belt injuries, and mom called.

Sandy!

My workday has officially begun. Mom walked to the bathroom, while I was in the kitchen with Rob.

I’ll be in the bathroom, Sandy (whereon Rob quipped, “She starred opposite Humphrey Bogart in “The Bayonne Banshee.”) We do have fun and mom is part of it.

Mom always asks the same questions:

What time is it?
What time did you get up?
Why so early?

And when I tell her I have things to do and like to do them early in the day, she remarks with a plaintive, Ohhh!

Mom will be brushing her teeth for the next 5 to 8 minutes. I sometimes go in and tell her to stop, that her teeth are clean, in fact, right down to the dentin!

Today and tomorrow, I will be returning to market to fill in for Megan. Working till closing. And then tomorrow morning, the assault on my left foot begins again with an early workout. I hope I can keep this up. It’s tough getting out so early, but fine when you finally do it.

Later—

Just received a phonecall from E. over at Hearthstone, a wonderful facility, where mom has stayed a couple of times. Lori, who did mom’s hair there, has a salon nearby—within 2 minutes. We drive 2 hours to the dentist, but we finally found a salon within minutes! Glory be! And Lori did such an excellent job! Am looking forward to mom’s return to her.

E. mentioned that mom’s friend at Hearthstone is having to leave for financial reasons, but if she rooms with mom, they will both be able to afford it. For all of the difficulty of living with mom, I don’t think I can do this. At least not now—It’s spring and mom has yet to see my flowers. Besides, now we can take walks—well, sort of. Or maybe shop or go out to lunch. No, I am not ready to say good-bye to my mother, even though Hearthstone is only 5 miles away. She is now a part of our lives in a while new way.

Can’t wait to get her over to the new beauty salon!

Wednesday, April 9, 2014 

Been up since 4:05. Meeting Barb at 6:00 am for the gym. We figure we can go three times a week very early to get our days started. For me, it’s a little tough. Am trying to creep around without waking the pups and mom and Rob. Betty just called for my wake-up call. It’s 4:45 am.

Later—

Gym went well. Felt good to get out early, but I must drive mom to the dentist today—a 2-hour trip to NJ. We still see our dentist in NJ. Dr. M. can’t be beat. He’s an excellent dentist and we get to see our old home across the street. I miss the expanded center-hall, Dutch Colonial. Everything fit perfectly in that house. We had 2 full baths and 2 half baths. By now, we would have redone the kitchen among many other things. The house would have been paid off. It was ideally situated between the river and the canal and was across from the park, where I used to play tennis (6 Har-Tru and 6 clay courts). But the neighborhood went down steadily. Oh how I miss the house, the gardens, the 200-year-old cherry tree in the back yard (which has very sadly been cut down), the wisteria, my collection of day lilies, Cornelia hybrid musk along the fence, which is also gone. In fact, the entire garden is gone—years of work and effort and money.

I asked Dr. M. where to go for the best pizza in the area. De Lorenzo’s closed about 2 years ago. It was, at that time, the No. 1 best pizza place in New Jersey. I went back for some only 2 weeks after it had closed. According to Dr. M., the neighborhood around Hudson Street has become quite dangerous. The Italians are gone and have been replaced by illegal immigrants, Colombians, Ecuadorians, people from Haiti, the Dominican Republic… The Italians would not allow crime. They sat on their front porches and knew and saw everything that was going on. Alas, they are long gone, as is the Italian pasty shop and probably the Italian feast in the fall.

So Dr. M. recommended a place called Palermo on Lower Ferry Road. Mom and I enjoyed a most delicious tomato pie and salad there. (They also have pizza, but tomato pie is the real thing!) And I bought home some pasta e fagiole for Rob. Glad I don’t live too nearby. I would avail myself of the tomato pie too often! You can’t get a really great pizza in PA, except for Philly and Norristown.

When we arrived home, I was beat. Getting up early and driving for hours wore me out. The pups were glad to see me though, and I always happy to see them.

Been working on an article for Linda B (formerly Linda K). It’s about a seat belt injury in a child, strangely enough. It say strangely enough because I used to have mom sit in the front seat, until one day I looked over and saw her tiny little body sitting there. It occurred to me that she would never survive an accident in which the air bags had been deployed. I am not sure about seat belt injury, but as much as she does not like to wear them, she must. I drive carefully, but when she is in the car, I drive extra cautiously.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Well, I never did get back to my diary yesterday. But I finally did get back to the gym. I figure if I am in good physical shape, I will be able to continue to tackle mom and the pups and this house. Taking your vengeance out on a machine can work wonders, and it did.

Valentino was a bit too rambunctious this morning—as usual. He followed Lucy into mom’s room, gave his “speech” to Lucy and woke mom. Val just doesn’t bark. He gives orders and he answers back. Oh yes. He definitely answers back. Always has to have the last word. He will sulk off into the living room after I chastise him and let out a few soft harrumphs. Anyhow, mom woke up and asked,

What did he say?
Nothing, mom. It was Valentino.
Oh, I thought he said something.
He did, mom, but it’s not important. Go back to sleep. 

Mom went back to sleep. A reprieve in the day’s continuing occupation.

Years ago, my best friend in college, M, was seriously upset with her grandmother. I barely knew the woman. She didn’t speak English, but Lithuanian. And by the time I met her, she was demented—something I didn’t know or understand at the time. Anyhow, one day my friend fretted for hours about her grandmother had used depilatory on her face, thinking it was cold cream. I myself thought it must have been an innocent mistake and was really quite funny. How much harm could it do, apart from wasting what was probably my friend’s stash for her legs. The vision of M’s grandmother loading depilatory onto her face revisited me many times over the years. I often wondered why M was so upset. I think now it was probably affirmation of another loss. Her grandmother’s mind was truly going. We were young and lovely, full of ambition and dreams, but living with proof of life at the other end of the spectrum—almost a how-dare-you-take-the-joy-out-of-this-time-of-my-life! I don’t know. Have not been able to find M since the early 70s. I know she loved her grandmother and often remarked about her influence. M looked a lot like Lauren Bacall. She was at times a bit dramatic—not overtly the way I can be, but, well, in a more mysterious Lauren Bacall way. Quietly, keeping things to herself, never revealing more than necessary, and wondering if you had picked up the cues, maybe with a glance over her shoulder and a soft smile to show off her dimples. Being M’s friend was like playing Scrabble. You worked with the letters you got and did what you could to fit it all together. But maybe I have worked out why she was so upset with her grandmother. Any diversion from the norm can be upsetting. And because we were relishing our youth and independence, it was tough to witness someone at the other end of the spectrum: diminishing and dependent.

This could account for where I am now with my own mother. I actually don’t have much independence, having two pups and an elderly mother living with me. If it weren’t for Rob, I would be entirely housebound. But I am ever mindful of how much time I might have left. Of course, part of this is a result of my sister-in-law’s untimely death last summer. Many years ago, I remarked to my husband that we should enjoy our Christmas decorations as much as possible and keep them on the tree longer. “After all, we might have only 25 more chances to see them.” It’s been more than 25 years, of course, but can I really say that I have 25 more years? Can I say that I will have 25 more years with Rob? Probably not. Every minute should be precious. Even with my mother, who brushes her teeth for 5 minutes and then asks if she has brushed her teeth yet.

Oh blessed life! We just lost Powie, a wonderful dog in the neighborhood. I often say that when I get to heaven, I will tell God Almighty that He takes our precious pets away too soon. But, oh, how short life is for all of us. Just Sunday, I spoke about how all of us are children of God over at Hearthstone, a local assisted-living facility. (I provide a sermon and prayer and play hymns for the elderly there on the first Sunday of the month.) Yes, even my mother at 97 is like a little child to the Lord, and becoming more so as time goes by.

Later—

Mom asked Rob for the third time this morning if his brother were coming to visit: 

Does he hate you, Rob?
No. I have told you many times, said Rob, that my brother is 76 years old and lives in California. He does not travel often.
Who? Who’s that you’re talking about? I forget.

Meanwhile, I went upstairs to put the phone back in its cradle. I noticed vomit on the carpet, went downstairs to get the cleaner and a rag, then checked one of the three dog beds up there. Sure enough, Lucy left a small gift, too. The phone rang; someone looking for money for a politician. Wrong time. Never really a good time for such calls. But this was the wrong time indeed! I screamed a “NO!” into the received and hung up. I am sure this is nothing new to the caller, but never call me while I am cleaning up vomit and poop and wondering how I wound up in the The Rabbit Hole!

Later—

Went off to the Giant for some groceries. While walking down one corridor, I saw a man sitting on the lawn furniture for sale. He was slumped over. So I asked if he were OK. He said yes, but that his blood sugar was low. His own fault, he owned. His wife was in Berksheim (a local nursing home and a last stop), so he does not eat meals regularly. I chastised him nicely and asked if he needed juice or cookies, but he was making his way through some chocolates. I was so sorry for him, living alone, unable to take good care of himself, or maybe just not caring much any more. How blessed I am to be able to give my mother good care. How blessed that we are all together. Having no children (I know they are not a guarantee of care), but I try not to think how it will be when I am old. I shall stick with poodles!

Went off next to see my friend Richard. He had just purchased a set of rare coins and wanted me to see them. Like the man I met at the Giant, Richard is a diabetic, but managed better. He had been talking with some Latter Day Saints when I arrived. Nice young men, as always. Richard looked sad when I left him. I think being alone can be tough, especially when you know this is the way it will probably always be. Richard has many friends though and all of them stay in touch with frequent visits and phone calls. All good people. But he also knows a few women who call him or visit when they need money. Recently, one actually paid him half of what she owed him. It was three years later, but she paid, much to the surprise of his step-sons and friends. Richard is a good man. He will continue to give in one way or another.

Back Home—

I made mom some lunch and made sure to give her a sweet. Bought some Dagoba cocoa at the Giant. So I offered her hot chocolate. Mom asked,

What’s that?
Hot chocolate? You’ve had hot chocolate before.
No I haven’t. What is it?

So everything is new to mom: ice cream, hot chocolate, chicken Francese (her favorite), you name it. Life is starting all over again. Does language disappear? Is there a point at which vocabulary diminishes in dementia? Mom still reads words and does word search puzzles. But I wonder how far her decline will go. I suspect it depends on how long she lives. She smiles and laughs at many things. I recall some elderly patients I used to visit back in New Jersey. All they did was laugh. If my mother lives long enough, she might only be able to laugh, evoking that period at which a mother delights in seeing her baby laugh and giggle long before language skills are achieved. We really are going backwards.