Sunday, March 23, 2014

Mom has a new friend: Carol. Carol is a caregiver who comes by to sit with mom when Rob and I must both be out. Mom remembered her name last night—wonder of wonders. Carol must have made a good impression on her. Even more astounding is that she can hear Carol’s voice. Must be the timbre. Sometimes Rob and I must speak terribly loudly and slowly for mom to hear. Carol speaks quickly and softly. Could be that mom is merely trying to assume conversation—as she is unable to engage in conversation.

Long day today. We are having dinner with friends in New Jersey. Carol will be back to spend the day with mom and “Aunt” Betty will be here to see to the pups. It will be a busy household.

Last night, as we were walking back to the car from the concert hall, Rob laughed again about some lines I had related to him from Frasier. I make it a point to run downstairs and repeat something terribly funny that Frasier, Roz, Daphne, Niles, or Mr. Crane had said. We get more mileage out of those funny moments now than ever. Maybe it’s because we need the escape, the belly laugh, or the moments of freedom from the stresses of taking care of a once vibrant woman. I see now the importance of bringing in another soul to lighten the load, to help you get over the first call in the morning: Sandy! Maybe the call is not as desperate as it seems, but it is the call of a woman who needs to know that someone is there, preferably the person she is calling. If Rob goes to her, she invariably asks Where’s Sandy?

As many times as I hear my name called during the day, I am never prepared, never ready for whatever will face me. And yet, I dread the day I will not hear her call me ever again.

Later—

I learned something very important this week. Sometimes when I put food before my mother, she often complains that she is not hungry: I could never eat that. Last time this happened, I place a cup of hot vegetable soup on her table, left the room, and in minutes she picked up the bowl and devoured it. Did the same this morning. I could never eat that. I’m not hungry at all. Maybe later. So I left the bowl and told her to eat it when she got hungry. I turned around to do dishes and, again, within seconds this time, she picked up the spoon and began eating her soup (organic vegetable soup). I replenished her plate with cheese (Bella Vitrano from Monte Lauro) and crackers (Sesmark, Ancient Grains with amaranth, quinoa, millet, and sorghum). Few people eat as well.

We did, however, make the mistake of telling mom that we would be leaving for dinner at 3:30 pm. Since then, she has been admonishing us to get ready, get dressed. Rob said he finally understood why I am so neurotic—with a mother like this. Mom was far worse when I was younger. I remember my high school graduation day. Earlier in the day, I was the lead performer among Edward Goldman’s students at the YMCA, where I played the first movement of the Liszt Eb Concerto with the Bayonne Art Trio. After the performance, people rushed up to tell me how wonderful it was. But mom rushed me out: You have to get dressed for graduation. Graduation was in four hours. I was already dressed. But she rushed me home, away from the reception, away from the congratulations, away from my moment of whatever-it-was. This was my mother’s hallmark: getting ready hours in advance and standing in wait. I was never allowed to sit, especially when crinolines were in vogue. I had to stand with my hands away from the dress, lest I crush the many slips and crinolines beneath the dress. It was not an easy life. And mom is back to tell again and again how it must be. Yet, all this follows are horrible morning cleaning up poop from the bathroom floor and giving mom an early shower, hoping she will be fine until we get home from dinner. Blessedly Carol will be back. I hope she can handle mom without any serious mishaps.

Caregiving is no box of chocolates! But it has its little rewards, as when mom will eat a bowl of soup or has a good night’s sleep or has gained a pound or two.