Tuesday, May 6, 2014 

Still waiting for work to come in. So I am taking advantage of the freedom and planting my flowers. Still quite cold out there, but I am chancing it. My two new Cornelias (hybrid musk roses) came in. They were the same roses that graced our fence in NJ. Here, I have another variety, Lavender Lady. But I missed Cornelia and had to introduce her to this land.

Went to the garden center early. Bought top soil and grass seed and potting soil. Pots are filled with herbs. (Can’t plant them in the garden. Rabbits too numerous.) Holes where I dug up and moved other plants have been filled with top soil and overseeded.

All the while, I wondered if mom were up. Finally, Rob called out the window: Your mother is getting up. I thought I would finish what I was doing and deal with mom later. When I came in, she was having breakfast.

Where were you?
Outside, gardening.
Really? Is it cold outside?
No, mom.
It looks cold. I’m cold. 

And so it goes on. I opened the windows to air out her room, but it was still too chilly and quickly chilled the entire floor. Work coming in on Friday, and as luck will probably have it, so will the other job I have been waiting for.

Ann, mom’s former caregiver, called. We chatted for a while, and Ann was sorry mom seems on the decline. But mom is really doing quite well. Mom is up to 98 lbs, while her sister Rose is down to 71 lbs. Mom doesn’t mind showers as much as she used to when she first came here. Getting her to shower was a battle at first. She was using Rose’s method: crying. But it didn’t work. So now she goes in obediently and appreciates the feeling of the water on her back.

Just gave her a shower and dressed her, but mom was really reluctant.

Why do I have to get dressed?
Because I want to take your photo outside with the spring flowers.
Oh, I don’t want to go.
Why not? You’ll be fine. Then we’ll come right back inside.

So out we went. Mom was really terrified and asked me to hold onto her. She is not used to walking on grass and didn’t want to stand alone. But I assured her I would only take a few photos and that would be it.

The photos were not exactly successful. She looked afraid and insecure. So whose need was I filling. My own, I suppose. I wanted a photo of mom with the beautiful pink azalea. But there’s mom looking like a scared child, barely able to smile.

She’s back to the safety of her room, watching television and sitting on the rocker. Perhaps I think of it as a limited life, but to her, it’s all she wants and all she needs at this time. I am brought back to the moment years ago when I told a friend that my mother doesn’t do anything. She doesn’t know an instrument or another language, doesn’t read, and doesn’t even play tennis. All she does, I said, was housework. My friend said, Well, maybe housework is her tennis. And now, maybe the rocker and the TV, her word search puzzles, and a few cookies from time to time are her life.

Later—

Just back from walking the pups with Aunt Betty. Mom called almost immediately.

Rob!
He’s not here mother.
Where is he?
I don’t know.
Well, when are we going?
We’re not going anywhere.
Well, I thought… Why did I have to get dressed.
We already went outside to take your picture.

[Blank stare]

Sandy!
What mom?
How do you turn this off?
What mom?
The television.
Why do you want to turn it off?
We’re going out.
No, mom. We were just outside before I took the pups for a walk.
I took your photo.

Sandy!
What mom?
Where is everybody?
Well, I am in here and Rob is outside. Why don’t you go watch TV.
I don’t want to watch TV alone. I’ll sit in the living room. Is anyone in there?
No mom. I am in here and Rob is outside.

And so it goes. Day after day, after very long days.

Monday, May 5, 2014 

Awoke early to walk the pups. Betty and I complained about the high winds. Where are they coming from? Still, I am gardening. At least until the work pours in again. Had to run to the eye doctor for a checkup. Worried that mom would awake before I got home. She had. No damage done. I showered her as soon as she finished her breakfast.

Every time I heard someone at the bathroom door, I rushed over. It was Rob each time. He was at the basement door, then the bathroom door, then the cupboard. Each time, I interrupted my work to check.

 

Spent time on Jake’s book today. Had to do some heavy checking. Everything was fine. We thought several passages were missing. They had just been highly edited and obscurely placed.

Mom called throughout the day, each time causing me to stop my Japanese CDs.

Kuruma ga ugokanai desu.
Sandy?
(Stop the CD, go into her room) Everything OK, mom?
Yes, where is everybody. I didn’t see Rob all day.
He made you breakfast and coffee this morning and sat with you.
Oh yeah. I know.
Busu de wa…
Sandy?
Stop CD, go into her room) Yes, mom?
What are you doing?
Working, mom.
Won’t you sit with me?
I can’t mom. I have to work.
Where are you?
In my office. Right behind this wall.
Oh yeah. That’s right.
Rai shu tenisu ga dekimasu ka?
Sandy?
(Stop CD, go into her room) What mom?
Where is everybody? I didn’t see anybody all day?
Well, I bathed you a little while ago. And I brought you chocolates.
Oh yeah.

This went on for a while. I made mom some lunch, then showered her again. Brought her something cold to drink. Feeling bad. Missed the gym today. Need to go tomorrow definitely.

Back to my CDs. Working my way through inch by inch or is it minute by minute. I even dream in Japanese. Well, sort of. I dream of words and phrases and cannot figure out what they mean. But sometimes I add Japanese words and phrases in conversation with non-Japanese figures in my dream. Either way, conversation is not really possible. But it’s fun.

Sandy?
What mom?
What are you doing?
No much, mom.
Oh. Won’t you sleep with me.
No, mom. You need to sleep by yourself. You’ll be more comfortable that way.
Oh no. My bed is so big. (It’s a twin.)
No, mom. It’s a small bed and there isn’t room enough for both of us.
But I can move over.
No, mom.

It’s tough being firm. But there is no other way. I made the mistake only once of saying I would sleep with her, thinking she would not remember. But she did and clung to it all day long. When I didn’t join her at night, she protested: But you said you would. Selective memory. She knows what she wants. But this would not be good. I recall the story from the dementia meeting at Rittenhouse, where a daughter slept with her mother every night. She eventually moved her mother to a nursing home, but could not keep her mother there. The mother would stay up all night long and cry because she missed sleeping with her daughter. Dangerous move it turns out.