Sunday, September 14, 2014 

No, not mom. Her younger sister Rose died in a nursing home at the age of 92. I spent the morning on the phone with various cousins, making plans for a memorial service and a get-together. Later I told mom. She cried for about 30 seconds—if that long. Then resumed watching television. I suppose there are advantages to having no memory at all. Loss does not take hold of you. Mourning does not occur. Even though mom lives with continued loss—loss of independence, loss of her home, her ability to walk well, and her ability to cook and care for herself—she is only momentarily aware of these things as she recalls them sporadically. Whether she is aware of loss on a subconscious level, I cannot say. Surely there must be times a memory is triggered that makes her mindful of her losses. I do not know. But she has not mentioned Rose again today. She does not appear to be sad. I cannot say.

I recall bringing Communion to a woman in a nursing home. She had at one time been well dressed and immaculate. When I saw her, she was disheveled and bewildered and living in the Alzheimer’s wing. During earlier visits, she was able to pray The Lord’s Prayer, but could say nothing else. In subsequent visits, she would only cry, tears streaming down her cheeks, while I said the prayer. I wondered whether she was crying for her loss or because the prayer had brought up an emotional response. I do not know.

 

 

Saturday, September 13, 2014

There is nothing more disturbing than seeing your mother cry and throw a tantrum because she doesn’t want to be showered, and then moments later hear her deny that she cried.

 

September 11, 2014

I awoke at around 5:00 am and prayed for the safety of this nation. Barb rescued me early and we drove out to Panera’s for breakfast. Was good to get away.

Later, I gave mom her new shoes. She wore the new sandals briefly yesterday. No problem. The more enclosed pair was a little troublesome. Might have to bring them back for more stretching. Today, everything hurt. She wanted, no demanded, her old shoes back. I told her they were gone, and indeed they are. I threw them away today and the garbage men did the rest. They were old and uneven. Need replacement a long time ago. I was mildly embarrassed when the chiropractor saw the bottoms of her shoes and recommended replacing them. So while I assured mom that new shoes were the doctor’s order of the day, she insisted that the doctor told her to wear her old shoes. Another bad day at Black Rock. Mom is like an Alabama tick: she won’t let go and demands her old shoes time and again. Not possible. She’ll have to live without them!

 

 

Sunday, September 7, 2014

When mom got into the kitchen this morning, she started her usual banter about “The Cat.”

Look at that. That cat is still there. I don’t know how it gets up there. 

I had finally had it. So I asked her to walk over to the sink. Of course, closer to the source, it was clear—or should have been—that there is no cat.

Oh where did it go?

Well, those two bolts and the fan motor look like a cat to you. But there is no cat up there, mom.

Oh.

No cat could live that long up there.

Oh, I see (resignedly, or so I thought). But look at that cat. I don’t know how it got up there. Rob, that’s not a cat up there? (She won’t take my word for it anymore.) 

Oh well, like Rose, the cat will always be perched on the ceiling fan out on the porch—no matter the weather. He is there night and day, day and night—at least to mom’s mind. He never goes for a walk and never eats. He’s a magic cat. But at least he has mom’s attention and Rose is gone for the nonce.

 

Saturday, September 6, 2014 

Bad Day at Black Rock! Hot out there. And the mosquitoes and gnats are making a feast of me. I have type O blood, the kind that attracts the hungriest among them. Betty and I took the dogs on a short walk then made a beeline (mosquito-line?) onto the back porch.

Apart from the heat and the mosquitoes, there was the shadow of Aunt Rose! Mom awoke and called for her sister: Why doesn’t Rose ever come into my room to see me? Well, I decided that today she should speak with her sister. Of course, the memory of the can of worms such a phone call opened last time had dissipated.

I made the call. You couldn’t make out much of the babble because Rose cried and talked while she cried and babbled some more. Then in the clearest voice she asked me where her money and jewelry are! Holy Somolians! Ann, mom and Rose’s former caregiver (God bless her), donated $5.00 worth of pennies so that mom and Rose could play BINGO for money. Rose still talks about how we are enjoying “her” money, and now, her jewelry. If you count poppit beads and the gaudy necklaces you get at Mardi Gras or they used to get at casinos in Atlantic City, Rose did not have much in the way of jewelry. In fact, one of my cousins is holding her only two pieces: a ring to be given to another cousin and Rose’s dime-store wristwatch.

At any rate, mom spoke with Rose. Promised her she would visit. That was a few hours ago. Mom is still in the kitchen, fugue-ing about the entire thing. 

Give me Pat’s phone number. I’ll call her and she can take me to see my sister Rose.

No, mom. Pat lives 2.5 hours away in north Jersey. And Rose is 2.5 hours away. in another part of New Jersey. I said I will take you there in 2 weeks when the weather cools down.

Let me call Pat.

No, mom. I will take you myself.

Rob, get me Pat’s telephone number.

No, Sandy will take you there. 

After an hour of this, I called my cousin Lois and told her what was going on. We arranged for her to tell mom that she would take her to see Aunt Rose.

 

Two minutes later:

Let me call Pat.

No, mom. I will take you myself.

Rob, get me Pat’s telephone number.

No, Sandy will take you there.

I want to talk to her doctor and see if he can move her closer to me.

Mom, that’s not possible. She’s on Medicaid. She cannot be moved.

I don’t understand why she can’t be moved. Let me talk to her doctor.

Mom, Aunt Rose can’t walk.

They can help people to walk again. I don’t understand why she can’t walk. Bring her here. I’ll take care of her.

Mom, you can’t take care of yourself. 

 

Mom is calling me from the kitchen even as I write. It’s going to be a tough day. She’s driving me nuts!

 

Take me to see Rose today.

Not today. It’s too hot.

Is she OK?

Yes, you spoke to her just a few moments ago.

No I didn’t.

Yes, you did.

Well, can we see her today?

No, it’s too hot.

What about tomorrow? Lois said tomorrow.

No she didn’t! She said next week.

Well, then tomorrow?

No. Next week. It’s too hot right now.

Can’t we move her closer to us?

No, she’s on Medicaid in New Jersey. She cannot be moved.

Why can’t we move her closer? I don’t understand. Let me call the doctor.

You cannot call the doctor. We will see her in a week.

Why can’t we go today?

It’s too hot.

Then we can go tomorrow?

No. It will still be too hot.

Let me talk to the doctor…

 

Oh, how I am hoping she will forget all of this very soon. Now, she’s in the kitchen directing Rob to kill bugs. I don’t like to kill anything in my house. She might be after a few fruit flies this time. Hard to catch them. Poor little things. Their lives are short enough! Well, at least it has distracted her from her moanings about her sister Rose!

Hmm. Turns out there were no bugs in the kitchen. I had some potatoes on the kitchen counter and apparently some of the potato dust appeared to be moving. Probably no less or no more than the cat on the ceiling fan or the dog’s tail at the back gate. Mom is at least one case where having cataract surgery did little to abate her dementia.

As Rob said, some days with mom are like a water torture—steady, constant, never-ending, but instead of drop by drop, it’s word by word!

P.S. At the end of the evening, mom asked where Rose was. I told her she went shopping and would return soon. Seemed to placate her for the night. Won’t be mentioning or calling Rose any time soon! Here’s hoping tomorrow will be a Rose-less day!