Thursday, September 25, 2014

Still not recuperated. And I am here alone with mom. Rob is taking a course at a local college on Excel. I need one of those courses, too. I know precious little about creating Excel files, but oh well.

Made mom her breakfast and tried talking with her this morning, but it’s a bit frustrating. First, I turned her bench seat. It’s bentwood and Rob and I turn the seat so she won’t sit on the edge and break it. As usual, I turned the seat before she sat on it.

I don’t need that.

Why not? I don’t want you to sit on the curved edge.

I know how to sit down. Here, let me show you.

And of course, she attempted to sit on the bent edge.

 

Later, I made her breakfast.

Would you like coffee, mom?

Are you having any?

No, I don’t drink coffee. Do you want any?

OK.

Getting her to say she wants something is always a chore.

 

Then I tried to make conversation. Who’s crazy here?

Rob is taking a 2-day course at a local community college.

Oh.

Did you hear me?

Yes, I heard you.

Then where’s Rob.

He’s at the barber shop?

No. He’s taking a course.

I heard you!

No you didn’t. He’s taking a 2-day course at the community college. Did you hear me?

He’s at the barber shop?

No, he’s at the local college.

Oh.

Did you hear me?

Yes

What did I say?

What?

What did I say?

When?

What I said about Rob.

Oh, where is he?

At the local community college

The barber?

No!

AARRGH!!!!!!!!!

I have retreated to my office. Mom is sitting at the kitchen counter. There’s no point in trying to talk with her or be with her. She only repeats the same question until you can’t take it anymore or responds with an Oh to your comment. Hers must be a lonely world, but this has been going on for decades—long before dementia kicked in. I remember a woman in our hometown who asked me why my mother asks questions but doesn’t wait for the answers. It was mom’s way of being present. I do not say communicating, because she was not capable of doing so on any large scale or even one-on-one. Mom still asks the same series of questions and is still incapable of hearing the answers. One might ask why we don’t get her a hearing aid. Don’t even go there! That battle was lost a long time ago. Enough said.

 

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Am under the weather big time. Can’t stop coughing. A new bug for our deteriorating country. Rob thinks part of the problem is grief over Lucy’s death. I am sure that’s a big part of it.

Mom is on her bathroom kicks. Lost count as to how many trips she took today. Betty called while I was in the bathroom with her to tell me to look at the sunset. Spectacular! We get so many gorgeous sunsets around here. I decided to show mom, too. I took her to the window for a look.

What are you doing?

I want you to see something. Look! Look at the sky!

I see. I see. Now close this window. I don’t want it open. Close it! 

Mom is alive, but is missing out on a vital part of life—enjoyment, wonder, awe, and joy! Lucy’s last day was more packed with life than mom’s every day. Lucy bounded down the stairs that day. She had treats and enjoyed her extra dollop of yogurt. She barked at Sammy and lunged to play. Then she left us. Way to go, Lucy. I will always love you. Lucy died with her boots on. Mom is barefoot.