Monday, December 8, 2014 

Valentino was the first to be awakened. He let out a moo, instead of a bark. Must have been in a deep sleep. Mom was busy yelling for me. Rob responded. I responded. And Valentino responded. The three of us stood at her bedside, while she complained about finding “Sandy.”

I’m Sandy, mom. What do you want?

Where is Sandy? She said she would be here?

Well, I’m here now and it’s 4:00 am. What do you want? Are you OK?

Where is she?

Mom, it is 4:00 in the morning. You woke all three of us. Now go back to sleep and let us sleep. 

What a strange moment it was. The three of us, standing there in a stupor. And the three of us remained in a stupor most of the day. At least I did. I had to take my car into the shop, run to the bank, pick up the lamp from Kevin the repair man, go to Bed, Bath & Beyond for drawer dividers, drop off my check with the accountant (and beg for mercy), drop off the plates for Becky and Brian with Mark, buy pretzels for the my clients, and send them to Tokyo. I received two jobs today from a client and worked as hard as I could, considering the cloud in my brain from lack of sleep. At least these are preliminary drafts.

I warned my mother to stay awake and not go to bed too early. I explained that I cannot afford another sleepless night, nor could Rob, nor could faithful Valentino.

We have cleaned the bathroom numerous times today. It’s doubly exhausting when you have had little to no rest. I am actually delighted that we are expecting a storm tomorrow—just ice, no snow. But it will mean that I can stay home and get work done here. No traveling. I am slated to be in Pottstown at the hospital in the morning, but I shall not venture out if the roads are icy. Not worth it. And tomorrow night, I will have to give my regrets to my client. No dinner discussion. Too dangerous. On Wednesday, I was supposed to visit with Anne. Was looking forward to it, but it’s a 2-hour drive, and we have already canceled owing to the miserable forecast. I am relieved to be spared the drive, but sorry not to see Anne. Nonetheless, we will reschedule and I can recover from last night.

Mom asks as usual—nearly all through the day—Where’s Rob? I haven’t seen him all day. After a while, I no longer make excuses. I no longer try to explain. I just tell her that he made her breakfast. He served her coffee. He gave her cookies. He made her bed. She doesn’t remember.

When she asks why the towel is missing as I hand her a paper towel, I no longer hide the truth: It was covered with poop. It’s soaking and will go into a special wash. I no longer coat the truth. She won’t remember anyhow.

When she asks if I will sleep with her—as she does every single night, several times a night—I tell her emphatically No! You sleep in your bed, and I sleep in mine. There is only room for one person in your bed. And I need to sleep upstairs. When she responds, You don’t like me do you? I say, You live in my house. I buy you clothing. I feed you. I do your laundry. I keep your bedding and clothing and body clean. I cut your hair. I take you to the foot doctor, the GP, and the chiropractor. How can you say that I don’t like you! 

I just found mom in bed again. This might sound cruel, but I told her to get out of bed now! It’s 6:30 in the evening. She rests all day and is awake at night. There is no way in you-know-what that I am going to spend another sleepless night!

Can you tell that I am exhausted?

Oh wait, yet another trip to the potty. Another turn at cleaning mom and the bathroom and yet another turn to say, Get out of bed now! It’s too early. I want to sleep tonight! I cannot tolerate another foggy day!

Tuesday, December 2, 2014 

I am almost ready for Christmas. All of the decorations are on the porch, which I cleaned and readied just 2 days ago. Was thinking of switching on the gas fireplace and bringing mom out to the porch to watch me decorate the tree. But she is still my mother. I can hear her now: Put another red one there. Move that one. Yeah. That looks better. But then, why not give her the chance to “organize” something “on her own.” This is all presupposing I can actually get her out onto the porch. There will be a mixture of sleet and snow and rain today; so who knows how comfortable the porch will be, even with a robe and a blanket. I can manage it, but I know my mother won’t.

She has been getting up early each morning when I am about to walk Valentino or about to go to church. I avoid putting on lights, and I try to move about quietly. But sometimes Valentino barks impatiently. Can it be that she hears or has she become acclimated to our going out at that time? Mom calls constantly once she is awake: Sandy! Sandy! Often it’s only to hear the time. I have thought of putting a digital clock in her room, but that is sure to frighten her. At times, even the light on the television becomes terrifying. By now, however, “the man in the tree” outside her window is not a bother. Did you see him? He’s been up there all night! Sometimes I humor her. Other times, I am short with her: There is no man. There never was a man in the tree. Think about it mom! How can a man stand in a tree all night long? Well, maybe she was a survivalist in a former life. But even as I say the words, I know how preposterous I sound. Think about it? How can she think? That faculty is long gone. Thinking occurs on some level, but her brain is no longer fully functioning. She is a child becoming an infant. And there is where I have the greatest difficulty.