Monday, May 19, 2014 

Valentino’s turn at the groomer. Lucy goes tomorrow. Then work all day. Had 12 files to review and get back to a client by the end of the day. While Val was gone, it was peaceful and quiet. The energy of the place was bearable. The minute I picked him up and brought him home (looking gorgeous, of course), the place livened up. A not-so-welcome change when there is work to do.

With mom and Val calling while I worked, it became almost intolerable. I couldn’t yell at my mother, but I lost it with Val, who skulked upstairs, tail down. Of course I was remorseful, but I had to truck on with my work.

I worked late into the night. While mom was watching TV and Val was napping, I heard what I thought was the beginning of a yawn. But it stretched on and on and on and grew louder and louder. At first, I thought it was my mother, but it was too drawn out and too well supported to be anything that came from her. I realized then that Val was having a bad dream. The only other time I had heard a sound like that was when Lorenzo was emerging from anesthesia. Of course I gave Val a bunch of hugs and kisses and massaged his leg to reassure him that everything was OK.

I am not conveying, of course, the tension in this house as I attempted to get the files out to the client at the end of the day. There were questions and phone calls back and forth. Mixed up files. In some cases, they sent me earlier iterations of files that did not have my corrections. So I had to do some scouting. Problem was that so many of the files were closely named, but for a number at the end of the lengthy title. This meant opening a slew of files and checking to see if my comments were there.

By 10:30, the work was in and mom and Val and Lucy were asleep. We roused the pups briefly for their last trip outside for the night. Then off to wind down and watch a horror flick with Rob: “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I think Washington has already been taken over!

Sunday, May 18, 2014 

The Duckster came for breakfast. We sat out on the back porch and ate and chatted up a storm. Donald is into everything and adored by all the women in his church. He does this, that, and the other thing related to amputees, being one himself. Good man. Went from dissolute to absolutely wonderful. But we joke that God had to take his legs to do it! After breakfast, he started his drive back to South Carolina with a bag of Nuts.com organic trail mix (hard to part with these treats) and some water. 

Rob and I then made our way to the farm. The boxes for the luminaries were still in my car. So we made our way down the lane to pick them up and load the boxes into the barn. We also wound up helping to put tables away and undo some of the lovely decorations. I sure hope someone sends me photos. The bride and groom were there, too. They will be off to Hawaii tomorrow. A most memorable wedding and a most beautiful couple. 

We spent about 2.5 hours at the farm, and left mom at the kitchen counter, where she was doing her word search puzzles. But they seem to be getting more difficult for her. Either that or she is getting bored with them or maybe just having a tough day. At night, she asked if she could sleep with me again. I was firm and said no. Then she asked if there were anybody who would sleep with her. We went through a list of neighbors, all of whom were married and lived at home with their spouses. My brother suggested we get her a stuffed animal. My friend Nancy suggested a baby doll for her to take care of. Actually breaks my heart to see mom go down this road. My mother is really gone in a very large sense. Oh sure, there are aspects of her here and there, but she has lost her independence and her strength—among other things. As I have loads of stuffed animals in the basement, I will bring up a suitable candidate for her. Perhaps it will help. “Big” Aunt Marge had a baby doll to care for at the end. I found that bizarre, but we are now in the same position: mother, a little girl and descending.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

Tough start to the morning. Mom was uncomfortable, but eventually worked things out after three trips to the bathroom. I showered her after the last trip. Today is wedding day for Brian and Liz. I am to pick up the mylar balloons to mark the entrance to the farm and start getting things set up down there. The bulk of the work is done. Still, I have a 2-page, single-spaced list to follow. But at least mom is OK now. Difficult morning, but the worst is over.

Rained heartily yesterday, but today is gorgeous—clear, sunny, breezy, and cool. Will be colder down at the farm. Tough trying to figure out what to wear as “wedding coordinator” for a farm reception. Black jeans, black shirt, Hotter waterproof shoes, a black and white jacket, and minimal jewelry. After all, I am a worker bee, not a wedding guest. But I think the outfit is fine for the occasion. My work might entail going into the cow barn or the house cold cellar to check on the electricity. So I must be prepared for every eventuality.

Mom is feeling better now and back to her old self.

I wonder if that cat up there is cold.
I wouldn’t worry about it, mom. You’re the only one who even knows he’s up there.
Where’s Rob?
He just went upstairs.
I haven’t seen him all day.
He was just in the kitchen and gave you cereal 

Rob is back in the kitchen giving mom a piece of Betty’s applesauce cake.

Who made that Rob?
Betty did.
Did she? 

This is mom’s third piece of cake and at least as many times as she asked Who made that? Her other favorite question is Where did you get that? She often asks this when you are wearing something she admires. (I like that. Where did you get it?)

Betty is off to the casino with Chas. So Rob and mom will be left to deal with the day alone. I will be at the farm until late tonight. A very long day ahead of me! Will report later.

Later—

What a day! Rob and I went to Party City to pick up the balloons. I chose mint green, white, and silver mylar varieties (hearts, circles, and stars). Twelve in all. At the farm, I had a little challenge with the wind, but I prayed for help, and lo, the wind stopped. It was that sudden!

Nate appeared just as I was tying down the balloons. I asked him to make sure they were secure, and we both figured they were. The rest of the morning was spent in putting out tables for hors d’oeuvres, wine and beer, and caterers; setting out the platform wagon for the musicians near the utility barn; setting up chairs for guests to watch the bride and groom dance their first dance; plugging in electric and turning on the magical lights in the barn. Later, opening the white tent; putting out the ice; checking to be sure the tables in the white tent were OK; cutting wild flowers for the head tables; putting out the cookies and the wines and the lemonade and iced tea; greeting Keith Breitzenhoff (the square dance caller) and showing him where to go; setting out the ice cream and toppings for the dessert section of the barn; and setting up the luminaries down the 1/4 mile drive! (We did the latter twice, as we forgot the cars would be going out through the field. And oh it was magical!)

The bride and groom and company arrived on a wagon being driven by their uncle Eric. The bridesmaids were gorgeous in mint and wearing cowboy boots for the evening’s festivities. The groomsmen had changed their white shirts for ice-cream colored plaid shirts. Such fun! And the festivities began.

Of course, Rob has been alone with mom all day. Apparently, she had him call “her son” three times, but they called the house phone and not his cell. So they never connected. This made mom quite nervous. Things were not as happy here as they were at the farm!

Monday, May 12, 2014 

Caught up on two editing jobs this morning after walking and feeding the pups. Was warm today. Low 80s. But the pollen and mold counts are exceptionally high. Sat out on the porch for a while. Rob had blessedly replaced two of the screens. This is a huge job. If I could afford it, I would get a new porch system. As it is, we have to replace 26 windows and install screens. Not an easy job.

After breakfast on the porch and later lunch on the porch, I sat with a cup of tea. By then, I was so wiped out, I fell asleep on the glider. Nice not to have to do any more planting for now. Mulching and weeding, yes. But most of the planting is done. Only lost two plants this winter: my Mediterranean plants, Erica. A disappointment, but I replaced them with some lovely annuals. We needed more color out front anyhow.

Preparing for the wedding shower soon. Bonnie’s daughter Amy will be having a wedding shower here. Can’t wait. Porch is in decent shape, and I think I can manage 20 women. Will be fun to have an “event” here. We’ll see how Valentino behaves!

Rains on the way. Coming from Bernville. Bugs are going wild and clustering around your face. I went for a walk before it began. Nice to get out. Have not been to the gym in 2 weeks. Prefer to be outside now that the weather is better. But I need to continue to go for toning.

Mom ate very little lunch. I didn’t feel like dealing too much with her, as I burned my finger badly on the stove. Had a plate too close to the flame. That sucker gets hot! But I decided mom needed a shower nonetheless. Rob and I both noticed the need. It’s hard to bear when your once pristine mother smells worse than a child. Her “underpants” as she calls them hold in the moisture and contribute to the foul odor. Someone should invent a diaper that breathes. But at least she has no serious problem with her bowels. N was telling me how her daughter’s grandmother-in-law digs down into the diapers and flings her mess onto the wall. I will just count my blessings while I have them.

Mom is watching Steve Harvey again and seems to be comfortable in her dark, airless room. She asks that shutters and windows be closed. This is nothing new, but how she has always lived. Mom was never a fan of light and air. Fortunately, we have central air, and she won’t be able to turn off a window A/C, as she did in NJ.

On to more work. Have a book I should be getting to. More anon…

Sunday, May 11, 2014 

Mom is in the kitchen eating her cereal and performing in the percussion section—spoon and plate. I am in my office eating my cereal. Have already walked and fed the pups and washed the kitchen floor. Too much pollen everywhere. Am showered and off to church in a few minutes. Will be a little late. Rob is still sleeping. Need to settle mom and prefer to miss the “praise” music. Very unmusical. Preys on emotions. Prefer the old hymns and lyrics of yesteryear, when people knew how to create melodies and write beautiful verse.

Am remembering Margie and how she came here to celebrate my 60^th birthday with the girls and cousin Marje and her daughters. We didn’t know then that Margie would not make it to her 65^th birthday. I’m glad we didn’t. I’m glad we lived unknowing as we did. I plan to send the girls a mother’s day e-card. This is going to be a tough one for them to celebrate. Marcy is also celebrating her birthday today.

And here I am with my mother—97 years old and banging away on her cereal bowl, killing those little Cheerios and knocking whatever cheer is left in them. She refused at first to pee this morning. But I sent her back into the bathroom, and sure enough… Obstinate woman, but always grateful. I need to get to the bottom of my rising anger. This is the same woman who said, “I always preferred my son over my daughter.” I am sure she is here with me for a good reason. I have things to work out and most assuredly wish I did not! I also most assuredly will not be canonized any time soon!

I tell you there is another thing that bothers me. Everyone seems to think it’s so nice that I take such good care of my mother. But I feel that, although I see to her physical needs very carefully, I do not or cannot see to any other need. It’s so frustrating. How do you discuss anything or say anything of substance or meaning to a woman who queries why I would call her husband, “daddy”? Something to ponder another time. Off to church. Dr. Mary called earlier and left a message. She has put my name in the Ardas again and is praying for me under Yogi Bhajan’s banyan tree at this very moment. And now I am crying. God bless Dr. Mary! God bless Yogi Bhajan! God bless my mommy and my daddy.

Later—

Been receiving these Facebook poems and notes all day about how wonderful it would be to have mother alive—if only she were here to tell me how much she loves me. Let me tell you having your mother here to change her diaper, to wash her and care for her is one thing. To answer to Rose or Ann is another. This business about it being your turn to take care of her is pure bunk. My mother is on the decline. She is not a growing, smiling, happy child. She won’t outgrow the diapers. She won’t outgrow the need for me to hold her hand. She won’t outgrow asking the same questions over and over again. She won’t outgrow asking your husband’s name or the name of “the white dog” or “the black dog.” She won’t stop seeing the cat on the ceiling fan or the man in the tree. She won’t learn how to tie her shoes or put on her socks. She will never walk alone. She will never prepare another meal.

It’s no fun watching your mother deteriorate. You take care of her with a good heart or as good as you can muster at the moment. But it’s taxing. It isn’t fun. It isn’t heartwarming. It’s heartbreaking. And you fight with yourself every minute as you think “someday this room will be my dining room.” You won’t let yourself go there out of both guilt and sorrow. But you do go there and stop yourself each time. You berate yourself each time. You ask for forgiveness each time. And you wonder how it fell to your lot to see your mother decline and be given the task to love her through this time. It’s almost too much to bear.

As for this day: I grilled some pepper steaks and broccoli with onions in my special grill basket. For dessert, we had apple strudel. Quite delicious. I hope mom enjoyed the meal. I know if I ask her about it now, she won’t remember a thing. But she will laugh and smile and say, “Oh yes, it was delicious.” Yet, she will have no idea what I am talking about.

For all those who wish they still had a mother, please come here. I would be happy to share my mother with you. When I go to the symphony, I won’t have to hire a sitter. When I go to the supermarket, I won’t have to call Betty to tell her I am leaving my house; keep an eye on mom. Rob and I don’t go out much, and we rarely go out together. When I garden, I have mom sit on the porch so she can see me. When I work, she is on her own and very lonely. Mom doesn’t want to talk necessarily or she will be found out that she knows nothing and no one. She just wants company, particularly someone to sleep with—something she will not get.

She is uncomfortable at other people’s houses and she cannot take long car trips. She needs to be in her known environment. She needs to be at home, where she knows how to find the bathroom, her bed, her television, her tissues, her nightgown. Hers is a small world and getting smaller. There is no expansion. There is contraction. There is no increasing joy. There is increasing fear. Is she here merely because she is afraid to go? I can hardly know the answer. But I do know that my role in this is yet to be defined. Perhaps it will be when she is gone. And I dread that day, because each day, we inch closer and closer to it. And I am less ready than she is.

Saturday, May 10, 2014 

Been catching up on editing work. Picked up my friend Mike early this morning so that he could do his laundry here. He doesn’t like to use public machines and does not trust some of the product they use out there. While he’s here, Mike catches up on his email. He uses computers over at Albright College nearby. Went there with Barb on Thursday for a lecture on C.S. Lewis. Am now back to re-reading some of my C.S. Lewis collection—starting with “A Grief Observed”—and have ordered still more books. I wish I had a mind like Lewis’s. He could remember everything he ever read. I am lucky if at times I even remember reading a book. I often don’t remember endings, just parts of books. I do recall, however, sitting for the French proficiency exam at NYU. We were required to have facility in reading 5 languages for a Masters/Doctorate in Musicology: German, Dutch, Latin, Italian, and French. French is last for a very good reason. The flowerly explanations given in their so-called musicological journals were often useless—lovely, but useless, and hardly scientific. Whereas Musik in der Geschischte und Gegenwart was the ultimate research took. During the exam, we were given a page to translate. It was from a novel by Gide, I believe. Funny thing was, I remembered the passage verbatim. I was one of two students who passed the test. I had been a French Lit major and so my friends were not impressed with my victory. They had all failed. Another epiphany dismissed. Heck, I thought it was great fun! 

Drove Mike back home with his laundry, stopped off at Sam’s Club for gas and to buy more tissues and cranberry juice for mom. When I arrived home, I saw that ProFlowers had left a box on our front stoop. My brother John had sent flowers. These were surely the flowers. They also included some chocolates in the package. Nice pink vase, but it wasn’t wide enough to hold the flowers nicely. So I divided the flowers into another vase. I added the floral vitamins, trimmed them as directed, and filled the vases with lukewarm water. 

Look mom. John sent you flowers for Mother’s Day.
Oh these are beautiful. You should add water.
I did add water.
OK. Where did you get them?
John sent them.
Oh. Sandy, you should add water.
They are already in water, and I trimmed them, too.
Yeah. These are nice. Where did you get them?
John sent them. Your son, John. For Mother’s Day.
Oh yeah?… 

Good morning, all!

 Later—

Was supposed to go to a church luncheon today. Got caught up in my work and worked through the luncheon instead. My loss! I called Barb to apologize, but she understood.

Was also supposed to go to the farm today. Made it and found a crew working on getting the place ready for the wedding next weekend. I am the unofficial “Wedding Coordinator”—a sort of last-minute helper. The wedding will be held in Westchester, and someone needs to be at the farm in Virginville to direct the caterers, be sure the band is plugged in, see to it that there is sufficient ice and sufficient wine, and that the electricity is A-OK. Will be a very long day after a long day at market substituting for Mark. Hoping we get sunshine for Brian’s big day! Alas, Rob will be left alone with mom and the pups.

Mom did her usual routine of bathroom trips—one every 40 seconds—and her calling for tissues and something to drink. She has no clue when she has eaten or what she has eaten or what she might have eaten. She remembers nothing. Short-term memory completely kaput. But she wants company. The only thing left for her to do is to repeat the same questions again and again. Ooh, is it raining? Where were you? Is it cold? Did you wear a sweater? Wear is your coat? Where were you? What are you doing? Will you sit with me? Where were you? And as much as I understand on an intellectual level that this is as much as she is capable of saying, I resent it. I resent having to get up every few seconds to take her to the bathroom. I resent hearing her say Ooh, it’s cold out. Wear your coat, when it’s 75 degrees outside and humid. She is kind and sweet, gracious even and thankful. But there is a wicked part of me that says I don’t want another minute of this. Still, the objective (is this an objective exercise?) might be to do a graceful job of it despite and in spite of these feelings, these resentments. I am no Mother Theresa or Saint Teresa. I am often put upon, but at the same time very sad. My mother is gone. This woman tells me she cannot remember her own mother, because that was such a long time ago. And then, maybe there is an element of fear in me. Will I wind up not knowing anything or anyone? Will I wind up asking my caregiver (if ever I have one) for tissues or water or juice, or to sit with me or sleep with me? This woman is lonely, but does she even remember when I do sit with her? Is she aware on some level that her existence is extremely lonely, totally isolated from reality, from the moment, from the moment that just passed?

As a pianist and an editor, I prefer being alone. It’s part of the world I chose. But will there come a time that I will crave company other than the company of a well-behaved pup? (Valentino is challenge enough at times and not always welcome company.) How different our lives have been. Mom has always required the company of her sisters. She spent all of her free time with them and greatly preferred spending time with them than with her own husband. She resented the trips to Italy to visit family. She resented having to leave New Jersey. Her life was narrow, her loves were few and limited to her sisters and her son. How do you celebrate the loss of this? How do you celebrate the life of a woman who was so different and about whom people said, “How can you be her daughter? You are so different.” How do you celebrate a life you never comprehended on any level and in fact you did not like. How many weekends were you condemned to spend shopping with her sisters? You came from a family of two. She came from a family of ten! How different were your lives. You studied music. She had no real appreciation of music. She was the woman who shouted as you leaned and lingered on a beautiful note and change of key in a Chopin nocturne, Ooh, she hit a wrong note! It wasn’t. It was a beautiful note and she ruined that moment, much the same way she cheapened my graduation recital by hurrying me from the hall, where people lined up to congratulate me. I had to hurry home because graduation was in four hours! Four hours! Town was only three miles long. How long could it take to get from one end of town to the other?

We were at odds, and I am left being the only one who remembers this. How to let go? Her favorite child, her son, calls to say hello. And she remembers him. But I am variously Rose and Sandy and in the beginning even Ann. I am the one she looks blankly at when I talk about Daddy and to whom she remarks You mean my husband. And in the next breath, How did he die? I tell her over and over again. But there is no mechanism for remembering.

How dangerous it is for me to remember! How sad to be the only one left who knew what had happened yet have no way of dealing with it. There is no one I can go to for answers about grandma or Aunt V or Aunt M. She is no longer there. If after death we exist in the memories of others, no one exists in my mother’s memories. How can I learn to be sympathetic to this woman? What or to whom am I lending my sympathy?

Or is this all an exercise put before me by God Almighty, who says I know. I see. I hear. I am, whether you know me or acknowledge me. Whether you trust me or hate me. Whether you accuse me or honor me. I am and I see.

OK. I give up. I am not doing it. I can’t do it. I leave it in Your hands because mine are clearly too small and too useless and too unwilling.

Mom’s third trip to the bathroom in 5 minutes.
Did you see Rob?
Do you remember when you last saw him?
When? Last week? (Why am I taunting her.)
Yeah. I saw him.
This is nothing more than idle conversation. Something to fill in the quiet for her because she clearly knows nothing now.
She goes to her room. Gets in bed.
Sandy!
Yes mother.
Close the windows for me.
Yes. (I close the shutters.)
What are you going to do.
Nothing. (Is this what I would have answered when I was a child.)
Yeah. (She says this after everything I say, because she cannot hear and does not understand.)

I point to the flowers my brother sent. Aren’t these beautiful.
Who sent them.
Johnny Boy.
There are some people she will never forget or ever confuse.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Beautiful day, but my roses are far from ready to bloom. We are weeks behind because of the cold weather. Walked and fed the pups. Then went for a walk in the mall with Barb. First time walking the mall. There really are mall-walkers! And they all know the distances. We saw Dick, our neighbor, there too. He was sitting with a bunch of other men. Chewing the fat and having coffee. Nice for him to have companionship. He just lost his wife a few months ago. Quite a shocker, that one! You just never know. 

Managed to get my banking done. Mom is still asleep. Have already called the plumber. Far too many napkins and paper towels going down the toilet. This is no house to fool with when it comes to plumbing. In fact, I need to buy copper sulfate to kill the tree roots. My basement might be neat and clean, but the drains down there are problematic. The township had to come and saw tree roots away two summers ago, while Rob worked the ShopVac and suctioned sewage water out of the basement. (Wasn’t too bad. Mostly a neighbor’s laundry water.) Nonetheless, don’t want that scenario again! Rob has actually fished mom’s paper towels and napkins from the toilet. (We use surgical gloves!) Oh, there go the drains again. Bubbling away. This isn’t good. Going to have to watch mom like a hawk today! 

Speaking of surgical gloves, taking care of mom requires all kinds of supplies in the way of sanitation, vitamins, desserts, drinks, supportive devices, bathroom articles, you name it. And I thought having dogs was demanding. 

Uh oh. Just showered mom. (Bad night for her.) Tub is backing up. Sewage pipe is clogged. The plumbers can’t get here soon enough, and they are slated for late tonight. I tried telling mom not to go to the bathroom alone today. She will need constant supervision. We might wind up using the potty chair. It’s still outside, where it’s been since I brought it here from Bayonne. Will have to clean it and use it as backup. (Backup! Watch that word!) Going to be a long day. Our old sewage pipes are a bit too sensitive for the likes of mom and her collection of paper products! Like an alcoholic, she hides napkins, paper towels, and tissues in the most unusual places, including around the room and in her diapers. As one person pointed out, they are her only valued possessions. Apparently, paper products become very important to the elderly.