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!

 

 

September 1, 2014

We are on our way to Cheryl’s house in Pottstown. Mom is in the living room, waiting to be walked to the car. She spent the morning asking for the usual things: tissue, juice, and for me to comb her hair. Yes, I washed her hair again this morning. She hates having her hair washed. But why not today? Valentino just got groomed. The whole family will be spic and span, with the exception of Lucia, who will be groomed on Wednesday.

And, yes, mom asked for her fuzzy jacket (a lightweight Polartec). It’s August and it’s 86 degrees in the shade, mind you. The humidity is horrible and the bugs are biting. And, yes, mom asked me if I had my coat, too. No, I am not carrying my coat. It’s hot out there. Shades of my youth. I had to carry a coat or a sweater for half my life (OK, for one-third of my life) nearly everywhere I went. I would rather freeze than carry another item. I don’t even carry a purse any more. I carried stuff, lots of stuff, while I was living at home. I’m an adult now, having lived on my own lo these many years. And I don’t want to carry anything! Got it!

Well, today is one of those days. The mold count is high. The mosquitoes have had their lunch break on me yet again. (I swear the government is out to see if they can cut down on the population by reintroducing yellow fever and malaria!) But I remember mosquitoes being far worse at the outdoor theater. Those days were wild. The pics didn’t work against the mosquitoes, and their offspring are still out to show that our meager attempts at keeping them at bay remain useless.

 

 

Friday, August 29, 2014

Awoke a little after 5:00. Mom makes quite a racket when she goes to the bathroom. Thumps cane loudly, slams doors shut, slams windows shut. Ah the symphony that is my mother. Later, she will add her other instrument: the spoons!

I decided to run some errands after she went back to bed: Farmer’s Market, where I had tea with RB and shopped for cheese, milk, and organic veggies; PetSmart for dog food; the bank; and the post office. I am back home and ready to sit down and begin working on an edit for a foreign client.

Mom is in the kitchen clanking away at her cereal. She asked about her husband again.

What did he die of?

Heart disease.

Oh.

Do you know who my father was?

I forget.

Do you remember who your husband was?

I forget.

I showed mom a photo of dad and herself.

Who’s this?

My husband.

Well, he was also my father.

I know.

Pointing to her, I asked, Who is this?”

His wife.

Mom, that’s you.

I know. That’s me. 

The mind is a very strange thing. We can compartmentalize things to such a degree that it makes very little sense in the real world. Or is what we are experiencing the real world, indeed?

And now, another mind might be laying to rest. Nancy’s husband is unresponsive. Very low blood pressure and was taken to the ER from Kessler early this morning. Nancy and Eric were slated to return home on Tuesday. All bets might be off at this point for his returning as soon. Here was a brilliant and successful man, only in his late 60s. He was an avid tennis player and in otherwise excellent shape, still contributing to society. And now…

And then there’s my mother. Some of life makes very little sense. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy that my mother is still alive, but very little of who she was survived with her physical body.

 

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

 

This morning, I am Rose, maybe.

Where’s Sandy?

I don’t know. (I am Sandy, but I’m tired and not feeling playful. I woke up exasperated!)

Are you Rose?

No, who am I?

I don’t know. Are you Rose?

No.

Are you Sandy?

Do you think I am?

I don’t know.

 Not an auspicious start of the day.

I showered mom and filled her cereal bowl. She is now in the kitchen beating the hell out of the Cheerios. It’s a wonder my cereal bowls aren’t all chipped by now! This is one of those days for me. Not a good one. I need to go out onto the porch and escape whatever madness awaits me.

Monday, August 25, 2014 

I worked late last night helping BH. He was in the midst of too much work given to him as a challenge, once again. BH suffers, as one colleague put it, from a variety of medieval diseases and disorders. He’s always in the hospital, always laid up with something, and yet, he remains employed—well, sort of. BH and his wife and the children still at home are moving yet again. They often do—sometimes to his wife’s sister’s house, sometimes to be with one of their grown daughters. They had been renting a 4-acre property in Hopewell. I myself would not be renting a 4-acre property in Hopewell if I lived on the financial edge and BH does. But they did and they loved it. Now, their hearts are broken and they are preparing to move yet again, this time from another place they love. Their lives are peppered with lovely places they have had to vacate. I could think of a worse way to live if I were near indigence.

At any rate, BH had another work crisis. It was an easy job: listen to a tape of a German-speaking man and fill in the blanks of a transcript. Was a hopeful message about the path to personalized medicine for cancer. My thoughts kept returning to Margie, my beloved sister-in-law. I didn’t want to think about being so close to sparing her life. I almost wanted to hear that we are light-years away from helping people with glios. Almost.

This morning, it was business as usual: walked the pups with Betty, met Marty’s wife, our Sikh friends, Buds’ wife with Duke (apparently Bud had a bad night and was sleeping in. Pretty rare for him!), and an array of drivers, who wave and smile as they go by. Most are on their way to work and perhaps they think I, like Betty, am retired. One thing I will never be is retired! Fortunately. Thanks to friends like BH and my (thus far) steady clients.

Decided on a big breakfast: sausage, fried potatoes (the good ones I parboiled from Rodale), green beans (also from Rodale), a slice of toast with rose apricot jam, and ginger tea with cinnamon honey. Mom got up while I was making breakfast. (She’s already been to the bathroom twice.) She declined sharing my breakfast, so I prepared her cereal. Mom wanted company while she ate, and I gave it a try. But I could not abide the sound of her sucking her lips and slurping her food. Mom is the only person I know who can actually slurp meat. She poises the spoon or fork a few inches from her lips and sucks it in like a vacuum cleaner, never bringing the food to her mouth.

Anyhow, I finished my breakfast on the porch, which is what I had originally intended, all the while feeling guilty for not giving mom the company she craves. I had put the kitchen light on for her, but as usual, she protested. You don’t need that. I protested back. Yes, you do.

Am off in a bit to bring my car in for another cosmetic treat: new side lamps. Why not? She looks prettier and prettier each time I spiff her up a bit. Greta Carbo has been so very good to me. She is nearly 239,000 miles old!

Then back to work.

 

Later—

Mom is at it again: going to the bathroom every 15 minutes. I have decided to allow her to go unattended. It’s the only way I can continue to work and the only way I can hold on to what sanity I have left. Between mom and Val, it has been challenging. Valentino is beside himself today and barking like a wild dog at every passing dog, person, school bus, and The Skateboarder! Yes, today was the first day back at school: children and school buses. The morning primes him for the rest of the day. It sets the stage for overreaction to just about EVERYTHING! I actually put his leash on him and went out front, where I had The Skateboarder (who was looped again) make Val sit and give him some cookies.

 

Hold on… mom is calling again! (She just needed me to swivel the television and close the shutters.) Oh well, it’s the least I can do.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Walked the pups, fed the pups, took care of mom’s three morning trips to the bathroom. Drove off to market, where I substituted for Martha from 8:00 am to 3:00 pm. Hard work. Rushed off to Rodale to pick up my organic food order for the week. Came home. Made zucchini and potato soup. Broiled salmon with mustard, lemon, and dill. Fed mom and the kids, and then headed off to Pottstown, where I met my client for dinner and brought him some of the salmon. Long day. I can hardly describe here how exhausted I was. Left mom to Rob’s care. Tomorrow will be just as exhausting.

 

Friday, August 22, 2014

Worked on manuscripts all morning. Then headed off to New Jersey to meet a client for dinner. Took mom along for the 3-hour drive. Couldn’t get a sitter. Betty will see to the pups.

Where do these people live?

In New Jersey.

Oh.

Who are they? Do you know them?

They are clients.

Oh.0

 

Moments Later—

Where do these people live?

In New Jersey.

Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

Moments Later—

How far away is it?

A lot farther.

Oh. Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

Moments Later—

My goodness. Look at all the cars.

That’s a parking lot, mom.

Oh yeah.

Don’t you remember parking your car in a parking lot?

Oh yeah.

 

Moments Later—

How far away is it?

A lot farther.

Oh. Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

And so it went. I brought some organic veggies with me as a gift for the hostess. We had a wonderful meal and a fabulous time. It was like being with family—the part of the family you really love. Mom interrupted the conversation a few times to ask a question, always a nonsequitur. But it was her way of being a part of the evening. And no one minded. She didn’t complain about going home while we were there, because fortunately, she was unable to see that it was already dark outside. Mom always complains about going home when she is aware that it is no longer daylight. It’s getting late. We have to go!

Mom did not sleep during the 3-hour trip home, but she remained quiet. Fortunately, she was tired, but so was I. We arrived home at midnight with a huge amount of delicious leftovers. Betty had seen to the pups, but we walked them when we got home. Lucy, my 15-year-old, had pooped twice on the walk. I thought we were fine, but she managed a third poop in the house. Cleanup! Fortunately, I am now expert at this.

Am grateful for the leftovers! Will make tomorrow easier. I won’t be home to cook. And Rob will be on duty once again.

 

Saturday, August 23, 2014 

Day of the third annual Historic Dreibelbis Farm Festival. I signed on about 24 vendors and had already met with the docents who will lead the tours through the house. Wonderful group of women!

Was looking forward to the day and seeing the alpacas. As my iPhone predicted (well, that was where I first saw the news), however, we had rain. All day long. Mud and rain. No alpacas. Kathy didn’t know we would provide a place for them in the barn. There were moments of relief from the rain. And I did get to see some of the vendors. Bought soap and lemon curd and more redware plates. Led tours through the house for all but 1.5 hours of the day from 10:00 am through 5:00 pm. A very long day and the end of an exhausting week. Mom had been once more left to Rob. Tomorrow, I will rest—apart from working on two manuscripts and caring for the pups and mom.

 

Sunday, August 24, 2014 

I had a pleasant morning. Made a nice breakfast for mom and me before going to church. Church and home again. Then I tried to work. But today, mom made a record 10 trips (or more, I have lost count) to the bathroom. I have not even had time to feed her early supper. Pups are outside. Rob is mowing the lawn. Mom is watching television. My work awaits. One more interruption and I will erupt!

Finally made mom some supper. She wouldn’t eat the green beans.

They’re too thick.

But mom, they’re from the garden. Try them.

Oh yeah. They’re good. 

Made myself some tea. Back to work on the manuscripts.

Thus endeth the day and a very challenging week!

 

Monday, August 25, 2014 

I worked late last night helping BH. He was in the midst of too much work given to him as a challenge, once again. BH suffers, as one colleague put it, from a variety of medieval diseases and disorders. He’s always in the hospital, always laid up with something, and yet, he remains employed—well, sort of. BH and his wife and the children still at home are moving yet again. They often do—sometimes to his wife’s sister’s house, sometimes to be with one of their grown daughters. They had been renting a 4-acre property in Hopewell. I myself would not be renting a 4-acre property in Hopewell if I lived on the financial edge and BH does. But they did and they loved it. Now, their hearts are broken and they are preparing to move yet again, this time from another place they love. Their lives are peppered with lovely places they have had to vacate. I could think of a worse way to live if I were near indigence.

At any rate, BH had another work crisis. It was an easy job: listen to a tape of a German-speaking man and fill in the blanks of a transcript. Was a hopeful message about the path to personalized medicine for cancer. My thoughts kept returning to Margie, my beloved sister-in-law. I didn’t want to think about being so close to sparing her life. I almost wanted to hear that we are light-years away from helping people with glios. Almost.

This morning, it was business as usual: walked the pups with Betty, met Marty’s wife, our Sikh friends, Buds’ wife with Duke (apparently Bud had a bad night and was sleeping in. Pretty rare for him!), and an array of drivers, who wave and smile as they go by. Most are on their way to work and perhaps they think I, like Betty, am retired. One thing I will never be is retired! Fortunately. Thanks to friends like BH and my (thus far) steady clients.

Decided on a big breakfast: sausage, fried potatoes (the good ones I parboiled from Rodale), green beans (also from Rodale), a slice of toast with rose apricot jam, and ginger tea with cinnamon honey. Mom got up while I was making breakfast. (She’s already been to the bathroom twice.) She declined sharing my breakfast, so I prepared her cereal. Mom wanted company while she ate, and I gave it a try. But I could not abide the sound of her sucking her lips and slurping her food. Mom is the only person I know who can actually slurp meat. She poises the spoon or fork a few inches from her lips and sucks it in like a vacuum cleaner, never bringing the food to her mouth.

Anyhow, I finished my breakfast on the porch, which is what I had originally intended, all the while feeling guilty for not giving mom the company she craves. I had put the kitchen light on for her, but as usual, she protested. You don’t need that. I protested back. Yes, you do.

Am off in a bit to bring my car in for another cosmetic treat: new side lamps. Why not? She looks prettier and prettier each time I spiff her up a bit. Greta Carbo has been so very good to me. She is nearly 239,000 miles old!

Then back to work.

Later—

Mom is at it again: going to the bathroom every 15 minutes. I have decided to allow her to go unattended. It’s the only way I can continue to work and the only way I can hold on to what sanity I have left. Between mom and Val, it has been challenging. Valentino is beside himself today and barking like a wild dog at every passing dog, person, school bus, and The Skateboarder! Yes, today was the first day back at school: children and school buses. The morning primes him for the rest of the day. It sets the stage for overreaction to just about EVERYTHING! I actually put his leash on him and went out front, where I had The Skateboarder (who was looped again) make Val sit and give him some cookies.

Hold on… mom is calling again! (She just needed be to swivel the television and close the shutters.) Oh well, it’s the least I can do.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Walked the pups, fed the pups, took care of mom’s three morning trips to the bathroom. Drove off to market, where I substituted for Martha from 8:00 am to 3:00 pm. Hard work. Rushed off to Rodale to pick up my organic food order for the week. Came home. Made zucchini and potato soup. Broiled salmon with mustard, lemon, and dill. Fed mom and the kids, and then headed off to Pottstown, where I met my client for dinner and brought him some of the salmon. Long day. I can hardly describe here how exhausted I was. Left mom to Rob’s care. Tomorrow will be just as exhausting.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Worked on manuscripts all morning. Then headed off to New Jersey to meet a client for dinner. Took mom along for the 3-hour drive. Couldn’t get a sitter. Betty will see to the pups.

Where do these people live?

In New Jersey.

Oh.

Who are they? Do you know them?

They are clients.

Oh.0

 

Moments Later—

Where do these people live?

In New Jersey.

Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

Moments Later—

How far away is it?

A lot farther.

Oh. Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

Moments Later—

My goodness. Look at all the cars.

That’s a parking lot, mom.

Oh yeah.

Don’t you remember parking your car in a parking lot?

Oh yeah.

 

Moments Later—

How far away is it?

A lot farther.

Oh. Have you ever been there before?

No.

Oh.

 

And so it went. I brought some organic veggies with me as a gift for the hostess. We had a wonderful meal and a fabulous time. It was like being with family—the part of the family you really love. Mom interrupted the conversation a few times to ask a question, always a nonsequitur. But it was her way of being a part of the evening. And no one minded. She didn’t complain about going home while we were there, because fortunately, she was unable to see that it was already dark outside. Mom always complains about going home when she is aware that it is no longer daylight. It’s getting late. We have to go!

Mom did not sleep during the 3-hour trip home, but she remained quiet. Fortunately, she was tired, but so was I. We arrived home at midnight with a huge amount of delicious leftovers. Betty had seen to the pups, but we walked them when we got home. Lucy, my 15-year-old, had pooped twice on the walk. I thought we were fine, but she managed a third poop in the house. Cleanup! Fortunately, I am now expert at this.

Am grateful for the leftovers! Will make tomorrow easier. I won’t be home to cook. And Rob will be on duty once again.

Saturday, August 23, 2014 

Day of the third annual Historic Dreibelbis Farm Festival. I signed on about 24 vendors and had already met with the docents who will lead the tours through the house. Wonderful group of women!

Was looking forward to the day and seeing the alpacas. As my iPhone predicted (well, that was where I first saw the news), however, we had rain. All day long. Mud and rain. No alpacas. Kathy didn’t know we would provide a place for them in the barn. There were moments of relief from the rain. And I did get to see some of the vendors. Bought soap and lemon curd and more redware plates. Led tours through the house for all but 1.5 hours of the day from 10:00 am through 5:00 pm. A very long day and the end of an exhausting week. Mom had been once more left to Rob. Tomorrow, I will rest—apart from working on two manuscripts and caring for the pups and mom.

Sunday, August 24, 2014 

I had a pleasant morning. Made a nice breakfast for mom and me before going to church. Church and home again. Then I tried to work. But today, mom made a record 10 trips (or more, I have lost count) to the bathroom. I have not even had time to feed her early supper. Pups are outside. Rob is mowing the lawn. Mom is watching television. My work awaits. One more interruption and I will erupt!

Finally made mom some supper. She wouldn’t eat the green beans.

They’re too thick.

But mom, they’re from the garden. Try them.

Oh yeah. They’re good. 

Made myself some tea. Back to work on the manuscripts.

Thus endeth the day and a very challenging week!

 

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Started out at 6:30 this morning. Laundry, shopping, stopping to talk with Deb and Susie at market, driving Mike here and there. Was supposed to go to the farm for cleanup in preparation for the family reunion tomorrow. Too much to do, too tired. Allergies getting to me. Decided to stake out a spot on the porch and finish reading one of the books in my pile of books to be read. Eventually, I invited mom out onto the porch to join me for a change of venue. Mendelssohn piano trios in the background, we sat together with the pups. Gorgeous day, fresh and bright.

But it was not quite the restful afternoon and evening I had imagined.

[Reading] “I couldn’t be happier to have you,” said the older man. He wasn’t smiling—he didn’t smile too often—but there was plain and simple affection in his face. “For starters…”[1]

How long have you lived here?

For 9 years.

Oh.

Where is Rob? Is he sleeping?

No. He’s outside trimming grass.

Oh.

Where was I. Take it from the top: “I couldn’t be happier to have you,” said the older man. He wasn’t smiling—he didn’t smile too often—but there was plain and simple affection in his face. “For starters you must play in the cricket match next weekend, Charles, and then you haven’t seen my garden—and in truth…”

Where’s the white dog?

I don’t know.

He’s so quiet.

She.

Oh.

Where’s Rob? Is he sleeping?

No, no. There he is trimming grass.

How long have you lived here?

Nine years.

Do you like it here?

Yes, I do.

Let’s see: “For starters you must play in the cricket match next weekend, Charles, and then you haven’t seen my garden—and in truth, you’re coming for the best of the season.”

            This Frederick was the reigning squire of Plumbley, just as his forefathers had been since such a thing called a squire had first come to be in England…”

Is this Pennsylvania?

Yes, it is.

Oh. It’s nice here.

Yes, it is.

 

“… and begun passing down the family name from father to son, from uncle to nephew, and occasionally from cousin to cousin…”

Where’s the white dog?

I don’t know.

The black dog is always so quiet.

No, he isn’t.

Where’s Rob?

He’s outside somewhere.

 

“… There was no unbroken line of male succession, yet each Ponsonby who abided at the great house, as the family called it…” 

How long have you lived here?

Nine years.

Oh. Do you like it here?

Yes, I do.

Do you own this house?

Yes, I do. (Sometimes I tell mom that the bank owns it.) 

“… There was no unbroken line of male succession, yet each Ponsonby who abided at the great house, as the family called it, had viewed it in much the same light: There had been no profligate along the way who tore down the land’s timber to pay gambling debts or sold off the estate’s outlying areas for pony-money. Thus the estate—though it was legally…”

Where’s Rob?

I don’t know.

Is he sleeping?

No.

(Rob) Here I am.

Oh there he is.

Do you own this house?

(Me) Yes, I do. 

“Thus the estate—though it was legally unbound and therefore each new heir might have sold it on his first day of taking up the patrimony—had remained intact for many hundreds of years. Only tremendous good luck…” 

Where do you sleep?

In my room upstairs.

Oh. 

[One more time] “Thus the estate—though it was legally unbound and therefore each new heir might have sold it on his first day of taking up the patrimony—had remained intact for many hundreds of years. Only tremendous good luck…”

Sandy, did my Johnny Boy ever come here?

Yes, mom. He’s been here several times. He’s taken us out to lunch.

Oh. 

“Only tremendous good luck…”

Where do I sleep?

In your room.

Oh. Is there a bed in my room?

Of course there is. Don’t you remember? (I know I am not supposed to challenge her loss of memory, but I cannot help myself. She’s challenging me!)

Where is my room?

Downstairs.

Oh. And where do you sleep?

Upstairs.

Oh. 

“Only tremendous good luck had held it all together. Or a peculiar, settled sort of inherited trait in all the Ponsonbys…”

Where do I sleep?

In your room.

Do I have a bed?

Where did you sleep last night? (I know, I know. Don’t challenge her!)

[Mom shrugs.]

Did you sleep in the bathroom?

[Mom shrugs.]

Maybe you slept outside. (I am out of bounds. But I really, really want to get beyond this page!)

[Mom shrugs.]

You slept in a bed in your room.

But where is my room? I don’t know where it is. 

“As a group they were similar, all quiet, all bookish, all in love with home. The portraits that line the front hall showed a long sequence of gentle gentlemen.

            Frederick was no different. He was without aspiration to any greatness of personal achievement, was excessively modest, yet was a merry and genial soul, who took…”

Where do you sleep?

Upstairs?

Where do I sleep?

Do you remember where you slept last night?

No, I don’t.

Well, you must have slept in bed.

I don’t know.

Did you sleep in the bathroom?

I don’t know.

Did you sleep in a bed?

I don’t know.

Do you have a bed?

I don’t know.

Do you watch television in your room?

I never watch television.

Of course you do. You like game shows.

Oh no. I never watch television.

This went on for 3 hours, but I did finish the excellent book, and mom did make it to her room. When we reached the kitchen, I showed her where she eats breakfast.

This is where you eat breakfast every day.

Oh. Where do I go now?

Straight ahead. You’ll see.

Oh.

Upon seeing her room: Oh yeah.

Not one minute later, she called me to go to the bathroom. I made her sit and stand three times to be sure her bladder was really empty and to avoid having to make 3 separate trips to the bathroom.

But now, I just have to remember where the bathroom door is.

Yes, you do.

Minutes later, mom was asleep. The dogs have been out, and I am calling it a night. I wonder how much of the book I read I will remember. But I do know that it left me feeling happy. Nice way to end the night. And I smile at mom’s lack of memory. She is still a pretty woman with a lovely smile. What’s not to smile at?

[1] Excerpts from Charles Finch. A Death in the Small Hours. 2012: St. Martin’s Press; New York, NY.

Tuesday and Wednesday, August 12–13, 2014

 There is no understanding how mom’s mind works, or doesn’t work. She will ask, Where were you?

You don’t remember seeing me this morning?

Oh yeah. (translation: No)

I took you to the bathroom twice and gave you clean panties (translation: Diapers)

Oh yeah. (translation: No)

 

Later–

Where is Rob? I haven’t seen him all day.

He just made you toast and coffee.

Oh yeah. (translation: Oh yeah?)

 

How does mom even remember that there is a Rob! She never remembers seeing him or being in his presence.

 

Where are the dogs?

They’re sleeping.

Oh yeah.

 

Later:

Rob, where are the dogs? Sleeping?

Yes.

I can’t believe it. (Another frequent comment and an old standby.) 

How does mom even remember there are dogs?

 

Later: 

When we go to the hairdresser, her overwhelming concern remains paying me for the hairdresser’s bill. She remembers she has a bank account. She knows she must pay for the work, but she never recalls having been to the hairdresser before.

Have you ever been here before?

No, but you have been here several times.

Oh yeah. (translation: Really?) I need to go to the bank to get my money.

Don’t worry mom. You don’t need to go to the bank.

But I have to get my money. I have to pay you back.

No, mom. You don’t have to do anything of the sort.

 

Each time we travel to Cheryl’s house:

Have you ever been here before?

Yes, mom, and so have you. Many times.

Oh yeah. (translation: Really?)

 

When she sees Cheryl and Bob again:

It’s been so long since I last saw you? How are you? You look wonderful. (These are mom’s usual comments, even though she will have seen Cheryl recently.) Is this your father?

No, he’s my husband. (For some reason, mom never remembers meeting Bob. But she seems to remember Cheryl. Then again, there’s no telling…)

A few days after seeing Cheryl and Bob again, mom asked

Who was that man, Rob?

What man?

That man who was here yesterday?

She’s talking about Bob, Rob. She thinks he was here only yesterday, not two days before. Mom has her days mixed up.

 

On giving mom something to drink

Oh, I can’t drink all of this. You take some.

No, mom. Drink half of it now and then drink the other half later.

(Mom laughs) This means mom doesn’t understand a word I said.

Mom, listen to me. Drink… half… of… it… now. And then later… drink the other half.

You have some.

No, mom. Save it for later.

(Mom laughs)

Mom, listen. Drink what you can.

And then, I know…

You know what?

Have some, won’t you?

No. I said to save it for later.

I’m not this thirsty. Have some with me.

Oh my, mom, you are as deaf as a doornail.

(Mom laughs) Mom hasn’t got a clue!

 

Took mom to the shoe store. The podiatrist and the chiropractor suggested that she should have new shoes. Frankly, I never though to look at the heels of her shoes. The shoes were practically brand new and she wears them so rarely. But the heels were worn unevenly. (The doctors have also recommended that she wear shoes in the house for increased stability.) 

So, we went to a local shoe store that sold SAS (San Antonio Shoes). I have a thing about buying American. I ordered her shoes and then we took a trip to the supermarket. I made mom walk without my help from the parking lot to the store. She asked for help, but I refused and wanted to see if she would/could use her cane. She was quite unsteady, but made it. I was always only inches away. At the grocers, I made mom wheel the cart. She did so with great ease. 

See how easy it would be if you used a walker, mom?

I know. I always use a walker. (Mom has steadfastly refuses to use a walker. She doesn’t even use her cane. She carries it, but it rarely hits the ground!)

Mom, you have never used a walker in your life.

I know. I do. (There’s logic in there somewhere.) 

As we leave the store, Miss Queen Bee asked if I would drive the car up to the door of the market.

No way, mom. You need the exercise. I deliberately parked away from the entrance to give you the chance to walk outside.

 

Later when we returned home—where mom has lived for more than a year, she asked, Is this your house?

Yes, it is mom. It’s yours, too. You live here with me.

Oh, it’s nice. What a nice place you have.

Well, this is the kitchen where you have your breakfast every morning.

Oh, I know.

Do you want to go to your room to watch television?

This is nice, Sandy. Where do I go?

You go back there.

Oh yeah.

I guess this will never be mom’s home. Her heart is still in New Jersey. She asks, as we drive, are we still in Pennsylvania. And I assure her each time,

Yes, we are.

This is nice! How do they keep it so clean?