Sunday, June 15, 2014 

It’s 55 degrees and oh so delightful. I awoke this morning to find Valentino prone on his lovely Chippendale dog bed, aka, the couch. Took a photo and crept upstairs trying not to awaken him. Mom was asleep. Lucy and Rob were asleep. It was a wonderful morning. All is well with the world. We are together and the flowers are blooming—well, will eventually bloom. Everything is a little late this year because of the cool temps. I thank God for my blessings. I would have said “wealth,” but that’s debatable in the non-abstract sense. On Monday, I bring Greta Carbo (my Swedish car) in for some major work to the tune of $2500.00. Oh well, beats buying a new car, which I cannot do. And the hailstorm left me in need of a new roof and new gutters. The insurance company won’t cover the skylight, which must then be replaced, and I am sure they won’t cover the entire cost (minus the $500 deductible anyhow). But this, too, is a blessing. I only called the insurance company as a lark to see if there was any roof damage. Oh my! Back to the cup and pencil to raise some money. Fortunately, too, there is hope of a new job coming in this summer.

Speaking of which, I am still finishing that monster reformatting job. I have set a limit of 25 pages per day, but by the time I get in the middle of it, I can’t keep my eyes opened. I have been chalking it up to the high winds and allergies and the tedious read. During my work, mom will invariably call me and then not recall why she called. She’s lonely. I understand, but when I am interrupted mid-sentence, it’s hard for me to respond sweetly. I often wait until I have finished a section or a sentence and then see to her. She will look up confused and fumble mentally. Oh yeah, can you call my Johnny Boy. I never talk to him. Her Johnny Boy is her fallback. If all else fails, she knows where she is looking: to her Johnny Boy.

But then, when I wake up each morning, I give thanks for having had my dad as my dad—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He was a good man, and I miss him terribly. My sister-in-law once said that she was sorry my dad did not outlive my mother. Dad was more fun, always at the ready with a loaf of Italian bread and a laugh. Mom would have preferred being with her sisters than with her grandchildren—so far as we could tell. Her sisters were everything to her. I suppose growing up in a family of 10 (7 girls to 3 boys), the attachments were inevitable. Every weekend, they shopped together. I would love to tally the amount of money they must have spent over a lifetime! But then again, they bought bargains when they could. And buying bargains meant buying simply because they were bargains—whether you needed them or not.

But there is no more Cara Carsons or Minnie Kreps or David’s Chez Boutique (he apparently didn’t study French) or Mademoiselle. These were the prime stores in Bayonne and Jersey City way back when. Of course, we did most of our shopping in the city, aka, Manhattan. I miss it. Not the Manhattan of today, but the Manhattan of yesteryear. Most of the shops I loved are still there: Aquascutum, Berberry, Saks, Lord & Taylor, Bergdorff, and possibly even Worldly Things on Madison. But I practically lived at ??? and Paul ??? when I worked in New York. The former is gone and the latter is a mere shadow of its former self. L&T is not quite up to snuff anymore. Too big a mall image.

And here I am in PA, with mom and Rob and Lucy and Val, shopping online. Mom has no clue what a computer can do or does. Her stores are gone forever. So are her sisters, with the exception of Rose, whom she will probably never see again. I must show mom the flowers today. Must get her outside for a breath of fresh air now that the wind has died down a bit and the threat of rain is gone.

Mom’s cane thumps! She pokes her head into my office.
Hello! I’m going to the bathroom.
So what else is new!

This part of the morning/day is my least favorite. I don the surgical gloves, grab a wipe (and then two, or three, or four, or five) and get to work. Later I will put her in the shower. Mom is now brushing her teeth—a 5-minute process. She will end by brushing her lips, something I never observed her doing when she had all her faculties.

My mother pokes her head into my office.
Sandy, I’m going into the bed again? (The question is always there.)
Goodnight!

Mom is never quite sure anymore what she is supposed to do or where she is supposed to go. She asks where her room is, where the TV is and is always surprised to find it in her room each time. Oh there it is! Today for sure, I will coax her out onto the porch. She has forgotten that she sat out there last summer and admired the flowers. Perhaps she will admire them again this summer. Perhaps today.

Rob is in the kitchen at the laptop, trying to listen to something or other, but mom, who is doing word search puzzles, keeps interrupting. Where did Sandy go? Rob, can you find this word. Is it cold out? I keep telling him to take the laptop out onto the porch, but no. Men can be as difficult as aging mothers.

Later—

Well, we finally led mom out into the yard for a dose of sunshine. She was terrified at first. Strange to imagine that someone would not want to go outside. But she did enjoy the flowers and the view while she was out there. We raised the umbrella on the table. As she sat, I weeded. She was delighted that I finally put some socks on. I did this only to prevent my feet from getting dirty in the garden as I waded through plants.

I walked her nearly to the fence, but she resisted. Mom was upset about Valentino fleeing the yard. I tried to explain that there was a fence around the entire yard. It did not compute.

We had lunch later: I grilled organic hot dogs (a first in many, many years), homemade sauerkraut, homemade potato salad (thanks to Leora Lynn), and organic argula salad. Mom is out there now having ice cream. A nice day, peppered with Where’s Rob? Where’s the white dog? The white dog is always sleeping. Watch the black dog; he’s going to run away. Where’s Rob? I like it out here. Where’s the white dog? Is this Pennsylvania? And a resurrected oldie: How long have you lived here? She asked several times about the neighbors and said she speaks to the woman next door all the time. Of course, she doesn’t. The woman next door is rarely home. I maintain that it’s a safe house. No one is ever home. Occasionally, I see the husband—a very nice man—mowing the lawn. Although, I have seen a younger man riding his mower there, too. Lawn man? Friend? Relative? But mom swears she knows them and talks to them all the time. Actually, mom never spoke with neighbors. Not in NJ and certainly not here, but for my friends who come to visit.

All in all, a glorious day! Delicious picnic lunch! Lovely sky! Warm sun! The porch was perfect. I am grateful and happy. And it’s wonderful to have mom here. Mom, Rob, Lucia, Valentino, and Betty and Barb… All the people and creatures in the world who matter.

Saturday, June 7, 2014 

Quite a day! Took a day off from editing and helped out at market for a few hours. Left early to get back in time for the wedding shower on my back porch. I had been working for weeks to clean the porch, polish furniture, get rid of spider webs, wash the tile floor, weed the garden, plant annuals among the perennials, and mulch. Rob spent the week trimming and mowing. Everything was wonderful. I tied pink and burgundy mylar balloons to the Weber grill I was giving the bride (in addition to a Kitchen Aid toaster).

Ruth came at noon to see to mom. Lovely woman. Mom had no idea who she was and claimed she had never seen her before, but this is Ruth’s third visit with mom. While mom and Ruth sat in the living room chatting, I noticed a wet spot on the antique Oriental. Lucy didn’t make it out on time. So I dragged the carpet to the yard and hosed it down. Fortunately, the sun was strong and bright. But this was a mere shadow of things to come.

Mother and bride came to my back gate on the pretext of dropping off a plant. When the bride saw the guests (around 20 of them), she refused to go onto the porch. Instead, she staged (and I don’t use that lightly) a meltdown on my front lawn, unable to breathe. Her hands became numb and a neighbor came in for some ice. A serious anxiety attack. Quite a show for mom and Ruth. (Ruth is a lovely woman at 82.) All the guests were nonplussed. No one knew what to say or do. So I suggested they start eating the food. Some went home, gifts unopened. Eventually, the bride came in, sat facing the garden, head lowered and sobbing. We all wonder how she will react to marching down the aisle while 200 people watch. We all wonder how she will react to the rehearsal dinner or to the reception after the wedding. We all wonder if she is really ready to be married.

As an aside, I suggested she take the mylar balloons home, but the bride refused: her fiancé is “terrified of balloons.” Either they will make quite a couple and see each other through these unusual fears or they will wind up in a very miserable marriage. The maid of honor was quite upset as were other members of the bridal party. They had never seen this side of the bride. Eventually, she opened her gifts, keeping her head down and her voice low.

I tell you all this because I checked in on mom and Ruth several times. Both were horrified at the actions of this young woman. The drama took quite a while to unfold. All the while, I could only think how happy I was that my mother at 97 is easier to handle than this young woman at 25. Am I becoming more patient? Not really. Just more accepting and realizing that I wasn’t dealt a bad hand in my mother. She’s a sweet woman who would not have put up with the bizarre behavior we saw today. What a world we live in. I am almost glad that mom doesn’t really know what’s going on. I think she would be seriously disheartened.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014 

Deadlines galore, and all this week. Plus the wedding shower on my back porch on Saturday. Have a sitter lined up for mom. Am in the process of editing more than 400 pages of questions for a nursing exam. Several of the questions speak to my circumstances: “A confused patient asks to use the bathroom even though the patient was toileted only 30 minutes earlier. What should the nurse do?” I used to “Explain that this is unnecessary because of the recent trip to the bathroom.” I have long since learned that is the wrong answer. Correct Answer: “Assist the patient to the bathroom.” No, I am not more patient, just more resigned.

Of course, mom might take 4 trips to the bathroom in 30 minutes. She has already taken two trips this morning within the past 15 minutes. And so the day goes on.

Later—

What time is it, Rob?
9:50
Oh yeah! 

Of course, if we put the timer on the microwave, mom always asks:

Why is that clock going backwards? I don’t understand.

A very young child wouldn’t know this or might not observe it. So there are still vestiges of intelligence in there. She might not understand the workings of a timer, but she knows that a clock goes forward, not backwards. Dementia is a tough cookie to deal with. So is mom.

And of course, mom notes every morning, Oh that cat is still up there. I can’t believe it. Most of the time, I indulge her fantasy. Sometimes I actually bring her to closer to the fan. When I do, she blinks as if trying to find the cat. But then she focuses once again and sees it there. No use trying. She is bound the other way.

Am working away, whittling down the huge editing project and hoping mom doesn’t call me too many times today. And you know, when my mother is long gone, I am sure Rob and I will still hear the clanking of her spoon on her cereal bowl as she lines up her little Cheerios and submerges them evenly into the milk. And we will hear her Oh yeses and Oh nos coming from her room in response to the TV game shows. We will never be alone!

Grilled a pepper steak, sautéed some fried onions, and steamed organic broccoli for our lunch. Gave mom half of a pepper steak, but she only ate half. When I gave her a piece of strawberry shortcake, I told her she would be sure to eat that but didn’t finish her pepper steak.

I didn’t have any pepper steak, she protested? I didn’t eat. I’m eating this.
You don’t remember having the pepper steak?
No I didn’t eat anything!
I gave you onions and broccoli and a pepper steak.
Oh yeah. (Mom’s way of dealing with not remembering.) 

There are several Oh yeahs. The Oh yeah?—indicating surprise. The Oh yeah—indicating that’s right, I remember now. The Oh yeah—indicating No! The Oh yeah—demonstrating challenge. Her vocabulary might have diminished, but she can express herself clearly enough to all who care to hear.

Her weak Oh yeahs are always a dead giveaway and indicate that she has no clue—a sort of verbal shoulder shrug. Mom has no clue that she had just had lunch, and I shouldn’t badger her, but it’s too hard not to. Rob says its payback time. It was my turn to protest: I always ate what I was given when I was child. Oh well. Who knows and who’s telling!

Mom is still in the kitchen calling for affirmation as she circles her Word Search finds. Sandy, see if this is right. Sometimes I check. Most of the time, I don’t. She forgets and I go on about my business. I cannot answer her every call. They are far too frequent and far too intrusive, especially when I am working. Well, back to work before mom needs another bathroom break!

Tuesday, May 6, 2014 

Still waiting for work to come in. So I am taking advantage of the freedom and planting my flowers. Still quite cold out there, but I am chancing it. My two new Cornelias (hybrid musk roses) came in. They were the same roses that graced our fence in NJ. Here, I have another variety, Lavender Lady. But I missed Cornelia and had to introduce her to this land.

Went to the garden center early. Bought top soil and grass seed and potting soil. Pots are filled with herbs. (Can’t plant them in the garden. Rabbits too numerous.) Holes where I dug up and moved other plants have been filled with top soil and overseeded.

All the while, I wondered if mom were up. Finally, Rob called out the window: Your mother is getting up. I thought I would finish what I was doing and deal with mom later. When I came in, she was having breakfast.

Where were you?
Outside, gardening.
Really? Is it cold outside?
No, mom.
It looks cold. I’m cold. 

And so it goes on. I opened the windows to air out her room, but it was still too chilly and quickly chilled the entire floor. Work coming in on Friday, and as luck will probably have it, so will the other job I have been waiting for.

Ann, mom’s former caregiver, called. We chatted for a while, and Ann was sorry mom seems on the decline. But mom is really doing quite well. Mom is up to 98 lbs, while her sister Rose is down to 71 lbs. Mom doesn’t mind showers as much as she used to when she first came here. Getting her to shower was a battle at first. She was using Rose’s method: crying. But it didn’t work. So now she goes in obediently and appreciates the feeling of the water on her back.

Just gave her a shower and dressed her, but mom was really reluctant.

Why do I have to get dressed?
Because I want to take your photo outside with the spring flowers.
Oh, I don’t want to go.
Why not? You’ll be fine. Then we’ll come right back inside.

So out we went. Mom was really terrified and asked me to hold onto her. She is not used to walking on grass and didn’t want to stand alone. But I assured her I would only take a few photos and that would be it.

The photos were not exactly successful. She looked afraid and insecure. So whose need was I filling. My own, I suppose. I wanted a photo of mom with the beautiful pink azalea. But there’s mom looking like a scared child, barely able to smile.

She’s back to the safety of her room, watching television and sitting on the rocker. Perhaps I think of it as a limited life, but to her, it’s all she wants and all she needs at this time. I am brought back to the moment years ago when I told a friend that my mother doesn’t do anything. She doesn’t know an instrument or another language, doesn’t read, and doesn’t even play tennis. All she does, I said, was housework. My friend said, Well, maybe housework is her tennis. And now, maybe the rocker and the TV, her word search puzzles, and a few cookies from time to time are her life.

Later—

Just back from walking the pups with Aunt Betty. Mom called almost immediately.

Rob!
He’s not here mother.
Where is he?
I don’t know.
Well, when are we going?
We’re not going anywhere.
Well, I thought… Why did I have to get dressed.
We already went outside to take your picture.

[Blank stare]

Sandy!
What mom?
How do you turn this off?
What mom?
The television.
Why do you want to turn it off?
We’re going out.
No, mom. We were just outside before I took the pups for a walk.
I took your photo.

Sandy!
What mom?
Where is everybody?
Well, I am in here and Rob is outside. Why don’t you go watch TV.
I don’t want to watch TV alone. I’ll sit in the living room. Is anyone in there?
No mom. I am in here and Rob is outside.

And so it goes. Day after day, after very long days.

Monday, May 5, 2014 

Awoke early to walk the pups. Betty and I complained about the high winds. Where are they coming from? Still, I am gardening. At least until the work pours in again. Had to run to the eye doctor for a checkup. Worried that mom would awake before I got home. She had. No damage done. I showered her as soon as she finished her breakfast.

Every time I heard someone at the bathroom door, I rushed over. It was Rob each time. He was at the basement door, then the bathroom door, then the cupboard. Each time, I interrupted my work to check.

Spent time on Jake’s book today. Had to do some heavy checking. Everything was fine. We thought several passages were missing. They had just been highly edited and obscurely placed.

Mom called throughout the day, each time causing me to stop my Japanese CDs.

Kuruma ga ugokanai desu.
Sandy?
(Stop the CD, go into her room) Everything OK, mom?
Yes, where is everybody. I didn’t see Rob all day.
He made you breakfast and coffee this morning and sat with you.
Oh yeah. I know.
Busu de wa…
Sandy?
Stop CD, go into her room) Yes, mom?
What are you doing?
Working, mom.
Won’t you sit with me?
I can’t mom. I have to work.
Where are you?
In my office. Right behind this wall.
Oh yeah. That’s right.
Rai shu tenisu ga dekimasu ka?
Sandy?
(Stop CD, go into her room) What mom?
Where is everybody? I didn’t see anybody all day?
Well, I bathed you a little while ago. And I brought you chocolates.
Oh yeah.

This went on for a while. I made mom some lunch, then showered her again. Brought her something cold to drink. Feeling bad. Missed the gym today. Need to go tomorrow definitely.

Back to my CDs. Working my way through inch by inch or is it minute by minute. I even dream in Japanese. Well, sort of. I dream of words and phrases and cannot figure out what they mean. But sometimes I add Japanese words and phrases in conversation with non-Japanese figures in my dream. Either way, conversation is not really possible. But it’s fun.

Sandy?
What mom?
What are you doing?
No much, mom.
Oh. Won’t you sleep with me.
No, mom. You need to sleep by yourself. You’ll be more comfortable that way.
Oh no. My bed is so big. (It’s a twin.)
No, mom. It’s a small bed and there isn’t room enough for both of us.
But I can move over.
No, mom.

It’s tough being firm. But there is no other way. I made the mistake only once of saying I would sleep with her, thinking she would not remember. But she did and clung to it all day long. When I didn’t join her at night, she protested: But you said you would. Selective memory. She knows what she wants. But this would not be good. I recall the story from the dementia meeting at Rittenhouse, where a daughter slept with her mother every night. She eventually moved her mother to a nursing home, but could not keep her mother there. The mother would stay up all night long and cry because she missed sleeping with her daughter. Dangerous move it turns out.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Tired today from all the gardening. So I took the morning off from the gym. I should not have. I needed to get away and walk 10 miles! Had a boatload of editing to do, and mom was in rare form. So was Valentino. Seems every dog in the neighborhood, every motorcyle in Pennsylvania, every UPS truck in the world, and every mail truck in the Universe passed my door today. Val is in here with me now. Door is closed. And Lucy is asleep. I am worried about her. More teeth seem to be going the way of all flesh, and I am concerned about providing dental care for her and having her undergo anesthesia.

Mom called at least 10,000 times. She needed tissues, her blanket, the channel changed. She needed something to drink and made, oh, maybe a half dozen trips to the bathroom inside of 10 minutes. She wanted me to sleep with her and stay with her. She wanted me to know that the phone was ringing and that Valentino was barking (actually, that Some dog outside is barking). It was Valentino and he was at the 2-dog window.

More work came in—for which I am eternally grateful. By the same token, I need an environment conducive to working. And today was not it. I managed to get through a manuscript for the third time. The client noted that I had missed two questions. I was horrified. Of course, using page-down and page-up can cause misses. Worse than that, having mom call you continually, stopping to save your work, or losing your work when the dense file freezes are now all part of the game.

I love my work. And I love my solitude while I work, which is why I work at home. But the solitude part is harder and harder to come by. Still, I wouldn’t change much. Just need more cooperation from all the disturbing parties. Yet, I know this is something that I will not receive. I just have to cope.

Sunday, April 27, 2014 

Quite a Saturday night we spent. Went to the Reading Symphony. Ruth came over to tend to mom while we were gone. When she first walked in, I wondered how she would do. Ruth is a feisty farm girl (and I mean that wholeheartedly) in her 80s, “who’s seen it all!” I wondered if she could pick up mom if she fell or if she herself would need help. No need to worry. Ruth had been around the block a few times and took over, while Rob and I dressed. Mom had had an explosive event just a few minutes before. In fact, she was just getting out of the shower when Ruth arrived. I forbade any further food until we got home. Didn’t want Ruth to deal with what’s going on internally. I know the cleanup routine and didn’t want to put her through it, too.

We arrived at the symphony in time to hear the end of the opening remarks and just as the conductor was walking out. Interesting night. Far better than I had expected. I am not a fan of the Russians (with the exception of Prokofiev). Opened with Glinka Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla (which I do fancy). Then the Prokofiev piano concerto no. 3 in C major. The Youth Orchestra (how I applaud their effort) did a creditable job on the Rossini overture to L’Italiana in Algeri. The pièce de résistance was the Tchaikovsky, As Rob noted, if he had been German, it would have ended with the Allegro molto vivace instead of the Adagio lamentoso. Even I—pianist and musicologist—applauded at the close of the Allegro. Couldn’t help myself. It was brilliant and fun! The percussion section was having a blast (or so I hope).

But even with thoughts of the symphony, I awoke thinking of Margie’s death. I awoke each morning as I do thinking about death. Tchaikovsky died of cholera—possibly self-induced—only two weeks after the premier of this symphony. Would I awake to find Lucy and Valentino OK? Would mom be fine? Is Rob fine? I live and sleep on the edge. I know how finite this life is. Margie’s death was one of the most immediate reminders. (That’s one of the reasons I bought the BlueStar stove—one of my favorite toys! And it’s one of the reasons why I had the basement organized within an inch of its life—although a basement can never be fully organized. Not while there are two or more people in a household.) I think also of Susan and Gary, who were taken by the same ruthless brain tumor. I think of my brother, who now owns a Maserati and sports the Italian flag as a tattoo. (Of course, he never told me. Cousins call with the latest information.) I think these are his BlueStar stove. We all have our toys. We know our time here is limited. So why not? I continue to study Japanese, using the Pimsleur Method. I love being able to study while I am driving. The night before last, I even dreamt about moshi yokereba (if you would like). In the dream, I was desperate to know what it meant. Can’t say my dream was in Japanese, but the language does invade in small ways from time to time.

Pups are still outside and Rob just got up. I can hear mom breathing softly in the next room. All is well this morning.

Later—

Loads of gardening later (beautiful day), received some work from a client abroad. Trying to meet a deadline. Mom is calling continuously. Valentino is barking because the boy across the street—who, by the way, was as drunk as a skunk the other day and addressed me as “dude”—is out on his darned skateboard.

Why is he barking?
It’s nothing, mom. Go watch television? Valentino, get in here!
Where’s Rob?
Outside mowing the lawn.
Can I sit with you?
No mom, I‘m working. I have a deadline to meet.
Oh. I thought…
No mom. It’s OK. Go watch TV.
Why is the dog barking?
Valentino! It’s nothing, mom. He’s OK. Ignore him. Get in here, Val!
I’m going back to work now, mom.

Back to work. Valentino is in my office. The boy is outside with his skateboard and with any luck, he will avoid the cars or they will attempt to avoid him. I surely hope he isn’t drunk on a Sunday afternoon, or ever again! Mom is watching television. Rob is still mowing the lawn. I am going back to work!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014 

Cold and windy again today. Walked the pups and fed them, then off to the gym with B and to see M. at the hand therapy office, where I recommended ever-blooming roses as new foundation plantings. Red ones! Should look wonderful. The building needs a spot of color and the roses will hold up under the sun and summer heat on Penn Ave. Back home for breakfast and to meet the Sears serviceman, who is coming to check out the clothes dryer.

Finished cleaning up the basement after the waterproofing and shelving and installation of the new hot water heater. After the serviceman left, I decided to look into new wood stoves as an alternate fuel source in case we lose power. I love researching new things. Spoke with two companies today and have a little footwork to do.

Dogs are asleep now and mom is watching television. Fortunately, I can turn the sound off. She can’t hear it anyhow and watches subtitles for the hearing impaired. Awaiting word from M.T. on work I handed in two days ago. Good to have time off. Hit my foot twice today down the basement. It’s swollen now, so I am going to sit with my feet up for a while. Too windy to work outside and far too cold still to plant anything. Barb, Jerry, (local) Nancy, and I went to Black Rock Garden Center and had a blast. We figure, we all bought enough to pay their bills for the month. Can’t wait to prepare my planters, replace the plants that didn’t make it through the winter, and bring some to this still bleak landscape.

Nancy sent a photo of herself enjoying some sunshine vitamin D. I sent this photo. No vitamin D here and very high winds.

Right now, I am enjoying some dark chocolate from Nuts.com. (Dark chocolate raises the metabolism and helps you lose weight! J) Anyhow, I have dark chocolate covered raisins, dark chocolate coconut haystacks, dark chocolate covered walnuts, and dark chocolate covered orange peel. My gift (they always send a gift along) was dark chocolate covered almonds. I am in pig heaven. Share some with mom, too. Such a gloomy, windy day. The chocolate helps immeasurably!

Later—

Fell asleep on the couch with Valentino while I was reading a book on Kindle.

Sandy! (Mom was standing there watching me from the bathroom door. Her third trip in as many minutes.)
What mom?
What are you doing? Sleeping?
Yes, mom. I fell asleep while reading.
Oh. Do you want to sleep with me?
No, mom.
Oh. I’m going in here (walking toward the kitchen). Where should I go? Oh. I’ll go back to my room.
OK, mom.

Not much rest for the weary. Need some sunshine vitamin D! Wind is still howling. Am watching my star magnolia sway wildly and my redbud tree, nearly in bloom. The flowers are not falling gracefully. They are getting brown and dying far too soon. Not sure if we will take our walk in the morning. Betty will call and we’ll make the decision then. I will sneak out with the pups, as usual. Return and feed them, and then awaken mom. And my day will begin anew.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Tough morning. Alas, all good resolves dissolved. Betty and I walked the pups in beautiful weather. Of course, we are anticipating another onslaught of storms. But these shall be the last of them.

I had intended to arrive home, feed the pups, get ready for church, awaken my mother and give her breakfast, and get going. Everything was fine until I awoke mom. She was a mess again. Second day in a row. And we had just finished another round of antibiotics for the most recent UTI. How can we prevent these if I am not there through the night to clean her and prevent another infection? There seems to be no way.

Anyhow, I was harsh. She even remarked that I yell at her all the time. I apologized, but I had not been kind. She stands so far back in the shower that I often cannot reach her, and leaning forward with the handheld showerhead is tough on my back. So I curtly asked her to move closer. And I was upset about the dirty Depends. They were soiled inside and out this time. This also meant another load of laundry. And I had not counted on having to give her another shower before I left for church.

Today’s sermon was on words—those we speak and should not have. It’s not always words with me, but tone of voice and impatience. Mom is still so very sweet and I am not always up to the latest crisis or the latest call. Hearing her call my name grates on me when I am working. But whom can she call, if not me? She does call for Rob, but even his name is a distraction when I am working.

I apologized once again. At times, I do not honor my mother.

Saturday, February 22, 2014 

Been editing. Swamiji sent me his latest book The Hip Guru’s Guide—The Stress-Free College Student. Good stuff. He included a story I read only yesterday: His parents were killed in a car crash while he was a counselor at summer camp. Later that day, he had to give the horrible news to his younger brother. Gives me chills to think about it and brings tears to my eyes. I cannot imagine such pain, such loss. He was only 18; his brother was 14. I could not imagine a trauma that would rip your parents from you at a young, vulnerable age. But then, at what age would you not be vulnerable? Former students of mine lost their parents in a small airplane crash 13 years ago. They were grown and married, but traumatic loss is traumatic loss. Still, a boy away at camp? Hard to imagine. I didn’t know. This is the third book I am editing for Swamiji. As I read his story, all I could think about was that I still have my mother, and here I am, keeping a diary to help me cope with caring for her.

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?

Swamiji’s loss does not soften the task of cleaning the bathroom and washing towels and nightgowns by hand to rid them of feces or make it any easier for me, but it does give me pause. I can still serve my mother and what my heart says while I clean up after her or answer her call for the tenth time that morning or afternoon or evening is most important. I have a feeling that Mother Teresa and Saint Teresa and Dad and Margie and whatever troops are out there listening to me and watching me fumble gracelessly through the day are working overtime to coax me onto the right path. I am given the chance to love my mother and serve her at a challenging time—the end of her life. But, most important, I am given the chance.

Thank God for Rob! I could not care for mom without him. For those who toil alone, the task of caregiving is more than doubled. I could not continue to work or go on errands or meet with my friends on Thursday nights for our weekly meal and to chatter were it not for Rob. I am grateful for Rob and hope I can provide some joy and comfort in his life, too. He has dysphagia. No one knows the reason, but it is getting progressively worse. Parkinson’s and ALS have been ruled out. Next, we must determine what the problem is and if it can be helped. In the meantime, I make him puréed soups filled with vegetables and all good things. Last summer, I sprang for a Vitamix. It was loads of fun. We had fruit smoothies several times a day to beat the heat. No fruit or veggie went forgotten or wasted. For winter, I rely on my stick stirrer! I blend the hot soups right in the pot. Just throw in some wonderful vegetables, stock, and herbs—fortunately, I still have some live herbs in pots on the back porch—boil, stir, and eat! I thicken my winter soups with Russet or Yukon gold potatoes.

Mom has had a profound hearing loss ever since she was a child. She almost died from diphtheria when she was a year and a half and emerged with impaired hearing. She compensated lo these many years by asking questions and never waiting for the answer. It was her way of engaging in conversation, but a fairly one-way communication. Her remarks were often nonsequiturs. I recall a woman in a shop asking me why my mother asks so many questions yet does not reply to the responses nor does she even wait for the responses.

I didn’t know then how profound her hearing loss was. And yet, mom will not wear a hearing aid. I recently had her hearing tested, only to learn that she has 90% loss in one ear and 50% loss in the other. Not much to go by. On one hand, it compounds communication and you have to repeat nearly everything. If you say something too loudly, she takes offense and accuses you of shouting at her. Her sister Rose always shouted at mom. When mom accused her of same, Rose would defend herself by saying she had no choice. It does get vexing.

Mom just called. She’s up. It’s the end of my quiet morning. I managed to get a load of clothes into the washer, including one of the dog bed covers. Lucy, dear pup, dropped a small poopie on her dog bed. Old age is taking its toll on her, too. The dogs have been fed and let out—twice. No walks again this morning. Icy spots here and there.

I haven’t had my breakfast yet and don’t often sit with mom. Still tough hearing her slurp her cereal like soup and clank her spoon on the dish to assiduously arrange her Cheerios. But I think I will miss this when she is gone. How then do I manage a cheerful countenance while she is here? I forgive Lucy her occasional mishaps. So must I do for mom.

Today was another shower day and laundry day. Mom’s nightgown and towel are soiled yet again. When I show her, she says, “That isn’t bad. Leave it.” The mom I knew would never have tolerated such a mess. Mom has already asked three times, “Where is Rob?” So why is it so difficult to hear the same question over and over and over again. Children ask questions repeatedly, but at least their chains of questions vary. Is it easier to hear, “Why is the moon so large? Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green?” than it is to hear,

Where’s Rob? (I answer)
Two minutes later: Where’s Rob? (I answer)
Two minutes later: Where’s Rob? (I answer)

Or is it more difficult to hear this from your mother who used to answer the previous questions with some sagacity or perhaps even duplicity.

Mom is in the kitchen eating her cereal now. And I am in my office, typing and then eating my cereal between sentences. I will go keep her company and make some tea.

Later—

Symphony tonight. Finally! And no snow or ice. Temps are moderate, at long last. Finally went for a walk (our second this week) with Betty and the dogs. Was good to get out. Had to wear sunglasses.

Snapshot—

So what am I doing now? I am listening to Jeanne Robertson on YouTube, imprisoning crazed Valentino in my office (the kid across the street is out with his skateboard and Val gets wild!), and answering mom (What’s going on? What are you doing?). Meantime, Val gets out and goes crazy on the window seat again. I coax him back into the office, fix the couch cover (protection against poodles), make a quick bathroom run, and return to the office. So here I am again. This is why I keep a water purifier in my office. It’s for emergencies. You never know when you will be trapped in here with a crazed poodle. But I have to leave now and prepare the kids’ supper and see if mom wants something to drink. This was one moment in the life of a poodle-mother caregiver. Never a dull moment. Never a quiet moment. I am looking forward to the symphony, where I might even nod off.

Needs—

My mother needs very few things. Every now and again, she will ask for juice or cookies. But if she has nothing in her hands, she will always ask for a “Kleenex,” and always by brand name. They were never tissues to her, but Kleenex. She collects them and stuffs them up her sleeves, in her pants pockets, in her coat pockets, under her pillow, and almost everywhere she sits. When I picked her up from Hearthstone, where she stayed for 10 days after I had my foot surgery, the attendants gave me a huge sack of tissues, napkins, and paper towels she had amassed during her stay. With the stash, I could have held a picnic for 140 people and given each one of them enough tissues and napkins to get them through a 2-day Maryland crab festival. You just never know.

Worries—

Just returned from a night at the Reading Symphony. Heard Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings in C, the Rota trombone concerto (quite nice), and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2 in D. But it was one of those nights. I worried about mom, the pups, the car on the corner as we turned onto Stoudts Ferry Bridge Rd—Who were those people? When paranoia and worry set in, there is no stopping me. On top of that, Rob commented that he hoped my mother was OK. Still, I knew everything was fine. I prayed hard enough during the concert. And mom is fine. She is asleep and looking quite comfortable. I turned the television off when we arrived home. Pups are fine, too, and went for their evening turn in the yard. It’s good to be home again.