I have barely the ability to even recollect on the year 2016. My brother died, this home was almost killed off, my own state was beyond miserable and thoughts of the future were bleak. But the innocent eyes of both Mom and the cats looking back at me continued to keep me going, as did/does Mom being so clear in her feeling right with her life as it is. Things were probably never harder than this year, perhaps save the first six months of mom being home and me trying to figure out what the Hell I’m doing.
Even writing these little summations of a post that is itself a summation of the year 2016 feels dark. We made it! And the sun is shining today.
October 31, 2016
Halloween for y’all, it’s the second anniversary of my mother moving home– with Mollie– alongside me. And this is the time of year where things are already the most difficult to be a full time caregiver with a mostly immobilized elder.
The ongoing depression of it may make it seem as if I regret the situation, or wish it would end. There have been more than a few minutes here or there with that emotional reaction, but ultimately I cannot express how lucky I am– given my own personal starting position– to have this opportunity to pay it forward with mom and to learn these things that I have not had the chance prior.
The energy coming off of someone dealing with dementia is incredibly difficult to be ‘normal’ around. That may sound weird– but if I have personal chores, tasks, etc to deal with I often find that the only time I can make plans around actually getting those things done is when I am not with her. When she is home, finding pleasant means to make time pass is the primary goal of most minutes.
Plans to do work on writing have 95% been put on hold, as that is a form of focus that is too difficult for most of the times I spend here.
Mom has increasingly been struggling with simple matters. That is an ongoing slide, one not preventable but still no less traumatizing.
Two years ago, when mom moved home, I learned that day how different things would be for her (but I didn’t see it as a permanent for awhile). Telus had a ‘worker’ come to install mom’s phone, et al and I went over that with her about a dozen times– and gave her the instructions as to what would be happening– and left her in the apartment while I went and tossed some of her things into storage. The Telus guy arrived, buzzed the door and the *very well prepared* Donna told him that there was no need, there was no appointment and please go away, but thank anyhow. They phoned my cell and I turned around to deal with that– not knowing at all that this was now the form of life we would be going through.
At that time, I also communicated, somewhat, for the first time in years with my older brother Erik. Why the estrangement is a long story, but when he both visited with us around Christmas and then proceeded to come to the apartment, build a railing along the hall for my mother to walk with some more freedom and begin work on putting up bars in the bathroom, my brother and I also constructed a base from which to construct an adult brother-brother relationship.
So of course, at 53 at the time, he was unable to finish the bathtub due to tests he thought would show his energy drop off to be lupus instead of the cancer that would ultimately end his life 11 days ago. The one bonus, or benefit, to come of the struggles was not– but I can say that I don’t imagine other scenarios giving Erik and I a chance to meet up, spend time, enjoy one another– not quite loosely, but both glad the other was around– without all this mess.
I am not okay, and I wish I were in a place for properly interacting sometimes but for the most part I’m content. I’m weak but I respect myself. I’ve taken on things I didn’t know I could do but made this possible by refusing any other result. I now know more than ever that when the world goes out I can come in and get the situation handled.
There are so many things that are frustrating and difficult about the situation of my mother, but I’ll give you the things I like the most. The adjustment to being “just fine” with dealing with someone close to you in your family when they drift into dementia takes months if not longer. And then you have to adjust again; You never have sure footing in terms of who it is, exactly, you are dealing with from moment to moment.
But when you let go of how painful/sad/frustrating it is to watch them change, to hear sentences get shorter and less coherent, to listen as stories about family you never knew fade into just your own memories… then you stop seeing what is not, and start knowing what is all over. And you still see the personality of the one you love– you just have to learn that “this is what Donna does when her mind is not doing what she wants it to..”
For me, about a year and a half ago that kicked in and I’ve never been, in many ways, more proud of mom. And I also can see a little bit inside her mind as to how she sees the world now. Now, the things that matter are being around people and cats she loves, to walk outside in good weather and say hi to every single dog out in the world. To get home and feel ‘placed’ where she should be. To be tucked in by your son, and eagerly put up your arms for the good night hug. To get random hugs and kisses.
To flip through the newspaper at the same vantage point of the same table you have done so for decades. The stories inside are not as important as being the woman who holds that newspaper on her table in her chair at her spot with her cat walking around her ankles.
Life is simple but she demonstrates more than ever what matters the most in life. She has always been my number one teacher, but the lessons now have become so profound.
I don’t know where all this is heading; I just know that mom makes it easy when I need something to remind me why I do this. A few days ago a story of elder isolation was on the telly, and it prompted me to simply glance at my mom and ask her–
“Do you feel loved Mom?” (prepared for the usual one-word answer)
“When you’re around I sure do!”, with a beaming smile. I took a deep breath. I allowed a little smile, too.
“Thanks mom, that’s the best possible answer,” and with that, I know why I can look forward to good night hugs for her, with her happy cat sleeping next to her on her own bed, for the foreseeable future.
I simply cannot imagine– as much as I never expected this chapter of my life– taking on anything more important or fulfilling. I got this, Mom. Just relax. Love you.