It's a bad day. It was a bad day when we went to bed last night. My daughters, trying to be supportive and helpful, gathered at my mother's house last night for a girls' night. We used to have them at McDonald's or East of Chicago pizza shop. I started it a couple of years ago to give support and encouragement and connection to my daughters because I felt like we were getting too far apart, not together enough. It's hard to love people you don't know any more. So my daughters have been my lifeline for this past four months while I've been staying with my mother.
So, last night we had girls' night. We sat in the kitchen around the table. Beth made healthy fruit smoothies. Christie and Annalyse went through the McDonald's drive-thru to pick up sweet teas for everyone. Christie brought a strawberry-peanut butter and jelly pie. I had baked from scratch peanut butter cookies the day before. We remembered a lot of funny things that happened when my children were growing up. And now my daughters are making those hysterical memories with their own children and shared them. Leslie snapped lots of photos with her digital camera. Ashley had to work and couldn't be with us. (I surely missed her.) We laughed a LOT. And it was nearly 12:30 when Mom went up the steps to bed.
As the hands of the clock crept past her usual bedtime I worried what it would do to her routine. She came downstairs at her usual time. I said, "You need to shower this morning because we're going to have lunch with some of my friends today, Patti, Roxanne and Maureen." "What time are we doing that?" she asked. "About 11:30." She went to the living room, sat down to read the newspaper and I knew right then she was NOT going to take a shower today.
I checked my brother, Bill's, schedule. His wife has a doctor appointment so I didn't even ask him to come here. How could he when she has to be there at noon? I emailed Patti to let her know I had to cancel. Then I called Patti's cell to let her know because I was afraid she wouldn't see the email.
Mom demanded to know why I made so much breakfast for her. "You always have two eggs, two slices of bacon and two slices of toast."
"I don't know why you're always yelling at me," she said. "You are all the time telling me I am doing things all wrong." "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom." "I enjoy having you here, but I don't like you all the time yelling at me." "I don't know what you mean, Mom. I don't yell at you." "Yes, you do." "Don't talk to me the way you talked to Dad. I'm not Dad. I'm not your sister. I am your daughter."
"I can't get this plug to fit in the sink," she said. "It won't go in that side," I said. "Yes, it will." "No, Mom, it won't." "Don't yell at me." "I'm not yelling at you." "If you don't like the way things are at my house go someplace else," she said. "I will take care of that, Mom," I said. "Good." "Mom, I'm here to help you, just like you asked me to all those years ago." "I did not." "I'm not going to stand here and reason with Alzheimer's." "Oh, go to Hell." "I'll meet you there, Mom." Should I have asked, "Isn't that where we are now?"
I don't know why I didn't start screaming at her. I kept saying, "I don't know what you mean. It's always quiet here." She insists I'm always yelling at her.
To prove to me that she is able to take care of herself she decided to do the breakfast dishes. Couldn't get that plug to work in the right side of the sink even though I told her it would fit only in the left sink. I finally risked her wrath and went to the sink to put the plug in and start the water. "I couldn't get it to work," she said. I walked away.
The problem is not a new one. Didn't I tell my family that Mom does much better one-on-one and very calm and quiet? Why didn't I think of that when my daughters said they were coming for a girls' night? Mom loves my girls. They adore her. But it was too much for her. I've told them all that we can't do any more girls' nights with Honey. They call her Honey. She always liked having a different name than the other grandmas.
My brothers insisted that we have to do something different. That I can't stay here with Mom any longer. They are amazed that I've stayed this long. I was trying to do what Mom wanted, to keep her in her home as long as she could stay. It seemed--and still does--that it was so little to ask when she sacrificed so much for us when she was raising us and even helped us so much when we were adults raising our children.
I talked to someone at PASSPORT. The process is begun. We will be moving Mom to a nursing facility. The person I talked to said, "This will let you become a daughter again instead of a caregiver. What I know for certain is that I don't want to argue with Alzheimer's. There is no winning an argument with Alzheimer's. And I can't live in isolation this way. It's not fair to my husband, my children, my grandchildren, or me. I'm not quitting. I'm just making adjustments that have to be made, my brother Richard has made me realize. He's my rock right now. I don't know how I'd have been able to do this without him riding in on that white steed wearing that shining armor.
Please, Father God, be kind to my mother.
(c)2009 Cathy Brownfield
