December was a difficult month for Mom with several hospital visits. January found her bedridden with gout. It has been a long winter for her. She now has to work to get strength enough to be able to walk on her own again, 10 feet at a time. Last week she walked 25 feet, 40 feet. Today she walked 75 feet, moaning with pain with every step. But she did it. And was so exhausted when she landed in the recliner that she napped for the rest of my visit.
For some reason I can't explain, the staff seems to think I don't know much about Alzheimer's. Today the physical therapist said something about the Alzheimer's.
"I know. I stayed with her for 127 days before we brought her here. I've been involved ever since she got her diagnosis. " (That was early March 2001.) "I've shared as much of her journey with her as I can, from the beginning."
The Alzheimer's is claiming Mom one day at a time. Her movements are much slower than they used to be, but she was crocheting something the other day that she hadn't crocheted in a while. It was perfect.
I think it's certain that Mom will never be able to go back home to live. In all of these months, since July, (and I can speak only for myself), I have come to terms with the situation. I don't feel guilty for moving her there any more. She would not be safe alone in her home. And with all of my other commitments, obligations and responsibilities, I don't have time or energy or expertise to provide her care 24/7. This way, when we visit, we enjoy each other's company because I'm not the bossy daughter. She always lights up when one, or more, of her children show up to visit her.
We are making memories, but Mom will never retain them.
(c) 2010 Cathy Thomas Brownfield
