Time takes care of all things. I remember Mom used to tell me that when I was upset or my heart was broken. She has been living in a nursing home for a year and a half. She doesn't remember when I've been there to visit. She can lose me when I'm sitting right beside her. But her eyes light up and a smile touches all of her features. "There's my daughter, Cathy," she will say. "I hope you never forget me," I answer. "I will never forget you," she says.
She doesn't seem to get angry any more, or call me to ask me to come and get her out of there. The staffers no longer call me to say Mom's a little agitated and will I talk to her for a few minutes and see if it calms her. I still write notes to her in her notebook to read when I'm gone. Last time the paper in the notebook was stained as if she had spilled a cup of coffee over it. A piece of a page was torn from it as if she might have needed to write something down, but has now forgotten all about whatever she had to write down...and, I think, even the notebook.
But our visits are pleasant. We discuss the same things over and over again. I took a couple jigsaw puzzles for us to put together. I thought it would help keep her brain active. I thought it would be something different to talk about. And I thought if the puzzle wasn't complete before I left, staffers and visitors and even her roommate would utilize it to talk with her. No. I finished it. Mostly in silence. There's so little for us to talk about because she remembers so little.
I helped her escape on Thanksgiving for dinner with some of the family at my #1 daughter's house. I helped her escape on Christmas for dinner with all of us at my house. I said to my daughters, "We haven't had a girls night in a while. It's time." Mom asked, "Can I go to girls' night, too?" "Of course!" I answered. As soon as the discussion was done, she forgot about it. And when I took her back to the nursing home, I carried her gifts in for her and set them on the bed. "Whose stuff is that?" she asked. "Yours," I answered and asked, "Do you want to open them again?" So we opened them again and I put her new clothes on hangers after I put her name on them. In a nursing home you have to put your name on your belongings and you shouldn't have anything that can't be washed in hot water. I think they wash everything in hot water.
Then I hugged her and told her how much I love her. And she hugged me back, kissed me on the cheek and told me how much she loves me.
I miss my mom. I miss her so much. We can't have those deep discussions any more. Or go shopping and to lunch where we laughed and plotted and planned things. We can't quilt together any more or make dolls for my girls or teddy bears for each other. We can't go on trips like Mackinaw Island, Michigan. We can't walk up the alley and back on a gentle summer afternoon.
Time...It passes so quickly!
