Thursday, March 17, 2011

Another jump?

I found Mom in the dining room. She was supposed to be eating lunch. Her spoon was in her hand, resting against the plate, her eyes were closed. My sister-in-law, there for rehabilitation, looked at me. “She’s sleeping.”

Not normal for my mother.

I tried to get her to wake up but she couldn’t. Her nurse lingered nearby, his cheeks flaming. He told me Mom complained that her feet hurt so he gave her a stronger pain medication. He said she had taken it before without problems.

My brothers and I were in agreement: She must have been overdosed on the medication.

There wasn’t much point in staying and watching her sleep. Later in the evening I called to see how she was, was she still sleeping? The nurse had to wake her for her evening meds. He promised to watch over her and call me if they needed me.

Watching her sleep, I was reminded of “Florence.” First let me say, since last July Mom has had four roommates, three of whom died. “Florence” was alert and aware when she moved into Mom’s room. She enjoyed Mom’s HD-TV and Richard mentioned he would program a remote for Florence so they both would have remote control convenience. When I visited again, Florence didn’t do anything but sleep. I remember thinking she seemed to be slipping away and would be gone soon. And it was so.

I worried that Mom, somewhere deep inside her gray matter that the Alzheimer’s hadn’t yet ravaged, had resolved that it was time to begin to clip the ties that bind.

“Mom?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?”

“I’m going home to fix supper.”

“OK."

“Don’t leave me, OK?”

“I won’t.”

I remember when my grandmother was sick and Mom said she wasn’t ready to be the family matriarch. I knew my time would come. But I’m not ready. When I walk into her line of sight, her eyes light up with recognition.

The next day I went to check on her. She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She’d had her hair done and went on the bus with other residents for a ride in the country. She was Mom and I was satisfied that she was OK.

“Hi! Do you know who I am?” I asked.

“My sister?” she answered.

“Nope. Try again.”

“My mother?”

“Nope. Try again.”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen Cathy lately? What’s she been up to? Do you know?”

“You’re her! You are Cathy!” She sounds happy to recognize me.

“Yep. That’s absolutely right!” I’ll take it while I can get it. I know the day is coming when she won’t have any recognition of me at all. We are so close I am pretty sure that I will be the last person she can’t remember.

I can’t make up my mind if I am being selfish in holding her here in this world. Would it be better, kinder, for her if she could just go to sleep and not wake up? I just know that I need her to be there even if our roles are reversed. I need to hold onto her. I don’t want to let go.

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Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Pebbles Rippling

We are like pebbles dropped into a pond, one speck in the universe so big we can’t even imagine. So often we convince ourselves that we can’t make a difference for anyone or anything. I am not so sure that is so.

My daughter and her boyfriend were visiting from North Carolina. They brought two puppies with them that we took with us to the nursing home to visit my mother. Mom has always loved dogs and she was really enjoying the puppies, Dakota and Danika. Their mother is a mix (Australian shepherd, collie, lab) and the father is a full-blooded Alaskan Husky. Dorothy, another resident with Alzheimer’s, looked as if she’d like to touch them. I asked if she was a dog person and wanted to hold one of them. Yes. So, I supervised the visitation on Dorothy’s lap. Then I traded puppies so she could get to know the second one, too. A pebble dropped into a pond, rippling.

“Thanks for coming to visit,” she said to each of them.

The aides were bringing an elderly man to the common area. I know he’s afraid of dogs because I’ve taken my collie with me a few times. Ashley and Bobby brought the puppies back to where Mom and I were sitting. When the man was settled in his chair, they took the puppies to him and let him take his time to touch them. A big, old grin came across his face all the way to his eyes and into his soul. He was so excited about those puppies! When they came back across the room he chanted with a smile, “Beautiful dogs, beautiful dogs.” I think he wanted to hold them again. A pebble dropped into a pond, rippling.

He began to sing with a joyful voice. The very first song was Jesus Loves Me. I don’t remember the others, but he sang, one after the other and it lifted MY spirits. I felt like I was witnessing a small miracle. And we know what Jesus said about faith and the mustard seed.

Betty is another resident with Alzheimer’s. She learned to play piano when she was a child, but I hadn’t heard her play in a long while. She got up and disappeared. But when I heard the piano, I knew where she had gone. I excused myself and went after her. She was at the piano, playing. I stood in the doorway listening. She noticed me, which surprised me because my mother can lose me sitting beside her. I went to her.

“I love to listen to you play the piano,” I said.

“Really?” she asked. “I think I’m making a lot of mistakes.”

“We all make mistakes,” I said, “but when I walk through the door and I hear you playing it makes me feel so good!”

“I’m glad you get pleasure from it,” she smiled. “You know, I play for God. That’s why I play. Do you have any requests?”

“Do you know ‘In the Garden’?”

She began to play without a thought. When she finished, “Do you know ‘Amazing Grace’?” She went right to it again. “Do you play polkas?” It wasn’t a specific song request so she was confused. She had the pile of meal menus right there and sorted through the “music sheets.” I didn’t mention that.

“Keep playing, OK?” I asked.

She promised she would.

Pebbles dropped into a pond, rippling.

I returned to the kids and my mom.

My sister-in-law is there as a resident. She hasn’t been well in some time. We took the puppies to her room because she loves dogs, too. We didn’t stay long because she is so ill. Still I tried to encourage her, “Feel better soon.”

Pebbles dropped into a pond, rippling.