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.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED FOR THIS ALZHEIMER'S BLOG. For permission of use contact me, the author.