“You really look like your mother,” Carol said to me
yesterday at a Spruce Street gathering. Mary and Sandy agreed. (Carol is “Dorothy,”
Mary is “Rose,” Sandy is Blanche and Dolly is Sophia. Dolly was absent.) I am
amused. ROFLMBO!!!
When I moved in at Mom’s after Dad passed away, Mom and I
settled into a pattern. Routine is an important point in Alzheimer’s. Every
night after the 11 p.m. news broadcast, Mom and I watched reruns of The Golden
Girls. When the broadcast was ended, Mom would put her crocheting down, go to
the bathroom and change to her pajamas and say goodnight so I could get my
rest.
Everything about being there was about a safe haven. Even
with the stress of AD-related events, there was love and respect there. A
certain camaraderie. I wished my husband would agree to live at my mother’s
house and help me to take care of her. He declined.
In 58 days it will be two years since Mom’s passing. I am
looking at things from a different perspective these days, some of which may be
related to my approaching Purple-Ten birthday.
Sometimes we come up against reality and clarity. We finally
grasp that thing we have tried for so long to understand—or avoid. And we need
to remember that moment of clarity when we are inclined to soften our resolve.
Change isn’t always easy but sometimes it’s necessary.
© 2013 Cathy Thomas Brownfield ~ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
1 comment:
When my wife's grandmother's health began to fail we begged her to move in with us. the kids were two and three years old. She adored them, and they adored her. She preferred to go to a nursing home.she was in reasonably good health, just fragile bones, and needed someone with her.
She died one week after going to the nursing home.
We feel certain she died from a broken heart.
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