Watching them play made up games while tearing up and down our driveway makes me smile. I sit here and wonder how many times my mom did that with me and my sister. Watching us rip around the yard, usually with a dog's tail wagging in our vicinity. Getting off to inspect something left behind from the winter months. I wonder if she remembers. Did she have the same joy of finally getting us out of the house with 2 words, "GO PLAY!". I wonder if she remembers. Did she have the same sigh when we came in the door with mud sprayed all the way down our backs. I wonder if she remembers.
These days I wonder what she remembers.
It seems the simplest things are being forgotten. How to write out a cheque. When she is take her medication. She worries about things she never did in the past. Like how a buffet line works.
And the hardest part. She knows it. My Mom has Dementia.
To look at my Mom you would see an older woman who has lost her husband and is learning live on her own.
It started with details being repeated. Then many phone calls a day asking very simple questions. The day I knew something was wrong was the day I had to go help her thread her sewing machine. She has sewn all her life and this was second nature to her. She was in tears. I walked out of her condo, got in my car and cried. I knew the signs. I knew I was gonna slowly loose my mom.
I knew roles were changing. She was the one who had taken care of me, she now needed the caring for. Freedoms she had were now slowly being taken away. Driving. Paying bills. Going to Texas for winters.
She now lives in a retirement residence. Lives on her own in a suite, but has meals cooked for her. Homecare comes in to help her with medication. On top of all these changes she had to get hearing aides and dentures. Man, did I feel sorry for her.
I still get many phone calls a day. I get it, she needs to call when she thinks of things or they will get forgotten. The hardest part for me is having to tell her she has dementia. She wonders when her memory will ever come back. And apologizes all the time. I tell her there is nothing to apologize for. When I tell her she has dementia, she actually seems to accept it. There is a sadness to her voice, but she seems to understand.
So this is where I wonder what she remembers. I talk about raising kids and she seems to light up, like she remembers those things, but in a different time. She talks about her times as a child, she will forget that I don't know who she is talking about because I wasn't alive yet. But I never say anything and let her reminisce. She talks about her faith and the things her father instilled in her: Live life in balance. Be honest. Love one another. All things I need to hear and great words to live by.
I admit it. I have let out a sigh when I see her phone number come on our call display. Especially after the third call of the day. But I remind myself. She didn't ask for this. It's not her fault. She loves me. Bottom line. And it feels pretty awesome knowing you have someone praying for you ever day.
She has asked to start painting again. So off to the craft store we went. We found the paint aisle. I kind of explain how everything is arranged and then backed off and watched her. She picked up a paint brush and brushed her hand with it. I could see the memory come back to her. This was familiar to her. We picked out the basics. I told her we could always come back for more. She had a small confidence in her. It was good to see.
She will always be my Mom. Has she changed? Yes. We all have, whether by life choices or life itself.
And her baby I will always be.
1 comment:
I cried as I read this blog piece, Mel. You are such a darling "baby!" I'm SO thankful she has you closer by so you can go shopping for painting supplies. We watched Grandpa B go through this, too. But we weren't as involved as you are. God BLESS you, girl, as you seek to be a stable presence in your unstable Mom's life.
Luv ya' Auntie Irma
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