"Goodbye"

Dear Mother,
It's already been two weeks since you left us for your Heavenly home.  You would be proud of me, Mom, I only cried twice today.  The rain has finally stopped and we had a gorgeous sunny day.  I was even able to set out a beautiful pink azalea that a friend of ours from church gave me, in memory of you.  I remember when we built our house here, you cut a piece off of your beautiful fuchsia azalea over on Skyuka road and walked all the way down the bank to the creek, to put a rock on top of it until a root grew.  I still have it and it's blooming now.  I can't believe you were my age and climbed up and down that huge bank just to check on that root.  You must have loved me a lot.  I even placed some flowers on your grave last week.  You know I detest graves.  Sue was always good to take care of everybody's grave and to visit regular.  I just never wanted to do that.  But I'm going to try to do better for you.   I believe you would have loved your "homegoing" service.  We have had so many to compliment on  how beautiful it was. I try not to think about the last 7 years of your life, Mom, just all the years before, when you were you.  I know now that you are complete.  There will never be a time when you're alone or confused, for you have all the answers now.  I just want to tell you how much I loved you.  I can't imagine a better mother than you.  Tell Daddy, Yates and Doris "hello" and I will see you all again one day, on that beautiful shore. ---Jean

My beautiful mother, Margie W. Williams, 86, had her final "homegoing" on April 8, 2015.  What a relief it was to see her draw that final breath.  Her struggles had finally ended.  Mother developed double pneumonia from aspiration, several weeks prior to her passing.  Spending a few weeks in the hospital, complications were still present.  Her family was by her side constantly, up until her last breath.  I will miss her and all the calamities that Dementia brought our way.  But we are so thankful and blessed to have been a part of this woman's life, even through the "crazy" years.  My thoughts and prayers will forever be with those of you who have typed in, searching for information or stories, concerning dementia and brought you to this blog. I say goodbye today, not only to mom, but to you.  May God Bless!

I Still Need You!

I tried making your infamous pound cake again today, mother.  Even though I have the recipe, it still doesn't come close to yours.  I needed to ask you what I am doing wrong, but know that it's impossible for you to tell me. Visiting mother becomes harder and harder each time I go now.  Weeks ago, I was spending time with my youngest grandson, when I stepped  on a slippery surface and sprained my ankle.  Soon afterwards, I was telling mother about my fall, when all of a sudden, her eyes became huge, and a stern look covered her face...that all familiar "mothering instinct" took over, as she blurted out, "When did this happen?"  "You better be careful!"  I was in shock, yet feeling elated that a part of my mother was still in there.  Forgive me mother, for giving up on ever feeling that love from you again.  It's really hard for all of us, knowing that you would never want to be this way.  Dear Lord, I miss the woman that used to live inside my mother's body.  I know that my feelings are selfish; realizing that so many have lost their mothers to death and can no longer touch or see them here on earth.  I thank you for the life that this jewel has shown before her family.  For the years she gave serving You; teaching, praying and reading Your Word.  What a blessing she's been to those who loved her.  Teach me to accept this day, this time in my mother's life. I know that all of this is in your perfect plan and that our lives are forever engraved in the palms of Your hands as Your Word tells us.  Because of this, I can face tomorrow.

"Dementia: A Transformer"

Well I must confess...it has been more than a few months since I've posted.  Mother's 86th birthday has come and gone.  Dementia still insists on transforming our precious matriarch into someone who can hardly recognize her family and friends.  It is a rarity to hear her call my name now.  Her words have become mostly "jibberish" but still has some choice, distinguishable words thrown in; displaying that "Mema" humor we all have known and loved.  Even the words to her favorite hymns are becoming aloof.  The last of her beautiful white teeth, have now broken off or fallen out, leaving only stubs to chew on.  I glance at her hair, fingers, nose, eyes...every bodypart, a reminder of our past life together as mother and daughter.  Many times, people will ask how mother is doing.  I answer, "As well as to be expected, just doesn't know us anymore."  Their reply back is usually "Well, at least you still have her!"  I've heard that conversation at different times and situations in my life before, just not about my own mother. Now, I actually know what it means.  It has to be a selfish need though, granting it is one of love.  Even if she doesn't have a clue as to where she is, or who she's with, we are still able to go visit her and can see, touch and feel our mother's body.  I still want this.  I do know that possibly, a time will come, when I won't.

"Together Again!"

It's a rainy day and I've been meaning to post for some time now.  Weeks ago, word came to me that one of mother's special cousins, Nellie Bennett, had come to reside at the same home where mother is.  With mixed emotions on the news; not wanting Nell to have to give up her freedom of living at home, yet a little joy, knowing that she will be near mother, I call my sister Sue to tell her the news, knowing she would be going for a visit in a day or so and could check in on Nell.   I knew that with mother's current state of mind, she would probably never recognize Nell as the little girl she played with, years and years ago at the Lake House (Lake Adger) where her father, who was Mother's Uncle Burt,  caretaker and game warden of the Lake back in the 1930's.  If any of you have read my blog for sometime, you may recall a post on August 8, 2010, entitled "The Lake House."   If so inclined, you can look it up and read.  My sister Sue had never met Nell, but was aware of who she was.  While visiting mother, she noticed a gentleman there, calling a new resident by the name of  "Nell." She preceded to go over and introduce herself and asked if she was Nell Bennett, mother's cousin.  With a huge grin, Nell, explained that she had seen mother in the dining room on more than one occasion and felt sure it was her but was reluctant to say anything.  The Nursing Home has been doing some renovating recently, and our family had been told that mother would soon be moved to a new hall, so that her current room could be turned into a "private room."  Nell inquired as to where mother's room was and my sister told her the situation and that she would soon be moved to another hall.  With a surprise comment, Nell stated that she lives on that hall, and that  her room will be right next door to mother.  It was only a few more days and I was up visiting.  Excited to see Nell, who I had known for many years, while working at the local Baptist Association Office, and seeing she and sister Jeanette on many visits there. Many times, they would come by, asking about mission work and what did we have for them that they could be a part of.  Even in their 80's, still excited about serving the Lord and their community.  Being sisters, I  began referring to them as "Mary and Martha" which is recorded in the book of  Luke.  Making my way into Nell's room, rolling mother in front of me, I see a very familiar face of a woman who had been a playmate to my mother in their childhood days; a woman of strong integrity, strength and servanthood to the Lord; yet now, someone who was in a confined place, but was still filling a need to others.  Even though mother doesn't seem to have a clue as to who Nell is, it brings me comfort just to know that they are here in this building at this place and time in their lives once again.

"Each Day, a Memory"

My youngest daughter and I have come to visit mother at the nursing home.  I find her in a usual place and quickly roll her up the hall, headed for my favorite landing spot; the front "yellow" room.  I ask her as I push, "What have you been doing, mother"?.  The answer is mostly the same, "O, been working in the field, helping daddy hoe".  As we reach the front room, my daughter greets her, with a "hey Mema"!  Mother gives her a look as if she thinks she looks familiar, but avoids speaking to her until  I've told her who she is.  As I sit beside her, my eyes pay close attention to the body parts of a woman I have idolized all my life.  She has lost a front tooth now, and I am truly sorrowed by that, knowing if she was aware, it would humiliate her.  I take a once over at her silver hair, and think about the many days I spent, coloring it before she came to the home.  My eyes finally reach her beautiful hands.  A friend of mine had mentioned how important his mother's hands were to him, telling her life story. I  began to think about the many times, I had watched these same hands, brush my hair, wipe my dirty face, hand me lunch money, tie my shoe and hundreds of other instances, as she cared for me as a child.  Driving back home, I mention to my daughter that one day, she will be sitting in a similar chair as I sat today, remembering a day like today, as we spend time together.  I pray that I can be a glimpse of the mother to my children that mine has been to me and her grandchildren. When it's all said and done, what is it that brings us joy in life?  The money, nice homes, beautiful cars, far away vacations...things?  For me, the answer is simple.  Enjoy every waking moment with those you love. Taking nothing or no one for granted.  Try to make each day a "memory."  Realizing that we will all travel this road again, but in a different way.

"Hush Sweet Baby"

Having a day off from radiation as well as some cancelled commitments, I decide to head up the mountain for a short visit with mother. I usually can find her fairly easy as she seems to be as a rule, in the opposite end of the home that I choose to enter. Today, I have walked the entire nursing home halls, and "no mother." I step over to the nurses desk and ask if she's seen her. A young man to whom I am not familiar with, leans over to me and says that he had seen mother, hanging out in the rehab room just moments prior. I head on back down the hall, knowing that the rehab department was not far from where I had entered the home. As I peek inside, I get a glimpse of mother. She has in her hand, a green plant watering vessel, attempting to drink from it. One of the assistants, sees her and says, Ms. Margie, if you're thirsty, we'll get you some water!" She wheels my mother out to the water cart and pours her a glass of fresh water. Mother drinks and seems to be well pleased. I too, tell mother that if she gets thirsty, to tell someone. Mother begins to wave her arms and speak in her "Northern voice" as she did many times when I was growing up..."O yes, O yes, we will stop and get us plenty of food and drink, let's get in the car now!" as if these remarks were something that she had pulled out of an old audio canister, labeled 1965. Mother still has good and bad days as far as her dementia goes, but my siblings and I are seeing progression in her dementia. She is hardly able to complete sentences nowadays, for instance, she might say, well, that sure is a kisk or pich, instead of "a sight", or just say things that have no meaning for what the situation is. Other changes we've noticed is that she seems to not be able to see well at times, then other times, she can see as usual. I push mother on up the hall with her arms waving and her voice shrieking high in her "Northern accent" mocking my words about food and drink. Sitting in the upper room, she sneaks a grin at me and raises her shirt up. I fuss at her for this action, reach over and pull it down and tell her not to do that again. She then begins to pat her chest as if she's consoling a small child, saying, "hush sweet baby, my sweet babies." I recall an incident months ago, where my husband was driving her back from an emergency room visit. Mother had road up front with him and periodically would glance to the backseat, and console her daughter, Sue, as if she was riding in the back seat, by saying "be quiet little Sue," when in reality, my husband and mother were the only two in the car. I look at mother's frail face, seeing more wrinkles than I could ever remember. Her beauty still shines through it all, with a whisper of her beautiful smile, thick gorgeous hair and those green eyes which I would have given anything to have inherited. I comment to her that I'm going to roll her down to her room and brush her hair and put her some lipstick on. This is a sure way to see a sparkle in her eyes, as she has always enjoyed "being beautiful." As I pull the brush through her silver short hair, I am still honored to call her "mother".

"Who Am I"?

I must say, it's good to be back blogging about something other than myself. As most of you may know, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in late May of this year and have been fighting my own battle of survival. Presently, I am in radiation. The 16th treatment out of 35 has already been offered up this morning and I am looking forward to what lies ahead for me in the coming months. I am a Christian and have faith in a God that can conquer breast cancer, dementia or anything else He chooses, the grave just happens to be a specialty of His! Due to my situation, I haven't been unable to visit mother at the home as much as I would like. Recently though, I have been trying to get back on schedule as much as my physical body allows. Today, my daughter Hannah and I went up for a visit. As I meandered down the hall, in search of a tiny little silver haired "mother" I could feel the excitement mounting over my eyes meeting her eyes and hearing the words, "There's my Jean!" The reality of it all, was that I would find a mother who had no idea of the person in the black cap, walking her way, who had been her daughter for some 60 years now. As I grab hold of her wheelchair and turn her around, she questions as to who I am. Several weeks prior, I had stopped in for a quick visit and discovered mother talking with another resident. As I interrupted their conversation, I could clearly see that mother had no clue as to who I was. I said, "mother, do you know who I am"? She replied..."are you 'I am'? The lady who had been talking to her informed her that "I am" was not a name and that she should know better. We have finally arrived in the front sitting room of the home, which has always been a favorite of mine ever since mother came to reside here. I am anxious to "park" her chair and began a conversation. My first question is always..."Do you know my name"? I'm not sure of the need here, but it is an ever present one that I can't seem to eliminate from this nightmare of dementia. I suppose it is a well known fact that each of us as children, whether young or old, yearn to be loved and known intimately by our mother. She looks at me with bewilderment and says, "Did you know that I've quit school"? A little surprised at the change of subject, my daughter and I break out into laughter and play along with her. It has always bothered mother that she never finished high school, when the twelfth grade was being offered the year she quit and got married. She continues on with, "And do you know that daddy and my stepmother, didn't say a word one"! With plenty of laughter to fill the room, I can plainly see that mother will never realize today, who I am and that I have brought her youngest granddaughter Hannah for a visit. There are many things that one must come to terms with when a loved one is in a state of dementia. The probability that they will eventually forget who their children and grandchildren are, is a given. Today, I realize that the time has come sooner than I wanted it to.

"The Good Times"

I suppose some of you who have faithfully followed this blog, and the shenanigans I experience with my mother, have been wondering why I haven't written in a while. For several months now, I have been dealing with a "monster" of my own, not dementia, but breast cancer. I have had no desire to write about the terrors of dementia, while I am living my own terror. I know to some, this may sound selfish of me, but thinking back to the years passed that I have given all that I had to give of myself to my wonderful mother, for now, it has to be about "me." My mother is as happy as she can possibly be now, spending her days in the home, rolling up and down the halls, supplying everyone she sees with a good laugh. I have been in chemotherapy for several months now, and only visit mother when someone can be with me to go in and bring her outside for a visit, for fear of getting sick. To say I miss her, is putting it mildly. Reading some of my blogs about the "times" she and I experienced has brought me to tears. I will never forget the days I shared with her, nor will I ever regret them. As I have written many times, this woman was my hero, my confidant, my best friend. I will always cherish our memories together. I would just like to encourage each of you who has a loved one with dementia. Please, don't tell yourself that there's no use in visiting them because they won't remember. I have learned that the visits aren't so much for them, but for us. Try to remember the good times that you've shared and know that they aren't responsible for their words or actions. If all goes well with my treatments, I should be back to spending time with mother as before. I will try to continue writing and sharing if you want to check in around the first of the year. God bless each of you who give of your time and energy, but most of all, "yourself" as a caregiver.

M-O-T-H-E-R

With only two weeks away from Mother's Day...I know that I will find myself unusually busy and sit down to type a few words that would give my mother justice for the occasion. My youngest daughter will be graduating next week with a Master's in English. Many sacrifices have been made in order to afford her the needed tuition and then some. My mind goes back to all the financial sacrifices my mother and daddy must have made for me and my siblings as we were growing up. Not wanting to go to the store and buy a ton of groceries this morning, I take inventory of items I have to prepare an OK lunch for my husband and I. I see that I can easily make some egg salad sandwiches with chips on the side. As I stand peeling the eggs, I think about all the egg salad and grilled cheese sandwiches my mother made for all of us through the years and wondered if it was because of the convenience or the need. I remembered back to all the groceries, clothing, gas money, gifts that she made sure my family and others had plenty of. I recall a day when she fist married my stepfather Yates. They had come to pick me up at my house for a trip up to my sister's who lived in another town. I had just received my bank statement in the mail and was attempting to balance my account. Our son had just entered college and things were a little tight around the household. Frustrated at an error I had found in my statement and leaving me with a little less than I had originally thought, I jumped into the car feeling anxious. As most mothers do, she took one look at my face and asked "what's wrong?" I told her the details and before I could finish she said, "Wait a minute!" Don't you know that I have plenty, and if you have a need all you have to do is ask?" So many times, she has been there for me. Even though she is alive; she breathes, sees, talks, laughs, and moves, the part that once was my mother is becoming further and further away and I miss her; I long for her. I will never forget my mother for the giant of a person she was and attempted to raise each of her children to be. The following poem was given out in my church by a dear sweet lady, years ago. I've kept it in my Bible and would love to share:... "Your Mother"... Your mother is always with you... She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street;...she's the smell of bleach in your fresh laundered socks;... She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well... Your mother lives inside your laughter, and she's crystallized in every teardrop... She's the place you came from,... your first home;... And she's the map you follow with every step you take... She's your first heartbreak... and nothing on earth can separate you...Not time...Not space...Not death!

"Just What I Thought!"

Note: I chose to write this post in the first person...based on things my siblings and I experience at each visit with with mother, along with info that friends and workers at the home have shared with us. I open my eyes this morning and see the sun coming in the window. I know that my stepmother Normar will soon call me for breakfast. I wait, but she never calls. I guess daddy is already up and in the field. It seems like a long time since I've seen either of them, but maybe they'll come see me today. A strange woman comes to my bed and calls me by my name "Margie" and asks me if I'm ready to get up. I notice that someone is sleeping just below the foot of my bed, but I can't make out who it might be. The woman helps me sit up in bed, changes my clothes and tells me that breakfast will soon be served, I don't think she's Normar. It's been a long time since any of my people have come to see me. I wish I could go home. I think I'll wheel on up the hall and see if I can find my husband, Yates. Some of these old people here get on my nerves, but the Bible says that we'll all be old one day and to be patient with them. I know what year I was born, but I'm not sure of my age. I can't be over 40 years old though! I do remember having children, their names are Doris, Jay, Sue and Jean. I hardly ever see them anymore, I guess they don't know where I live now. Somebody was telling me just the other day that they come and see me often, but I sure don't remember them being here! My left groin area has been hurting me for a long time now; it gets better, then it hurts again. I'm going to steer pass this old woman, I believe her name's Edna. She's always telling me I'm crazy, but she's the one that has to walk with a walker and I get to ride in a chair, I think she's the one that's 'crazy!' There sure are a lot of people that live in this place, most of them just come and go, don't care to knock when entering. I don't know what to think about people just sailing right through your front door and not even speaking to you. They ask me if I want to play bingo, shucks, I used to go to Myrtle Beach with Bryson and my children and play Bingo all the time. I could probably play Bingo circles around most of them! I'll just roll in there and watch for awhile, then I can leave when I want to. Nobody is the boss of me here. I believe I spot Yates over there, I think I'll go see why he's not over here with me! "Yates honey, what are you doing?" He pushed me away and told me to leave him along, why Yates has never talked to me like that! I sure hope daddy comes today, he might be sick or something, or maybe he's just working and will be here later. There's somebody walking up the hall that looks familiar but I can't see her too good. It looks like my daughter Jean, I better roll on up there and investigate. Yes, it is! "Well, who are you?" I say, she says she's 'Santa Claus!' maybe she'll take me to pee. Instead,she's taking me up the hall, I might get to go home with her. "Jean, let me ask you something, have you seen daddy?" She told me that she had just talked to him and for her to tell me that he loved me and he'd be up to see me soon. That sure never sounded like anything John Williams would say, if he ever told me he loved me, I sure don't remember it! It looks like she's leaving now, I wish I could go with her. Maybe I can out wheel her in my chair. No, she just walked out, foot fire, I'm too late. I guess I'll just roll on up here and sit at the door, maybe daddy will be here in a little while... I have created you and cared for you since you were born. I will be your God through all your lifetime, Yes, even when your hair is white with age. I made you and I will care for you. Isaiah 46:3-4

"Move Over George!"

I recall reading an article years ago about Retired Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Conner's husband being stricken with Alzheimer's. The family had placed him in a care facility and while living there, he had found "another love." The article went on to read that this scenario with Alzheimer and Dementia patients was very common. While most Alzheimer patients lose cognitive abilities and experience mood changes, their need for relationships, remain. If there has been one thing consistent with mother since she has been living in the nursing home, it is that she longs for someone to love and care for. I have seen several of these "pursuits" come and go. I am usually informed of mother's "intended" by staff members, while visiting. I have even caught myself being especially polite to a few, as if I was meeting mother's new boyfriend for the first time and having a need to make a good impression. Today, I have come for a visit, and receive news that mother has a new beau. As I roll her down the hall to sit in the front room, I notice her wearing a round pin on her shirt that says "kiss me!" I wonder if every resident is wearing a pin like this, or has my mother earned the honor! As I wheel her into the sitting area, I notice a very tall man, with a not so becoming hat pulled down over his ears, coming near. Mother glances over and says, "come over here honey so I can hold your hand." I whisper to mother to be quiet, that she doesn't even know this man. She looks at me like I'm crazy and says "O yes, I do, I love him. It doesn't take me long until I'm on my feet and wheeling mother back down the hall again. One of the nurses is headed the same way and walks alongside us. The nurses and staff here at the home have become very familiar with mother and her needs. I feel so comfortable with them as they care for her. I begin to share what has just happened with the nurse, she smiles and tells me how mother brightens everybody's day at the home with her funny words and doings. She encouraged me to look at my mother in a different light; she's happy, living, and to try to embrace the joy that she receives from these little relationships. I must say, her words have stuck in my heart and mind. Why is it that I would want mother to roll around the halls all day of a place where she has not chosen to be, but has to be, and deprive her of having the one thing that can make her feel alive, love. When you think about it, I suppose it's like the songwriter said, "Love makes the world go round!" And you never know...one of us could end up in a home with George Clooney some day!

"Wrong Answer!"

It's a Wednesday night church service and I have sat down to the back of the church in my usual seat. I see a friend of mine and fellow church member making her way back to me with a funny look on her face as if she has a story to tell. Her mother is a resident at the same nursing home as my mother, so any time I see that face, I know I'm in for an amusing story about mother. She begins by saying that mother was really confused yesterday when she was up visiting her mother. Apparently, mother had mistaken my friend for my older sister who has been in Heaven now for several years, and her husband for my sister's husband. She continued the story by saying that Mother had rolled into the room and read them the riot act, calling her husband some unwanted names that even I won't repeat. One other thing she mentioned that mother was doing was rolling up to the front door of the home saying she needed to go see her daddy and causing the door alarm to "beep". This can get a little bit annoying if someone continues to do it over and over again. Not wanting mother to be a bother to those working at the home, I was in a rush to drive up the next day to see if there was anything I could do to make mother stop "fixating" about Grandpa! Several months prior, mother had her daddy on her mind and tongue, continuously asking, "Have you seen daddy" and so on. I knew from experience, that mother can't remember anything you tell her within 5 minutes or less, but thinking that she may stop talking about it if I confided in her and told the truth, I pulled her to the side and told her ever so gently "Mother, your daddy passed many years ago." She made a few comments and seemed to be accepting. For the months to come, her inquiries of Grandpa were few, until now! Thinking that since it worked last time, it may work "this time!" I roll mother up the hall and into our favorite sitting room. She begins the usual, "Have you seen daddy lately? I wonder what he thinks about me stuck up here and not coming home!" She went on and on. I said "mother, do you know how old I am?" Her answer was pleasing to me, "twenty-five, I guess" she said. "No mother, I'm 59 years old, and your daddy died when I was 9 months old!" She looked up at me with an angry look and said, "Lord Jean, you don't mean he's dead?" Thinking I just might have done the wrong thing, she begins saying "well, who else is dead? I tell her, "Let's talk about some pleasant things mother!" She continues saying, "I can't believe he's dead!" A worker comes into the room to clock out and mother calls to them, saying "Jean says my daddy is dead!" Suddenly I feel like I have made a worse than huge, mistake. I try every trick I know to get mother's mind off of the "stupid words" I have delivered, but time after time she would go back to "I can't believe he's dead! It's been 3 weeks now since this incident. I have heard reports on every visit that "someone has told your mother that her daddy is dead! Not wanting to get nailed, I say "O my goodness!" I have tried to reverse my mistake on every visit by answering her questions with, "no he's not dead, I just talked to him this morning mother!" As I enter the nursing home today, a long time friend and relative who is a resident at the home as well, but is very about himself, sits in a rocker just outside the front door. I say hello, and he calls me over. "Your mother has about drove me crazy wanting to know where her daddy is, I believe somebody told her he was dead." he says. I give a look of surrender and say, "Yea, somebody told her that, not thinking she'd remember it." With a guilty conscience, I continue on inside. I see mother just ahead in her mode of transportation headed for the front door. I call to her and say "come sit with me for awhile mother." This stops her in her tracks as she rolls over towards the sitting area. It's not long before she begins the usual. "Have you saw daddy lately, I bet he wonders where I am?" I never thought I would be tickled to hear those words, but it was telling me that she had finally forgotten the horrible news I had given her weeks ago. She now thinks Grandpa is alive, at least for now! Excited of the question, I say, "Yes, I just talked to him this morning and he was headed for the field!" Mother looks at me as if I'm lying and says, "Why I don't know what he'd be doing in the field this time of the year!" I said, "I guess plowing!" She said "I wonder what he's planting?" As I sit with her, making it up as I go, I become an accessory to her demented world. Even though it's still hard for me to play this part, I will do and say anything to see that smile on my mother's childlike face when I say, "I called him this morning and he said to tell you he loves you!" God Bless my precious mother and all those who are trapped in their world of dementia.

"You Can't Go Home Again"...Or Can You?

As I pull into the parking space at the nursing home, my mind races ahead to visualize just where I will find my mother. Stopping by to find mother in her designated room, is not realistic. She will either be traveling up and down the halls, sitting in on somebody's conversation, or parked in someone else's room. Today, I head down the hall and just as I round the corner, see her turning right to head up another hall. This event reminds me of the old "Pac Man" game, as to where the little men race around the screen, turning corners as fast as they can before being devoured. I finally reach mother and see that she is rolling beside a very tall gentleman who is unfamiliar to me. I take hold of the back of mother's wheelchair, the man looks at me and says..."do we know you?" I reply, "this is my mother." I am perplexed whether mother's new found friend is a resident or just someone visiting there as he is wearing a nice white shirt and slacks. He looks at me again and asks, "do you know me, I need to get on home?" The mystery has been solved, he is a resident indeed. Mother hears our conversation and being that I am behind her, inquires, "is that you Jean?" I tell her that it is and that I am taking her to the front room for a visit. She becomes adamant about the gentleman coming with us, so I agree. I park mother just beside me as the man remains standing in the middle of the room. Mother ignores my boring comments of "whatcha' been doin'?" and "it's really cold out there!" instead, she is watching every move her new found friend is making and calls to him to come over. He states that he needs a coat if he's going to try to walk home in this weather. Mother replies to his words by saying that she has been needing to go home too and see her daddy, but Jean won't take me! In more than one of my blogs, I have told you of mother's different homes, some real and some imaginary. I have a need to know just which home she is referring to, so I ask her to take me there in her mind. She laughs and gives the look as if she's remembering and has arrived there. We begin our journey. "What does it look like mother?" I ask. "Well, you know there's a whole bunch of mailboxes up there and the cemetery's just to the left," she says. I now know, that she is at her childhood home on Skyuka road. She directs me down the drive and to the front of the old Williams' two story white farmhouse which has been demolished for many years now. "OK, we're stepping up onto the front porch, what do you see?" I say. "Well, right there's the swing and some chairs. Let's go in," she smiles. "Tell me what it looks like in here," I say. "Just go on back through to the kitchen, but turn there to the right and you can go into Daddy and Normar's bedroom, right there on the left is the stairs to mine and Ralph's room," she remembers. As a child, my sister and I would visit many times in this old house. Grandpa John died when I was 9 months old and of course grandmother Hannah died when mother was three. As I've told before, the only mother our mother ever knew was her stepmother, Norma Williams, who was very good to her and raised mother as her own. A favorite object for me and my sister, was a musical, dancing ballerina jewelry box, which set on a small vanity belonging to our Grandma Normar, containing a play gold ring adorned with 3 tiny orange carrots on the front supposedly signifying how many "Karats" it was worth. Sister Sue and I would slip and try it on every time we visited. Upstairs was a tiny white box, hidden out of sight that only snooping grandchildren could find. It belonged to my Grandpa and inside, held a fake pile of "poop" just so little girls could giggle by seeing it. As to how he acquired this prize, I have never known. I often wonder of it's whereabouts to this very day. Our "sentimental journey" is suddenly interrupted by the gentleman telling us that he's going to walk on down town! Mother seems annoyed as to the abruptness of the departure from her childhood home, but tells him to "put his coat on,it's cold out there!" It's getting late and I must go to "my home." I guess when Thomas Wolfe wrote that "You Can't Go Home Again" he wasn't talking about my mother!

"The Christmas Party"

It's only a few days til Christmas 2012. It seems just yesterday that I was writing last year's blog while mother was living with me. I have left work today early, to come home and do a mound of baking for my family and my husband's mom who is recovering from a back surgery. I am in a bit of a hurry, since mother's "Christmas Party" at the home will begin today at 2:00 pm and I am some 4 hours away from cooking 3 roasts with gravy, a ten pound bag of potatoes, and green beans. Christmas holds a lot of meanings for different people. For me, it's the day that my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ was born. I am so thankful that I was born and raised in a home, where God was on the fore front of everything we did. As a child, every night before bed, mother, daddy and the siblings that were still at home, would gather in our living room and bow before a Mighty King...Jesus! Many times, my dad would be in his pajamas, with the leg of them pulled up as he kneeled. When he was in the Navy in World War II, during a night of regret, he had a "rooster" tattooed on his left leg. My daddy had a usual saying in his prayer of "protect and do." My sister Sue and I would giggle every time, as it sounded like "ta-tect-ta-do" as if his rooster had crowed the phrase. Life was good at the Gibson family home and my mother was the matriarch of my faith. I can see her through the years, sitting quietly, reading and studying her Bible for hours. She taught Sunday School for as many years as I can remember, sang in the choir with a beautiful alto voice and forever walked a strong and spiritual life. Just last week, a niece had visited the nursing home where mother resides. While passing through, heard someone singing Christmas Carols over everyone else. As she looked in, there was mother, remembering every word of every song,and singing louder than anyone. Several times since mother has been there, I have rolled her to a confined space and asked her to pray for me. It is an amazing thing to see someone with dementia, who can barely remember what you said five seconds prior, bowing her head and asking God for His tender mercies. My daughter Hannah has arrived home from college and is accompanying me to the home's "Annual Christmas Party." Not knowing what to expect, but imagining that there will be Christmas Carols sung, gifts handed out and treats for us all, we drive up the cove to be with mother and "Mema" for a special event. We enter through the front door and see that the residents are moving towards the large dining room. We begin to head that way as well. As I round the corner, I can see Ms. Genelle, the dietician, guarding a beautiful buffet table in the hall hosting an array of all types of Christmas goodies. Someone informs me that mother is already in the dining hall. I peek in and see the whole room is full. Standing on my tiptoes, looking for mother, I hear someone blurt out, "Where did that 'turd' come from?" Knowing that this person sounds familiar, I quickly turn my head and yes, there entered mother. I stepped over to her and begin to motion to her to be quiet, before everyone heard. I realized it was too late. If mother dares to see a glimpse of a smile on mine or anyone else's face after she's rolled something embarrassing off her demented lips, it won't be long before another one follows. Today was no different, the next thing that came out was "why, this isn't nothing but a 'manure pile in here!" Reaching frantically, I grab mother's wheel chair, and as fast as she rolled in, I roll her out, explaining to the people that I would not be attending the party and would visit with mother in the front room instead. Heading down the hall, I spy a gentleman who looks as if he is there for the same reason as me, to visit a loved one. He smiles as we pass and mother blurts out another zinger. The look on the man's face was priceless. Life has a way of writing it's own history. Today, I have come to share a memorable day with the woman who gave me life, and to celebrate the birth of the man who gave HIS life. Somehow, I can't help but think, that even Jesus got a kick out of this "Christmas Party!"

"Long Gone"

It's a Friday afternoon, and today is a day, long awaited, yet bittersweet. Ever since mother began her journey with dementia, we knew that this day would be inevitable; the selling of her home and property. It's been a year almost to the day, since we signed the contract with a realtor. Due to the economy and several issues with the property, that for some reason didn't seem appealing to buyers, we have had a bit of a struggle, finding the perfect buyer. Mother's care has and always will be a reality for years to come and I must add, it doesn't come without a cost. For anyone who owns a home and or property, after its all said and done, you must relinquish it all unless other arrangements are made, years in advance. Over twenty years ago, my dad had passed and mother met her soon to be husband Yates, a shy country bachelor, who stole the heart of not only mother, but the entire Gibson family. My mother soon sold her home and he left his, together, building a beautiful brick home situated on 90 plus acres of grassy farmland. Every inch of this house was decided by mother and Yates. If I was to be truthful, I would say, "by mother," choosing the very best of everything that was to make up her "dream home." I recall one instance where, the family began to notice that there was no toilet paper holder or towel rack in the hall bath. Upon inquiring as to why, my mother replied that she didn't want "holes" drilled in the wall to accommodate these necessities. Mother and Yates lived on their cattle farm for many years to come with mother, falling in love with every cow and calf that stepped foot on their property. Years went by and this place became everything to mother...until dementia came. As I have recorded in my earlier blogs, mother's home soon became a living nightmare to her and those she loved, with hallucinations of anything from young children, to cliff jumpers,to animals of all colors and entities. As my husband and I sit in the lawyers office, I anxiously await the arrival of this couple who has also, fell in love with mother's home and property. The door slowly opens, and in walks the two people who will soon take residence in mother's home. I began to have emotions that I hadn't thought of. Fighting back the tears, I shake hands with them and quickly observe this couple to be the perfect choice. My mind wonders back to all the days of my mother and her "dream home," knowing how sad she would be to know that we had sold it all, but in agreement that it was something that had to be done. I feel deep in my heart that she would be pleased with the couple who will take she and Yates' place on Martin Walker Road. Days have passed and I head up to the nursing home for one of my visits. I encounter her in the front room, which is unusual, but happy to know that I won't have far to walk to get her and bring her up. She begins to tell me that she has been down at some restaurant and didn't have to cook today. I talk to her about the usual, and have a quirky need to somehow, receive from her, even though in a demented state, her permission to have sold her beautiful home that meant everything in the world to her years prior. I began to say things like, "mother, do you remember living with me last year?" She says, "where do you live?" Then I move on to, "do you remember your farm where you and Yates lived?" She says, "seems like I do, I guess it's long gone now...just like everything else." I accept her words as some sort of a comfort, knowing that possibly she had settled it all, years before, just as you or I have done as we placed a cherished figurine or picture on a shelf, knowing that one day, more than likely, will be removed by someone who will toss it in a box without a second thought or place it on a yard sale table. May God bless each and everyone of you who is facing the same struggles as my family and I have. Only God has the answers to it all.

"Lost!"

TGIF! Yes, it's Friday! I have had one more week! My middle granddaughter, thinking I was in need of a gift, gave me her head and chest cold, so I've been battling that all week. As I've mentioned in earlier blogs, I work at a Baptist Association office and this past week was a busy time there as well, with our Fall Revival services each night. My boss has decided to let me leave a little early today, to go see mother and run some errands. My oldest granddaughter is a freshmen at Appalachian State and tomorrow is "family day." Knowing that she is looking forward to her Papa and Nana coming for a visit, accompanied with plenty of edible treats, I am in a rush to go by the nursing home to have a short visit with mother and then off to Wally World to pick up my ingredients. As I walk toward mother, I see her eyes opening wide. Unlike most days when I walk up on her, she seems to be awake and alert. "Howdy!" I say. We go on with our routine of "where did you come from?" and so on... She quickly wants to know where we're going. As usual, I wheel her up the hall to our favorite room. It isn't long til mother is saying she needs to make a restroom visit. I roll her back to her room and do the honors. Looking at my watch, I see that I need to be leaving in order to get my shopping done and back home at a decent time. Two of mother's caregivers join us and mother begins telling them about a little boy who is down the hall and had given her some ill feelings. Years ago, this scene would make me cringe, but now, it's just part of the day. I say my goodbyes and off I go. I enter Walmart and head for the grocery section. One of my granddaughter's request, is that I make her a batch of chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal cookies. As I round the aisle to pick up some oatmeal, I encounter a woman in her 70's. She seems to be lost. I ask, "can I help you look for something?" I'm not sure what it is about me, I must look like I belong in a department store with a "Can I Help You?" badge on. So many times throughout my life, people will automatically come up to me in a store and ask if I work there. One of the most unusual thing that happened to me was some time back in the early 80's. I had just been shopping in Kmart and leaving the store. A very tall man approached me at the door. He looked up at the ceiling and said..."Wait! don't I know you? Have we been together in a different time or something?" Had he not been looking up at the ceiling the whole time or wasn't talking so goofy, I might have found that flattering. Anyway, today was unlike any other. This lady, who seemed to have a question on her puzzled face, had came in my direction. She begins to cry and say that she has looked all over the store for "grits" and can't find them. I tell her that they most certainly must be down here where I'm headed to pick up some oatmeal. She suddenly begins telling me that she is sorry for taking up my time and she would hurry. She says, "You know, hurry is the story of my life!" I have three family members in the nursing home with Alzhiemer's and all I do is run back and forth taking care of them. I even cared for my daddy til he died in 1991. She continued telling me her life story. I had noticed that she was missing all her teeth as she first began to speak. She voluntarily told that she had written herself a note to put her dentures in before leaving the house, but forgot. Many things she was telling me, seem to parallel with my life. I could clearly see that she was demented. I left the aisle and told her it was nice talking to her. As I made my way back to the dairy and back, there she was, standing with a man who was unpacking lunch meats. I could hear her as I passed by, telling him the same stories. I roll my cart into the checkout, behind at least 3 others with full carts. I look at a nearby empty checkout that says "20 items or less" I remark to the lady in front of me that they should have a checkout that says "20 bags or less!" Catching myself, speaking to a stranger in the store, just as the elderly lady had to me, I backed off from conversation. As I take my turn to checkout, I start thinking about how little my car is and how much "stuff" I've bought. I remember that I had forgotten to memorize the row number before coming inside, so I wouldn't get lost when I came out. As I make my way out, I am overwhelmed with a sea of vehicles. The glare of the sun beats down on them all, making each car look the same. Thinking what will I do, I head on into the lot, frantically looking for my tiny white car. Walking around for at least 5 minutes, I glance to my right and see and hear the same demented lady. She is lost too! And is searching for her car, just like me! I quickly spy my vehicle, throw my groceries in and take off. I'm not sure why this lady became a part of my world today, maybe it was a reminder for me to "slow down," and stop trying to save the world for everybody as apparently this lady had done, from the story she told. I just pray that it's not too late!

"A Different Visit"

Running up the cove for a short visit with mother right before Church, I am interested to see what she might be up to. Heading down the hall, I spy her, sitting with her head leaned back in her wheelchair, mouth wide open, asleep. I walk up to her and whisper in her ear...wake up! Mother has an older cousin at the home now, who has a mind as sharp as a tack. I was talking to her one day and she told me that mother sleeps with her mouth so wide open, that she could put an egg in it. Mother sits up as I speak to her, "well where did you come from?" she inquires. "Oh, from Santa's land" I tease. I began to roll her up to the front room. I don't know what it is about that room, but I love to sit there. Even if I wasn't visiting mother, I'd still like to just sit there and relax. The orange and yellow decor is somehow soothing to my inner beast. Thinking that mother probably feels the same, I enjoy rolling her up there while we visit. Sitting in the sunlight glow of the room, mother begins to nap. A car pulls up and an elderly man with a cane slowly slides out of the front seat and makes his way to the front door of the nursing home. I then see a much younger man walking around the back of the vehicle, who joins him at the door. As the door pulls open, mother jumps and calls out "is it snowing out there?" Thinking that I would be embarrased as to mother's words, I look at both men with a quirky face. Only to find that neither one seem to have heard her question. On down the hall they go, as if they are headed for a very important appointment and have arrived late. As I rejoin mother, I can hear a slight commotion. A woman is crying profusely, as to sob, saying "Why have you left me here?" "Take me home!" "I don't want to be here!" "You promised!" Now, I have told you in earlier blogs about my mother's "sonic hearing." Since then, I have discovered that I am not far behind her. Pulling into the grocery store one day, gas pumps were located just down the hill. I exited my car, and heard two people conversing as if they were next to my car. I looked all around me and no one was there. Looked again, and I could see approximately 100 yards down the hill at the gas pumps, two people talking. I was able to hear every word they were saying as if they were right beside me. When telling others about this incident, I have joked that possibly extraordinary hearing is a symptom of dementia, since the brain shrinks, leaving plenty of room for the ear canal to function. I will investigate this theory of mine, another day. So, here we sit, all the way at the end of the hall in the front room, with the visitors at the other end, and it sounds as if they are standing right beside us. Mother begins to make a inquisitive face as to what is happening. Just about that time, a resident, who like mother, wheels around the home with great ease and has the same curse, "dementia," rolls into the room, she stops at the door, turns and goes toward the restroom, stops there, wheels back around in our direction. She comes over to me with a look on her face as if she's a child and has soiled herself. I ask "are you alright?" "No" she says. "I have wet myself!" and begins to cry. I get up, assuring her that she will be alright and wheel her back down the hall to get the necessary help. There I see sitting nearby, the lady who was sobbing so, accompanied by the man with the cane and the younger man. My eyes make contact with hers as she sits on the edge of her wheelchair. She looks at me as if to say, "Don't look at me like that, I don't belong here!" I turn and go back up the hall to mother. My heart is heavy for the woman, and I began to cry. There was just something about this woman that touched my heart. Visiting mother several times a week, I have come to hear many cries, rants, raves and sobs from the residents here, but this was different. This lady didn't seem demented or decrepid. Her voice was that of someone who might be your neighbor, someone you work with, the checkout lady at the grocery store... me..or you. It was getting time to leave for Church, so I roll mother back to her room. As we start up the hall, the younger man is walking by. Normally I wouldn't be so bold, but because my heart broke for the lady so, I stopped him and asked if she was his mother, hoping he would devulge some information. He began to tell me the situation. Her husband was the man with the cane. He lives at another nursing facility, and she had to be here since there was only one room available. They had been married for some 64 years. He had picked his father-in-law up to bring him to see his wife and spend the day with her, but had gotten a late start. The woman, thinking she has been forsaken had wits on end. Hearing this explanation, somewhow made me feel better. I have asked myself, just why did that upset me so much? My conclusion is that one day, I know my inevitable fate. My mother will be 84 years old this December. I'll be 59, the same month. I cannot imagine that my brain will survive another 25 years. I fear the sentence of dementia each and every day, each and every misspoken word, every look that I get when I do a goofy thing that most people might laugh at. I pray for families all over the world, that one day, there will be a cure for this dreaded disease, dementia. The theif that is stealing the very souls from the ones we love.

"I Miss You!"

We all have loved ones who come and go in our life, sons and daughters who may be away at college, armed forces, or living in far away states. Knowing that they can't be with us right now, but will once again, grace our presence, is something we all live for and gives us momentarily peace. During the early years of my married life, I lived far away in another state. Back in those days, there was no such instrument as a cell phone. Being I was a "mama's girl" many hours and dollars would be spent a week, calling my mother, sharing news of a new baby's tooth, a step that was taken or just a sad day, longing to be back in North Carolina. Eventually, our family was able to move back home and I would once again, share the day to day life with my mother. So many days were spent on shopping, trips, visits to siblings who lived out of town, family dinners, church life, you name it, we would be together. She was always there for me. Most importantly, she was my confidant, and I hers. She was my mother. When you have a loved one with Alzheimers or Dementia, you find yourself missing that person, even while they're in your presence. I stop into the home today, just to see mother for a minute. Knowing that it's lunch time, I don't want to interfere with her eating, so I tell her that I have an appointment, and just wanted to stop by and say hey. My heart is heavy with many troubles of the day, I have a yearning of saying "Mother, I need to talk to you about something, and you tell me what to do," as I have so many times though the years. Hours and hours on end have been spent, pouring out my heart to this woman who I entrusted with all my inner secrets and shortcomings. I sit down in a chair to the right of her, and as the first bite of food goes into her mouth, I hear her say, "Shoo, I'm not eating that!" The attendant quickly comes over and comments that she'll be right back with one of mother's favorite, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It's not long before she has fulfilled her promise. Mother sits unwrapping her sandwich as a young child would unwrap their presents on Christmas morning. As I watch this scene unfold, I feel an emptiness in my stomach. For all the person that this woman has been to me and others in her life, is this what it all comes down to? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I say goodbye, and began my drive back home, tears cloud my vision. Crying out "Mother! I miss you! Come back to me! I need to talk to you! God help me, I want my mother!" I know that many of you have lost loved ones, with never a promise of ever seeing their face again this side of Heaven. I too, lost my dad some twenty years ago. I know loss. Never imagining that anything could compare to death of a loved one, I now know that there are some things worse. Please God... The Serenity Prayer God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next. Amen. --Reinhold Niebuhr

"Feelings"

It's two days before the fourth of July and my family is headed out for a beach trip. I want to say a quick goodbye to mother, knowing that I will be away from her for the longest time since her entry into the nursing home. I have purposely chosen a time when she will be finished with her lunch and I can do my usual of curling her hair while we "chat." I hurriedly head up the hall, thinking I will find her sitting next to her new found "husband." For the past several months now, mother has chosen a poor unassuming gentleman who resides at the home, to be her deceased husband "Yates." Not long ago, I came for a visit and there she sat, next to "her Yates." I said, mother come on, let's go up the hall and sit in the front room." She gave me a look that would kill and said "we can't leave Yates here!" Assuring her that he would be alright, I began to push her wheelchair forward. Mother grabbed the nearest thing in sight, the big toe of a lady in her reclining chair. The woman began to holler "OH, OH" until a worker came to the rescue. Today, I glance in mother's room as I pass by. Instead of her bed made, I see someone lying in there. Stopping in my tracks, I turn and go in. There lays mother, breathing very short, hard breaths. I am concerned and see that her roommate is just outside the door. "What is wrong with mother?" I ask. She begins to inform me that mother has been up all night with a stomach virus. I then walk down to the nurse's desk and inquire. The nurse confirms the information. Returning to her bedside, I stroke her forehead and sit at the foot of the bed. Barely able to speak and visibly ridden with discomfort, mother orders me to "go, or you'll catch it too!" Here she is, can hardly remember if I've been there or not 5 minutes after I've left, or anything about anything, but she can still remember to be my mother, with instincts of protecting her child. For months now, as I sit and visit with my mother, I can feel the ties that have always bound us together as mother and daughter, wavering. Struggling to see the mother that I once idolized in this thin shell. Today, I leave the home with a renewed idea that I still have a mother that wants to protect me. If we're honest, no matter how old we get, we will all have that need to be loved and protected by our mother, til we die.

"Rocky"

It's coming up on six months now since mother entered the nursing home. I have cut my visits down from daily, to every other day now, except for Saturdays. It's a Thursday, and I have come for a visit. I open the front door to the home and instantly see the figure of a small, gray haired woman, sitting in her wheelchair, barely recognizable as my mother, staring at me as I walk down the hall. "You look like my Jean!" she says. I laugh a little and say "I do!" She replies back, "And you sound like her too!" Looking at a nurse standing, observing it all at the nurses station, I began to play mother a little bit. "Well, I guess that I might just be your Jean" I say. "Well, how did you get to be my daughter?" she asks. Grinning at the nurse, with a quick wink, I say "I guess you birthed me!" Mother begins to give that all familiar laugh of hers, showing every tooth in her head. Mother's room is located just around the corner which she shares with a lady of similar age, but who has all her faculties in tact. When mother lived at my house, I would give her the three "C's" as needed: Cut, Color and Curl. I was always determined that I would never allow my mom's hair to become gray. I had asked this question of her many times way back when her mind was not as demented as now, "Mom, when you get old and unable to have your hair done, do you still want me to color it?" Her answer would always be, "Well, I guess I do!" This isn't the first promise I've had to break, but one that I'm reminded of every time I see her. Every day upon arriving, I quickly wheel mother to her room, plug her curling iron in and began to curl away, somehow thinking that if I keep her hair curled, the color of it wouldn't be as noticeable. Mother's roommate, fills me in on the happenings in "the home" while I do the honors. It was just a few nights ago, that I had a call from one of the nurses on duty, informing me that mother had become agitated at one of her fellow residents and gave them a punch. I had noticed mother becoming more and more outspoken and aggressive over the past few months. Most of her medication had been stopped in order to keep her awake more. I must say, I was a little set back, at the thought of my beautiful, kind and loving mother, punching somebody. After being assured that everything was under control and that the doctor would be notified of mother's behavior in case medication was needed for her agitation, I felt a little reassured that the poor recipient of mother's bad deed would be alright. Upon telling the incident to some of my family members, we have jokingly named her "Rocky." My husband is a member of the local Rescue Squad, which entitles him to sport around an emergency radio most places he goes. Last night, I was sitting back watching "Wheel of Fortune" when he opened the door and announced that it had come over his radio that the Fire Department had been summoned to "the nursing home" and he wouldn't be surprised if "Rocky" hadn't pulled the alarm. As I continue to curl mother's hair, I purposely mention the fire alarm incident to her roommate, and in turn, is obliged to tell me the details. She states that it was just a test, with someone coming over the loud speaker, telling everyone that things were alright. I look away and breathe a sigh of relief with a slight grin on my face. I guess if you look hard enough, one can find a little humor in anything. A lot of mother's caregivers stop by her room during my visits and I enjoy a tale or two that they share with me about shenanigans that mother has been up to. I don't know about all nursing facilities, but I can really feel a "since of family" at this nursing facilty. I unplug my curling iron, say my goodbyes, and head out. As I'm walking down the hall, I can hear my mother talking and sense that she is following me. I dare not look back, but quickly walk out the door. I have a habit of telling her when I leave, that I need to go and run the church bulletins off at the church before it gets dark. This little fib has saved me many a time from her not wanting me to leave. Even though mother is deep in dementia, somewhere down inside her, she still remembers that I have always typed our church bulletin. Dementia has not yet taken the love of the Lord from her heart, and gives permission for her daughter to go and serve HIM, even if it's just to type a church bulletin.