"Oz"

My days are becoming a little more usual now. The feelings of anxiety that I once experienced when mother first entered the nursing facility, have all but left me. I still have my moments, but for the most part, I have accepted the fact that this is the way it has to be.

I go to work each morning, then on most days, head on up the mountain for a short visit with mother. I will find her having lunch or just finishing up. The workers here seem to be exceptionally nice and caring.

As I make my way up the hall to the dining room, there to my right is the office of a lady who attended mine and mother's church when she was a little girl. Mother was also a co-worker of her mother's back in the 70's. You can imagine how unusual it is to be standing beside a grown up woman now, giving information to me about mother's care and all you can do is see the little freckled face girl, which you once knew.

I round the corner, there I see my old neighborhood friend, who lived just over the way from me, as a child, playing til dark each night until mother would call me in for supper. He has held many titles in his life, but felt that God was leading him here to work as custodian, as well as Chaplain. He is able to be close by mother at any given time. We talk and tease each other as we have done so for years.

Walking into the dining room, I see the food that's prepared by a wonderful Christian lady who visits our church every homecoming Sunday to sing in the choir, play the piano and just fellowship with everybody. She's the dietician.

This picture is becoming very familiar to me as I relate it to one of my favorite childhood movies, "The Wizard of Oz." If you're familiar with the movie, Dorothy was taken far away from her family and loved ones by a tornado (so she thought) to a land called "Oz." The characters that she met on her way; the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow, were actually all her friends back at her home, but playing different roles.

As I leave mother today, I am comforted to know that these previous "co-stars" surround her. We never know who God will place in our lives or the roles He will give them to play; possibly starring with us more than once before it's all said and done.

"A Daughter Again"

The last couple of months around here had been all telling. Mother's right knee began to really bother her back in October. Her orthopedic doctor had told us that the only real relief mother could ever have, would be knee replacement. We knew that this procedure was bad enough for someone who was all about them self, not to mention someone with dementia. However, we still had to address the problem of mother's knee pain and Tylenol was just not enough.

Back in the spring, mother had faced the same dilemma and was offered "Gel shots" to her knee. Even though she experienced some decline at that time in her walking..we felt that it evened out after awhile. To be honest, we were ready to try anything.

Sometime in November, mother began having her three gel shots to the knee once again. I began noticing some swelling and asked the doctor. He assured me that it wasn't coming from the shots. As time went on, mother seemed to become slower and slower in her walk. During this time, she and I also, contracted a stomach virus, which sat her back as well. It seems that I have told this story a hundred times; that mother went from walking, to a cane, to a walker and then a wheelchair, all within ten days. I struggled with trips to the bathroom with her as I would have to lift her from the couch to the wheelchair, causing a tight and uncomfortable back for myself. It wasn't until I came down to get her up one morning and realized that she was not being able to hardly move at all, that I knew something had to be done.

My daughter Blythe, who cared for mother while I worked half a day, came over and assisted me in getting her up and to the bathroom. I made the decision that morning, to carry her to the ER. The rest is history. After many tests, scans, x-rays and the like were ran, mother was found to have a small UTI. The doctor assured us that this was not enough to cause mother's decline. They seemed to think that a deterioration of her dementia was causing the problems. A CT scan showed no unusual activity to the brain, however, an event could have still been possible.

The doctor came in and told me that they were admitting mother to the hospital for the UTI and they would give her antibiotics and see if she could pull out of this slump, but if not, she would not be able to return home with me, as I could no longer care for her by myself. These words were devastating to me, even though I have to admit I didn't know how much longer I would be able to continue on the way things were.

Mother stayed a total of 8 days in the hospital. Efforts to restore her walking were unsuccessful. Swallowing became an issue for her while in the hospital as well, thus, a new diet of pureed foods was prescribed.

The doctor's orders were that she must go to a skilled nursing facility. The one thing that I never, ever wanted to accept, had become a life line for mother and myself.

The hospital assisted in finding mother a room at a nearby facility where she would be able to have rehabilitation and special care that was needed.

It's been almost three weeks now since mother entered the nursing home. I have had so many emotions in and out of my mind and body since that day, that sometimes, I wasn't sure if I would be able to survive it all. With a lot of faith in God and encouragement from friends and loved ones, I am healing. The one thing that gives me peace and assurance, besides God Himself, is knowing that mother really has no clue of where she is and that she is where she needs to be right now.

The love that I have for my mother, was enough. It turned out that there just wasn't enough of "me."

I try to visit mother on most days, still loving her as much as I always did. It's like one of the nurses said to me, "Now, you can be a daughter to your mother again, instead of her caregiver."

Please continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers, as we continue on this journey of dementia.

"Broken Promises"

Dear Mother,

Today, I am writing you a letter, for the words I want to say to you are too hard to speak.

Through the years, you have been my everything; my hero, my inspiration, my guide and counselor and most of all my mother. Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair that it has all come down to one day which will change your life and mine, forever.

Today was one of the hardest days I have ever lived. Leaving you to start a new life in a home of perfect strangers was heart wrenching. I thank God that you really don't understand where you are. Once again, unwillingly, I call dementia my friend.

Entering my house, I feel an emptiness. I catch a glimpse of your blue chair sitting by the window and my heart breaks. Hurrying up the stairs, I dare not glance at the double glass doors where hundreds of times I have watched you pass through. I miss you.

So many promises were made to you when I decided to bring you to my house to live. Promises that I had every intention of fulfilling, but have broken. "You will live with me 'til you die Mama" I told you. "We will have a good time Mama, we can take you places," "you'll be able to go to church now, to the beach," "and you'll never have to move again" I said. I'm sorry, please forgive me.

I promise you now, I will always be there for you, day or night. I'll visit you relentlessly, I'll be your voice, your advocate, your strength.

Lastly, I want to say "thank you," for being the most wonderful mother a girl could ever have. After all these things, you still look at me and say "I love you too." You will always be my beautiful mother, I love you without end.---Jean

"Happy Birthday!"

Today is mother's 83rd birthday. Lot's of discussion has been had in anticipation of this day. Thoughts of how to celebrate with someone who will only forget what was done ten minutes later, doesn't give much incentive for elaborate celebration. My husband and I have decided to take mother for some food and Christmas light viewing late in the evening.

I enter mother's bedroom singing "Happy Birthday" I have a range of songs from "The most beautiful girl in the world," "Little LuLu I love You Lu...to "Rise and Shine and Give God the Glory, Glory!" that I greet mother with each morning. Some of these will draw a smile, others seem to annoy her without end. But today is special, it's her birthday and I want her to be reminded of it.

In years past, I have entered mother's bedroom many times, but in another place. Growing up, mother's bedroom was furnished with a huge round unframed mirror. I can remember many a day, joining her in that mirror watching every movement and motion she would make, from brushing her beautiful hair, to lining her lips with garnet red lipstick, preparing herself for the day. "Do I have a hole in the back of my hair?" she would ask. Checking to make sure, she would hand me the hairbrush and either my sister or I would do the honors of putting the finishing touch on a woman who in my eyes "was the most beautiful of all!" As I have mentioned in previous posts, mother was not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well.

Today, I gently pull mother from her lying position and encourage her to sit up straight. Her once beautiful oval face is swollen to one side where she sleeps and fluid gathers. Her beautiful hazel eyes are barely visible through the swollen eyelids that eyeshadow and mascara once adorned.

She finally rises, and slow but sure, makes it to the bathroom door. I stand behind her, and can see in the mirror which hangs on the adjacent wall, an image of a small frail woman that I barely recognize as being my mother. As I wash her face, change her clothes, give instructions for teeth brushing, I visualize myself and mother in earlier years when the roles were reversed. I reach for her hairbrush and stroke from front to back, trying my best to close the "hole" in the back of her head, just like I had done some 50 years ago. The hole won't close as easily as years before. My sister and I jokingly call it now, "the great divide" where mother spends hours a day, lying on her couch, giving permanent division.

This woman that I have loved and adored all my life, now sits before me; dementia riddled and barely a glimpse of the beautiful mother I once knew. I thank GOD in the good times and question HIM in the bad. But today I am thankful that I can say "Happy Birthday, Mother!"

"Keep the Change!"

It's a new month and I must admit; time is going by fast. Having mother at my house brings minutes, hours and days of endless, chores, bewilderment and tons of laughter. I am learning through baby steps, to accept them all.

Basketball season has begun. Knowing that my mother has always catered to this sport, gives me a bit of satisfaction, thinking that this will provide me with an incentive to make her want to stay up a little later at night without begging to go to bed with the chickens. Entertaining a person with dementia for a length of time is next to impossible. For my mother, it's more than that. Along with Basketball season, came the end of daylight savings time. Keeping mother up until 8:30 each night has always been a formidable task. Now that we have moved our clocks back one hour, one practically has to stand on their head and juggle oranges in front of her to keep her from saying those four words; "I'm going to bed!" It's not that I don't want her to go to bed early, it's the knowing that if she does, there's a good chance that her sleep will run out sometime in the wee hours and you will be the recipient of it all.

It's two hours prior to mother's bed time and I have already heard those dreaded words. I start out by asking if she's hungry. Mother has always been a fan of anything chocolate or nutty. Here lately, she will not touch either. I continue down a long line of things she might be interested in. Nothing doing. As I've mentioned before, due to agitation, mother sits and rises at least 10 times within a time span of 5 minutes. She'll get up, walk over to an object and mumble some unusual words that have no rhyme or reason. Tonight, my dog Sophie, lies sleeping in the middle of the floor. Mother gets up, walks over and points. I ask her what she needs. "Well, I just thought that dog needed winding up" she says. To say the least, this brings a chuckle from me and my husband. I coach mother to go back and lie down on the couch til bedtime. She obliges me. Lying there with legs outstretched, she says her knee is killing her. Well, mother does deal with a bum right knee so I assure her that I will give her a Tylenol before bed. She continues on with her complaining, so I say, which leg is it mother, she answers "You, know, my middle one!" Of course I laugh so I say, your middle one, which one is that. She says, "well, I mean the one on the outside!"

It's only a few more minutes before bed and we are all very much thankful. Since mother's dementia, she has a way of making you feel a little bit less of a nice person with her choice words. Before dementia, my mother would have never said a harmful word to me or anyone. Mother's little living space consists of a loveseat, which she sits on, a recliner, which my husband has claimed, and a wooden rocker which you guessed it, is mine. I am sitting pushed back watching TV, when I notice mother getting up. I don't turn, but just keep notice in my peripheral vision that she is walking over to me. I decide I had better take a look, since my husband Bob is stacking "Z's" in the comfy recliner and isn't paying attention to what his mother-in-law might be doing. When I turn, mother is standing before me. She has an unusual look on her face. I ask what she's doing. With a studdard or two, she says she is going to pass..to pass..I jokingly say..."Pass what..gas?" "No" she says..."I'm going to pass you some flesh." Well, as I keep telling you, I am a huge chicken. These words surprise me. I begin thinking what flesh, mine? Just a week prior to this, I had walked into mother's room and she began saying to me that there had not been a killing on her couch. I assured her that indeed she was right about that. Mother's television plays from morning to night, and my husband and I have figured out with all the murders and atrocities that are reported on the news, she must be storing this information and verbalizing it during times of distress.

Bedtime has arrived and no one is more thankful than I am. I, for one do not like the new time change, but as I have come to understand, if we live long enough, we will see that life itself is "full of change" some good, some bad!

"Ups and Downs"

It's Friday morning and it's been a long week. Thinking that things can't get much worse, I jump out of bed and head downstairs. I do my usual morning routine for mother, say my goodbyes and prepare to leave. I can hear the chatter of my daughter and her children as they enter "Nana's house." My oldest daughter Blythe, does the honors of sitting with mother while I'm at work half a day. In return, I drop off her girls at school on my way out.

As I exit mother's room, I turn off the kitchen light. A hush comes over her apartment. Everything goes still. The television is blank, the lights are out. What have I done? I grab my phone and call my husband frantically, knowing I have less than 20 minutes to drop the girls off at school and get to work. No answer. I finally reach him several hours later, assuring me that it's something minor and not to worry.

Thinking the day will only get better, I do my duties at work, stop by the grocery store and head home. Mother's previous home is on my way, so I stop by to feed her faithful friend (dog) Annie. Turning into the drive, I stop and check her mailbox. I had been doing a lot of "self talk" on my way home and had just about convinced myself that possibly GOD isn't watching out for me like I thought HE should be.

Heading on up the driveway, I pull up to the house and notice Annie sitting in front of the garage, licking her leg. Fearful that something is wrong, I cram the car into park and jump out. Leaving behind, my keys, pocketbook and cell phone, not to mention a backseat full of groceries, including ice cream and butter. I quickly do a back step, with my hand over my eyes. Knowing that my car only sports one set of keys to it's name, I fear for the worse. As I peep inside, my fears are founded. The doors are locked. Here I am, a mile off the beaten path, wearing dress pumps and nursing a right knee from weedeating days prior, did not make my heart jump for joy. What to do. There was one last hope; my car happens to be equipped with an electronic key pad, however, it has been ages since it has worked properly. Knowing that I wasn't exactly batting a 1000 today, I figured "par for the course" would be my slogan. Just as I thought, it wouldn't budge the locks. With nothing else to do, like a captain leaving his ship, I take out walking. That had to have been the longest mile I have ever endured. With thoughts of hitchhiking if the neighbors were gone, I knocked on the door, luckily, they were there. What a Good Samaritan Ms. Brenda was for taking me home.

Entering the house, I see that my daughter still had mother out on an errand. This gave me a moment to call my husband and give him some more bad news of his wife's calamities, again. "Triple A" was called, and daughter Blythe arrived home with mother. Knowing that it should be time for her to use the facilities. I instruct mother to the bathroom and say goodbye to Blythe. I glance to the right and see my 83 year old mother getting ready to sit down about a foot short of the commode. Screaming out "MOTHER!" I sprint to rescue her, tossing both of us out into the shower below. Knowing that mother could be hurt, I jump up, rush to see if Blythe had pulled away yet and with my first luck of the day, see her just getting into her car. We hurry back in, and pull mother to safety. With no more than a bruise, she is fine.

The day finally comes to an end, with butter and ice cream a mere mushy mess. I remember the doubts I had earlier of GOD's faithful presence. My prayer has always been and will always be through this crazy "up and down" journey with my mother, is that I can serve HIM while serving her.

Scream V

It's the month of October when all kinds of spookiness is out and about. Trick or Treat'n for the kids, jack-o-lanterns on our front porches and eerie screams in the Edwards' household.

Time and time again, I have told you in my posts that I am a chicken of major proportions when it comes to scary things. Lately, I have screamed with high intensity more than I can ever remember in my life and my 83 year old mother is the culprit.

I am having trouble figuring out, just how can someone who creeps at a snails pace, make it into my body space within 5 seconds of my turning around without a rope being tied to my body and carrying her behind me.

I had just put mother down for a nap on her couch, when I decided I would hurry to the kitchen and prepare our supper. I had just made it in, bent down to grab a pan and felt the presence of someone. Knowing it couldn't possibly be mother, I slowly turned and low and behold there she stood with a "can I help you do something?" Dropping the pan to the floor, I let out a blood curdling scream that would wake anything, living or dead.

It was getting late in the evening and I decided to rush outside and do some needed weedeating. Since I would be just outside the window in mother's room, I told her to stay on the couch and watch me as I did the dreaded deed. As I made my way toward her window, I cast my eyes through the panes with hands to the glass. There before me were two big mother eyes, staring right back at me. Screaming so loud that everybody in the neighborhood could hear I nearly fell over backwards.

Entering mother's apartment early in the morning has taken on a new meaning lately. I jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs, gathered her pills in my kitchen and opened her door. Heading on in to open the blinds and do my usual routine before tapping gently on my sleeping mother's door, I paid no attention to my mother sitting quietly on her couch. As I raised my hand to knock, a voice called my name, "Jean, I'm here!" I turned to my right and there she sat with that all knowing grin. Once again, a blood curdling scream came out of my mouth with a jolt of adrenalin that would last me the rest of the day.

As I write this post, I have to say, it makes me smile to think that the one person who has chased away countless ghosts and goblins from a little girls nightmares, is the one thing that now makes her scream.