"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.