The woman has been scary to me, my entire life. I remember a handful of times when I felt loved and happy and those times were back when she and my dad were still married. We had a wonderful outing to Muir Woods when I was probably about 5 and I remember my mom skipping with me, holding hands down the path. I was over the moon. The other time, although she did not do anything overtly demonstrative, was when she spent weeks in a build-up to Christmas, holed up in the Breakfast Room sewing a complete wardrobe for my Christmas Tiny Tears doll. I knew that anyone who would do that, loved me. I was 6.
Before my step-father passed away, back in 2000, he looked me in the eyes and said...your mother is not doing anything. She just sits around watching TV and I am worried about her health. You know how I told you about her best friend from the Opera Days telling me to Put Her In A Home. I guess that the sad little kid of 7 was continuing to try to win the love of her standoffish mother, bringing her along and out of her terribly neglected home, when we moved her up here. For the time after Lenny died, we cleaned sewage spills, we found her with her heat out, I found her phone shut off...you know...classic signs. HELLOOOOOOOO Lisa! I know, anyone on the outside would say that she was losing it but the point is that no one from the outside was let IN and the people who WERE at the edge of IN were so buffaloed to think that this was just normal old lady stuff. Gross!
She continued to make me feel like I was walking around with one of those big stones that squished the life out of "witches" back in Salem, all the while that I was trying to care for her and enjoy the life up here. No deal. I would probably just be beating myself on the back with a barbed whip if it had not been for the pneumonia and hospitalization. I thank her for that but now, as shocking as it may seem to those on the outside, at this point in her life I wish that she had had the courage to slip out when she was so near to it this past Winter. Coulda Shoulda Woulda.
I got a call from the home last week about my need to take over the responsibility for her health care decisions. Ok, sure. She seems to be normal to me...telling funny stories. It is a formality that I can handle. Signed, sealed and delivered.
Yesterday I got a call from The Home. The nurse said that they are going to move mom to another room because she and her roommate are not getting along. Ok, if it is ok with mom, it is ok with me. I met the little woman who is her new roommate and she seemed to be quite lively and with-it, moving her bed and utilizing her half of the room to her advantage. No problem. Now I realize that the person that I was talking to had the same deal as mom...lung problems and some dementia.
Today we drove into town to visit, taking some flowers that the deer eschew. She was still in 19A. Hmmm, we saw the roommate out in the hall so we could talk openly. I asked mom why they did not move her and she said that she did not want to go and that her roommate was trying to force her out. Lots of stuff that would make a normal family member get a little peeved with the neighbor. She then started into some funny made up stories about her new stuffed animal (NOT something that I brought...she makes me take that stuff home.) and her nebulizer. We just rolled our eyes and laughed out loud at the interesting way that her creative brain was working. I finally told her that I needed to go to the nurses station to get the skinny on this move thing and that I would be right back. "Famous Last Words" says she..."that is what everybody says". I assured her that I would be back for my belongings and headed out to get the scoop.
When asking Kim, the nursing supervisor, what the deal was about moving mom, she said..."she is not moving, we are moving her roommate". It seems that the woman who DOES NOT CRY broke down in tears this morning, begging not to be moved. (!) Wow. Kim then said that if her behaviour continues, SHE will be the one to be moved next time. Huh? Turns out that it has been mom, all along, that has made the lives of her roommates M I S E R A B L E. Holy shit. She told this woman's daughter to shut up and quit making so much noise! Yeah, says Kim..."she is mean to everyone but me. She likes me for some reason". Ohhhhhhh. The dementia is really picking up. Kim said that one day Mom won't know me. I said out loud that mom really screwed up, not being brave enough to slip out. I was mortified, like the mother of a biter. I got the answer when Kim told me that they see this all of the time and that it is better for her to be mean to other people and not to us, so that she won't lose our visits. She said that it is ok and that the hardest time is when they don't know you. I just lost it. I can take it when someone beats me down but man, if someone is kind to me or that woman in that bed, I lose it.
I thanked Kim, after getting myself together and we made our way down the hall to mom's room. "We fixed it", I fibbed. "You can stay in this room and your roommate is moving". She tried that plaintive, "I want to go home" once more and I just said, "I know, I know", kissed her on the forehead and said bye bye.
A kick to the gut. I think that I need some retail therapy...
Yeah, well...P.S. I just witnessed my little Schnickle help his Grampy with the garbage, carrying the bag from the studio all of the way to the can, hoisting it up and over. He came back carrying my recycle can to me. This is what I am talking about. A little kid who revels at the joy of walking the garbage can all of the way down the long long drive to the road because it is what we DO. He carried a teensy little blackberry all of the way back up from the creek in his hot little fist, just for Grammy. It was the best, hot little sour blackberry EVER. :o)
Oh, Lisa! I feel for you. You are brave. You are good. And you are loved.
I don't comment much, but I have been following along. My prayers are with you and your family.
Posted by: Katherine | July 24, 2008 at 01:36 PM
Kim is an angel. And so are you.
Posted by: AlisonH | July 24, 2008 at 02:09 PM
This just brought tears to my eyes Lisa. There are so many days I miss my mother but I'm also glad I never had to watch her get old. I know that sounds totally morbid but it's true. She was 45 when she died 15 years ago. My heart goes out to you so much. I can't even imagine what it's like for you. Sending you a big, huge, hug.
Posted by: scoutj | July 24, 2008 at 08:22 PM
Oh my, it's always so hard to watch someone decline, even harder when it's a parent.
My thoughts are with you while you go through these difficult times with your mom.
Then, you have the flip side with the little guy to bring you back up!
Posted by: Paula D. | July 24, 2008 at 09:47 PM
"I wish that she had had the courage to slip out when she was so near to it this past Winter." Lisa . . . I know. I have the same thoughts about my mother and then I think that I'm a monster. You're not alone.
Posted by: Helena | July 25, 2008 at 08:02 AM
Hang in there, Lisa. We love you. Your little grandson is medicine for your burdened soul. Hugs,
Posted by: Elizabeth Risch | July 25, 2008 at 12:36 PM
It leaks out one hole and poured into another. Sending hugs, friend.
Posted by: Kerry | July 25, 2008 at 02:14 PM
I wonder if most parents realize how little it takes to make their child feel like "they're over the moon."
And conversely, how little it takes to make a child feel unwanted and sad.
On a bright note, I do see things changing dramatically when we speak of the generations that have followed those of our parents. I see fathers far more involved in the lives of their children and I see women lamenting far less often the challenges of a career and family and instead just plowing ahead and making it work the best they can with no apologies.
Kids my age were beaten with regularity - it was just part of the landscape if you grew up in the 50s. I see our kids using time-outs as a viable alternative to beatings.
I think we're part of an evolving consciousness and it encourages me. Our moms, (and our dads for that matter) bless their hearts, just passed on what they knew without questioning the merits or lack of them involved. I don't see too many of us doing that anymore. I see parents making herculean efforts to do better than those before them did.
Posted by: Tom Clark | July 25, 2008 at 04:11 PM
You are an amazing person Lisa. Just hang in there. As they say, this too shall pass. And thank you, Tom, for such a positive outlook. I totally agree.
Posted by: rebecca jc | July 25, 2008 at 11:02 PM
big hugs girlfriend
Posted by: vanessa | July 26, 2008 at 07:27 AM
Lisa, that was a lovely bit of writing. You are NOT a monster for thinking/wishing that she had slipped away last winter. I betcha that if your mother was totally aware of herself and her surroundings, she would absolutely HATE to be in the condition she's in now, and would agree with you. Don't be too hard on yourself. You're doing good.
Posted by: Carol | July 26, 2008 at 09:47 AM
Lisa, your writing brought it all back, only now from a distance of several years. I won't say it gets easier, but it does get less stabbing pain and more, sounds so trite, meaningful. I write about my mom and me on my blog sometimes. I'm even starting a beadwork series about us. Now it's starting to move into story rather than that intense identification. The old lady beaded portrait on the blog is her. The June 5 post might be interesting to you. What tangled webs we weave.
Posted by: Linda Watson | July 26, 2008 at 10:57 AM
Lisa, you have the support and love of all of us here in cyberspace, and of course snickle...what a blessing!
Posted by: kit | July 26, 2008 at 12:56 PM
Thanks Everybody. I didn't mean to make it sound like a pity party...just ramblings on a weird day. Helping to raise a Schnickle puts EVERYTHING into perspective, to be sure and I am going to make the most of life, one day at a time. At the very least...she is living THERE instead of HERE...know what I mean???
Posted by: Lisa S | July 26, 2008 at 02:43 PM
Last week, my auntie didn't know my name for the first time. It does hurt.
Beating yourself up about wishing she had died? Cut out the beating up part. That's a normal response.
Posted by: Laurie | July 29, 2008 at 03:27 AM
On the happy note; I know what you mean. Lucy's doing this thing lately where if I'm carrying her and something else, she reaches out and puts her hand on the something else, so she can help carry it. Lovely.
On the less happy note; I'm sorry. Rely on your friends. This, too, is survivable.
Much love.
Posted by: Kristine | July 29, 2008 at 07:21 AM
We once were in DC and went to visit my hubby's grandmother, who was well into her 90's and had never had the easiest personality; visiting was a duty when I wanted it to be a joy. Nothing at all like what you've had to go through, I know, just the smallest taste.
My husband's little sister, who lived 45 minutes away, faithfully visited her fairly often, and here we were on our once a year at most trek.
My grandmother had been good friends with his grandmother in the 50's till mine moved away in the 70's; mine had helped her through her mother's own passing. And so, the old lady knew who I was: Oh, you're Frances's granddaughter, aren't you?! How good of you to come! She was actually sort of charming.
I'm not sure my sister-in-law entirely forgave me that; her grandma didn't know who she was half the time, wasn't the best to her either way, but her friend's granddaughter rated. (Uh, yeah, Grandma, and I married your grandson, remember? Oh YEAH, right, right.)
Posted by: AlisonH | July 29, 2008 at 01:23 PM
Thinking about you and sending hugs. Thank goodness for Schnickle!
Posted by: LisaK | July 29, 2008 at 01:23 PM