Times Are Changing Fast

It is interesting that once I started writing about my mother and this disease, I suddenly began to think more critically of what was happening around me; in the present and in the past. I've come to realize that my mother has actually been suffering from Alzheimers for probably four years or possibly more.  I remember the time several years ago when she was unable to orient herself enough in a department store to find the exit.  I remember the time when she suddenly did not remember how to sew together a baby blanket and my sister had to show her.  These moments were transient, however, and the rest of the time she seemed like "mom". Even as a nurse myself I was under the false assumption that without a change in personality, it couldn't possibly be Alzheimer's.  It was so easy to explain away these momentary lapses in memory or as we call it in the medical field, "executive functioning". Then there was the day in May of 2009 when she had an accident just outside of the town where they live.  She was inches from disaster.  Fortunately the only injury was to the car itself.  Was that the disease?  Or was it just a normal lapse in judgement or eyesight that so many of us have ourselves experienced?

Now, it seems that with every passing month there is a new symptom; something else that mom can no longer do like she used to. However, her personality still continues to remain largely intact. I have decided that I am glad that we did not know it was Alzheimer's before we did.  We went about life very normally with her.  We didn't spend the last three or so years with an "elephant" in the room.  We just enjoyed our times together. But it would also explain why now the disease seems to move rather quickly through the various stages. It does worry me that my father and my children have not had enough time to prepare.

She often resorts back to what she has always done best, which is take care of others.  Two recurrent themes seem to come up time after time as of late; taking care of the "men" and having children in her home. Interestingly enough the men are all of differing ages and stages of life and seem to go and do whatever my dad is doing.  The man who made the coffee one morning last week she described as "quite a talker" and "almost like a grandfather figure to me".  Undoubtably it must be my dad as he is now.  This lead me to ponder the idea further and I honestly believe in my heart that all the "men" are my dad in the various stages of life as she remembers him.  It is beautiful and heart breaking all at the same time. We have definately come to realize that for her own safety, mom can no longer be left alone.  This is going to be a tough transition for everyone, but with community resources that are available along with numerous friends and family I know that she will be well cared for.  But of course this leads to me feeling guilty that I cannot do more for her.  But I also know that she would just "crown me" (Those are the words she would use.) if I would come and care for her when I should be doing things for my own kids.  Ah yes, back to that whole sandwhich thing. How do I organize my life efficiently enough to allow the maximum time possible with her?  Especially when there are times that I really just want to run away from all of it? I don't pretend to have all the answers.  I'm searching, like so many of us are searching; for balance, for sanity, for the peace that comes with having no regrets.

I believe the most beautiful moment of my entire relationship with my mother came the day after her "diagnosis" in March 2010. We had just spent a wonderful day together as daughters and parents.  There were no husbands or children that day.  The six of us were simply gathered at my parents home where we visited and just enjoyed being with each other. We did not even talk that much about the "diagnosis". That evening when I left, my mom was standing at the kitchen sink doing some dishes.  She stopped, dried her hands and suddenly I found myself in the most meaningful and memorable embrace of my lifetime. We stood holding each other, and she just kept repeating to me that she loved me, loved my family and that I was so special to her.  "I love you so much, oh so much", she said to me. "I love you so much, mom", I said several times.  I don't know how long the embrace lasted for sure, but it just does not really matter.  I drove to my home with tears streaming down my cheeks knowing that I had just experienced one of the most important moments in my life and that I had been given a gift like no other. So many people are hurting, alone, without ever knowing that kind of love.  If my mom had gone home to be with the Lord that night I would have been at peace knowing that she knew how much I loved her and I most certainly knew how much she loved me. No regrets...

Why do we wait? Why do we wait for a diagnosis or tragedy to tell those most important to us how much we care?  How much we love them? I am most certainly guilty of this as well.  We so often get so caught up in the business of life that we forget what life is really supposed to be about. Will that "to-do" list matter if tomorrow you are diagnosed with a terminal disease or are in a car accident? The type of gift I was given by my mother that evening cannot possibly have a price tag associated with it - it was too precious to even begin to assign it a monetary value. Yet it was free. We all possess within us those same valuable gifts that we can give to others. It will cost us nothing, but a moment of our time, but it can remain with them for a lifetime.