Dear Mom......

Thanksgiving has come and gone. You couldn't join us this year. You said it was "too hard". We missed you. I know this is all so hard for you. It breaks my heart. You can't walk anymore. Your legs are too weak to hold you up. But your brain doesn't remember that, so you keep trying. And keep falling.

The kids were here all weekend. I'm so glad they all came to see you. Ella's eyes light up when she sees you. You got to see Jackie's pregnant belly....and looked at Amy's sparkly engagement ring again. I know it was all overwhelming for you, but I'm happy we were all there with you. I will remember it for a long time.

You have no short-term memory now. Only very long-term. And only sometimes. I am so thankful you still know who I am. And I believe you know Ella and Jackson, too. At least I think you do.

My shows are finally done for the year. I'll have lots more time to visit now. Remember how you used to help me with them, Mom? Remember that cold Ohio Mart that we wore long-underwear and mittens it was so bitter out? Long-ago memories.

Hospice has come in to help now, Mom. I know you don't understand exactly what is happening. I'm not sure I do, either. I just know that they are angels. All of them. They give you lots of extra attention; bought you a new, padded wheelchair, and a new, lower-to-the-ground hospital bed. They brought special padding to put next to it so that when you fall, it's not as hard.

I know you can't understand any of this. It's just not fair.

Just know that you have a family who loves you dearly, Mom. And we are here for you. Always.

With Love,

Carol

Related posts: Black Abyss
My Mother's Smile

~Balancing Act, Part I~

Anyone who has their own business knows how difficult it is to balance work and home life. Add that to having your office/studio at home....and the balancing act becomes even more challenging. The 'drive' and discipline needed for the business to become successful is daunting. THEN add in an 89-year-old mother with alzheimer's and you have a balancing act that just simply doesn't 'balance' at all. In fact....it falls with loud thuds on a daily basis, although I continously struggle to keep everything in its place. It has me in tears and/or laughter most everyday. It's the only way I can keep any sort of sanity.

Mom's declining in the WORST possible way: she's rapidly losing her mind. There. I've said it. It's horrific to watch. I cannot imagine the terror of what it must be to like living in her body right now, and no matter how I try to understand what it is like there in her brain....looking out on a world that no longer makes any sense to her....I cannot imagine it.

She started a whole new phase in June: leaving. Yes...complete with her 'necessities' of life all tied up in a pillow case....neatly tied at the top with a sock. I can imagine that to her, this was her only way 'out' of the hell she is in. And so....the staff found her several yards from the assisted living facility, almost to the woods at the edge of the property having fallen on her knees. This poor, frail, pain-ridden woman who can hardly walk. Escaped. Frightening. When asked where she was going, her only reply was, "I don't know".

And so, the assisted living facility required that we provide paid, evening 'sitters'....to keep her safe. Yup....my job to make sure the hours were covered. And when there was no one to 'hire'.....it is me and/or my husband. Another 'job' to add to the already way-too-long list. Another emotionally draining task. Another step with mom as her disease worsens.

This week we will move her to a room in the alzheimer's area of the facility. A 'locked' area for people, like mom, that are 'flight risks'. Relieving....but sad and scary for mom, who I am sure will become panicked and angry at yet another part of her life she will be unable to understand. Another 'terror' for her to endure. Although we will set up her room (an exact replica, space-wise) as her present one, can you imagine the nightmare of wheeling yourself out of your room, as you've always known it, into a totally 'different' hallway? It brings me to tears whenever I think about it.

I thank God every day that we found Mom such a wonderful facility as this one. We tried caring for her here for a long time. It was a nightmare-beyond-belief. And so, for now, this is the only way to try to balance this part of my life.

Part II, Wednesday.

~Dancing On Ice~

Mom had been doing so well....until last week. Wednesday nite I received a phone call from her. She was all out of breath. She was looking for her mother. Frantically. To say good-nite to her. My grandmother died 32 years ago. I had to tell her that. Her reply: "Stop it, Carol! WHERE is she? Is she with you?".

And the dance begins again. That dreaded two-step. The one where you're no longer on the familiar dance floor. You're on ice. Cracked ice. In bare feet. Cold. Uncomfortable. Uncharted territory that is becoming way too familiar.

I was able to settle her down that nite. For about 5 minutes, after which time she said to me in her best, 'motherly' voice, "Carol....I have to get off the phone now and go find Mom. I need to say good-nite to her". sigh. I had failed.

Friday nite I got a call from the head nurse. Mom was frantic. Even after been given a Xanax. "Carol....I'm still at work. Everyone's gone. I missed the bus. I have no money. What am I going to do?".

Nothing calmed her. She wanted to go "home". I packed a very ill husband into the pre-heated car, and headed to her assisted living facility. She was finally calm....but insisted on my taking her "home". After a long while of trying to get her to remember we had sold her house 3 years ago ("I KNOW that Carol"), I couldn't get her to tell me where she meant when she said, "home". She didn't want to come to my house....she wanted to go 'home'.

Can you imagine the terror you would feel, when no one around you understood what you wanted? The heartbreak of feeling that even your own daughter didn't understand....didn't meet your needs?

This continued through the weekend. There were many moments when I questioned whether she meant 'home' to heaven. I don't think so. But then again, maybe that's what she wants. To go 'home' and away from this hell.

For right now, we are all there with her. Trying to help her navigate the ice. Depressing? Yes. Heartbreaking? Yeah. But it's her life right now. And mine. I thank God each day when I walk into my studio, turn on the lights, and create. Escape. Live. It drives me into a world that is safe. And free of pain. At least for a little while. Until the phone rings again.

~Like A Box Of Chocolates~

Mom’s been doing amazingly well these days, in spite of her alzheimer’s. The ‘normal’ windows seem to be lasting longer and longer. I don’t know why, but I find myself actually forgetting that she even HAS alzheimer’s!

Lately, she’s very concerned about how I am, if I’m working too much, and whether I’m sleeping at nite. It’s really quite dear. She actually told me last nite not to come to see her today if it would be better for me to stay home and work in my studio. She’s NEVER said that before. It brought me to tears.

She’s noticed that I’ve lost too much weight these past few weeks, and like any mother, she’s worried. It felt so good to know she remembered to tell me to eat. “Little bits” she said. I told her that I loved her for that. “For what?” she asked. “For worrying about what’s best for me” I said. “Well….what kind of a mother would I be if I DIDN’T?”. Yup….she is indeed a good mother. Even during the times she’s confused and forgets.

My visits with Mom truly ARE like a box of chocolates. You just never can tell what you’re going to get when you walk into her room, or call her on the phone. When alzheimer’s rears its ugly head, you’re very likely to come up with a very bitter, nutty piece of stale chocolate. When it ‘comes-and-goes’ during our visits, the chocolate you get is one with rich, creamy filling. And when the visit is perfect, the one you get is such a decadent piece of rum-soaked goodness that it makes the sides of your mouth turn upward in the most pleasing kind of smile. It lingers on your tongue, and in your mind for a long long time. Those are the sweetest visits. The ones that let you know that all is right with the world. With her world. And with mine.

This post won Post of the Day
over at Authorblog. Thank you, David. I am so very honored!

~Never Lose Your Little Girl Heart~

My mother bought me a framed calligraphy saying several years ago, from one of my artist friends, that says, "Never Lose Your Little Girl Heart". It sits on a shelf in the family room with some other treasures. Whenever I read it, I smile.

I am no longer that little girl. But she thinks I am. What she sees when she looks at me is “that little girl”. And how can she not? She’s my Mom.

She remembers long curly hair. Black patent leather shoes for Sundays. Easter hats and purses. Little white gloves. She remembers boo-boos, band-aids and skinned knees. She remembers first days of school. And Brownie meetings. She remembers first boyfriends. First dates. A beautiful wedding gown purchased with her sewing money. She remembers seeing me pregnant. And two precious baby boys. She remembers. Those long-ago things.

What she no longer remembers is that now, I really am grown up. She can’t tell you what she ate for breakfast. Or that her own mother is no longer alive. She no longer remembers the everyday little things. Like what season this is. Much of the time, she lives in the past.

But like any mother….she still worries. I can walk into her room, on any given day, and she can read me as clearly as if my brain were totally transparent. Even when I try to hide things from her. But there are no more band-aids and kisses to make everything better.

She can still give the best hugs. And she does. More often now than ever before.

So whenever I enter her room at the assisted living facility that is now her home, I can pretend that I AM that little girl with the long curls and the patent leather shoes that she remembers. I can fall into her arms and feel the security and the unconditional love that only my mother can give. And I smile.

This won a Post of the Day Award at David's Authorblog. Thank you, David. I am very honored.

~My Mother's Smile~

My mother doesn’t smile much anymore. At 88 years-of-age, she’s had severe chronic neck pain for 6+ years now. Riddled with osteo and rheumatoid arthritis, even the slightest movement is agony. After trying everything imaginable, the doctors finally inserted a pain pump. It pumps morphine through her frail body 24/7. But the pain continues. If they medicate her too much, she gets dizzy and falls. After two broken hips, upping the dosage is not an option. So she lives with it. She has no other choice.

In between studio time, I visit Mom. Getting her to smile is a daunting task. It doesn’t happen often, or easily. After my visit yesterday I realized that there are four sure things that will make her smile: Wendy’s Chocolate Frosties, fluffy white clouds against a blue blue sky, her great-grandchildren, and her brother Joe.

The Frostie is the easy part. After making a pit-stop at Wendy's on my way to the assisted living home where she lives, I wheel her out into the courtyard where we sit in the sun, enjoying the flowers, the birds…..and the blue blue sky! Smiling from ear-to-ear, looking up between mouthfuls of cold chocolate ice-cream she says, “Have you EVER seen anything so beautiful?”. Every day she says the same thing, as if she’s seeing that sky for the very first time.

Her great-grandchildren live out of town, but after their visits, she goes on and on for days, talking about Ella's eyes and Jackson's smile.

And my Uncle Joe…..he’s almost 80, doesn’t look or act his age, has a twinkle in his blue blue eyes, and goes to see his sister on all the days that I can’t…..and all the days that I can! He calls me as soon as he leaves her with his, “Mom Report”. He always says, “You workin’ hard, or hardly workin’?”! I just love him! Mom adores him. Born in Italy, mom was the oldest of the five siblings, and the only girl. Joe was the baby. She babied him as he grew up. Now, the roles have reversed. He babies her!

Visiting is not always easy. Oftentimes I sit in the car for quite a while before I go in, praying to God that I will find her in less pain.

There's one thing that makes me get out of my car and go in: I know that by the time our visit is over, and I kiss her good-bye, I’ll have seen her smile. Even if just for a little while.

~New Creations~

~Back in the Studio~

I've been creating like crazy these days....trying to keep items on both sales sites, as well as setting stock aside for three upcoming fall shows. It was necessary to set my business aside 6 years ago, when both my parents became ill. Dad passed away 5 years ago, and Mom lived with us on-and-off from then on. As she began to require more and more assistance, taking care of her became impossible for us. Last year, we moved her into a beautiful assisted living facility. It ended up being a gift from God. She's happy, I'm happy, and it's time to resurrect my business. My body seems to be fighting me all the way, as my energy levels and bones are older! For 20+ years, I did between 20 and 30 art shows a year, in addition to wholesale shows around the country. It was a lot back then.....but right now....it seems daunting! How did I ever do it?? With two boys headed to college, the choice was clear. But now? Going into the retirement years?? I just don't know. Time will tell. My heart is willing. I get great joy out of creating. Working in my studio makes my heart sing. Can I do this again? Time will tell.

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