~Mother's Day 2009~

Dearest Mom,

When I was little, I never imagined you’d grow old. Ever. After all…you were my mom: fearless, beautiful, smart. Sparkling and smiling. Strong.

You made me feel safe. And loved. Even when you were mad at me. I’m trying so hard to make you feel that way now.

It’s frightening to step into your room, not knowing ‘who’ I’ll find. Will it be the woman whose eyes twinkle when she sees me standing there….or the one who is scared and confused and begging me to tell her where she is and how she got there? Will I find the woman who has forgotten that her own mother passed away over 30 years ago, and asks why my father hasn’t been there to see her lately or the one who inquires about how the doll-making is coming along?

You were always so patient with me. And I’m trying so hard to be patient with you….when you can’t walk very quickly, or when you call and tell me you’ve been “waiting by the door for hours” for me, when we really had no plans to go anywhere. You get mad…and tell me, “We did SO. You just forgot, young lady”. It breaks my heart.

I try so hard to put myself in your shoes. To know the fear in your heart when you can’t remember where your home is....or the belief that you are “stuck at work and everyone’s left” and you have no way home. I can’t imagine the terror. I see it in your eyes whenever I try to reassure you that you are not at work…that you’ve been retired for over 30 years and that you ARE home. Safe. And loved. I can tell you feel anything but.

And now…shingles. Oh, Mom…..I am SO sorry this is happening to you. I have to admit that I’m mad at God right now. REALLY mad. I know I shouldn’t be…..but I am. Why God…WHY?

And so….this Mother’s Day…I can’t even send this to you, because I don’t want you to read this and see how bad things really are, and that you are suffering from Alzheimer's Disease. Reading that would make the horror worse for you than it already is.

Just know that I love you with all my heart. And that I am here. Whenever you need me. Always. Just like you were for me.

Love,

Your Daughter Carol

~This, too, Shall Pass~

I always find myself closer to God during difficult times. I first realized this during my senior year of college. Kneeling in a dark, musty confessional, I confessed to a priest that I was guilty of not being as close to God as I should have been. Hey...I was a Dean's List college senior carrying 21 hours & finishing up my student teaching, a Resident Advisor on a dormitory floor of 40 freshman girls, and working part-time. Yup...I wasn't praying as much as I could have been. The priest said something that set me on my heels: "The fact that you are worried that you're not as close to God as you should be, tells me you are MUCH closer to Him than you think." I've never forgotten that. He was totally spot-on.

As I travel through these difficult days with my Mom, I find I am leaning on Him for dear life. Is there any other choice? Faith is easy in good times. It's brutally hard in bad times. But those are the times I am the closest to God. He's the last thing I think of when I fall off to sleep, and the first thought I have before I open my eyes. I wake up many times throughout the nite, and pray that He is holding my Mom...and us....in the arms. She can't do this alone. Neither can we.

Mom is still in the hospital. Her delusions continue. She imagines she is at work. Everyone's left and she has no way home. She says someone's stolen her purse, and she has no money. This scene is played over and over. There are no phones, so to make calls, patients have to convince someone at the nurse's station to call for them. They try to control the frequency of these calls, and as you can imagine, they have many more important tasks to perform in the busy geriatric unit. But she convinces them to let her 'call her daughter' whenever she can. These phone calls are heart-wrenching. They asked me if I wanted them to stop the calls. I told them, "Absolutely not". Can you imagine how you would feel 'locked' in with no way to reach your loved ones?? And so, whenever the phone rings, I find myself praying that it's not Mom. Sad. Very sad.

The unit is locked. No one in or out without a code. No phones, tvs, no cords, strings, foods outside the dining room. You have to 'check' eveything in when you enter. They ignore the patients' questions. Many of them babble incessantly. It's like a white-walled prison. A giant padded 'cell'. Depressing for sure. We've all agreed that any of us would go crazy if we had to stay there as a patient.

But Mom's already in her own kind of 'prison'. There's a monster raging inside her that the doctors have yet been able to calm down. They've tried 3 medications so far. They haven't worked. She is still in this fantasy-hell. She begs to be taken 'home' every time we visit. Visiting hours are limited: 6-8:30 each evening. By 7:00, Mom is exhausted. Exhausted from the delusions. From the begging. From the monster. It's pointless to try to visit with her after that hour.

We did get a smile from her on Sunday: We brought her a Frostie!

And so....we continue on, fervantly praying that today is the day they will figure out how to help her calm the monster. It's been 7 days. Will they succeed? And what happens to this dear woman if they don't? Will she ever be able to go back to the assisted living facility she knows as 'home'? What if she can't?

At certain moments of the day or night....these questions become monumental, depressing unknowns. Eating is near impossible. And when I do....it comes right back up, so what's the sense? Praying is the only calm. The rock. God is here. I know He will make things okay. I just wish He'd hurry.

**Thank you all for your prayers, your comments, emails......for your support. We are so so grateful for them***

~Angel In the Kitchen~

‘She’ first came to me very late at nite in the summer of 1993. I say ‘she’ because she had a strong, feminine voice. I may be wrong. But it’s how I think of her. I couldn’t sleep. I often find myself sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the nite on those kinds of nites.

My business had really grown since its start in 1989. I was doing over 20 art shows, as well as wholesale shows in Philidelphia, Atlanta and Chicago, twice a year. I had hundreds of shop and catalog accounts. I had eight employees. Several sales reps out in the field around the country. I was working 16-hour-days. You could say I was on “auto-pilot”: so revved up on caffeine and adreneline, there was no stopping me. Until that nite in the kitchen.

I was sitting on a stool at the island. Drinking iced tea. Just sitting. Tired. But content. At 17 and 10, both boys were doing well in school. Jim was quickly climbing the corporate ladder. Life was good. Her loud voice permeated the dimly-lit room. “WHHHHHOOOOOOO ARRRRREEEE YOU?” it boomed. I jumped. My heart was beating fast. I wasn’t really scared. Just startled. She filled the room with her presence. I knew what she meant. I had NO idea who I was. Yes….I was a mother of two sons. A wife to a man I adored. But had I lost ME??? Was there any ‘me’ left?? I sat there for a long time. She never said another word. She didn’t have to.

I was a great goal-setter. I’d set them each December for the upcoming year. When they were met, I’d set the next year’s goal higher. I’d always meet them. And so it continued. Like Topsy, the business grew and grew. One of my oldest friends, Babs, asked me then, “When is it enough?”. Why, it was never enough. There were always higher mountains to climb. Until that nite in the kitchen. I knew I was on the wrong path. I needed to make changes.

I got rid of my sales reps, and cut down my wholesale accounts to just my original shops and catalogs. I dropped my shows down to half the number. Much more ‘doable’. And I made time for me. I re-joined a health club, signed up for aerobics classes….and actually went to them! I was much healthier. And happier.

That wasn’t her last visit. She speaks much more quietly now. She knows she needn’t ‘yell’. I know when she’s here. I can almost predict when she’ll come. Like last nite. She knew I needed her visit.

It’s been a hellacious week with Mom. And we’re all so tired. And scared. Specially Mom. I pray that Mom has an angel that will fill her with the peace that my Angel gives me. I know she has one. It’s an Archangel. I know because of Mom’s description of him. Very very tall with HUGE wings showing past his shoulders and reaching down to the floor. I hope he’s with her this week. She needs him.

Postscript: Mom was admitted to the Geriatric Psychiatric ward at a nearby hospital yesterday for observation. Taking her there was the single, hardest thing I've ever had to do. She is very confused and scared. And very angry at me for taking her there. Please keep her in your prayers.

~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.

~Bread, Milk and Lemonade~

I cringe each time the phone rings. I pray that I don't see the name of my mother's assisted living facility on that caller ID. Wednesday nite. 8:30. Oh no.

“Hello, Carol?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Carol, I can’t find my car keys anywhere, and I don’t have any money!”

“Mom….You haven’t driven for quite a while. You sold your car, remember? What do you need money for?”

“Well….I need to drive to the grocery store. There’s nothing in the house to eat.”

“Okay, Mom. What do you need?”

“I need bread, milk, and lemonade. And money. I have no money.”

“Mom, I promise to come tomorrow and bring you bread, milk and lemonade. And money. You sound tired, Mom. It’s 8:30. Why don’t you go to sleep. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll come tomorrow. Promise.”

“But my hair! It got wet when I showered.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Tomorrow is Thursday and Annie will be in the beauty shop. She’ll come and pick you up and wheel you down there. She’ll wash and set it for you.”

“Okay. Will you pick me up? I can’t find my keys.”

She had been doing so well. She has no need for groceries. Her three meals are served to her in the facility's beautiful dining room. And there is no need for money. They are discouraged to have any. She's forgotten where she is again. We hadn’t seen signs of dementia for some time. Not like this. And here it was rearing its ugly head once again. How long would it last this time?

Thursday. Head to the grocery store to get bread, milk and lemonade. Don’t forget the money. Sigh.

Then I headed straight to Wendy's. “Please let this work, God. Please. Just one more time."

When I arrived, there was Mom, hair freshly ‘coiffed’, sitting on the sofa. "Oh, you're here! Did you find my keys?".

“Mom……how about a Frosty?” She smiled. Thank you, God. And Wendy's!