mother daughter family dementia coping

mother daughter family dementia coping

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

My mother is doing well in her new home. She is adjusting well and never cries. She is sleeping peacefully all through the night and is making new friends that easily understand her through her language barrier. My mother is happy to see me every time I come to see her. She understands that she lives there now so she can be safe, and does not ask repeatedly to go home. She does not try to escape. My mother’s children are remembering each other’s bruised hearts and always speak to each other respectfully and do not call each other terrible names. Everything is working, and I do not lie awake at night feeling like a monster.

And everything I just said, is a lie.

Here are some things that are true.

My mother lives in a very nice facility that has dessert all the time. I told my sister I suspected they pumped in that delicious fresh baked smell and but she disagreed, she thinks it is really fresh treats baking in the kitchen. That’s probably true. The staff is kind and appears engaged. They take the time to remember our family’s names and are eager to problem solve with us.

The facility is full of characters, all of whom have dementia, and sometimes when you get to talking to one of the residents, you may think for a moment to ask them, “Why do you live here?” and then you quickly realize why. One of the women there has 8 sisters and 3 brothers. Guess how I know that. That one likes to yodel, and when I bring my guitar to sing the blues to my mother, she will pop in and yodel along. I like that. That is true.

I took some of my son’s old picture books to read to my mother and she likes that. Especially the illustrated children’s bible. She knows those stories and likes to cuddle up close on the love seat in her room and listen. She likes to lay her head on my chest like a little girl and run her gnarled 77 year old fingers along the page while I read to her. That is true too.

My dad looks good. He talks about being sad and lonely for his wife, but he looks like he is sleeping. The house looks good too, he is taking good care of things, and he and his old, fat, black, dog go for a walk every morning. They cling to each other, my dad and that old, fat, black dog. I’m glad she is there for him. That is true too. I am enjoying time with my dad, being able to sit at a restaurant and talk peacefully, or talk uninterrupted on the phone. He goes to see my mother almost every day, and brings her treats. When I called him late the other night, I found him reading old love letters he and my mother had exchanged when my older sister was a baby. That is also true.

My mother used to have an expression that I keep thinking about. If you were going to say something, but forgot what it was, she would say “it must have been a lie.” How many lies must be getting told at my mother’s new home. There is another expression I keep thinking about, from the Rolling Stones. “What a drag it is, getting old.”