daughter

by

Prologue       In the spring of 2007 my widowed


ImagePrologue

 

 

  
I have been absent from my Blog for a while. In this away period I have been working on editing my book in between the call of my daily life. I am including the prologue to my book, a work in progress.

   In the spring of 2007 my widowed mother left her place of birth and a lifetime of living in Indiana and moved to my home in Upstate New York.  It had been apparent to me and my siblings for some time that Mom was struggling to live on her own.  But, my mother’s independent streak and her fierce Irish-German stubbornness did not allow her to leave her residence of fifty years easily. 

     When Mom moved in with my family and me, I thought she was still grieving the death of my father, her husband of over fifty years.  I had learned Mom no longer participated in the activities she once enjoyed; she rarely ventured out of her home.  All signs of depression I assumed. Naively, I believed that once Mom came to live with me she would find a new direction in life from the love my family would give her.  I hoped that my relationship with Mom would evolve into the nurturing, mother-daughter connection I had sought for years.  Yet, after only a few short weeks it became quite apparent all of my assumptions were completely wrong.

       Learning my mother had dementia, although not truly shocking, was not the ending I had in mind for our story together.  Eventually, during the six years that she lived with or near me we did develop a new relationship.  One I had not considered, but, still based on trust and love.  Getting to that final rapport took years of struggle between us.   In the beginning it was who is the child; who is the parent?  Later, that trust was required to let a loving bond blossom into total faith that decisions made on her behalf were for the best. 

     My emotional journey also sparked a transition of my faith.  My feelings about established religion had been evolving for several years.  Soon after Mom moved in with me, I stopped my rare attendance at mass.  My choice had nothing to do with my mother.  Rather, it was a decision that had been growing within me.  I felt more in touch with my idea of God when I was out in nature, or doing an activity with my friends or family.  Mass became a ritual that I dreaded and consequently attained nothing from.  Yet, the more involved I got with Mom’s care, the more aware I became of an inner voice guiding me.  I am by character a non-confrontational person.  Still, as I heard myself questioning doctors, working with insurance companies, dealing with family members and lawyers, I found the words coming from my lips sometimes were not my own.  I had not thought to say them, yet there they were being said.  I began to call my inner guidance my Angels.  It was through this realization that my spirituality grew and I connected with these higher beings that were sent to guide and comfort me.  I believe it was my Angels who first directed me to begin writing.    

     I did not write my thoughts down immediately upon my mother’s arrival.  It was only after many months that the need to release my growing frustrations began to take shape.  I joined a writing group at a local book store because I felt driven by my inner sense, what I call my Angels, to put my feelings into written word.  During my first session I met a group of ladies and we formed a lasting bond that strengthened as we each transformed into writers.  It was this group and our instructor that gave me the courage to record my feelings.  Even then, I did not believe I would take my thoughts and turn them into the book that follows.  As my writing developed, I realized my essays could be a comfort to those walking zombie like through the days of unknown dementia care and decisions as I was.  Consequently, I continued in my pursuit of finishing this book not only for myself but for others who would walk down the path my mother had taken me.  I hope it will bring them comfort and the knowledge they are not alone in their struggles. 

     To do justice to the 85 year life my mother led I have given you, the reader, a brief history of Mom’s life.  I felt that was important so that you too can understand the sorrow I felt in watching this woman, who accomplished so much, slide into nothing. 

     The essays written about the journey Mom and I took together fall in chronological order.  It is my hope that you will garner some camaraderie from my honesty, frustration, laughter, unexpected hurt and overall grief.  This book is for all of us struggling together in what I call, The Caretaker Nation.  

 

 

by

A Tiny Rosebush


86th BirthdayI was in the grocery checkout line picking up some last-minute items for dinner.  It was Sunday and our first weekend of skiing and trying out our new seasonal rental was coming to a close.  I was tired, but feeling good with all of the fresh air and renewed friendship that had transpired over the past two days.  As I was piling my items onto the belt something to my right caught my eye.  I turned and there in front of me were miniature rosebushes, the kind you see this time of year in the stores.  In that instant my mood fell and I began to cry.  Not big sobs but my eyes welled with tears.

A tiny rosebush, similar to this one, was the last gift my sister Roxann and I gave to our mother before she passed away last February.  A small token meant to provide comfort and perhaps help guide her way to heaven.  At least that was a tale we had heard.

When my mother died, I was more than ready for her to leave this earth.  She had been struggling with dementia for years and had spent the last six of them either living with me or near me.  During those years I was the one who watched, almost daily, as she slid into dementia.  Consequently, I knew she was ready and most of her children agreed, that her struggle with this life should end.  After she passed and the initial exhilaration of having more free time ran out, I found myself grieving for the mother I once knew.  I grieved for the mother who taught me to cook as I stood in a chair in the kitchen stirring tomato soup.  I grieved for the mother who found her calling working with students as a teacher and counselor.  I grieved for the mother I had hoped I would connect more with me as an adult, but we never quite got there.

Grief is a funny thing.  You can be enjoying yourself and the next moment, because of a song, or a scent or a rosebush, your mood changes and you find yourself sad and crying.  Causing those around you to worry and question what has just happened.  These moments also make me, at least, realize I am not doing as well as I thought; that my recovery over the loss of my mother will continue to take time.  Memories remain with us for our lifetime, both the good and the bad. But, I hope, with time, my sadness will wane and my memories will become more of gladness as I remember the special moments my mother shared with me.

by

Court Date


I have been working on editing my upcoming book, A Slow Slide into Nothing.  Below is an excerpt about an experience Mom and I had together.

    Finally, the day arrived for Mom and me to sit before a judge and for her to explain her concerns.  The small judge’s chamber was filled with lawyers.  There was my lawyer, Mom’s lawyer, the lawyer appointed as her guardian by the courts, the judge and the court recorder.  I was nervous because Mom had been running late when I arrived to pick her up and then was too tired to dress herself.   I ended up having to put her socks and shoes on her.  I had felt rushed, knowing it was my responsibility to get us both before the judge on time.  We sat down; the judge looked at both of us solemnly.

by

Helping Yourself Help


I have been thinking lately about decisions I made for my mother.  During my day, I often run into people who are in some stage of being a caretaker for a parent.  Some are in the beginning stage of denial.  Some are in the panic stage of, what do I do now?  Others are in the end stage and either silently, or out loud, are praying for an easy death of their parent.  I recognize all of these stages, because, I experienced each one.

As I’ve said before, I don’t mind listening and giving advice when asked.  Sometimes the obvious is very clear to those looking in, but not clear at all when you are the participant.  Recently, I heard of a woman who was trying to work full-time and take care of her mother, who lives alone.  Not only does she live alone, but she cannot cook for herself, can’t get herself to the bathroom, can’t get herself dressed, the list continues.  Yet, this loving daughter is trying to figure out how to take care of her mother without bringing in extra help or removing her from her home.  As I write this, the situation sounds very obvious as to what needs to be done.  But, put yourself in that role and all kinds of emotional problems surface.  There are promises made: Mom, I won’t put you in a nursing home.  Of course I will always take care of you.  There are financial issues that come with many questions.  Can my parent pay for care?  What if my parent refuses to pay, but I need the help?  Can I take over financial control?

Personally, the most important conclusion I came to, after taking on the role of caretaker, and spending months becoming more and more stressed was to realize, I can’t do this on your own.  Struggling, without admitting you need help, leads to problems later.  I found, reaching out to others in the same situation helped me tremendously.  As I entered my caretaker role, there were others in the midst of it.  These people understood the ends and outs.  They were aware of doctors, facilities, and organizations that could help with guidance on what to do and what help was available.  They knew tricks on how to just get through the day.  For many women, and I say women because the caretaking generally falls to us, the decision to admit we need help can be covered with guilt.  But, guilt should not be involved.

As a caretaker, your first step is to take care of yourself.  If you fall ill or get hurt, then everyone is in trouble.  Bringing in help; taking hours, days, weekends off is not selfish, it is putting your role as caretaker first.  When you are rested then your patience comes easier.  The skills needed to handle your tasks flow smoothly.

The worst day of my life, and I can also say for my sister, was the day we took our mother to an Assisted Living Home for Dementia Patients.  Like many of her generation, Mom had a pre-conceived notion of a “nursing home”.  It took us hours to get her out of bed, dressed and into the car.  I still get emotional when I think of that day.  But, and this is huge, our mother grew to enjoy her new home.  She found she liked the independence of being out from under my control.  She made friends; the staff grew to love her.  As for our relationship, it returned to more of a mother-daughter one.  Since I was no longer trying to get her to take her medication, to bath, to eat, to go to sleep, to get out of bed, we could enjoy each other.  I took Mom out to lunch, we got her nails done.  She came to my house for holidays.  When she no longer felt comfortable doing those outings, we did puzzles and watched TV.

Looking back, each day seemed endless at times.  But, now I know, making the most of what time is left, and providing the best care, is essential.   Even if it means letting that care come from someone else.  Asking for and excepting help are all part of a good caretakers role. In the end, the decision to let go of some of my control was the best one I made as a caretaker.

by

Re-birth


I have been many things in my life. A bare-footed child playing her way through a long summer in Indiana. A shy high school student who made herself try out and get into a performing choir. A college student finding her own identity on the campus she still thinks of as home. A young wife moving across many states to begin a life where she knew no one. A daughter, sister, mother, friend, teacher. All of these different phases of my life now combine, in a scattered way, inside my conscious. As I once again re-invent myself I take some part from each of those beings I once was and, hopefully emerge re-born.
I am a mother to my daughters, but they are grown and do not need me as they once did. I was once mother to my own mom as she slipped into dementia. That was a struggle for both of us. The word mother seems to have one meaning, the female parent of a child. But, we mother’s know it has so many more. We cradle our children to our breasts, snuggle them and kiss their beautiful heads. We watch them gallop freely away from us a young children, but know they will turn back to us when they become frightened. We argue with them as teens as they try to find their own definition of themselves. And we cry with excitement and loss as we watch them walk away from us on a college campus. At that moment we know they will truly never return to us as children. I realize my daughters are adults and quite capable of making decisions. Yet, I struggle when I know or feel a decision will not be the right one for them. Still, unless they ask, I try not to voice an opinion. At this point, I have to let them learn from their mistakes. Consequently, I, as so many other mothers before have done, must rebuild the image my daughters and I have of myself.
How do we mothers go about building that new relationship with our children? I am struggling with that now. How do I define to my girls that I no longer feel the need to mother them? In my opinion they turned out pretty good. I know I cannot be a girlfriend. But, can we be friends? Can we share experiences as adults? The trial begins as I realize I must stop myself from being a mother, and they will need to stop being a child. It is a difficult transition. I don’t think I ever successfully made that with my mother. But, I want to try with my daughters. I want to establish a relationship still built on trust, but not reliance. I want my daughters to come to me for advice, but not expect me to solve their problems. I want to respect their independence, but I need them to understand I need independence too. Most of all I want to have fun. I want to laugh with them over silly things. I want to enjoy our times together. I want us to find a common ground we can be comfortable with in our new roles.