OH, GOD, OH, GOD, OH, GOD

Frank and I just lifted mom back into bed. What is it, 12:45 A.M.??
She had slipped off of the bed after going to the bathroom and sitting down on the bed to crawl back in and go back to sleep.
I have a monitor next to my bed on my nightstand so that I can hear if she needs me in the night. I barely heard her say my name. So much so that I had to stop reading and really listen to make sure I did hear her say my name.
She said it again and I knew she needed me.
I got that. "oh, God, no" feeling when I saw her sitting on the floor next to her bed.


She said the bed was slippery and she slipped off.
When I questioned that she said that the floor was slippery. She was barefoot and didn't have her slip on shoes on her feet so it may have seemed slippery.


But then I realized what had happened and as I type this I am looking at the screen through a blur of tears that threaten to slide over the edge of the lower lids of my eyes. The tears that have been sliding all over my face, mixing with the 'tears' coming out of my nose' until I got out of bed and got some tissues and sat down in front of my computer.


What had happened wasn't anything new..... 
My mom's walker was at the foot of her bed.
You see, she doesn't think she needs to use it, even when falling is getting to be a weekly thing around here.
But, really, is it her fault? She doesn't remember. Whose to say that she didn't just forget to use it all the way to the side of the bed so she wouldn't slip on that slippery bed or because of the slippery floor? Whose to say?
Oh, my poor mom. She wasn't hurt in this slide down to yet another dark place.
She simply sat there and whimpered and broke my heart all at the same time.


I got Frank up and we got her in bed and I felt so useless, so inadequate, not only as her caregiver, but as her daughter. I can't help it. 
It breaks my heart to hear my mom moan with defeat. To be back in the place she visits too often where she has no hope of her life getting better. 


As time goes on, week by week and sometimes day by day, I see the decline in her memory as I see the progression of her confusion. I want to scream that it's not fair, but I know that life's not fair. 


If I didn't have the arms of Jesus to crawl into at night after I turned off my Kindle and turned off my light, I think I would have lost my mind by now. My God. He is my savior in so many ways. And, He's the One I call out to in my mind during the day when things are gloomy, when she will only watch HGTV (I keep reminding myself that I cannot jump through the t.v. and smack that woman, that wife, who is whining because she doesn't like the granite counter tops in the kitchen of the house she's being shown. Really? Would she like my laminate ones better?), mom's being mean, hiding her food in her napkin, keeps telling me that I'm too happy, continuously looks through magazines for just the right Christmas gifts for all of us. 


I've stopped crying and I think if I read for a bit more I'll be able to go to sleep.
Oh, wait. Maybe not.
My nose is impacted. 


I know that getting my feelings down on paper has helped me. My blog is my diary and there are just times that you have to write in your diary. I'm just very thankful this wasn't a Page 2 post because it could have easily been one.


If you read this, thanks for taking the time.
I either have a lot of lurkers or only about six people that read me any more.
Now I'm crying again. . . . . .jk


Night and God bless!, J.T.


P.S. Mom has been put on an appetite enhancer and, boy howdy, has it made a difference!
She is eating wonderfully now! Yea!!

I TOLD FRANK I HAD FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT

The Tank and I were laying in bed the other night talking

about this and that.

One of the things I shared with him was that I had

 finally figured out Oprah's question that hadn't been

  weighing on my mind though I know

 she'd be so proud to know that I had finally figured it out.

I'm a stress eater.

But, I get ahead of myself...

Y'all know that mom moved to the ranch in the middle

of January this year for me to take care of her.

She moved here from a memory center

in Portage, Michigan, where she was residing because

she had onset vascular dementia.

So, we make it to the ranch a couple of weeks before

this............

drove up.

Oh, heavens, that was one big moving van. 

Before I became concerned as to how much room mom's

things were taking up inside the van, I derived a great

sense of satisfaction knowing that whomever was

driving by the ranch as this monster drove up the lane,

would be wondering why we were moving, where we

were moving, had we run out of money? goats?

Center Point is like so many other small towns in that respect.

The sight of this van driving up the lane would give

the old men that drink coffee at the local mini mart

great fodder. Still makes me smile when I think about it.

Here are some shots of mom's things.

Not all of them be any stretch, but, enough that you can

get an idea of what those men pulled out of that moving van.

Oh, the boxes.

The entire mess was supposed to fit into mom's

room - a really decent sized bedroom with a 

sitting area and attached bath. Lots of storage.

But, please! A whole house into a suite?

And, of course, she wanted to start going through

the boxes one...at...a...time, handling, touching,

caressing every...single...item...in...each...box.

This picture is of mom shortly after she arrived.

I remember when I looked at this photo that it struck

me as so odd -- my mom was "old", you know, 

a senior. I had never seen it in her before and 

maybe that's because she was never "sick" before, 

I don't know. But, though she looks different to me here, 

she's still beautiful and 85 this summer.

Mom has to use a walker to get around.

She is a bit frail and her sense of balance is

somewhat off. This is the safest way for her

to get around -- even when re-introducing herself

to the goats. 

So, mom has dementia, she's moved everything

she's ever owned to the ranch and

on top of that, after she had been here for a few 

weeks, she fell and sustained three hairline fractures

in these two bones that attach to the bottom of your

hips. Yeah.

Pain, such pain sitting, standing, sitting.

Nothing that can be done (in the way of surgery) 

and thank goodness she is almost healed and the

pain is lessening weekly because she has really been hurting.

However, even in the middle of hurting she manages to

dig out her sense of humor...the picture above is mom in

a sweat suit, hood up, topped by her heavy robe 

(and an asked for pathetic look) because she 

was/is/is always cold. Someone needs to tell her she's 

in south Texas now, not Michigan.

This picture was taken this Easter, just a couple of weeks ago.

We had just been to church to witness Blake, Clay and

their daddy's baptism (it was so cool).

Blake and Clay wanted a picture taken with Grammy once

we got home. Oh, and Sophie, too.

These are the moments I like to remember.

The ones I must remember to get through the

other moments that fill my days.

I remember growing up, into my adult years, always

fearful that one of my parents would get cancer and die.

The word "cancer" had always scared me and I could

picture having to live through one of my parents getting

sick with "the C word".

Never, however, did I or have I thought that one of my parents 

would develop dementia.

It's a condition that does no apparent 'physical' harm to the person

suffering from it because they don't know that there's

anything wrong. It's the children and all of those who love

my mom that have been the greatest affected.

She has moments with me where she will question "why"

in reference to her confusion and memory loss,

but, except for those moments, 

it's those of us that love her that are feeling

the most pain. And, I'm sure there are many of you

that can relate to that.

And to those of you that are the care givers or have been

the care giver, I know what you're feeling.

I know your frustration, your feelings of inadequacy,

your fear, your exhaustion, the pounds you've added

or the pounds you've lost, those moments of delight that

you share with your parent. I know all of it

and I pray for you as I hope you are praying for me

and all of the caregivers.

AN ALZHEIMER'S POEM

Do not ask me to remember

Don't try to make me understand

Let me rest and know you're with me

Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.

I'm confused beyond your concept

I am sad and sick and lost

All I know is that I need you

To be with me at all cost.

Do not lose your patience with me

Do not scold or curse or cry

I can't help the way I'm acting

Can't be different though I try.

Just remember that I need you

That the best of me is gone

Please don't fail to stand beside me

Love me until my life is done.

Amen.