Calm Christmas

The Christmas holiday went well. Mom was a trooper, and so were all the guests. We all contributed to the preparing and clean up of meals, and everybody was respectful towards Mom and Dad's need for relative quite and calm.

One of the highlights was Christmas Eve, when eight of us drove over to the church in two vehicles to attend the Christmas Eve service and watch Dad perform in the choir. When the eight of us strolled in just before the service was to begin, all eyes seemed to be on Mom as she said hello to a few people and waved to her friends in the choir. It was touching to see the kind and loving smiles on their faces. Mom was a bit shaky at first, and it took us a few moments to settle on the second pew in right in front of Dad's place in the choir group. When it came time to sing carols, I helped Mom hold the book and sometimes I followed the verses with my finger so she wouldn't get lost. Luckily, she remembered most of the words by heart. At the end of the service, many of the folks swarmed Mom to give her hugs and Merry Christmas wishes, and she really lit up.

December 24, 2010

Christmas day was fairly mild and sunny, and we took our time going through the gifts. Eventually, Mom got tired and needed to rest on her bed, and shortly after that, Dad joined her. The rest of us mutually decided to give them some quite, and we all slunk outside and came over to my house. After about an hour, some of them went back to start lunch, and my partner and I began to prepare the Christmas dinner, which was a rich and delicious seafood chowder. Shortly after cleanup, a smaller group of us retreated again back to my house for a video and some jamming, leaving just a few quite people left with Mom and Dad at their house.

Sunday morning, they all left quite early, and Mom and Dad were left not too frazzled at all by the holiday madness! Success!

Secretly, I was preparing myself for a possible bout of depression from Mom in the days following the Christmas weekend, but to my surprise, she was fairly even keeled. The was a huge, hallowing snow blizzard on Sunday night and all day Monday, but even that did not set her back too badly. Over the next two days, I slowly read aloud the final chapters of "The Secret Garden" to her, and when it was over, we discussed one of the themes in the book, which is essentially the power of positive thinking. Before I left there yesterday, she remarked again to me that she still couldn't understand what had caused her to have the breakdown last Tuesday night, which led us to admit her to the local Emergency Room. I think it's good that she still remembers the incident and is aware that it happened at all. She's been fairly diligent to keep hydrated with water, in hopes of avoiding another breakdown. Whether or not being dehydrated was the cause of it is still in question, but keeping her hydrated certainly can't hurt.

Yesterday afternoon, I helped Mom write a birthday card to her oldest son, who has the unfortunate date of birth on January second. Her handwriting has gone from perfect and flowing to scrawled and childlike, and though she was very frustrated writing the words in the card, she did it with our encouragement. Dad looked at the card and seemed profoundly depressed at the site of her handwriting. He admitted to me just before I left yesterday that he was a little depressed. At least he's not afraid to admit it. It's so important to be honest with ourselves about our feelings over this journey.

Today is another mild and sunny day, and I will be heading over there shortly to collect the garbage and recyclables and bring it all to the dump. I'd like to try and get Mom outside for a short walk about today, too.

Mom has an appointment with her primary care physician early next week. Should I go with them?

Fingers Crossed

Mom was back to her "usual" self today. I went over early in the day, in order to be there when Maria showed up for Mom's weekly bath. Maria showed up a few minutes after me, with a nice Christmas cheesecake in hand as a gift to Mom and Dad.

After filling Maria in on what had happened last night, Mom and Maria retreated to the bathroom, which left Dad and me some rare time to talk in private. We discussed some of our conclusions and impressions from last night's events, as well as discussed some of my concerns about what would happen if he became incapacitated or dies before Mom. This was when he filled me on having an appointment for tomorrow morning with an attorney to fill out and sign a Financial Power of Attorney contract, one of the three legal things that should be done in this situation. The other two, which I think are "end of life" and "power of attorney"(I think?) are already settled.

Mom will have to go to the lawyer with him tomorrow morning and make a signature in her very shaky handwriting.

After her bath and Maria left, she practically begged me to read to her from "The Secret Garden." As you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about it, but I started back on the chapter I started last night, and she was engaged until I finished, about three or four chapters later. During this time, Dad drove down town to buy a few staples, and when he came back, I ran home and jumped in the Jeep to go down town myself and get a little last minute Christmas shopping done and shop for tonight's dinner. I told Mom what I had to do, and she accepted it, not without a little bit of pouting.

I zipped back over there about three forty in the afternoon, just when "crazy time" sets in (ha ha, really, "sundowners"), and she and Dad were just finishing up a John Wayne movie on TCM. After the movie, she asked me if I would read to her some more, but I said I was too tired and that I wanted to save the book a little longer. She agreed to that, but I could see her begin to get a little bit anxious again. Dad did a few things while I sat with her, and then I explained to her I had to go. She was cool enough. I kept watching her to make sure she didn't fall back into another episode, but thankfully, this did not happen, at least not while I was there.  I think she'll be okay for tonight.

Maria gave us the name of a mild sedative we could get prescribed from their doctor, and it is even available in a cream, so I'm very anxious to get that if we can. Because of the holidays, though, it may be tricky to get it right away.. I'd really like to have that on hand for the next intense episode. We could have really used a mild sedative for her last night!

Maria also told us Mom was dehydrated again, and I suspected that might be the case, but after Maria told us a lot of stuff made sense to me. At the ER last night, when they rolled Mom in her bed to the CT room, she complained of feeling dizzy.. a classic symptom of dehydration.

Today, we made her drink a lot of water, and from now on we will remember to be more vigilant about keeping her hydrated. I know it's probably wrong, but I was surely tempted to mildly "threaten" her that she needed to drink the water so she wouldn't have to go back into the hospital... what else can I do?

So, another day done for me. Meanwhile, Dad is ever so patiently handling the rest. Feeding her, amusing her, answering her endless questions, undressing her for bed, giving her her night time pills, tucking her in. It's a lot, and he's doing such an amazing job.

Tomorrow the fun begins. They go to the attorney, my younger brother and his wife arrive for Christmas, and my partner and I have a gig at night. Friday, my sister, brother in law, older brother and nephew arrive, and we will attempt to get Mom and as many of the gang that can stand to go to the Christmas Eve church service at their church. Saturday is Christmas, Sunday they all go home.

Let the fun begin... (fingers crossed.)

Episode and ER

What a difference a day can make.

I stopped in after their lunch today, around twelve thirty p.m., just to check in and to let them know I was running down town for a hot minute to do some banking and gas up the Jeep. Mom was watching a movie, Dad was down on the computer. Mom seemed her usual drowsy self. I told them I'd be back in an hour or two, and Mom said she couldn't wait for us to get back to "The Secret Garden."

I got back over there in a little over an hour, and soon I took up where I left off in the book from the day before. I read aloud steady to her for about three or four chapters. At the end of the last chapter, I showed her the illustration in the book describing the events in the story. It was a picture of little Mary walking into a dark, forbidden room which contained her sickly cousin, who she was not told about. I ended the chapter which was filled with conversation between the two. Not once in the story, though, was the word "cousin" ever written, nor did Mom and I discuss it after I closed up the book for a rest.

It was ten of three in the afternoon, and she said she wanted to lie down on the couch. I settled her in, and I offered to turn on the television very quietly to help her relax, and she agreed to that. Dad came up and looked in on us. A little conversation ensued, nothing important, then Mom got agitated for no reason. She then begged me to read to her some more from the book.

"Okay," I said, "I'll read one more chapter then."

Dad wandered off again, I shut off the television, and I started up on the new chapter. It went on more about the little sickly boy, Colin, who had had a sheltered, sad life. Within a few paragraphs, without warning, Mom started calling out. I ignored her at first. It seemed as if she was just getting into the story and saying things aloud to the characters. But then it got weird. She started saying things that didn't make sense. I read a little more, but she didn't stop, and when I looked up at her, I saw that she was shaking uncontrollably, her face filled with fear, her eyes closed. She tried to talk, not really to me, just out in the air, but nothing she said made sense. She couldn't even say words.

I quickly put the book down and sat next to her and tried to comfort her, but nothing I said or did helped. I ran downstairs and got Dad.

Together we observed her ranting and panic, her fear and trembling. At one point, Dad mentioned later, she uttered something about "a cousin." Was it related to the story in her mind? I don't know. However, we were failing at calming her down, so Dad decided to call their primary doctor. He got through to the doctor's aid, described the symptoms, and even I was put on the phone with her to give my side of the story. Mom was babbling incoherently and shaking all the while. It was heart wrenching.

When the doctor's aid got back to us after speaking with their doctor, we were told to take Mom into our local emergency room to have her checked out. At one point during the episode, Mom was able to get out "why is this happening, what is happening to me?" so, surprisingly, she did not put up too much of a fuss when we gently told her we were all going to the hospital. There was still a part of her that wanted to understand as much as us.

Was it a stroke? Or a urinary tract infection? Medication side effects? Or simply agitation caused by the disease?

I helped get them off in their car, and then I ran next door and filled in my partner, grabbed my purse and jumped in the Jeep and followed them down to the local hospital. Mom was admitted, and first she was agreeable. As the time went by, however, she became more and more agitated, disorientated and down right ornery. Her agitation peaked during and after her head CT. It as awful hearing Mom screaming out and swearing while the two nurses where in the CT room with her.. their was nothing Dad or I could do to help calm her down.

Her EKG was normal, her blood and urine samples were clear, the head CT showed nothing out of the ordinary, barring the dementia / Alzheimer results. While we waited for results back in the room, Mom was just awful - begging to go, pulling at her wires, screaming aloud, trying to get out the bed. Finally, we got her to calm down, both of us rubbing her and soothing her in anyway that we could.

Luckily, the team at the ER knew we had to get her out of their ASAP (I sure felt bad for the poor patient behind the curtain on the other side of our room!), and as all her stuff checked out, the doctor said the best thing was to just get her home to decrease her agitation. I helped pull off her stickies, the nurse pulled out her I.V., and I got her dressed again. She was wobbly and confused, but she seemed to calm down a lot when I told her we were heading home.

We left after two hours, and I stopped back at their house before I went home to make sure she got settled alright. We plopped her down in her chair and got her a glass of wine. She was able to communicate to us again, with a few exceptions. She remembered what had happened, but could not explain to us why.

Her filters are shutting down, therefor the Id is in full swing. Before I left, she took my hand and wanted to kiss it. Instead, she suckled my knuckles. "Eh, Mom, that's weird! Did you mean to kiss my hand?" She said, "I can't." I showed her how to pucker her lips for a kiss, and she tried to mimic me, but again, she lowered her mouth on to my knuckles and suckled them like a little baby.

She was trying to show me love and appreciation, after all the trauma. I'll take it.

The Secret Garden

Friday, Maria was able to come and bathe Mom. She dressed her in a green outfit and attached the little Christmas tree pin to her sweater that I had pulled out a few days earlier and left on the dresser.

I don't remember a lot of details about Friday or Saturday, but Mom did do a lot of movie watching and napping.. Saturday night they had dinner at her sister's house. I remember that she was pretty antsy about getting ready to go over there early Saturday afternoon. She kept wanting to sleep, then get ready, then sleep.. She seemed pretty needy that afternoon.. I finally stalled some time by offering to help her put on lipstick and comb her hair and re-pin the Christmas tree pin to her sweater.

Sunday morning I got up early to stay with her while Dad attended choir rehearsal, the church service and caroling with his choir in the afternoon. Mom and I chilled in the morning, with the television and magazines, then I made her a small turkey and cheese sandwich, with a few chips and some tangerine slices. I begged her to finish the last two bites of the second quarter of the sandwich, and she claimed she "didn't like the cheese." I was feeling a bit ornery myself and I argued with her "oh, yes you do." "No I don't!" "Yes you do, now eat it!" "I DON'T LIKE THE CHEESE and I DON'T WANT TO EAT IT!"

Ugh. I messed up there. She got frumpy and we both got teary-eyed. I let it go, returned her lunch tray to the kitchen and we made up by admitting to each other that this is hard for both of us. Then I asked her what could we do to get us "out of this funk."

"Read to me?"

So, I found a book on her shelf, a beautiful copy of "The Secret Garden," by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Perfect. On Friday or Saturday, I think it was, I had read to her from a published local book Dad picked up. In the back of the book is a sermon that Mom had written and read at her church on Easter Sunday in April of 2006. It's called "The Inner Garden," and it talks about the relationship between gardens and your inner life... it also goes into the clues and steps that led her towards her journey of earning a landscape design certificate from Radcliff College and how much she loved her work as a landscape designer. She references "The Secret Garden" story.  It is all very beautiful and so very much a light on her passions in her life.

So, we began the lovely tale of the little abandoned Mary Lennox and her discovery of the secret garden at the giant manor on the moors in England. We are both loving it.

Finally, her friend from church arrived to stay with Mom until Dad got home so that I could go to my afternoon gig.

Except I ended up staying home. I was too emotionally drained, crying when I got home in the loving arms of my partner. He encouraged me to stay home if that's what would make me feel better, and I'm glad I did. I got more comfort from my kitties after he left, got something to eat, then walked back over a couple of hours later. Dad was home and Mom was still happily chatting away with their friend, who had a ball staying with Mom, reading to her and having tea. She offered to help in anyway, anytime she could. It was really nice.

Relieved, I went back home to my kitties and a few sappy Christmas movies, flopped on the couch and tried to emotionally regroup.

Monday afternoon I zipped over around two in the afternoon, after finally getting a chance to do a little Christmas present and food shopping. I shut the television off and read to her for almost two hours from
"The Secret Garden." Dad was able to nap, take a short walk, bring in firewood and do some computer stuff. Mom and I are really enjoying the book, and I can't wait to get back to it when I go over later today.

Leveling Out?

I don't know, my experience with Mom in the last couple of days have been not so bad.

Wednesday night, I went over a little before six p.m. to stay with Mom so Dad could attend a meeting at the church. She was alert and calm all night! I pulled out a book of Christmas carols and we sang some of the songs for a little while. She really enjoyed that.

She's been watching a LOT of Turner Classic Movies lately, maybe too much, so she was not upset when I turned the channel to Fox and we watched a couple of episodes of "Two And A Half Men" reruns, in between Celtics basketball pre-game analysis and the game. She only asked me a couple of times what time it was. At eight o'clock, I turned it over to the program I watch, "Survivor," and she didn't mind watching that either. Once and a while, her eyes would get droopy, but she didn't sag down and close her eyes hard like I've seen her do before.

Dad was home before we knew it, and she was still bright and alert when he came in the door. Success!

Today, I didn't get over there until about twelve thirty in the afternoon, and when I drove in, with my weekly garbage in the Jeep, to pick up their garbage and recyclable, Dad's car was out of the garage. When I went in, she was lying on the couch. She seemed a bit distressed.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm just worried about being alone."

"Do you want me to stay here until Dad gets back? I can always go to the dump later."

"No, that's okay."

"Okay, if you're sure."

So, I gathered their trash and recyclables, loaded the Jeep, said I'd be back in ten minutes, and that's what I did. When I got back, she was still on the couch, and I did their breakfast and lunch dishes, then settled into a chair with a magazine and sat with her while she napped. Dad came home about fifteen minutes later, put away his groceries, then went outside for a little walk. Mom stayed on the couch, I read some more, Dad came home, and went downstairs to look at his emails.

Mom asked me to read to her from some of magazine I was reading, "The Week," so I did, not holding back on the disturbing stories, but she didn't seem to mind hearing them. I made sure to spice the bad news blurbs up with the fluffy news pieces. Dad came up, it was four o'clock, he took his pills, Mom started getting a little restless.

We walked around the table eight times ("I can't do anymore, I need to sit down.")

She asked if it was time to start dinner, we said, no, not yet, so then she said she wanted to sing some Christmas carols. I took out the book again, and with the fire in the wood stove warming us up, we feebly sang a few carols.

Dad told Mom that one of their church friends would come to stay with her Sunday afternoon so he could go sing carols at a few nursing homes with his choir after church (and so that I could go to my weekly Sunday afternoon gig.) She accepted that, with little argument. (Though, we may have a snow storm that afternoon, so the plans are subject to change.)

About four thirty, I put on my coat to leave. Mom and Dad saw me to the door, and she thanked me for coming over. I told her I'd see her tomorrow.

Maria wasn't able to come on Wednesday for Mom's weekly bath because she was sick. She thought she might be able to come tomorrow, Friday. If not, Dad mentioned he might try and give her a bath. Mom said, "you could do that."

Mom seems to understand that Dad and I are trying to do all we can to make things comfortable for her. Though, they both mentioned that neither one of them slept very well last night...

All in all, not too much drama for the last few days, which is good for me, because I've been worried about my friend Terry who has been in recovery this last week from a liver transplant. It was touch and go for a while there, but I spoke with him tonight, and it looks like he'll be released tomorrow at noon.

Finally, a little bit of emotional relief!

Activity

A lot of activity for Mom this last week.

Last Wednesday, the long afternoon at the community center. Then on Saturday, Dad convinced Mom to go to an afternoon opera performance, live-streamed onto a giant HD screen from New York City (Verdi, I believe it was), over at the private academy in one of the nearby towns. Sunday, because Dad did not have to go early for choir rehearsal, she went with him to church! Then yesterday, late afternoon, they went down town to a little local hair salon and had their hairs cut. On the way back from their pampering, they stopped in at our house for about twenty minutes for a small glass of wine and to view our Christmas tree.

December 11, 2010

Dad is handling her with such sweet devotion, despite her bouts of paranoia and frustration. They only stayed for the first half of the very long opera presentation, but they both got worn from the long sitting, so it worked out well. When I called Mom from my afternoon gig on Sunday afternoon, she seemed happy that she attended the church service. And she hardly made much of a stink at all about going to the salon, though there was a part of her (the Alzheimer part, I think) that thought it not necessary. However, to see her come into our house last night with freshly washed and cut hair was lovely and affirming.

Yesterday, she asked me about Christmas, and slowly, I tried to explain the family plans. I brought the calendar over to her lap, and pointed out the days. We are still trying to decide between the siblings about exact times and meals.. perhaps we may host the gift giving and / or the Christmas dinner here at my place, in hopes of having less hustle and bustle over at their place... however, the scene is much nicer over there, so I don't know yet. So many little details to work out, yet the only thing that really matters is we make this as smooth and trouble free as possible for both of our parents.

I noticed Dad thoughtfully pre-cut all of Mom's chicken into little, bite sized portions for her mid day meal yesterday. That's one of the things they tell us to do. She is complaining about the use of her right hand... it's getting harder for her to grasp things (in all senses of the meaning!)

She had tried to call me yesterday but got confused on how to use the phone.

Last week, before going to the community center luncheon, she wanted to apply lipstick to her lips, but instead applied a fat tube of face cover up. I had to wipe it off with a damp tissue and reapply the lipstick. Dad mentioned that a few nights back she put a moisturizer on her toothbrush instead of toothpaste.

I feel the need to simplify the area around her bathroom sink a little bit more, with out upsetting her. I'm keeping an eye on it, try and find my opening, and move swiftly.

We've praised her braveness and savvy for heading out into the world so much these last few weeks. It's exhausting for her, and always, the concept of time is a mystery in her injured brain. Patience and encouragement, affirmation and acceptance all play into these moments with her. Finding the balance between having empathy for her condition, without patronizing her. Allowing her to have as much dignity as possible, all the while watching her out of the corner of your eye so she does not harm herself.

We are walking on a tightrope, two hundred feet in the air, with no net below.

Quietly We Go

Friday and Saturday I spent as much time as possible with Mom and Dad.

Friday she ate small amounts and appeared depressed and tired. She slept a lot. I went over a short time before their lunch, and quietly fluttered about - putting a load of linens and last weeks sweater in the wash, whipping through the breakfast dishes, sweeping up the floor in the kitchen and hallway. As they ate their lunch that Dad put together, Mom distracted by the Turner Classic Movies channel, I snuck upstairs to the little storage room and scrounged around for more Christmas decor. I came down with a pile of Christmas table cloths and linens, plastic greenery for a center table arrangement.

Quietly, so as not to rustle Mom out of her chair and her lunch, I stripped the Thanksgiving table cloth and arrangement and worked on dressing the dining table area in a Christmas theme. I had to redo it a few times to get it right..  Mom was always so good at putting together just the right look, her creative eye so tasteful. I try one look, then another, and finally get it good enough for now, the days leading up to Christmas, when it will, no doubt, be redone in an even grander fashion. In the years past, if I was to take on this task, I would have worried that Mom would not approve, or would perhaps, edit or readjust  some of my choices. Now, sadly, it doesn't matter to her anymore.

Though, when she finally did acknowledge the decor, after she finished her lunch and passed by with her dishes, she complimented the look, and especially loved the dried greens arrangement. A sliver of my old Mom - ever approving, supportive, Mom.

That afternoon, after lunch, Dad ran out to the post office. I offered to read to her, a short story in the latest New Yorker. "Costello," by Jim Gavin. A story about a plumber, and it isn't until we are halfway into the story that it is revealed he is a widower. It is a long story, and Dad comes back from the post office and quietly sits down on the couch and listens to me read aloud the latter half of the story, he chuckling aloud in spots, while Mom sits mostly with her head down and her eyes closed.

But she is listening, I am sure. Towards the end of the story, there is a passage about the last moments of his wife's death, how he wishes his memory of her was the woman he loved before her illness, not the memory of her faded, ashen person, stripped of color and life by the cancer. How he wished that he had been able to kill her before that wife took over his memory. As I am reading the passage, I realize it's hitting a bit close to home; Mom exclaims out loud, "Oh!" I know what she is thinking, I remind her that the character's wife was sick with cancer... it's an awkward moment, and I hurry to finish the story.

Friday morning, in an effort to keeps our reading material light, I gather a book of Emily Dickenson poems, two worn A.A. Milne books of children's poetry, and two little "posies," little friendship books I've carried around with me since my childhood. After making and serving them (at the dining room table) a simple lunch of soup and crackers and grapes, I sat next to her in her chair and we read together the little birthday poems and passages she, Dad, and my siblings and childhood friends wrote in the books so many years ago. Then we read aloud together a few of our favorite A.A. Milne poems. She remarked that she remembered the poems so well. "I do, too," I said. "You used to read them aloud to me when I was a girl." The poems still resonate within us both.

Dad snuck out to shop, and Mom wanted me to read some more to her from the book we started the other day, a novel about a Native American indian family living in current times. I can't remember the title right now, but it's typical, mystical Native American indian writing, with a lot dialogue and characters. Hard enough for me to follow! I read aloud for almost an hour, and stopped when Dad came home, and surprisingly, when I asked her if the story was hard to follow, she said, no! This is a book that her sister had read for a book group, so it's nice that Mom is hearing the story, too. In some of the columns of the pages, there are notes written in pen by her sister.

Soon, with Dad home and the groceries put away, Mom said she wanted to sleep. Dad said he did, too. He went downstairs to the little daybed in the basement, I settled Mom first into one of the couches. I sat quietly and read a magazine. After a few minutes, Mom got up and said she wanted to go to her bed, where "it was quieter." I helped her get settled into her bed, then, tucked her in and kissed her cheek, then went back to the living room and read quietly some more. After ten minutes or so, she was up again, saying she still couldn't sleep, wanted to try the other couch. "Where's Dad?" "He's downstairs taking a nap." "Okay."

I tucked her in for a third time in the other little couch. She said she was tired but she couldn't fall asleep. Finally, she settled down, and after a while, I decided to sneak out. As I was putting on my coat and hat and gloves, she called out to me. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes, I'm going to go home now, okay?"

"Okay, thank you."

"I love you Mom, and see you tomorrow."

"Okay, I love you, too."

"Bye bye."

Quietly, I go. Over the well worn path, my footsteps in the light blanket of snow, doubled back and forth, so many times over.

Support Group

We did it. Yesterday, we went down to the community center over in the next town, partook in the senior luncheon, and then Dad and I attended the Alzheimer's caregivers support group while Mom was in the next room with a respite worker and one other individual with AD.

It was quite the harried experience, even for me. We arrived at the luncheon at just a little before noon, to a room packed with lovely seniors (many of whom I recognized from my four years of working in the local market as a produce clerk), and the workers had to scramble to set up an extra card table for us. It was placed by the main door, which would let in a chill every time another individual entered or left the building. The utensils, paper plates, jug of water, paper cups, butter pads and individual creamers were strewn sloppily across the tiny table, fairly dismal, but we tried to keep our chins up, especially being the new kids.

There was a loaf of sliced fresh banana bread in a basket. Mom nodded her head "no" when we offered her a slice at first, but she soon she conceded and ate a few bites. We were joined by another senior man, one I knew and had spoken with before, harmless but one of the dullest conversationalists. I introduced him to Mom and Dad, and Mom, bless her heart, tried in vane to get a conversation going with him, but every time she asked him a question, his answer would drone on, drool on his chin, and basically only face me!

The slop they called "lunch" was soon served; a chicken and noodle dish, really wretched, to be honest, but Dad loved it, and everybody else in the room seemed to swill it down, except for me and Mom, who ate as much as she could before announcing she was "full."

After a small styrofoam dish of chocolate pudding with whipped cream and coffee was served, an announcement was made about next week's Christmas dinner, and soon the room was active with people rising and putting on their coats, clutching bags and walkers, canes and aides arms. The door by our seats was opening and closing, letting in the cold air. Mom was getting restless, and we still had fifteen minutes to go before the meeting started.

That is when things got really confusing and stressful for Mom. As it was our first time attending, we did not know who to look for, where to go, who to ask. Eventually, Mom got up and asked somebody herself! "I have Alzheimer's Disease, where is the meeting?"

During those moments, people coming and going, introducing themselves, Dad and I getting our bearings, Mom was clutching her bag and telling as many people as she could that she had Alzheimer Disease and was this were the meeting was? At one point, I pulled her aside into a quite room, sat her down and tried to calm her and explain what was happening. Dad was off trying to find out where and who we were to meet, and Mom was getting more and more agitated. She actually seemed to want to have a group meeting, some conversation, something.

Finally, we met the social worker who was running the group, and she directed me to where the respite worker was. I recognized the respite worker, and she me, from my produce clerk days, so I was relieved. She sat Mom down with one other man with AD (the husband of another woman I recognized from town who was a long time group attendee), and the respite's husband was there, too, not with AD, but legally blind. He set up a boom box and played Christmas music, while we left Mom to work on a Christmas card project. I tried not to worry too much about her.

Dad and I finally got into the group meeting, and besides the social worker, their were three other senior women, with Dad and me. The group went about as well as expected; some shared miseries, some shared information, announcement for a free class on caregiving for AD and dementia individuals later in the new year. A little venting, a lot of asides. I think the best thing Dad may have got out of it is the realization that he needs to meet with an elder law attorney to set up Durable Power of Attorney and Medical Power of Attorney (not sure if that's the same thing as  the "end of life" stuff they completed late last summer.)

Me? It was just nice to support Dad and Mom in this adventure. Finally, Dad admitted to the group that he was tired (it was to meet until two thirty), so we excused ourselves and left fifteen minutes early. Apparently, Mom stole the show out there, singing along with the music played and naming the singers.. naturally, she charmed them all.

Later, in private, as I drove them home in their car, Mom admitted that she nearly "burst out into tears two or three times" wondering about Dad and me, and wanting so badly, to go home. Can't blame her, really.

However, I gave her a lot of credit for going to this, and she was a trooper. I told her we did this for Dad, and now, "he owes her one." The support group meets once a month.

Next time, we will skip the luncheon.

You've Got A Brand New Key

Mom seemed less depressed on Sunday. She did spend much of the day napping... but at least there was less anxiety. When I arrived in the morning at about nine thirty, she sounded perky when she greeted me. We chatted a little bit, she offered me some coffee, then I just sat and read while the television lured her back into sleep.

After about an hour of that, she asked if I'd like to read to her, and so for the next hour I did, and sadly, we finished the Wharton autobiography. I gave her a late lunch, of which she ate very little, and Dad called around quarter of one to say he was on his way back.

I had considered staying home from my afternoon gig that day, but once I saw that Mom was somewhat "okay," I decided to go after all, and I'm glad I did because it was a great day at our jam.

I took Monday morning off, then went over late afternoon, around two-thirty. Dad's car was out of the garage when I got there, and Mom was napping in her chair. She greeted me pleasantly enough, and I asked her what she had been doing all day.

"This is pretty much it."

So, I got her up. We walked around the dining room table ten times, I washed the breakfast/lunch dishes and had her dry them and put them away. Dad came home with groceries and mail, just as I was making some tea, and he joined us for tea after bringing in some more firewood from outside.

Then Mom decided she wanted to go outside for a walk. At first Dad and I were skeptical about that idea, because there is snow and ice on the driveway, but she insisted, so I told her she had to change into her rubber soled boots and bundle up. She agreed to that. I changed her shoes for her, helped her put on her warmest winter jacket and button her up, wrapped a big scarf around her and plopped the big white fuzzy hat on her, and she put on her fuzzy black gloves.

We took note of the time together - it was three fourteen - and off we went, out to the icy, windy outdoors. We walked up the road a bit, then back down around. She likes to sing a song that's on a television commercial a lot these days, "Oh ~ I've got a brand new pair of roller skates, you've got a brand new key.." and that's all we know, so we hum the rest.

I tried to keep her out as long as possible, but she got cold and restless, so in the house we went.

It was three twenty one when we got back in.

"Seven minutes, Mom. Not bad."

"We're back!" she yelled down to Dad in the basement. "We were out for seven minutes!"

With a little color in her cheeks, we undressed her again, changed out of her boots back into her sandals. Dad came back upstairs and turned the television over to Turner Classic Movies, where a funny old movie called "All Night Long," a black and white picture from 1962 was playing. It featured jazz musicians and I found it very groovy. The plot was hard to follow, though, and soon Mom wanted to "sleep" again. So we propped her up on the little couch and she rested some more.

Sigh.

Tomorrow, we still plan to attend the local Alzheimer's support luncheon and discussions, just after Mom finishes her weekly bath with Maria.

Love And Misery

Two things Mom exclaimed at one point yesterday morning;

"ARG! This is a such a crappy way to die!"

("Yes Mom, it really is. But you are not dead yet, and neither am I or Dad, so let's concentrate on living right now, okay?")

"Are they all coming up here for Christmas? I don't want them to!"

(No comment from me.)

Every single breathing moment, Mom is in angst. While the rest of us are busy making plans for the holidays, living our busy lives, preparing meals and decorating our homes, Mom's life is a big warbled swirl of confusion and frustration and misery.. with only slight moments of murky joy.

All I want to do is comfort her in every moment that I can, in any meager way that I can. Love, understanding, empathy, comfort and love love love..

Such a crappy way to die, indeed.

Fighting Off Sadness

I'm not going to lie to you; I am fighting off the weepies this morning, thinking about Mom's suffering.

This is, by far, the saddest thing I've ever had to witness, personally. Watching my beautiful Mom fall deeper and further. It's agony.

And Dad.. what must he be feeling? A huge sense of loss. Depression at losing his so vibrant and alive wife of forty seven years. Anger. Frustration. Physical and mental exhaustion.  It's all there.

I went over there yesterday after the second phone call, confirming what Dad and I were not surprised would happen.. Mom canceling the ladies dinner at the restaurant. He and I were very supportive with her about her decision, and tried our best to let her know it was alright. Mom was calmer once she proclaimed her decision, but she also spent a great deal of the day napping.

And when I went over a second time, late in the afternoon, with the December darkness closing in on her like a blanket, her restless mind controlling her body like a robot.. sit down, stand up, sit down, stand up, walk somewhere, walk back, sit down in the chair, get up, walk to the couch, lie down, get up.. Dad and I acting as anchors in our chairs, gently speaking with her and riding her waves.

Dad brought up in that time that he wanted us to attend an Alzheimer care givers luncheon and discussion being held at the community center in the next town over, next Wednesday at eleven-thirty in the morning. Mom reacted surprisingly positive about the idea, remembering back, I suppose, to the days she tirelessly worked with the Council On Aging. She assumed it would be a holiday party, and Dad and I did not say much to correct that. As long as we can get her to attend with us, for it is open to both care givers and those suffering with AD. If all goes well, she will have her bath in the morning, then we could drive down to the luncheon and discussion. Hopefully, she won't be too tired and refuse to go.

Day time is always a lot better than night time.

We had a light blanket of snow last night, but today the temp is fairly mild and a light haze of sun.

Last night, Dad suggested that he and Mom switch sides of their bed. He's hoping to get better sleep. I am curious to go over and see if that helped.

More than once, Mom has said to me, when obviously distressed or uncomfortable, "I can't help it, it's the symptoms." At least she's acknowledging it, but it still doesn't take away the symptoms and the agony. I told her yesterday we are all empathetic to her suffering, and we can't imagine how awful it must feel. I also told her it is affecting us, too. Then she says she feels guilty. And we reply that it's not her fault.

And around and around we go, spiraling down. Somewhere, in the middle of that spiral, is a thin line of white light, to which we hold on to with all of our strength and will. But it is so slippery, and I hope we won't ever lose our grip.

If you haven't already, look at this tour of the brain with AD. This is what is happening with my Mom, and millions of other people, as well.

Phone Calls And Soup

Today's first phone call was from Mom again, around eleven thirty in the morning.

"Hi, this is Mum. Do you still want to go to that dinner with the ladies with me tonight?"

"As long as you want to go, I will."

"Oh, okay. We have to be there at (what time is it honey?) ('five thirty') five thirty, so we have to leave at (what time?) ('five or ten minutes past five') five or ten minutes past five. Five or ten past five."

A pause. Then, "I'm feeling pretty shaky right now thinking about going."

"It's up to you Mom. If you don't want to go, we won't go. But, if you do, we will. Just try not to think about it right now, it's still many hours away. Just try to relax and enjoy the day."

"Oh, okay."

"We will talk later, and you can decide then."

Dad got on the phone and together, we confirmed that to her.  There is a chance of snow tonight, so this could seal the deal. Snow plus driving at night plus being around a bunch of chatty women = really scary and confusing for Mom.

"No pressure, Mom, no pressure. What ever you want to do."

Yesterday, sunny and not too too cold, went fairly well. Only one "disaster," when I foolishly gave her a pretty full bowl of hot soup on a tray in her chair and, naturally, the minute I turned my back, she spilled a good portion of it on her lap and sweater. She was pretty upset with herself, but somehow, miraculously, I managed to convince her to change her pants and sweater. She blamed herself, I blamed myself, we managed to put it past us.

Earlier, I got her to go out for fifteen to twenty minutes, walking around the melted driveway. She agreed to let me bring down her collection of fir trees to decorate the windows. She even helped arrange them. She was pleased with the look. Slowly, I am decorating the living room area with her Christmas decor.

She received a phone call from one of her oldest, dearest girl friends. She spoke with her for about ten minutes, early in the conversation telling her, "do you know that I have Alzheimers?" Of course, her friend knew, that is why she called, and after Mom got too antsy to talk anymore, I chatted with her for a few minutes, too. Later that night, I felt sad, thinking that that could be the last time they speak.

Later, Mom's sister called, and Mom spoke with her a bit longer, confirming their dinner engagement at her house this Saturday night. Though, who knows with the weather, it may have to get cancelled.

After lunch and the soup spilling fiasco, I read some more to her from the Wharton book. Again, she closed her eyes and lowered her head, resting her chin on a big pillow in her lap, and occasionally, she'd surprise me and blurt out and correct one of my mispronunciations.

Eventually, she wanted me to stop, so we put on HGTV for awhile until Dad got home from his doctor's appointment. I complimented her on a very busy morning, and she agreed with me.

Later, I stopped back over on my way back from grocery shopping, and gave her a little juice box sized plastic sip cup. She said she had just woken up from a nap. Sleeping is the best way to escape her frustration.

She mentioned yesterday that she was embarrassed about how she speaks. Understandable. Maybe I'm getting used to it, but it's not that bad. It's worse when she's upset, but when she is speaking of the deep past, it's not as noticeable.

It's hard for me not to think about her and her moment to moment struggles.

************
Was just about to post this when I got a call from Dad. "Hello?"

"Hi, here's Mom."

"Hi, I'm sorry, but I just can't go tonight. I'm shaking like a leaf thinking about it. I'm sorry, but I just can't go."

"That's okay, Mom. I'll be over in a little while."

"Okay, thank you, and I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Mom. Bye."

"Bye."

The Little Things

Yesterday morning, the first call I got was from Mom.

"Hi. We are trying to do a load of laundry and we don't know where to put the soap. Can you come over and show us where it goes?" (In the background, I hear Dad say, "Yes, but she doesn't need to come do it right now!")

I was finishing up my own laundry, and as I was waiting for that and taking a shower, I realized how funny and sad this was. I mean, it's just the little things like that. For years and years, Mom meticulously handled the laundry for both of them, plus all of the linens and towels when there were many house guests, and now, she can't even remember how to add the laundry detergent.

On top of that, just the very thought of getting the laundry washed and dried and folded and put away takes a tremendous toll on her mind. She can not relax until it's all done. Meanwhile, her mind is so tired from thinking about it all, all she really wants to do is sleep to get away from the intruding, mixed up thoughts.

I went over and showed them again how to add the soap, and all was good again.

I went back over in the afternoon. It was raining. Mom was napping in the chair. She got up when I entered the house, and told me she had just tucked Dad in for a nap in the little day bed downstairs. He has not been sleeping well...

I made up a pot of tea, and she asked if I could read some more from the Edith Wharton book. I was happy to do that, but after about thirty minutes, she got restless again. The afternoon was getting on, the sky was dark, sundowners comes on. She wanted to check on Dad, to make sure "he was alright."

Okay, I agreed to take her downstairs, but shhh, let's not wake him.

We crept down the stairs and when we got to the bottom step, hand in hand, we both peeked around the corner, and there he was, sitting at his desk in front of his computer. When he saw us, he laughed out loud. We must have looked pretty funny, silently peeking our heads out from the steps.

He explained he was corresponding through Facebook with one of Mom's oldest girl friends, who had recently been ill. Mom wanted to get in on what was happening, but her patience in front of the computer is so very slight. She says, "I want to see, what does she say, does she know about me and my Alzheimers?"

Dad tried to read aloud the "conversation" back and forth between he and I and our old friend, but she couldn't stand there long enough.

Back upstairs we went. I stayed a little longer, and suggested maybe her friend would like a nice card from her. She agreed to that, but we didn't have the address and by this time, she was getting really antsy. Her right hand is stiff now, she really can't write anymore. I was going to help, but decided we would wait until the next day.

I left them in a fairly decent state. The sun is out today, and I am going over shortly so Dad can head out to a doctor's appointment an hour away. She still wants to go to the ladies dinner Friday night..

We will see, we will see.

Paranoia

Thankfully, Mom was less depressed yesterday (Monday.)

She was in her usual chair with the television on when I got there at about ten thirty in the morning. First, I suggested we take a little walk around the half melted driveway, and we did that for a good twenty minutes, the sun shining and no breeze to speak of.

After Dad went out to run his errands, I asked her again if she would like me to read to her. I had asked her on Sunday, but she refused. Yesterday, however, she agreed to it, so I shut off the television, she slumped down in the chair with her eyes closed, and I took up part way through the Edith Wharton book she had given up on weeks ago.

The writing in the book is filled with fancy words and long sentences and many parenthesis and asides, but eventually, I got into a nice rhythm with my reading aloud, and occasionally Mom would blurt out the correct pronunciation or stop me to ask for a clarification on who was who. This was one of the calmest I have seen her in a while.. she closed her eyes (and even said to me, "excuse me for closing my eyes," and I replied that that was quite alright with me) and seemed to follow the stories. We even had a laugh or two, but she did say that it hurts her to laugh.

Dad returned home with a few things from the store, and I helped them prepare lunch. I went back home for a couple of hours, thinking I could get some things done for myself, but in reality, too spent to do much but laze about on the internet. Monday's are always a sleepy day for me.

Around two thirty in the afternoon, I went back over so Dad could take a walk. Mom asked if I could read to her some more (yeah!), so after I prepared a small pot of tea and gave her half a cookie, we settled in for some more reading aloud. She was once again enjoying herself when the phone rang, and I got up to answer it.

She overheard me take the message and the woman's name. I wasn't sure who it was, but Mom was convinced it was somebody calling about "Mom sitting," a very touchy subject at this point. Earlier in the day, Dad had spoken on the phone with a woman he was referred to by our neighbor who could possibly do some respite for Dad and me, and Mom overheard this and became very upset by the whole thing, yelling angrily and no doubt, howling.

After I took the message from the woman, I tried my best to distract her from the call, but she was clearly agitated again. I went back to reading for another twenty minutes or so until Dad came home. We told him that the woman called and would be calling back, and he said that she was a woman from an expensive respite house in a fancy town an hour away from here... Mom's sister had slipped a piece of paper with the info on it to Dad at Thanksgiving, so he followed up on it, only to recognize that it was not the right place for them.

However, this did not stop the woman from pushing for another "sale," and Dad, being polite, took her second phone call and went down stairs to speak with her. I wanted Mom to stay upstairs, but she insisted that she go down to listen in. Paranoia is at it's peak here. I walked down with her and asked her to be quite so Dad could politely tell the woman it wasn't right for them, and I managed to distract her for a few minutes in the downstairs bedroom ("Oh, look how nice and neat and clean your eldest son left the bedroom before he went home!" "Mom, where did you get this dresser, anyway?" "Where did this little mirror come from?" and she'd answer me, however...)

She went back out to where he was speaking on the phone at his desk and yelled out a few nasty things, and eventually he hung up and asked her not to do that... then he told her he needed to do something...

She went back upstairs, distraught, and I made Dad hush for a minute and wait, then we both came up. I gathered Mom in my arms, I had Dad come over and we hugged, the three of us, as I explained to Mom, again, that we are on her side, we are trying to take care of her, we won't do anything to hurt her, we won't do anything that she doesn't want.

Of course, I had to lie a little. We don't know what will happen in the future, and at the rate her mind and body are failing, we just can't say for sure what we will have to do. But at that moment, in the three way hug, and the reassurances from Dad and me, her agony and anxiety were again temporarily eased.

We three sat for a few more minutes, then we made a big salad together for their dinner, and finally I went home to my ever understanding boyfriend and my big glass of merlot.

Later that night, Dad called and asked if I would be willing to escort Mom to a ladies group dinner she was invited to this coming Friday night. The ladies know what's up, and she had a ball having a luncheon with them at one of their homes a few weeks ago.. despite the drive over being a nightmare for Dad. Once she was in the presence of her friends, however, she did have fun.

Naturally, I agreed to do it, as long as Mom would still be up for it by Friday. One can never know. Flexibility...  I over heard Mom speaking in the background as Dad and I made the plans, and she seemed happy that I agreed to go with her.

Sigh. Which leads me to this morning, when I just went over to pick up their trash and recycling to make a dump run. Dad was in the basement at his computer, Mom was on the couch looking at a New Yorker magazine. This morning, we all lost power on our road for about two hours... Luckily, they had already had coffee and breakfast when it went off, and perhaps this was why Mom was still "reading" even though the electricity was back on.

She seems bound by worry today. It's Tuesday, and it's been six days since she's bathed. She refuses to change her clothes all week, and she dreads bath day with "Marena" (Maria), but she did admit that she does feel better after her bath and fresh clothes. She looks so frail, her hair is disheveled and needs to be trimmed and washed, she smells. And I can't do anything about it.  She won't let me.

I am heading back over there shortly. I am going to try and read to her some more. Every word I write, every word I read, gets us closer to the end of this god awful, sad, sad story.

Sad Sunday

We got through the Thanksgiving holiday fairly well. Mom was pretty well engaged and despite the usual confusion about time and schedules, I was happy to see her hang back and let the rest of us handle the duties. She ate a good portion of the mid-day meal, and also ate much of the meals my sister prepared for them while she was there. The afternoon gathering over at Mom's sister's house, just down the road, was very active and busy, but Mom was comfortable enough there to have a nice time. She was especially excited when some of us pulled out some instruments and played a few songs..  she had a ball singing along, and it was very special to see that.

Thanksgiving 2010

Earlier in the week, she had told my sister that she'd like to go to church on Sunday, so my sister was willing to stay an extra day in order to do that.. but by Saturday, Mom was so fried she changed her mind. Sister and big brother left for home on Saturday morning, not before washing and drying all the sheets and towels and leaving a list of left overs in the fridge for Dad. When I visited Saturday afternoon, Mom seemed somewhat content, but tired and, no doubt, relieved that the house was quite again. Same for Dad.

Sunday morning, I got over there only fifteen minutes after Dad left for church, about nine thirty a.m. She was slumped in her chair, with the television on, and napping with her chin on a pillow. She remarked that "I was early," and I could tell she was depressed, right off the bat.

It turned out to be a very depressing morning for me, too.

The whole morning she dozed off, with a frown on her face, her eyes closed, breathing heavy. I offered an idea for an activity, maybe I could help her write a few Christmas cards? No.

She complained that her back was hurting again. I offered her a Tylenol, but she wanted to wait until later.

I peeled and cut up a grapefruit, and she nibbled on a few pieces.

I reminded her it was her sister's birthday, and I managed to reach her by phone so that Mom could say happy birthday to her. "I love you!" she yelled in her distorted speaking voice.

I did the breakfast dishes, and noted two uneaten halves of cold toast on the cutting board. When Dad called around ten fifteen, he told me she didn't eat much for breakfast. Mom agreed to take a Tylenol for her back pain after Dad said it was okay. He told me to give her some more Ensure, as she only had juice with her small breakfast.

We walked around the dining room table ten times, five rounds in each direction, but I couldn't engage in her in any other exercises or stretches. She went back to her fitful dozing. She was angry that Dad went to church. There is a part of her that understands why he goes, but another part of her that feels like she is abandoned by him when he does.

Her mind is tired, her body is tired, she is caving in.

She ate a whole bowl of white bean and kale soup left over from my sister's batch, and a few crackers and grapes for lunch. A handful of trail mix with chocolate bits for dessert. After lunch, she opted for the couch.

I stayed until Dad came home, a little after one p.m.

I am hoping today she will feel better. I am hoping that yesterday was just a bad day.

She can no longer read or write, play piano or cook, change her clothes. Her sense of time is completely distorted. She does not want pity, and yet she craves comfort from this constant confusion. Her mind no longer belongs to her anymore, it is on it's own poisoned mission.

I just wish I could take away her pain and discomfort, but how does one soothe the brain?

It's Not All About You, Mom!

I've said that once or twice to her, earlier. It's really not the right thing to say, though... so I've got to bite my tongue and swallow my frustration and put on a smile. I did that today, and it worked. And all I was doing was trying to change her socks..

Sunday morning I went over as usual to stay with her while Dad went to choir rehearsal and church. Shortly after I went there, I casually asked her if she would like to change her clothes..   I should know better.. it creates tremendous stress for her, and immediately, she went into meltdown mode. Much like a toddler, really, wining and crying and wanting to run away. She had been wearing the same clothes since her last bath on Wednesday, and the pants she was wearing kept slipping down too low, showing her underpants, because she's lost so much weight and none of her clothes fit her like they used to. Foolishly, knowing I was wrong to do so, I tried to reason with her. But I know it's a losing battle, because my reason is no longer her reason. What makes sense to me makes no sense to her.

November 22, 2010

It's so hard to not be hurt by what she says sometimes. "I was so looking forward to you coming over today." "I just want this to be over with this so I won't be a burden to anyone anymore." "I just wish he would come home."

Thankfully, before it got any worse, I dropped it..  She had risen from her chair to escape the conflict.. I followed her, asked her to face me, and gave her a hug to soothe her. I told her I love her and told her it was all okay, we don't have to change her clothes, we will sit down and relax.

The rest of day went as usual, a walk and lunch, and when Dad called from church to check in, I heard her say to him, "She wanted to give me a bath, but I didn't want to, so I won that war!" I said aloud, "Not a bath, just change your clothes!" but she couldn't hear that, so "a bath" it was. When she passed the phone to me, I gave him the condensed and correct story (our reality), and Dad said, "So she's kind of ornery today, eh?" We have to find humor when we can.

Later, I went to my afternoon gig, but it was hard for me to shed the morning off. Luckily, I can talk to my friends there and they are sympathetic.

It's not all about you, Mom. 

Monday, I only spent about an hour and a half with her, and she was her usual frenetic self. She's up, she's down, her mind is short. What can you do, really, but ride the wave of Mom?

Today, I spent a good four hours with her. I arrived shortly after her lunch, and after I suggested a few ideas for activities, I realized in reality, she wanted to nap. "Would you like to take a nap now?" "Yes," she said, so I helped her over to the couch and placed the blanket on her and she napped for nearly two hours. I felt a little guilty about letting her sleep so long, but at the same time, I was tired and my shoulder was bugging me and it was a relief to me to just sit and watch television and read while she slept. There really wasn't too much for me to do (I had cleaned the kitchen floor on Sunday, there was no laundry to speak of, really), so I just stayed calm and waited for the time to pass.

After she woke, I made a snack of peeled apple and cheese and crackers (though she only wanted the apple.. she is so finicky with food these days), then some tea, then we took a short walk around the house. Her socks got wet from the damp grass, and I told her we were going to change her socks. I was able to do it, but she still gave me grief. She worries about the laundry.. I remind her she doesn't need to worry about it because I am doing it (and Maria always puts in a load after her Wednesday morning bath time).

So today, when I realized she began to get stressed about changing her socks and laundry, I said, "I know it's hard, but do you trust me? Because, remember Mom, I am on your side." "Yes," she said, "I trust you." Sigh.

Dad came home, we helped put away the groceries he picked up from the market. He had met with his minister again. He shared that the minister gave him good advice. Mom asked, "What did you talk about?" And Dad replied, "About you, mostly." This freaked her out a little, but then they hugged and he was so sweet and understanding with her I nearly cried again.. I am so glad Dad has the minister to help him through this. Somehow, we are gaining tiny steps towards understanding and compassion and resolve about Mom suffering from this awful, horrible, mind robbing disease.

It is all about Mom now, but the ripples flow wide.

Fickle

I was thinking to myself, I wonder if Mom would like to play Scrabble? Of course, it would be casual and slow and non-competitive. I was doubtful, but she has seemed bored lately. I went over in the morning, but did not bring my Scrabble board.. instead, I ran down to the toy chest a grabbed a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle and a tube with a black and white lined drawing for coloring in with colored pencils.

Well, that didn't go over well at all. She wigged out and refused to even look. No problem, I said, I just thought you might like to try something different. I realize it's too hard, but I thought maybe, something, just an activity to focus on.

I realize focus is hard now though.

After she calmed down, Dad made a comment about the length of her fingernails. It's been brought up before and she's always resisted and claimed she liked them long. But yesterday? She marched right into her bathroom and got some nail clippers and a nail file. She let me clip her nails and together we filed them.
I made a big deal about being "her manicurist," and she seemed to get a little chuckle out of that. I asked her if she might allow Maria to give her "a pedicure" the next day (today), after her bath, and she agreed to that. I'm going over shortly and we will see if that really happens!

Later in the day, the minister from their church offered to drive over to their house to pick up some paperwork so that Dad wouldn't have to drive all the way to the church to drop them off. He has been excused from tonight's monthly board meeting, which is a big relief to Mom (and a night off for me!)

Well, we agreed to have me meet the minister, and Mom called when he arrived around three fifteen in the afternoon. Well, if you didn't know anything about Mom, you would have never known she was afflicted with this disease! Lucid and chatty..

You just never know with this condition. Fickle.

I am heading over there shortly to spend a good chunk of the day with her while Dad goes to a doctors appointment in the big city. I am bringing a photo album from the late sixties / early seventies. I plan on trying to get in some housecleaning around Dad's desk area. It's a big dust bowl down there!

The 36-Hour Day

My new drummer friend, who lost his wife to Alzheimer Disease not too long ago, loaned me (or probably gave me.. ) his copy of The 36-Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace, M.A. and Peter V. Rabins, M.D., M.P.H.

I am half way through the relevant parts of this care-givers bible, and here are a few key things I am gathering from my reading and personal experience.

Daily routine. I think Dad is doing a wonderful job with this, especially with the meals and snacks and medications. And even though Mom is only getting bathed once a week, at least it is falling into a set time once a week.

Reassurance. This is were I think I'm doing well, at least on the days when I'm not fried. Patience is the key here.. with the repeated questions of "what time is it?" and her restlessness, getting up and down.. If she decides suddenly, just after getting settled back down into her chair with her throw over her legs, that she now wants to get up and look one more time at the dinner Dad brought home from the market, even though she was already shown or told only ten minutes earlier, just go with it. These behaviors are a test to your patience, and that's why I am learning first hand how vital it is to be well rested and calm around Mom.

Flexibility. You just can't expect Mom to stick with one topic of conversation for too long. If she asks about something, keep your answers short. Too many long sentences, with too much back story, is too difficult for her injured brain to follow. Positive, concise answers are best, and let her flow into whatever subject she wants to go to. If she starts to get dark or sad or negative, gently guide her out of that by changing the subject to something positive.

We lost the power here on our road late Sunday night and didn't get it back until Monday afternoon. These are the kinds of things that terrify Mom, but I think she handled it all pretty well. Dad stopped by in the car Monday morning, and he had Mom with him. I decided at the last minute to jump in with them and take the trip downtown, just so that Mom wouldn't have to be in the car alone for too long while he ran his errands. I'm glad I did.

One of the strange things happening is sometimes Mom has trouble controlling the volume of her speaking voice. For the last year, we've all noticed how her speaking voice has changed to a very soft and feeble tone. Now, when she get a little upset, or seems to be struggling to find the right words, she might yell the words out. It's almost like she's fighting to get it out, and to yell makes it easier. Other times, it's simply that she is upset, mad at Dad or fighting with her frustrations. Imagine how angry you would get if you couldn't say the words you wanted to say, to convey your true feelings. It's like this for Mom, and if she has to raise the volume of her voice to "spit it out," so be it.

So, the last few days, we've noticed restlessness. Probably due to the poor weather the last few days, and perhaps she is getting bored. It's getting difficult for her to read now.. She loses track of the story and forgets where she is or what happened. The same old daytime television shows are getting boring to her, as well. Too much HGTV! At night time, she and Dad watch a few programs together that they both enjoy.

She has also commented to us about vivid dreaming lately. This is probably due to the increased dosages of the Memantine (Namenda.) Her neurologist, Dr. D., did mention this as a possible side effect to this drug.

I could be wrong, but I feel like the drug is helping. The other night she made their chicken dinner. Yesterday she dried the dishes I washed and put them all away in the right places. Yesterday afternoon, she wanted to take a walk (I didn't have to ask her), and she pushed for four laps up and down the driveway. She even remembered an old marching chant as we walked ("Left, left, I left my job..." etc.)
I thought that was a nice little win.

So, we have our good days and our bad days. It really comes down to moments now.. good moments, bad moments. It some ways, her brain's losing ability to keep track of time might be a small blessing, in that she can't really measure how much the disease is taking away from her final years of life.

Random Worries For Today

I look back at photos of Mom from only 6 months ago, and the change from today is so dramatic. It's so hard to believe how much this disease has snowballed. Though we may level off again for awhile.. who knows. There is no set timetable, they say.

So much to worry about on a regular basis. And not just about her health and safety, but his, as well.

I wish I could get her to exercise more. And eat more. And bathe more. She gets so easily upset.. and she and Dad push each others buttons so easily, too, creating friction. Friction they've always had, but for me, I see it different than Dad. I just feel it's so important to keep her from blowing up. Of course, her spat's don't last too long, but still, it can't be good for her.

At least she sleeps well and often takes little naps.

I worry about Thanksgiving. All the commotion and noise and confusion. She doesn't really want it. Yet, it is important for her to continue to participate and be involved. Once or twice she's said to me, "I can't wait until I get over 'this' so I can get back to work in the garden." Then other times she hangs her head in defeat and says aloud something like she just wants it all to be over.

But these moments pass quickly, too.

Her attention span is very short, so I try to keep her flowing when she wants to be active in movement or speaking. Many times, out of the blue, she'll bring up a memory or individual from the past. The other day she remembered the name of something that we had been talking about the day before.

I saw our neighbor yesterday at voting and she told me she was surprised Mom remembered who she was and her name when Dad took her in to vote earlier that day. AD isn't just about forgetting things, though. It's so much more than that. It can fool most people who are only casual friends.

Mom has trouble getting dressed... buttoning and unbuttoning. Putting on gloves.. her body is caving and stiffening. Her skin is dry.

Oh dear. Well, today she is getting all cleaned up with Maria. She'll feel better after that.

Last Few Days

The last few days have been fairly steady, so I haven't felt the need to write too much.

However, just when you want to believe maybe things are better, maybe the medication is working.. little episodes like what just happened a little while ago remind you that this disease takes no prisoners, makes no excuses, spares no one.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday mostly seemed alright. Mom seems to complain less about her back pain (though sometimes it'll come back.. perhaps from all the sitting.. ) We try to get her up and moving, but her attention span is so short. She always wants to go back and sit down.. though she'll go to do that and start to read, but get distracted and want to get up. It's hard.

I've started a new tea time ritual, which she likes. Usually around three p.m. Just before the sun starts to go down and "sundowners" sneaks in. Saturday afternoon, I went over there around two- thirty, specifically to try and get Mom to change her clothes before she and Dad went up to Auntie's for dinner. We managed to do that without too much fuss.. though, it's never easy. She felt better though, and picked out a fresh, matching bandana to go with her top. They spent less than two hours over there, and the report was that it went well. I suggested they ask Auntie if they could bring home any leftovers they couldn't finish, and so they did and were able to supplement that for their Sunday night dinner.

Sunday morning, I got over there a little before ten a.m., and we spent the first hour together quietly reading. Eventually, she got hungry, so I asked her what she wanted to eat.. She finally agreed to let me make her a grilled cheese sandwich. She ate half of that, plus some chips and a cut up apple and a glass of V8 juice. I bolted out of there at a little after one p.m. to get ready for my gig.

At my gig later that day, I got disheartened again when I had a conversation with the new drummer we've been using for the last four weeks. We all knew that he had just lost his wife only two months ago.. I thought it was cancer, but when I told him about what I was going through with Mom, he told me that was how his wife died. We both shed some tears as he shared a few of the sad details.. and he warned me, gently, that it was only going to get worse. Which I know, but to hear it from him, still painfully fresh in his soul.. so sad. In his wife's case, it was the disease that made her weak, and she, too, suffered from compression fractures, as well as urinary tract infections.. because she wasn't wiping properly.. I guess this is common. Something Dad and I need to be on watch for. The physical health conditions sped up and compressed the AD. Sigh. That night, after I got home, I resolved to be even more pro-active with Mom and with relief for Dad..

Though Monday comes around and as I've said before, I'm always a bit off on Monday..  Luckily, Dad called in the morning to let me know he and Mom were going down to the town hall to vote. Not long after that, he called again to say that the town hall was closed on Monday, and though Mom had said earlier she would go with him down town to food shop, she changed her mind and didn't want to go. But she was fine with being alone while he was gone, so I was able to shower and unload gear and get my own shopping done.

When I went over at two-thirty, things were calm. She was reading, then she suggested tea, so we three sat and had tea (no television on.) While I was at the market earlier, I ran into their choir director, and she naturally was very concerned and eventually asked if she could come visit Mom. I said, that might be nice, and to call Dad. Well, by the time I got over there, she had called Dad but Mom flat out refused a visit. Sigh.

Later, after tea and a short nap on the couch for Mom, when the subject of a visit from church people came up again, she got really upset, so much that she got up out of her chair and started to leave.. she walked outside (I was holding her hand the whole time), and she yelled at Dad about this and that. (One thing she said was actually pretty funny.. "Well, I've had to listen to you fart and poop for all these years so...!") She doesn't want to be patronized. She doesn't want to be "an experiment." She just wants to be left alone. She is just happy to have Dad and me tend to her.

We calmed her down enough to get her back in her chair, and she said she was hungry, so Dad went to get her a cracker and cheese. I was getting ready to leave and was in the kitchen and asked Dad about his plans for the week... and sure enough, this upset her some more.. even when she's in the other room, she listens and gets upset. Dad and I need to just email our plans, I guess.

So, you just don't know. This disease is ugly and sad and we can't blame Mom for her behaviors. We just need to remain calm and smile (whenever she gets upset, I say, okay now, let's not be mad, think happy thoughts, let's smile.. anything to get the sad frown and furrowed brows off her face.)

We discussed Meals On Wheels again tonight, and the option of more help from the church folks. Mom is dead set against a lot of stuff, but we might just have to do it anyway. Dad's trying his best, and I don't want him to get anymore burnt out than he is.

Wednesday Evening

Wednesday night I went to stay with Mom so Dad could go to a concert. He had purchased the tickets a while ago, not realizing at that time that Mom wouldn't want to / be able to go, but he still wanted to make an appearance, so we compromised and he decided that he'd leave half way through the show.

Surprisingly, Mom handled the whole thing pretty well. She had had a bath in the morning, and was all fresh in clean clothes and clean hair. I was too tired myself to do much other than just sit with her (which suits her fine), and we watched a couple of episodes of "Two And A Half Men." I turned her on to the silly sitcom and she seems to enjoy it!

She had been sitting in the same chair a lot lately, and she complained a little about her sides aching a bit. Maria thought it might be time to give the heating pad habit a rest, and Mom didn't seem to mind. I gave her a gentle back rub, then asked if she'd like to try laying down on the couch for a change. She was up for that, and after a little bit of negotiating, she got settled onto the couch and liked the change of view. She even kicked off her shoes.

She asked me to bring her a small bowl of trail mix (it has chocolate bits in it.. she's got a mad sweet tooth these days), and she ate the entire bowl! I switched the channel over at seven thirty p.m. to the basketball game.. She used to be a big fan but hasn't watched baseball or football or basketball games in a while now. So, I thought this was promising. She switched to a new location (the couch) and watched something on television she hadn't watched in a long time (the basketball game.)

Though she checked her watch a few times and asked me what time it was a few times, she wasn't too stressed when I explained to her how long Dad had been gone, and what he was probably doing at that particular moment. Like, well it's seven p.m. now, so he just got there and is settling into a seat. The concert starts in half an hour. Mom would roll her eyes, then at seven thirty five p.m. I said, well the concert has just started.. etc.

Dad called around eight thirty five p.m. and said he was sneaking out and on his way home. He got back a little before nine p.m., and sure enough, shortly after he sat down to share his experience, we looked over at Mom and she had her eyes closed. We had a little giggle over that, then Mom woke up and said she wanted to go to bed. I left them to themselves and their nightly rituals, which now include Dad reading aloud from a book to her. So sweet.

Today the sun is finally shining and I hope to get over there after lunch so we can go out for a walk. I wonder if the new drug is having a positive effect?

Tuesday Afternoon

Got next door around one ten today. Dad needed to get to a test and a meeting, home about five. The temp was mild, a little over sixty, and the sun dominated over a light cover of white clouds. Mom was in front of the television. Dad said goodbye and took off, and shortly after that, Mom and I went out for a walk. Up the driveway, up the road and back down to the veggie garden out back. Though she seemed to enjoy being outside, even remarking when we passed her side flower garden that she "couldn't wait to get better so I can do some work in the garden," much too quickly she needed to get back inside..

October 27,  2010

Back in her the chair, I sat with her a minute and told her I'd like to do a little dusting, like I had mentioned yesterday. She agreed to that, and I shut off the television and she picked up her book. I spent about forty-five minutes dusting and vacuuming around the master bedroom, but I can't spend too much time doing stuff because she gets mildly distressed. So, I went back and sat with her awhile. 

I put on some water for tea a little before three, and we sat and had tea over a couple of HGTV programs. Then I asked if she would like to show me how to prepare the ground turkey into her famous turkey balls, and she agreed. I figured this would be a good way to distract her from the time without Dad. It was a struggle for her, but together we managed to put together a plate of prepped turkey balls. Then she got tired and went back to her chair, and I threw together a salad.. and tackled the pantry. Threw away a bunch of outdated foods, and cleaned and sorted a bit. When I looked out at Mom, she had her head bowed in her hand. When I came back out, I asked her if she was sad, but she said, no, she was just trying to visualize what the sounds where that I was making in the kitchen. It's hard for her brain to match the sounds to the images... It's all jumbled in her mind.

Dad called around four while we were prepping the meat, and he got back at five. Mom and I gave him a big hello and welcome home. I got the meal started, then left. 

Tomorrow will no doubt prove to be a tough day for Mom. Maria comes in the morning to help Mom bathe.. though Mom likes Maria, it's always stressful for her. I can't blame her. Just this afternoon, when I suggested she might want to change into a another clean shirt (from the big change incident two days ago), she instantly slipped into whiney mode and so I dropped that right away. No sense getting her all worked up, got to pick the battles.

Later tomorrow night, Dad is going to a concert.. tickets he purchased awhile ago before we realized Mom was so affected by this horrible disease. He'd like to go anyway, I'd like him to go, so I will stay with Mom, and she will not be happy. All I can do is sit with her, assure her, and try and distract her from her anxiety. 

We will see how it goes.

Monday Afternoon

Monday is always a draggy day for me, because I've been so busy on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon with my music. I sensed Dad probably wouldn't need me until later in the day, so I got cracking on my chores in the morning, unloading the equipment and doing the dishes, showering and dressing for my day. Around 11:30 a.m., Don answered the phone and it was Mom. She told him she was going down town with Dad to accompany him on his shopping, so I didn't need to go over until later. Great, I thought, I'll get a chance to run down town and do my shopping and errands, then I could go over in the afternoon and give Dad some time to do his thing.

So, I took off around noon, and didn't get back until a little before three. When I got back, Don told me Dad had called about half and hour earlier to say that they had to cut their trip short, because Mom just got too restless and wanted to go home. So, he would have to go back out so he could do his grocery shopping.

When I got over there about three p.m., Mom was clearly feeling some anxiety. Her face showed worry.. I held her hands and sat with her while Dad talked on the phone with the Dr. N.'s assistant about one his issues (vitamin thing) and about Mom's lessening back pain. He and I tried to make plans for tomorrow, and this was not easy with Mom's anxiety and questions. Once Dad left with a grocery list in hand, Mom asked if I would like to watch a program with her (the t.v. was off when I got there.) I agreed to that, being a little worn myself, so we moved over to the t.v. chair and then I asked her if she would like some tea. She liked that idea, so I went to the kitchen to heat up the water and prepare the teapot. I decided to empty the kitchen trash, and Mom offered to help by opening up the door to the garage. I feel like when ever she wants to do something, it's therapeutic to say yes (within reason.) So, she opened up the door, and this makes her feel useful.

We sat for a bit and had tea. I told her a little about my gigs over the weekend, and we chatted lightly about the next few days plans.. though, you just can't go too much into anything.. it stresses her out too much. I told her I thought I'd like to do a little dusting around their bed tomorrow.

When Dad got back, we helped him unpack the groceries, then we went back to the living room while Dad did a little business at his computer. Around four p.m., I had Mom come into the kitchen and help prep dinner. She wanted to peel the yam, but it was too hard, so I had her peel and chop the garlic. She decided she wanted a little glass of wine.. then she wanted her radio program on. I thought this was great.. like old times. Of course, once the garlic was chopped, things got too much for her again, so she went back to her chair and her book while I helped Dad get their dinner of mashed yams, steamed summer squash and slow-sauteed hake fish going. Dad was very gracious with my cooking tips and ideas.

Tomorrow, Dad needs to go get his monthly blood test done, and he has set up a meeting with his minister. He was going to attend a political meeting being held in his church basement from 4:30-6:00 p.m. that evening, but he called me a little while ago and has decided to skip that, realizing that they'd probably want him to volunteer for more work. I assured him it's okay if he skips out on this, as much as it kills him, because he's done a lot over the years, and he deserves a break, especially considering what we are going through with caring for Mom.

Plus, this way, he'll be able to come home and have dinner with Mom. I hope to get Mom back in the kitchen tomorrow afternoon before he comes home so together we can prep their dinner meal.

Weather was overcast and drizzly all day. Her anxiety level was mild to moderate. I'm seeing a pattern here.

The Weekend

Saturday was another fairly calm day for Mom. I believe it was cool but sunny. We took a longer walk outside then the last two days. This time, when she pointed out a plant, it was "Goat's Whiskers" instead of "Goat's Beard." She ate fairly well. I had to leave early for a gig 2 hours away. Dad made a good supper with chicken tenders and veggies, he said it turned out well.

Sunday was a bit tricky. We all three agreed that I would come over at 9:30 a.m., leaving Mom alone for a half hour. Wouldn't you know it, I overslept on Sunday! Never happens. Woke up at 9:45! Ran downstairs, put on coffee, fed the cats and zipped over there, walking in the door just before 10 a.m. She hardly realized I was late, engrossed in a television show on HGTV. That was a relief (later she admitted she was confused if it was me or Maria coming over).. I settled in and casually mentioned that my friend was stopping by to say hello to me on her way back home to Boston, and that she wanted to come and say a quick hello to Mom. This casual news upset Mom quite a bit at first.. I had to gently calm her down and eventually she agreed to meet her.

The next battle came a little while later when I realized Mom was shaking and cold, despite the heat being jacked up, the heating pad at her back and a throw over her legs and torso. I suggested we change into clean clothes from head to toe.. oh boy, she did not like that idea one bit, and she bursted out in frustration. I remained calm and soothing, and though it was a battle and so painful to see her react that way, I managed to get her into completely new clothes, even fresh socks. It was not pretty though.. she fought me the whole way. It's unbelievable to witness this behavior, but it really is the symptoms of the disease. Heartbreaking.

I had her put on some deodorant and run a comb through her hair and she chose a fresh bandana that matched her fresh outfit, and sure enough, once settled back down in the chair, she felt better and warmer. I managed to rub some moisturizer on her dry feet and toes before we put on the fresh socks, and I also gently applied some moisturizer on her face and hands.

We waited for Dad to come home from church. I gave her a snack of a bowl of grapes, and she ate them all down. I started lunch for her, but she wanted to wait for Dad, so I set it up so they could eat together as soon as he came back. He was home by 1 p.m., I rushed out of there to get ready for my gig.

I am worried that she's not reading as much now.. watching more t.v. Dad has been reading to her in bed before she goes to sleep.. how freaking cute is that? Again, she didn't complain too much about pain in her back.. though if I mention possibly going to church some Sunday, she is quick to use that as an excuse. I remind her that they want to see her.

I almost cried when I watched her nod off in the chair before Dad came home. I am sure to tell her I love her, and give her lot's of gentle hugs and back rubs. She seems to appreciate that a lot.

Oh, and sure enough, when Don and my girlfriend stopped by around noon, she lit up quite a bit, and was quite lucid. She brought up a bit about her past, childhood homes and how her parents worked in banks..  It took her a second to remember Don's name, she said she wanted to say Dean, but she got it.
It was really good for her to have a little social interaction..

It is overcast and drizzly, I wonder what her mood will be like today.

Calm Day

I guess I'm getting a little "sin-ile" myself, because I just spent a good half hour writing up a post and didn't save it before publishing and lost the whole thing! Hate it when that happens.. anyway, here's take two.

Just back from spending four hours next door (noon to four), and I must say, Mom was in a much calmer state today. Dad happily shared that Mom ate a good breakfast and lunch today, plus a snack. She didn't complain about her back pain at all today, though she did remark once or twice how good it feels to have the heating pad at her back and throw over her legs. When Dad left to run his errands (which included picking up her new script of Namenda, which she will start tomorrow morning), she didn't once ask where he was, or if he was back yet, or wistfully sigh, "I just wish he was home now."

After he left, I put a load of towels in the washer. Mom wanted to help, so I suggested she add the laundry detergent, which she did. I suggested we do some more exercise (they both said she had walked around the dining room table five times earlier.) She agreed to that, so we bundled her up with coat, scarf, hat and gloves, and we marched right outside to the end of the driveway. She wanted to walk down into her side garden, and she was able to name a couple of her shrubs. I had to convince her to walk one more round up the driveway and back, and I tried to stall as much as possible, because the sunshine and fresh air surely can't hurt!

Back inside, we settled into her chair and started watching a program on HGTV. I asked her if she would like some tea. At first she said no, but when I told her I was going to heat up some water anyway for myself, she changed her mind and said, okay, if you're having some, I will, too. I brought out the tea and two scones, but she declined the scone, claiming she is "sick of them," but not in a grumpy way. It was sweet, because she remarked something like, "Once Daddy finds something he likes, that's it!" She drank all of her tea, and even accepted a second half-cup.

Then the wash was done, and though she offered to help, I said, that's okay, you chill, I'll pop them in the dryer and you can help me fold them when they're done. We settled back in quietly and watched more HGTV. Occasionally, she closes her eyes for a moment, but for the most part, she was watching and seemed to be following.

When the towels were done, again, I told her to wait, and brought them up in the basket. She helped me fold the smaller ones from her chair, and when they were all folded, she wanted to put them all away right away. I said, let's wait so we can see the end of this program. This seemed to be torture for her, but she appeased me, though that basked of folded towels sitting at our feet was really nagging her!

Once the show was done, she said, "Okay, I want to put them away," and she got right up. I brought the basket into her bedroom and sorted the towels on the bed. She admitted there that this was really hard for her, but eventually, we got all of the towels put away in their "proper" places. :)

Dad came home with the new meds, new new light bulbs, and a brand new dish rack! Hooray! He read the pamphlet that comes with the Namenda, and then handed it to me to read. When I told her about the possible side effects of the drug, she didn't seem too concerned. The side effects include dizziness, confusion (ha!) and gastrointestinal problems, but this is in a small percentage of users. We talked again about her condition, and I think, I hope, she appreciates the candor we must have with her about the disease. I learned from that pamphlet that over 5.2 million people in America suffer from AD! Of course, that's the drug company's stats, but, then again, I'm not one that follows stats so much!

I was able to squeeze in another load of wash, a little light closet organizing (Mom's clothes), and some cleaning and dusting while Mom and Dad did some reading. Things always seem to get a little more harried over there as it gets to four o'clock, so I started to get ready to leave. Dad plans on using the Trader Joe's frozen shrimp stir fry that Nat brought up last weekend for dinner, so hopefully this will be easy for him and satisfying for both! Thanks Nat!

As I left today, I felt less stress. I know this post is a wee droll, but this is just another typical day. I wish I could remember some of the humorous things that sometimes happen or get said over the time. Tomorrow, I'll be leaving mid-afternoon for a show in Damariscotta, then Sunday morning, I hope to get over there as early as possible so Dad can go to church. We haven't really discussed the details yet (it's really hard for Dad and me to talk too much without Mom wanting to know what we are discussing, but then again, we try not to hide anything from her.. it's tricky.)

Anyway, all in all, a calm day, for which I am grateful. I make sure to tell Mom everyday that I love her. And Nat, she remembered that you called last night. The one thing she did complain about is that she has "nothing to read" and that the print is so small in the magazines. Let's get her some big print books gang!