Snowstorm And A New Book

The snowstorm we experienced on Dad's birthday (Wednesday the twelfth) put a stop to most of the planned activities for that day. Dad called Maria and told her to stay home that morning, and they rescheduled for the next morning. The Alzheimer's support group was cancelled. Sometime during the middle of the day, we decided that my partner and I would make the chowder and cornbread at our place, and then, somehow, trudge through the snow with all of it and reheat and eat the meal and Mom at Dad's place.

However, later in the day, our wonderful neighbor, who owns all kinds of vehicles equipped for pushing massive amounts of snow around, showed up in our driveway and pushed much of the snow to the side. Then he went down the road and did the same with Mom and Dad's driveway, so, around four in the afternoon, as we were busy putting together the meal, Dad and I went back and forth over the phone, and at last, made the decision to have the meal at our place after all. My partner got in our four wheel drive "tank" and drove through the deep snow and picked them up. They arrived at five.

I poured Mom and Dad a little wine, and we sat around a couple of small plates of nibbles. At one point, Mom said, "Well, what are we waiting for?" I explained that it was Dad's birthday and he wanted to have a few moments to sit and chat.. but by a little after five thirty, we sat down to the meal.

Mom ate fairly well, but as the dinner wore on, she became more and more tired. When she was finished, I helped her to the toilet, and explained to her we just wanted to give Dad his one little pathetic birthday gift I had hastily thrown together, as well as sing "Happy Birthday" and serve some cake.

January 12, 2011

By six thirty, Mom was really anxious to go, so we all bundled up, I quickly re-shoveled the porch and walkway to the car, and my partner drove them home.

The next morning was sunny and calm, and I walked over with a snow shovel in hand just a few minutes after Maria showed up to give Mom her weekly bath. I didn't bother saying hello, I just started shoveling. First the path to the front door, then the front porch. Next, the path to the side porch and the oil tank, then the sunny porch off of their bedroom, which was piled the highest with snow drifts. Then it was on to a path to the woodshed, the wood stack area, and the screened in back porch, which is the way for Dad to get wood for their wood stove. Finally, I went over and got most of the snow off of the kitchen porch, which was also high with drifted snow.

I said hello to everybody, then went back home to shower and rest. Later I went back over and, in between finishing up two loads of their laundry, I started a new book with Mom, one I found on their bookshelf, called "Sister Anna." It's a historical novel about a young girl in an unmentioned early time period, living in an unnamed Shaker community. It seems to be set in New England, possibly Maine or Massachusetts, and the city of Boston is mentioned quite a bit. It also features Henry David Thoreau, Nathanial Hawthorne and Ralph Waldo Emerson, as fictionalized characters.

Once again, Mom was all too eager to lay on the couch, with her eyes closed, to listen. The next afternoon was the same. I had spent Friday morning doing my own laundry, and a quick run down to market for groceries for my household for two days. Back at Mom and Dad's, I read for another hour or so, and once again, Mom laid on the couch, her eyes closed, half asleep, but still listening. When it was time for me to leave, she did not protest, and even rose, with some difficulty, to say goodbye. It's getting very hard for her to get up off the couch, and now the chairs, too.

Friday night, my younger brother showed up to their place at nine at night (he had called them at six to let them know he was coming.) She was a little anxious, and we got a call from her a little after eight to see if I knew how long he would be. Luckily, I had just hung up with him (that being the first time I knew he was coming), so I was able to explain to her how long he would be. He hung around until about eleven in the morning, then went off to ski with a friend in New Hampshire.

This morning, Saturday, I ran down to the transfer station to unload some trash, then zipped over to my Aunt's weekend farm house to have a little chat with her. Dad had been stressing all week about my Aunt's invitation for Mom and Dad to go down to her condo just outside of the city for two nights and three days. They had done it last year, and they had gone out to a nice dinner and to see a movie or some other kind of entertainment. Well, this year this notion is impossible, but Dad wasn't sure how to convince my Aunt of this. So, I told him I'd go over and give her the lowdown. She had just come back from the store with some ice cream for their dessert tonight (Mom and Dad are having dinner at her place tonight), and so I sat down in her warm, sunny country kitchen and expressed my concerns and the facts. She understood at once. I'm not sure how much she understands about this disease, but I was easily able to convince her that the idea, though a loving gesture, would be unwise and cause way too much stress for all involved. She lives a very busy life herself, for an eighty year old, and she's got enough to worry about, but I did also suggest to her that she was welcome to come over to their place any time and read to her. She seemed dubious, perhaps because of the unpredictable winter weather, but at least I put the notion out there.

So, at two-thirty, after my weekly walk with my neighbor, I went back over and read for another hour. This time, Dad joined us, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed, too. What a rapt audience I had!  A little before four, I stopped, and Mom began to become worried about the impending dinner date. We nipped that in the bud by distracting her in little various ways. When I left for home, they were both sitting in front of the television set, with Turner Classic Movies on, an hour to kill before their dinner date.

When I got home, my partner asked me, "So, how is it today?" I only shrugged. He then said, "Grim?" And I replied, "Yes, it's grim." Couldn't have described it better myself.