Best of Life

We tend to obsess about so many things in life.  We focus on those big items that tend to weight us down:  bills, problems at work, winning a game, deadlines, weeds in the garden, etc.  But what I have learned from Mother is that the very small things in life can mean the most.

A clean face can bring sheer happiness.  Mother loves to have her face washed.  After she brushes her teeth I warm the washcloth in the hot water and gently wipe away the stress from her face.  She always asks me to do her eyes. Gently, gently I clean the sleep from her eyes.  Gently, gently I wipe her cheeks and forehead.  She tilts her face up and makes a low mmmmmm in pleasure.  Three times we go through the process and then pat dry with a towel.  She always says, "Thank you, mama."

She returns to her bed, and I apply a thin layer of baby oil on her face.  She has dry patchy pre-cancer on her skin, and the baby oil softens her skin.  She say, "On my nose, on my cheek."  Then we move to her arms and hands gently massaging her thin, dry skin.  "Oh that is so nice, so nice."  The sweet smell envelopes her.

Then it is time for a Coke.  "Do you have a Coke?" she asks, and I make a trip to the machine for a Coke.  She sips it from the can using a straw.  "Hmmmm!" followed by a big belch.  She smiles.  I mean really, can life get any better!

"I'll Protect You"

The power of human touch and consolation never ceases to amaze me.  In the smallest ways, even those with dementia can help each other.  Today I found Mother in the lounge watching a movie with a male resident who has somewhat better cognition than Mother has.  As usual, when Mother saw me she called my name and grabbed my hand.  I held her hand, and we all watched the movie.  It was a film about a storm at sea and two boats were being tossed on the waves.  This frightened Mother, and she began howling and crying, "I'm going to die."  I got up and changed the channel, but the man reached over and patted Mother's knee and said, "Don't cry, I'll protect you from the bad things."  Mother looked at him and said, "You'll protect me?"  He said yes, and she was fine. 

He had just patted her knee like you would do for a frightened child.  He smiled and was calm and she responded.  It was so sweet, and so human.  One person reaching out to comfort another and that person accepting the comfort.  That man can not even take care of himself, but he was willing to reach out and offer to protect.  That is being truly human.  How often do we try to avoid the pain of others.  How often do we ignore the terror that others feel.  All we need to do is pat someones knee-even metaphorically- to bring comfort.  And anyone can do it.  Anyone can offer comfort.

Lonesome Valley

Mother appeared to be sleeping.  She was curled on her side and covered with her dusty blue comforter.  Her eyelids fluttered and she saw me.  It was just a stare for a few seconds, and then she said my name.  I sat beside her and stroked her short gray hair.  I always think how much she hated "old ladies with short hair."  But cutting her hair was just another loss due to her dementia.  Her longer hair became tangled and unruly.  Now, while stroking her sweet head she said, " I'm scared.  Don't leave me.  I'm afraid to die.  I'm dying."  She looked so defeated and scared.  What could I say?  I am utterly helpless.  I can't ease her disease.  I can only hold her hand and stroke her head. 

I assured her that she would live today and tonight and tomorrow. 

"Really?"

"Yes, you will live today, and tonight and tomorrow."

It was enough.  She asked me my name.  She needed to be sure that I was who she thought I was.  She closed her eyes.  I sat with her.

There is an old song that says, " You've got to walk this lonesome valley.  You've got to walk it by yourself. Oh, nobody else can walk it for you.  You have to walk it by yourself."  Mother always loved that song, and this is her lonesome valley. But somehow I think we can walk in the shadows along with her.  It is not our journey, but we watch her journey and hold her hand and stroke her hair through the lonesome valley.

And Now This

There are all kinds of degradation with Alzheimer's.  Mother faces them daily and is mostly unaware of them.  But sometimes she knows that something is wrong and she is sad.  That is how I found her today.  She was very quiet and would hardly talk as she lay in bed curled up and staring out the window.  I asked if she was ok and she said yes, but as I pressed her she said, "I did something wrong and got in trouble.  They hurt my feelings."  That was all she could tell me, and so we talked about past times.  She laughed and got caught up in the story line making up a plausible story to go along with the real past event.

But now this.  A phone call from the home.  As often is the case, Mother can't remember where her room or her bed is.  She will crawl into any bed she thinks is hers.  I often have to go down the hall checking the beds to find her.  Today she had laid down in her roommates' bed.  The roommate got upset and spanked Mother with a shoe.  Spanked her hard enough to leave a welt on Mother's rear end.  The roommate was moved immediately.  But that is the problem with dementia.  People no longer have control over their actions and responses. 

Mother has been on the giving end of such things, but not to the degree of hurting someone.  She has thrown water on people, verbally threatened others and thrown things.  It just grieves me to know that someone hit her and hit her hard.  It also breaks my heart that she thought she had done something wrong but had no idea what it was.  At some core level she knew life was out of whack, but she couldn't tell me what it was.

I hate this disease and what it does.  The loss of control of ones body and mind is bad enough, but it also causes the victims to lash out and to sometimes become violent.  Now Mother has had to endure a physical attack, and I couldn't protect her from it.  Tomorrow she will not remember it at all, but I will always remember and the bruise will be on my heart for a long time.