Like a Child

Mother lay in her bed half asleep, her chin tucked against her chest.  The heating unit hummed away blasting tropical temperatures into the room despite the ice and snow outside the window.  Mother stirred as we entered and reached out her hand to me.  So like a little child wanting to be picked up and cared for.

I sat on the bed beside her, and my husband sat in the chair beside the bed.  Today was a quite day.  Only one or two words formed slowly on Mother's lips, and even her smile was slow in coming.  But the iron grip of her good hand was as strong as ever.  She grabbed my hand and tucked it under her chin.  If I moved at all, she grabbed again and held my hand tight against her as if she needed the security of our presence.

So, we sang to her.  We sang Joy to the World, Jingle Bells, White Christmas, Hark the Harold Angels Sing in uneven harmony, and then she began to sing in a growling whisper, "We three kings...."  That was all she could manage, so we took up the song for her.  Her lips would form a word now and then, and she would look at us with the fascination of a child keeping her eyes on our lips and trying to figure out what would come next.  Then she closed her eyes, still gripping my hand, and there it was.  The faint half crooked smile like a baby just falling asleep.  She was happy and content.  Music, touch and a room the temperature of the tropics.  Merry Christmas, Mother.

Visiting Mother

It is cold here and threatening snow or rain or ice, but in the nursing home it is a constant 72 degrees.  Even in the toasty rooms, Mother huddles under her blanket.  It is as if she can feel the cold, wet weather approaching. Or maybe it is just the loneliness.

When Mother sees me, she always starts calling my name over and over.  I hustle out of my coat and sit beside her on the bed as fast as I can because she calls my name louder and louder until I am at her side and patting her back.  I kiss her head and she is happy.  Today I have brought three Clementine oranges for her.  The bright orange peels fall into the trash can as she yells, "Hurry, hurry!"  The sweet orange fragrance only increases her urgency to get a section into her mouth.  I have to make her sit up to eat, and by holding the oranges away from her, she is willing to sit up to get them.  So I pass her a section at a time as I sit beside her.  She ummmms and the juice runs out of the corner of her mouth.  More.  I peel and she eats until they are all gone.  Even then she looks at my hands to see if I might still have one more section for her.  It takes a couple of times of telling her that they are all gone and showing her my empty hands before she is satisfied that she has eaten the last of the oranges.

We walk down the hall to look out the window.  Beyond the wooden privacy fence we can see the woods.  "I love the woods," she says.  She smiles and for a moment she remembers.  I don't think she remembers her woods, but she still knows that she loves the woods and nature.  It is a peaceful moment.  As we turn to walk back down the hall she asks,"Where are we?"  I tell her she is at the nursing home and it is where she lives. "I live here?"  She is amazed, but then sees her bed and her room and she remembers them.

Mother gets into bed by putting her forehead down on the bed first then crawls in on her knees and  finally flops over onto her side.  It looks awkward, but she makes it every time.  Now she wants to be covered again, and we go through the ritual of the back rub and the singing.  One song makes her sad, so I find a happy song to sing and just as quickly as she was sad, she is happy again.  Lassie Come Home is on the TV, and Mother starts calling for Lassie over and over saying how much she loves Lassie.  But Mother never even liked dogs.  Not even a little. Something about the story pulls at her heart even now.

Her eyes begin to flutter, and she is ready for a nap.  I kiss her and tell her I will be back later.  Telling her I will be back tomorrow seems impossible for her, so I tell her I will see her later, and she is satisfied.  More kisses.  More tucking her in as she cuddles and chews on her new stuffed animal.  She smiles the drifty smile of coming sleep.  See you later alligator.  This time she doesn't answer, and I make my way down the hall and toward home.

Steal Away

There is a new normal for our visits with Mother.  We are learning to tolerate more aberrant behavior as her mind becomes more scrambled and her behavior becomes more unpredictable.  It amazes me that her behavior, which I would have found so horrifying a few years ago, has become just a blip on the screen during my visits.

Yesterday was a good day.  Mother was up and looking out the window, so I asked if she wanted to go outside.  She did!  This is the first time in a while that she was willing to go out and get some fresh air.  I walked with her arm and arm down the sidewalk through the fenced area to the bench where we could see trees and sky.  As we walked, she turned to me and said, "We are a newlywed couple just strolling along."  When I walk with her I always have her grab my arm because she is somewhat unsteady on her feet, but yesterday she was hustling along as fast as her little shuffle could take her.  We sat on the bench for a bit and looked at the thunderheads building up.  She was enthralled with the big, bright clouds and shouted and pointed.  Then just as suddenly, she said, "Can I look down your dress?"  She pulled at my neckline.  I told her no, that it wasn't polite.  She turned away and asked again and pulled at my clothing.  The third time, she asked and said, "Please, please, please, please, please!"  Not only is that bizarre behavior, but it was something I now take in stride because I know she doesn't know what she is saying.  I distracted her with the clouds.  She said, " I will just steal away."  We sang Steal Away to Jesus her voice soft and sweet as she watched my mouth to see what the words were.

A visit so horrifying and so sweet at the same time.  I watched her look at the clouds so innocently, yet I cringed at her pulling at my clothing like some old letch.  How can her mind be both?  How can she jump so quickly from wanting to look down my dress to singing Steal Away to Jesus?  Maybe more horrifying is that that behavior is possible for any of us when disease strips away our inhibitions.  We cringe not just because the behavior is so strange, but deep down we must admit that it is inherent in us all.  Mother, any person with Alzheimer's, shows us what our primitive selves are like.  The hopeful part is that no matter how base and ugly some of what we do is, we still have some part that can steal away and sing.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Christmas is truly celebrated at a nursing home.  There are beautifully decorated trees everywhere, all kinds of Santas and Nativity scenes, and most of all there is music.  So many groups come in to perform for the residents, and their musical gifts make the season all the brighter.

Mother loves the music, and she loves to "dance" to it. Her dancing consists mostly of swaying and wiggling her hips. Once in a while she will try a twirl, but that usually leads to her yelling "whoa Nelly!" and having to sit again because she made herself dizzy.

Last week she was very emotional.  A local high school show choir came to sing.  Mother cried loudly through most of the performance.  Her face turned red, the tears flowed, she chewed up her tissue, and she was just beside herself with emotion.  All of those young people singing just swamped her emotional capabilities, but she loved it.  Of course she thought the boys were her grandsons and tried to call out to them.  Those young men were so kind to come to her and hold her hand for a moment.  What amazed me was her ability to collect herself after the program and thank the director for coming to sing.  For that brief second her manners showed through all of her emotion. 

Today I sat with Mother and some of the other residents as they listened to a man play his keyboard and sing.  As I looked at these residents, so diminished from who they once were, their faces beamed, and they did their best to sing along to Away in a Manger and Rockin around the Christmas Tree and Jingle Bells.  They sat together and held hands bringing comfort to each other, and all the while Mother danced around them and was happy.  I think I know why the angels were sent to Bethlehem to sing good news.  Music is the language that reaches us most deeply, and even in the depths of dementia one can sing and rejoice and be happy.  If just for a moment, we can have love and joy.