The Sound of Silence

I talked with some friends at work today, women friends, strong women. Women who are in similar situations with their mothers or have been there with other family members. I wanted to tell them how it felt when my mother said, "Thank you" when I got her into bed last night. How it got worse, the shame. But I couldn't manage to speak the words out loud so I hid them and struggled with them all day as they tried to force their way to the surface. They finally found their escape and rushed into the comfort of my sister's voice on the phone. She carries my burdens for me.

But we have good news today. There should be an opening in Assisted Living within a month. Maybe sooner. Maybe before the weddings. Maybe between them. The translation of that is that another family will soon suffer the agony of moving their loved one to the next level of care, a Nursing Home or maybe heaven? How do we put that aside and think of ourselves and our desire to return to 'normal'? Is there normal once dementia arrives?

One of my staff members asked me today if I was tired, she said I looked tired. She quickly said she didn't mean to be uncomplimentary seeing as I'm the boss, but she doesn't usually see me look tired like this. I smiled (only a smile, I was afraid if I laughed it would become maniacal and never stop) and told her yeah, I was a little tired.

So I am at home tonight, my husband sound asleep in our room, my grandchildren tucked into bed, my daughter downstairs on the phone and our house is quiet. Not like the quiet of my mother's house, this quiet is a content quiet, a quiet that predicts the preparation for the next day at work, at school, at daycare. The quiet at my mother's house is there because the sound has been stolen. I am terrified of silence.