I sat with my mother this afternoon and did something I've never done before (well, I guess I have done it but that was when I was a teenager so it doesn't really count!). I lied to her. Straightforward, bold faced lie. When she asked me if her cat was okay and was everything okay at her house I told her the cat was fine and so was her house. In fact, we haven't seen the cat for several days and yesterday we spent the day packing up her belongings, tearing up her carpets and set her living room couch and chair on the lawn in front of her house with a sign on them that read "Free". They were gone before nightfall. The couch, her couch, the place she sat every day to watch tv, read or visit with her friends and with us now sits in someone else's house while my mother rests comfortably in the Nursing Home fully trusting that we are caring for her things. She doesn't question it. She trusts us. That's the hardest part, her trust.
Intellectually we know we are doing the right thing. I know she won't come home again. Her dementia worsens every day now and it is more clear than ever that she is in the right place. It is evident. We see it. We know it. We believe it. We just are having a little trouble getting our hearts to accept it.
My sister asked me the other day if I thought the dementia patients who are no longer able to speak were screaming in their heads. I don't know if they are, I hope they are not because I know from experience how exhausting that is.
1 comment:
Greetings Bonnie,
I so appreciate what you are doing with this blog. I understand the screaming inside your head thing all too well. My own father, now 84.5 and still in his own home, asked me the other day, "What is John's daughter's name again?" My brother's daughter. My only brother has only one daughter. Jennifer, 19. Dad also from time to time forgets who is connected to whom. My only daughter, Zoe, confused him for a brief moment as to who her mother was. My sister and I are his major caregivers. We love this time and despise it as well. We grieve and celebrate nearly simultaneously, like a rapid-cycle bi-polar roller coaster ride.
Don't stop the writing. Please.
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