In Good Hands

Mom is deteriorating. When I go to see her now she is mostly asleep, whether she’s in her wheelchair, her recliner, or her bed. She stares off to the left and I have to get down on eye level to have any hope of her looking at me, even briefly.

When I get there, I touch her shoulder and get down to see her face and I say Hi, Mom quietly. She doesn’t look at me. But her eyes flutter and I wonder if she knows it’s me. I am doubting more and more every time that I go that she knows me at all. She no longer reaches for my face, or holds my hand – except for the grip with her fingers – like a baby will do when something gets close to it’s hand. She’ll hold on then, until you let go, but I think it’s just a reaction – not something she is consciously doing. Hi, Mom, I say again. Will you look at me today? Her eyes flutter but still she doesn’t move her head, or her eyes.

Mom, I say, I’ve had such a crazy week. And I tell her all about it. She never responds, or moves, but I keep searching her face, keep talking, keep trying. She’ll cough every once in awhile and it is guttural – she is definitely aspirating when she eats and drinks because her cough always sounds very wet. Her chest is a mass of bruises and her caregiver Nikki and I wonder why. Maybe she’s scratching herself? Maybe it’s the coughing? Something is causing her chest to have these deep red bruises and we can’t figure it out. Mom’s skin is tissue paper thin, so pretty much any contact with anything will make her bruise.

I am feeding Mom her breakfast today and I can tell it’s oatmeal with peanut butter in it. Trying to get those calories in. I bring her a chocolate donut, which used to be her favorite, but she makes a funny face when I give it to her and I can tell she doesn’t want it. She opens her mouth anytime the spoon gets close to her lips – just like a very young baby. She can still eat, but the swallowing seems to be taking longer. She can still drink through a straw. The entire time I am feeding her she just sits, staring straight ahead. I sigh and I lean in close to give her a hug. She smells like lavender. She’s just had a shower and she’s clean and fresh. Her hair is still damp. Every few weeks I buy her special shampoo, body wash, and lotion. It’s about all I can still do for her. She doesn’t need anything else. She’s got a high necked sweater on today because it’s so cold and she looks cozy and comfortable. I know that they’ll settle her into her recliner as soon as she’s done eating and Mom will doze for the rest of the morning.

I love the way these ladies look after my Mom. I am absolutely assured that when I’m not there they are treating her just like they would their own Mom. They all love her deeply and call her Susie and try to make her smile. Kirstin comes by while I am feeding Mom and gives her some medication. She leans in close and says “I love you” and Mom gives her a huge smile. I am astounded! Mom! I say, pretending to be outraged, how can you give Kirstin a smile and not me?! We both laugh. I tell Nikki that Mom smiled big at Kirstin but not me and she says “yeah she does that to me, too. It pisses me off.” She’s joking of course, and we are both bemused. What is is about Kirstin that Mom likes, I wonder? Maybe just that she sees her almost every day? There is no telling, but I’m glad that someone can still make her smile.

I haven’t been going to see Mom as much. It’s heartbreaking for me to see her sleeping all the time. I know she’s clean and comfortable. I know she’s being well taken care of. I know she doesn’t miss me when I’m not there. I have absolutely no concerns about her standard of care. And because of that, I have started to feel less guilty about how often I make it out there. Because, as much as I hate it, life does go on and I am slowly adjusting to life without my Mom. There is always so much to do every day, and guilt just doesn’t fit in to my life anymore. She’s on my mind every day, and I am absolutely certain that some part of her knows that. What is the point of me sitting there while she sleeps? She doesn’t know I’m there, only I know. So I sit for about thirty minutes, I organize things in her room and I check my phone. But other than that, there’s not much to do, and the guilt now has transferred to all the other stuff that is waiting for me. So I leave. I’ll be back soon I whisper. You’ll be ok? I always ask but she has stopped answering.

Y’all, my Mom is in good hands. I could not ask for more. If you ever have to deal with a loved one that has Alzheimer’s, the very best thing you can do for them is to find a place for them where they are LOVED. Where they are cherished. Where you can let that guilt go, and live your life to the fullest in between visits. I can do this, and I am grateful.