When I'm 87

There's nothing like great grandchildren to brighten my mother's life! In celebration of her 87th birthday, I surprised her with a visit to my nephew Patrick's house. His five young children love their great grandmother and always make her feel so special by welcoming her when she visits. Patrick's brother Mickey and his wife and two daughters joined us as well. Mom got lots of hugs, homemade cards, and plenty of attention. The visit was short but sweet and on the ride home she exclaimed, "Well, that certainly was a very enjoyable day, wasn't it?"

I wonder what she will be like a year from now. As much as I wanted to get more family together for this yesterday, I didn't have much success. Her grandchildren are young parents and lead busy lives. I get how hard it is to make the sacrifice of our precious time in the midst of it all. A part of me is sad though. Sad that Mom doesn't rate high on her extended family's priority list. Next year, she may not remember many of them. Next year, I won't try to have any kind of celebration for her.

In a few days, I will be 60 years old. If God grants me long life, one day I will be 87. Will the people I have loved and served and lived life with feel moved to honor me or will they forget me?

I'm grateful we found The Wellstone House for Mom to live in. She's around people all day. She likes it there. I imagine myself one day being housed like that. Giving up all my belongings, reduced to a bedroom, a small wardrobe, tv, rocking chair, yarn, crochet hooks, and word search books. Reduced to waiting for people to come visit. Aging seems like a cruel joke life plays on us. Mom didn't see assisted living in her future. Thank you, Alzheimer's. In reality, even if I could have taken care of her, she would have been reduced to a bedroom full of minimal stuff.

Days like yesterday help I think. Mom felt special. I knew it was a good thing to do for her. It wasn't exactly what I had wished for, but I knew there wasn't much hope for getting what I wished for anyway! And as 5-year old Ava told us recently, "A wish is something you probably won't get. A hope is something you probably will." Dare I hope to be cherished when I'm 87?




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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States

Mom's Happiness

The sight of Ava and Anna running to give my mother a hug always elicits a huge smile on my face and deep gratitude in my heart. "Mamie!" they say and fling their little arms around her neck. They pause to give her a smooch on her lips before they let go and explore the latest crocheted creations on her window sill. In those moments, I wonder if their absence in her life during her six months at Peaceful Harvest factored into her unhappiness there. She saw very little of them during that time. I know she missed them.

It gives me pause as I contemplate how seeing my mother happy comforts me. When did I take on the responsibility for her happiness, I wonder? Was it when I was 17 after that fateful day when Mom was traumatized by her two twenty-something adult children when they verbally attacked her? That day did change her and me, for sure. I became protective and motherly toward her. She began to rely on me for emotional strength. But she did have Dad so I wasn't concerned about Mom's happiness quotient.

After Dad passed away in 1994, Mom had other family members who needed her, some lived with her off and on. I saw her often, but didn't have to take care of her. Then she moved in with us in 2003. Everything changed. I went out of my way to help her feel lovable, accepted, loved. At times it made no difference, especially in the first year when she struggled with insecurities, feeling she was in our way. It seemed a weekly occurrence talking her down from emotional meltdowns. I used to say, "Mom, you are not in the way. It is great that you are right here, across the driveway, not 2-1/2 hours away."

Over time, I longed for her to just be happy. In moments of exasperation I said, "Mom, only you can make yourself happy, I can't." But I always suspected I could do more to make her happy. If only I would spend evenings with her playing dominos or board games. Perhaps then she would be happy. Or if only I would be more interested in some of her favorite pastimes, paint a picture with her, learn to crochet--we could do those things together. But I never did any of those things--just a bunch of "if-only" regrets lingered and, at times festered.

Her six-month stay in Charlestown this year brought those longings for her to be happy to a new level and revealed a darker side of myself. At times, perhaps I was downright angry with her. "I wish you would embrace this new phase of your life, Mom," I said more than once when she would have nothing but complaints. I understand better now why she couldn't. She needs to feel loved and accepted. That's what Wellstone House does for her. Every time I visit, she is content, has no complaints, enjoys the people she lives with and feels loved by each and every staff person. Getting hugs and kisses from two little great granddaughters--probably the best medicine there is!

We both have been set free to enjoy and embrace the present. It feels good.



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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States

No More Debit Card

"So Mom, now that you are living here at Wellstone House and I'm keeping track of your checking account, I was thinking it might be better for you to have cash rather than using your debit card. What do you think?"

"I'd like that much better. I never have cash any more," she said.

I pulled her wallet out of her purse, quickly found her debit card wrapped in her latest receipt from the $65 Ben Franklin's field trip a few days earlier and stuffed it into my jacket pocket. Mom watched me put the two ten dollar bills into the outside zipper section of her wallet. She expressed relief at not having to deal with her debit card any more.

When I saw the charge in her bank account, I knew it was time to find some way to keep her spending down. She had purchased things she didn't need--a $10 magazine; a short-sleeve summer top with shiny, metallic dots; a "Pink Pig" punchneedle embroidery kit which she doesn't do; an "itty bitty baby" clothes crochet book which she already has; among other things.

It turned out I had endured needless anxiety anticipating the inevitable day when I would have to take her debit card away. What a relief!



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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States

Surprise Visit

Mom brightened with a broad, toothless grin at the unexpected sight of me waltzing into her room Wednesday morning with my afghan crochet project in hand. A quilling book sat open on her plastic adjustable side table she had purchased from a TV ad a few years ago. I settled into her comfortable platform rocking chair. "This is a nice surprise!" she said.

As I pulled out my afghan and crochet hook, I explained I had an hour between my doctor's appointment and my haircut, so I decided to spend it with her. Mom studied the open page in her quilling book. "This looks easy enough. I think I'll make this one." Miniature pumpkin earrings with googly eyes popping out on minuscule springs dangled from her ears. She found them unopened in her bed stand drawer with no idea where they came from. That drawer was empty the day we moved her in.

Much to my surprise, I enjoyed sitting with Mom. It was quiet and relaxing. The owner stopped in to introduce himself. The director, Amy, came in to tell Mom the plan to get the doctor-ordered blood work done. When Amy saw Mom working on her quilling, she stooped down to take a closer look. She seemed genuinely interested in this unusual craft. The whole experience was easy going, relaxing, and left me with a sense of what life there is like for Mom.




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Stress-Induced Dermatitis?

Mom saw a dermatologist yesterday, her third doctor appointment in the two weeks since she moved to Wellstone House! One more to go on Monday afternoon.

While living at Peaceful Harvest in Charlestown, Mom developed a skin condition. She had scabby sores on her shoulders and face that she constantly picked at, making them bleed. It began shortly after she moved on March 28th and blossomed to the point that she looked positively diseased. In late July we took her sister Flossie, visiting from Florida, to see Mom. We greeted Mom where she was sitting in the living room and I gasped at how bad her skin had gotten since we had seen her seven days earlier; red scabby sores covered her face. Flossie was afraid she might be contagious, but we had been assured no one else in the place had anything like it.

That day, I insisted that she be seen right away. One sore just above her left eyebrow looked red, puffy, and was warm to the touch. It was no doubt infected. Within a couple of days, Mom was on an antibiotic and had an appointment with a dermatologist in Keene who prescribed a cortisone cream to be applied 4 times a day and basically that was all that was done for her. I was told it was stress-induced dermatitis.

This whole episode underscored my frustration at being two hours away from Mom, unable to take her to doctor appointments and really know all that was going on. It wasn't about being in control; it was about being there for Mom, being an advocate, talking with her doctors face to face. I had abdicated her care to the Peaceful Harvest staff, people who were likely competent enough to handle it yet not invested in my mother's care like I was.

That visit in July was probably the beginning of the reservations that began to swell up inside of me twisting my emotions into knots, unsure of how to solve the dilemma. I tried to envision moving her back to her apartment over our garage. That wouldn't work. She wasn't safe up there alone any more. I saw our office being transformed back into her bedroom and her living with us 24/7 and knew my sanity was at stake, as well as my marriage. I began to pray that Mom would simply settle in and make the most of her new season of life.

I'm so thankful we found a good solution and it feels wonderful to accompany her to her doctor appointments, stop in and see her whenever I wish, and have her nearby. Her skin condition has calmed down. The dermatologist she saw yesterday told me Alzheimer patients will often pick at their skin and cause sores. He prescribed a new topical cream and insisted she be showered daily with Oil of Olay body wash until he sees her again in three weeks. If we can stop her skin from feeling itchy, she may stop causing scabby sores that she can't resist picking at. Let's hope!


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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States

A New Season

Yesterday was the first sunny day since moving Mom into Wellstone House. I heard this weekend was supposed to be peak foliage in New Hampshire, and with rain in the forecast, we decided to take Mom on a foliage ride. Buck had scoped out a 2-hour ride through Deerfield, Northwood, Pittsfield and back through Rochester.

"My mother was crazy for foliage rides," said Mom from the front passenger seat.

"I remember those rides," I said. In truth, I think I remember them because of the small black and white images in Mom's box of pictures of Mom and Gram standing beside our 1954 Studebaker at a rest area we stopped at for a picnic lunch. Dad didn't leave the house without his Polaroid instant camera. And lunch was likely a loaf of Wonder bread, a package of veal loaf to slap between two slices of bread, some Wise potato chips and grape soda. At least that's what I remember of the many roadside picnic lunches from my childhood.

Mom exclaimed at the beautiful colors. "I've never seen trees look like this!" After Buck asked a couple of clarifying questions, she meant the trees we saw that were half red and half green. When Buck wondered if the ride was getting too long, Mom piped up, "Nope. I'm just along for the ride and I love it!"

From the back seat, I could sense she is happier than she's been in a very long time. I suspect even happier than when she lived over our garage. I know that things that used to annoy the heck out of me now endear her to me. How does that happen? In fact, I find myself more present with her now, whereas I used to be miles away in my thoughts during our numerous outings for doctor appointments, grocery shopping, or trips to Walmart. I resented her intrusion into my thoughts with inane, incessant comments about the stupid trees. I would think, "If she comments on one more tall tree, I'll scream!" Now, I'm searching for trees to point out to her!

It seems being a caretaker sucks the life out of relationship. Now that I'm not her caretaker, we are finding new life as mother and daughter. I'm still here to protect her and oversee her care without the daily grind of it all. I just feel blessed! It's a new season.


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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States

Church

Mom is settling in nicely at The Wellstone House. I love that she is close by. I love that I am in control of her doctor appointments. She told her primary care doctor the other day, once again, "I'm so glad God gave me Donna. What would I do without her!"

Because Mom enjoyed going to church every Sunday during the 5-1/2 months she lived in Charlestown, I had hoped to find a way to get her to church now that she is living in Raymond. She doesn't like my church because we don't sing the old, traditional 4-part harmony hymns; and the music is too loud. So we visited the Raymond Methodist Church this past Sunday. I love our church, Manchester Christian Church, and yet it was fun to visit an old traditional Methodist Church with the floor-to-ceiling pipe organ, the wooden pews with the velvet covered seat pads and the song numbers posted on the display board.

As we sat listening to the organ music before the service began, my thoughts drifted to my earliest church memory--attending the Claremont Methodist Church when I was four. I have never forgotten the big maroon velvet armchair I sat in for a pre-school Sunday school class where a nice lady introduced the three or four of us to the idea of God's love. I'm not sure, but I think they had used the choir room as a make-shift nursery classroom. Imagine Lily Tomlin as Edith Ann in the big rocking chair! I still remember caressing the soft texture as I sat there and believed God lived in that church!

Mom felt at home. "I've gone to the Methodist Church since I was a little girl. I'm so happy to be here and to sing the old songs," she said to the minister. Much to my surprise, there were three people there who Mom knew from the nine years of going to the Raymond Senior Center. They flocked to her with warm greetings. Mom had no idea who they were.

When we left, I tried to jog her memory of downtown Raymond by driving past the senior center, pointing out the bank, the common, the luncheonette where she used to order a grilled cheese or a plain hot dog. "Do you remember this, Mom?"

"No, I really don't remember going to the senior center, Donna."

A nice lady who lives close to The Wellstone House offered to give Mom rides to church. Mission accomplished! Thank you God!




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Location:Gile Rd,Nottingham,United States