Carpe The Hell Out Of The Diem.

This post is not about my new dog, Jack.

Sometimes, when I am on my way over to see my mother, my stomach feels queasy with anxiety because I start playing the worry tape in my brain: How long can this go on? What if the caregivers quit? What will it be like later on when she can’t walk, can’t talk? What if her money runs out?

Then I speak to myself firmly: No. Stop it. Everything is fine right now. We’re luckier than most. Don’t borrow trouble. Take 10 slow breaths. There you go.

But, how long can this go on? What if the caregivers quit?

And so on.

And yet, when I arrive at the house and see my mother, it’s impossible to feel queasy and worried. Most of the time, she is cheerful and excited about every little thing.

The lawn is filled with weeds that happen to be blooming? Mom is thrilled. “Look at those sweet flowers! They weren’t here yesterday! We can grow anything in this soil!”

We go to the hardware store to buy a tool? Mom becomes giddy with excitement. “This place has everything! There is nowhere else in town where you can buy this!”

We go to the Tastee Diner for lunch? Her enthusiasm knows no bounds. “This place has the best eggs in town! And they are open all night! You never know who you will see in here!”

She carpes the hell out of every diem.

And I feel happy, because she is happy.

But underneath there is a layer of poignancy, a sharp awareness that this gift she now has of living exactly in the moment comes at a terrible cost. Her once brilliant brain, now slowly being strangled by Alzheimer’s Disease, struggles to understand the simplest routines. It invents scenarios to explain where she is and why her husband is not there. Sometimes it leads her to believe she is a young girl engaged to my nephew, or her cat is starving to death, or the caregivers are stealing her money, or her small daughters have disappeared and why won’t someone help her find them?

So, while living in the moment sometimes means being thrilled there are dandelions in the lawn, it can also mean being caught up in terrible grief about an imagined tragedy.

I don’t know how to wrap this up. I’m not even sure why I started writing it, except that Swistle wrote a post this morning that made me think about my mother.

Meh. I’ll see if I can wrap it up tomorrow. Right now I need to go take my…wait for it…NEW DOG for a walk.

 

Comments

[Rodgerst]

Miz S., I admire your strength and pray that you continue to talk yourself calmly out of the moments of anxiety. I know all too well your pain as I was a home health aide (caregiver) for years. Knowing me as you do, you know I get attached and I go through all the emotions the families go through daily. Please let me know if you need anything...even if it's just a listening ear to a rant! Love ya lots! T-money

[Pam L]

I know the post was not about your dog, but how fortunate is the timing for a new dog now so you too can live in the moment and focus on him sometimes.

I also know it doesn't necessarily help to tell you that I have almost the same stories about my Dad with the missing children and the stolen money (wallet for him-one time he told the neighbors who for some reason actually called the police instead of my sister, which was the plan for such emergencies).

All I can tell you is what you already know. It is an insidious disease that takes your loved ones from you long before they are gone. But, I also learned, as you are, to cherish the moments when they are happy and know who you are. We learned not to argue with or correct my Dad because, as my brother-in-law said "It must suck to be wrong all the time"

So, of course there is no advice, just telling you that are the best daughter you can be to her and that's all you can do. The rest gets worked out later.

[Heidi]

If anything is worthy of a "heart event", it's the experience you're going through right now. (Once is plenty, however - let's not push it, hmm?) I'm happy for the timing of Jack joining your family.

[Cathy S.]

Oh, Ms. S. I am so very sorry. I have a friend who is going through this with her mom as well. I am walking through it with her but cannot completely understand the depths of your grief only that it truly sucks. I am very happy about Jack and hope that he provides some distraction for you. You and yours are in my prayers.

[Maggie]

As I noted over on swistle's blog, my grandmother had Alzheimer's when I was a teenager and even at that age I realized what a horrible, unfair disease it is. I am hoping like hell my mother doesn't get it because the drift away is heart wrenching. I hope I don't get it because the thought of forgetting my children is nearly unbearable. Stupid, shitty disease.

[Kathy]

OH my God you have captured the anxiety perfectly. My mother broke her hip a month ago, but is out of rehab ON A WALKER, back in her (now quite dangerous) three-story house, dragging her feet about going to a lovely independent living apartment she can well afford at the Masonic Village. All her jewelry is in a Rubbermaid box at my house 250 miles away because she's afraid the caregivers will take it. What if she falls again? What if she won't fill out the paperwork? What if she decides not to go? GAAAHHHHHH It was nice to read this and not feel so alone. Thank you. I sympathize and am also glad you have the new dog to distract you from time to time.

[Swistle]

I love "She carpes the hell out of every diem." And my throat hurts from reading about the flip side of that.

[Vicki]

Mary, Mary.

[Melinda]

I love that you have the wherewithal to talk yourself out of your tree as you feel the anxiety growing on your way over. There is something so difficult about losing a parent piece by piece. I am glad you can find some solace in it somewhere. Wishing you strength and peace and long walks with your awesome floppy-eared buddy.

[Margaret]

This post reminded me of how much we had to carpe diem with Patt and how poignantly beautiful it was. Our last few years together were painful, joyous, terrifying and unforgettable. I'm sure I don't have to explain that to you. xoxo

[robin andrea]

I hear a change in my mother's voice and perceptions lately. She's going to be 89 in September, and I feel her sensing her own mortality. Her memory is changing, and she's repeating herself within the same five minutes of a conversation. I read your words, and I am learning to carpe the hell of of the diem.

[Margaret]

May the Lord give you the strength and wisdom that you need.

[Anne]

I have a black dog named Jack. And a demented mom, too.

[Raymond]

Miz S,
On Facebook you said blogs were "passe".
They never will be as long as people write like you. This was so much more delicious than a FB soundbite.

And, you are spot on in your feelings and and experiences ... I was trying not to yell, "Yes, Yes, HELL YES!" as I read it.
Been there and will be there probably one more time out there in the future.
Hang in there awesome girl.

[Paula]

Mary, I'm sorry this is happening. I lost my mom in October and any way you slice it , it's a shit sandwich. I hate those...

Hey, my old dogs name is Jack.

[kirs (lowercase)]

blogs are never passe and never will be. facebook can no take their place. i am sorry about your mom and happy about your dog.. has your mom met him yet?