And the journey's not getting any easier.
In fact, it's getting more and more difficult.
Tomorrow, Mother's Day, marks yet another first in my journey since Mom left me to reside in a nursing home. Truthfully, I kept thinking she would come back to me some day and I could continue some how, some way, to care for her. But that didn't happen. In March, she came back up to a Longview nursing facility that is a thousand times better than the previous one.
When we found her a primary care physician because Hospice dropped Mom as a client, the doctor said she was doing physically very well. Her heart's good, lungs are good, circulation seems fine. And all the while I kept thinking, "Damn."
After her doctor's visit, I just couldn't see Mom any more. That sounds horrible, doesn't it? I mean, who doesn't want to see their own Mother?
Me.
Because, Mom isn't my Mom any more. When I look into her eyes, they are just blank. And they didn't used to be blank. My Mom's eyes are very, very blue, and had this Irish spark in them that you could see a mile away.
Sometimes, I didn't want to see that spark because I knew I was in trouble. But most of the time, it was a fun-loving spark that twinkled with delight and mischief.
Not any longer. Mom's eyes are still blue, but they are dull. No life, no spark, no Irish mischief.
How I miss that.
So today, I made myself go up to the nursing home to see Mom and take her some summer shirts to wear since the weather decided to be warm. I also took a little green toy piglet that oinks and walks when turned on.
I waited until after lunch, because I was procrastinating. I washed my hair, couldn't decide what to wear and finally just made myself go out the door and make the 15-minute drive.
When I arrived, Mom was sleeping soundly and I didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful - and so thin.
I talked to one of the nurses who said Mom now weighs 102 pounds, down from 108 pounds last month. The nurse said Mom eats a little and then tries to feed her stuffed animals. Mom is to the point now that she even tries to make her stuffed animals drink the Ensure they give her.
That's part of this insidious disease. How I loathe this Alzheimer's Disease. I HATE what it's doing to my Mom. And I HATE that I can't do a damned thing about it. I just have to sit and watch my Mom, who was one of the strongest women I know, deteriorate into this person who is not familiar to me in the least.
And anyone who reads this may think I am a monster for thinking this, but I wish Mom would die. I just don't understand why God wants her to remain here on Earth declining daily. He and I are going to have a very long conversation about this when I get to see Him.
This is yet another first in the last five months that I have endured. My first birthday without Mom, my sister's first birthday without Mom, the first Easter without Mom and now Mother's Day. Memorial Day will be difficult because Mom and I shared so many trips over to Colfax for that day, carrying pots filled with colorful flowers for our family's graves. On June 8, it will be her 92nd birthday. Not looking forward to that either.
And I don't want to remember my Mom like she is now. I want to remember the fiesty Irish woman who loved to laugh and play jokes and dance around the kitchen and watch John Wayne movies and work in the yard and tend to her garden and carefully groom her roses so she could see their big blooms and smell the roses' individual fragrances. I don't want to remember her as the shriveled old woman, lying in a nursing home bed, not knowing my name or her name and not being able to even talk to me.
I don't know when I'll force myself to make another trip to that place. I guess I better start praying now for God to give me the strength to make it up there again.
