Major changes

I've been putting off writing this because it's very painful and very emotional.
After almost two years of caring for Mom, my sister and I made the decision to put Mom in an Alzheimer's facility. After nearly a week of calling places locally and not-so-local, working with case managers, social workers, facility admissions staff, nurses and other caregivers, we found a facility a little more than 40 miles away from my house, in Battle Ground, Wash. She went to that place on Saturday, Nov. 19. Both Martha and I have taken trips to see her as much as we can. Mom is settling in nicely and seems satisfied as long as she can eat and stay warm and sleep. I really don't think she knows where she is or that she cares where she is.
The decision to place her was such a difficult one, no one can imagine unless you've been through it. At first I felt like such a failure, but with God's help, I am finding that I'm not such a failure after all. I promised Mom that she could stay home, but this damned disease that's name is Alzheimer's, prevented that. How I loathe this disease.
The Battle Ground facility is an okay place - clean, friendly staff - but it makes me so sad when I go there. I am sad for Mom to be reduced to a small little bed shared in a room smaller than her bedroom at home, with a three-drawer dresser, half a closet, and two shelves. There is no making this tiny space "like home." I also get very sad watching the other patients, men with wet pants; another man who had packed all his belongings and told the nurse he had to leave because he bought a vessel and had a lot of work to do on it; Mom's roommate who told the nurse she did not want to go to bed, but fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.
Thanksgiving Day was very difficult. Instead of following our family traditions of cooking the day before and practically all day on Thanksgiving, I ate a quiet breakfast as I watched the Macy's parade, then picked up Martha and went to see Mom. We visited for a while, then went to some friends for dinner. We are so blessed to have them in our lives. They made us feel so special and so loved. On the way home, we saw Christmas lights and I cried because I used to take Mom all over Longview and Kelso and even Woodland to see the lights. She was like a small child, oohing and ahhing as we drove by homes and the small lake and parks adorned with Christmas displays. Not this year.
And I'm sad for losing Mom again. I realized a couple of days ago that I'll never be able to cook her breakfast, make her a sandwich or fix her supper. But I can still bake her cookies and make her cinnamon rolls.
How many more times am I to lose Mom? I lost her once to this disease, watching Mom as little by little she slipped away from me. Now, I've lost her again to this other place. And I know I must lose her one more time when her body gives up its fight to stay alive.
And I must decide what to do with my own life now. I've devoted my life to my Mom for so long, even before I started caring for her, that I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm trying to listen to God to hear what He wants me to do. I know for sure He wants me to stay in the Longview area as long as Mom is here. I've committed to doing the Walk to End Alzheimer's next September for one thing. And I want to fight this disease as much as I can. I don't want anyone else to go through what I've been through with Mom.
Today I drove the more than 80-mile round trip to see Mom. She jabbered to me about insignificant things and then all of a sudden she said, "Sally, you look tired." There was a brief moment of clarity and then it was gone. As I look into her eyes I search for some sort of recognition, some sort of my old Mom there, but there is none. There are just these empty blue eyes looking at me, not registering anything, with no Irish sparkle left, just nothing.
I found a photo of Mom as we celebrated her 80th birthday. She's looking right into the camera, her bright blue eyes full of mischief, waiting for any opportunity to do something extraordinary, if not just the simplest thing. How I miss my Mom in that photo.
But I know she's safe, warm and God is watching over her. Praise the Lord.