In the meantime ...

Mom continues to decline. She weighs less than 100 pounds, down about 10 pounds from when she was admitted to this latest facility in March. Staff is doing everything they possibly can to make Mom eat, but she is just not interested.
This also is part of the last stages of Alzheimer's. The Alzheimer's victim can't tell you if they're hungry because they no longer recognize the feeling of hunger. Sometimes, they even forget how to swallow. But eventually, if something else doesn't happen to their bodies, they starve to death. And that's what is happening to Mom. Her body is shutting down. The nurses tell me she would rather feed her stuffed animal that she constantly carries than eat herself.
I can't stand to see her like this. Although I have been battling a wicked flu bug, I haven't seen Mom in almost a month. And I'm not sure I want to. I don't want to spend the rest of my life remembering Mom like she is now. I want to remember her with a big smile on her face, outside in the sun snipping roses and bitching about the thorns while at the same time taking deep whiffs of the roses' scents. I want to remember her dancing in the kitchen when she thought something was funny. I want to remember her carving our Thanksgiving turkey and proudly taking it to the table where candlelight glimmered against our good china. I want to cherish and keep all those memories close to my heart.
Not the memory of some old woman I don't know who spends all her time in a wheelchair and doesn't know who I am. My last memory of my Grandma Dora, Mom's mother, is in a hospital bed in a nursing home saying she peed her pants. She didn't know Mom or me and then she died. I don't want that memory to be my last one of Mom. It's bad enough to remember Mom being wheeled out of the house and into an ambulance on a dark, stormy night. It's bad enough seeing her in a nursing home. I call and talk to nurses about how Mom is doing, and they call me if something happens. For now, that's good enough.
Surprisingly, Martha visits Mom more often than she ever has. I don't understand why, but at least she's stepping up to the plate.
Not only do I have to deal with Mom, I have to deal with running out of money. I am still not employed and my farm income is just about gone. I know God has a plan - I just wish He'd let me in on it! I feel like I'm treading water and have no real direction.
And I pray daily that God takes Mom in her sleep, that He comes into her room, cradles her in His Arms, and takes her Home. I pray this not for myself, but because I know Mom would be happier.

The Journey Continues

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.

Battlefields

Ever since Mom became a resident of the nursing home in Battle Ground, I've had a fight on my hands.
And about stupid, silly, meaningless things, but important to my Mom.
I requested Mom have Ensure, a dietary supplement added to her meals. After requesting this three or four times or maybe even more, even having the dietician making note of my requests, I still had to fight the aides and the nurse on duty about giving Mom an Ensure with her lunch and dinner. Finally, they granted my numerous requests.
Then they couldn't figure out why Mom wasn't eating a very good lunch. I requested a sandwich and soup for Mom's lunch and after numerous requests, they began giving her what she wanted and she began eating very well.
Then it was getting Mom's fingernails trimmed and cleaned. They were so awful, I just barely could bring myself to touch her hands.
Mom grew attached to a stuffed bunny that I had given her years before. She took that bunny everywhere, talked to it, petting it, letting it rest on her lap. Then one day, the bunny disappeared. The staff said they looked high and low and could not locate the bunny. My sister finally bought Mom a new one and Mom seems satisfied with it.
The next battle was about Mom getting bathed. Their normal schedule is twice a week, so I asked Hospice to come in to give Mom an additional bath. The nursing home staff stopped bathing Mom, saying Hospice took over. What a bunch of BS.
I met with three of the nursing home staff yesterday, and, through my tears, after trying to explain to them how difficult it is just coming to see Mom, how emotionally draining it is to see her now, that I was just plain tired of fighting them about stupid things. They brought in her chart and said they would fix things.
But, when lunch was served, just a few minutes later, the cook fixed Mom a full meal. Again, I requested soup and a sandwich, after the cook explained she was new and didn't know. Ya, right. If I hadn't been there, Mom wouldn't have eaten. How many times had that happened?
As I walked out of the nursing home, after helping feed Mom her lunch, I felt so defeated and discouraged. How many people in that place suffer because no one advocates for them? What would happen if I didn't see Mom.
I shudder to think. But I know my God is watching her and will keep her safe. And He will give me the courage and strength to take care of my Mom.

True Friends

During this journey with Mom, I'm sure finding out who my friends really are.
I've had friends give me turkeys for Thanksgiving when I couldn't afford one. I've had friends text me just to see how I'm doing and if my text sounds too sad, they call me. Friends will drop whatever they're doing just to let me cry on their shoulders, at all times of the day and night. On the other hand, I've seemed to drive away some people who I thought were friends and who I am now finding aren't really.
One friend in particular just astounded me with her behavior.
I was having a very difficult time on New Year's Eve. I tried watching television, catching a favorite movie, tried crocheting on a wedding gift I'm trying to get done before April, I tried everything and just couldn't shake a lonely, sad feeling.
I called one friend and we talked for quite a while. As I got off the phone, I realized I hadn't heard from a friend at Christmas, so I decided to call her. It was only 8 p.m. on New Year's Eve, and although I usually don't call people that late, I thought since most people stay up late, it would be okay to bend the rule just once.
What a big mistake, because I felt worse after talking to this person than I did before the call.
My friend answered the phone only after the answering machine picked up my call. She said she and her family were doing things and so she couldn't talk long. She asked how I was doing and I responded that I was having sad days and sadder days. She asked if I had found a job yet and I answered no, but I thought, what does she expect? She started talking about her son, and asked if she had told me that he had been the editor of his college paper. I had not heard this story and wondered why she chose this moment to tell me. She said the paper hired him as a "man on the street," whatever that means, and her son had worked his way up to editor and had to go through several interviews to get the position. I said good for him or something to that effect, still wondering why she chose to tell me at this particular time. Someone said something to her and she cut our conversation short, leaving me feeling like a real failure because I am no longer an editor of a paper, or even a writer for that matter, and because I was looking for someone to get me out of the sad feeling I was experiencing. As I hung up, I knew I would never attempt to contact her again.
I have not known this person for very long and our relationship has been a bit shaky. As Mom became more and more ill, this friend hasn't shown any sympathy or empathy. I try not to bother my friends too much with this part of my life, but sometimes I just need to talk and I really need support if I do call on friends. Most of the people I call friends understand this, but this so-called friend obviously does not.
God is so good to me, though. A couple of days later, I was surprised by a friend in Minnesota I had not talked to in years. She said she really missed me and filled our conversation with so many compliments, I left the phone call feeling wonderful. What a blessing.
It takes a lot for me to give up on a person, to not have them in my circle of friends, but I've given up on at least one friendship and there might be more down the road. Although I'm not crazy about this time in my life, God keeps teaching me very valuable lessons. Praise the Lord!

Taking a break

On my way to see Mom in Battle Ground yesterday, a little more than an 80-mile trip, I turned around. I just couldn't face seeing Mom.
Every time I see Mom, she seems to be worse. Her eyes are blank and she talks, but it really isn't to me. I have seen Mom for perhaps a second and then she's gone again. Those brief moments are few and far between and lately, not at all. She holds her white bunny, pets it and talks to it, and observes the world around her.
When I visit Mom, I usually go about noon so I can help her eat. I fought with that nursing home about feeding her soup and a sandwich at noon for weeks and finally they are serving her what she really likes for lunch. I didn't think it was that big of a deal to get her soup and a sandwich, but it turned into a battle that I got really tired of fighting. Another battle was getting her an Ensure to drink at lunch. And getting them to take Mom for a short walk instead of having her in a wheelchair all the time. I guess I'm tired of fighting too.
When I got home yesterday, I called a friend and she suggested I take a break. And, when I decide to go back, she suggested I do something fun such as go out to lunch or go shopping, making it more of a fun trip instead of something I feel obligated to do.
And that's the thing. I do feel obligated to see Mom. I want to make sure she is doing okay. And because I'm not her primary caregiver any longer, I feel like I still need to take care of her in some way, like Mom always took care of me.
But I am slowly realizing that I need to take care of myself too. I must find a job and a new place to live. I must take care of my kids, especially my new ones. I must organize the Walk to End Alzheimer's so it's the best walk in Western Washington. I must take care of my own health.
Mom is already gone from me. As much as I would like to think she still knows me, she really doesn't. She probably thinks that I'm just someone who shows up once in a while to visit with her. I really feel like Mom has already left me. And when the time comes for her to leave this Earth, I will feel relieved. She will be so much happier in Heaven. I will be happy knowing she is in the Arms of God.

It Just Keeps Getting Better

Just when I am beginning to deal with my grief over Mom being in a nursing home, I got hit over the head again.
Friday morning during my weekly counseling session, I received a call from a man with Adult Protective Services. He said someone had reported that I was over medicating Mom so she would sleep all the time and that I was giving her pain medication and I was abusing her. He cannot reveal the name of my accuser and he said he had already interviewed Mom down in Battle Ground.
I was so shocked I could barely understand why anyone would do this. The man asked me for a copy of the Power of Attorney and he wanted to see all the prescription medications Mom had while she was in my care.
Since I took the caregiver classes, I am well aware that all caregivers are obligated to report any signs of abuse. If a caregiver doesn't report abuse, the caregiver can be fined or jailed.
But this hit me like a ton of bricks. Who would do such a thing to me, especially if they had any inkling of what I am going through with Mom in that nursing home. I feel guilty enough as it is because I think I could have done more, should have done more. But for someone to actually believe that I was abusing my Mom is just unbelievably hurtful.
Immediately after my counseling session, I gathered up what the man had requested and drove to the Kelso DHSH office. He was very nice and talked to me very respectfully. He said he was closing the case because the charges were bogus. He said the file will be put away and after two years will be destroyed. But he also said the police also were contacted and I may get a call from them. He said if the police calls, just to have them call him and will tell them what happened.
Thank God my counselor was here with me and she stayed until I calmed down. She can't figure it out either. I called our caregiver who had worked with Mom and asked her if she had reported me and she denied it and could not think of who would do this to me.
I was in a kind of daze all day. I was just so shocked.
Some people say the person who reported me was only thinking of Mom. I disagree. I think it was a vindictive act against me and the person wanted to cause me hurt in some way.
In the midst of all this, I know the truth and the truth is that I cared for Mom for two years the best way I knew how. I can take comfort in knowing that. And if someone doesn't believe it, I've got plenty of support.
And best of all, God knows the truth. He's the only one I must worry about because He's the only One I must answer to.

Mom's Legacy

Christmas is my favorite time of year. The tree, lights, music, movies, all fill my heart with such joy and thankfulness, that my cup usually runs over.
But not this year. This year, my heart is filled with grief because I lost my Mom again.
Three weeks ago today, I watched her being wheeled into an ambulance in the pouring rain, clutching her bunny, wrapped in blankets against the wet and cold. I knew she would never return home and grief clutched my heart.
I knew I couldn't take care of her, keep her safe, watch her day and night. My head could wrap around all this, but my heart just can't.
I feel her presence everywhere in this house. It's like she left a part of herself here. Today, I finally went into her bedroom. Before today, I just walked in to get something and walked right back out. But today, I got her coats off the coat rack and hung them up in her closet. Then I took her quilt off her bed, then her blankets and finally her sheets and I washed the sheets.
I found a lot of old photo albums, too, and went through a couple until I just couldn't any longer. Memories of being raised on the farm near Colfax, birthday parties with Jeff and Donny and Marla and Trudy and Lori, as well as Christmas dinners with the family china, silverware, Fostoria glassware, flooded my whole soul and made my missing Mom even worse to the point where I just had to stop.
This is weird because Mom is still in Battle Ground at the Alzheimer's place - I just can't say nursing home. Her physical body is there, but my real Mom is gone. I haven't gone down to see her all week. I've made every excuse I can think of not to make that drive. Not feeling well, frosty slick roads, fog, anything I could think of not to go. I am ashamed of myself for not going, but I hate to see Mom like this.
My head tells me that Mom doesn't know any better, that she doesn't know where she is, that she doesn't know if I visit or not, but my heart knows. I know where she is, that she isn't eating well, that they aren't keeping her as clean as I used to, that they don't stop in the afternoon to give her milk and cookies, her favorite snack. And how I've come to hate this.
And I just can't figure out why God is doing this. Why is He letting Mom be in this awful place? Why isn't He answering my prayer of taking her Home? When I see Him, we are having a very long conversation.
Later on tonight, I will make Mom's bed with clean, crisp sheets, letting the freshness flow through her bedroom, maybe washing part of Mom's scent away.
I feel like I'm on a ship lost at sea, with no direction, no purpose in life. My purpose for so long has been to give Mom everything that she has given me.
A friend reminded me of something the other day. I am Mom's legacy. I am her daughter, her flesh and blood, and I learned everything I know from her. It's a big responsibility to be someone's legacy and to be my Mom's legacy - wow. It made me realize I have a lot to do. I have to carry on all the things she taught me. And although I can't carry them on to any Ousley children, I can share what I've learned with others and I really look forward to that. I look forward to saying, "My Mom taught me how to do that."
Maybe that's what God is waiting for. Maybe He's waiting for me to realize that I have this legacy, this responsibility to share Mom's legacy.
So perhaps instead of grieving, I will begin to share Mom's legacy in any way I can. I will rejoice in all the things Mom has given me over the years.
My head can say that, now I have to convince my heart.