One of the saddest things to witness is the slow erosion of a loved one's mind. This is what we are going through with my mother, and the only thing worse than the decline itself is the toll it takes on us as her caretakers. She does not have anything more than a low grade dementia, but that is enough to be torturous if you are around her all day.
My mother was a career woman before the term was coined, starting out as an RN in 1948. She earned Masters from Columbia and had a fine 50-year career. Over the years she was a nurse, professor, state official, and health care administrator. I never heard a friend or colleague say anything that hinted that she was even close to average or below. She lived to work, and retired at age 72. By this time she had lost a step, and it manifested itself in somewhat benign things. The house, for example, was a disaster. All her energy was saved for work. Ann and I moved in with her 3 years later after we were married. Her proclivities were manageable back then, especially since she wintered with my late brother half the year in Texas. We used that absence to clean and renovate the house, which she curiously did not acknowledge.
Five years later, she is with us full time, and her typical state is meandering about as if she is looking for a misplaced eyeglass case. She no longer just grasps for the word-she'll sputter as if we are playing charades at times. She'll wonder aloud if it cold out all day, forget her grand children's names, or look for a picture frame or coat that has not been in a particular spot since the 90's. She's also painfully oblivious to what is going on under her nose. Last week, when Ann was alone and dealing with a situation with three sick toddlers that looked more like an ER than a romper room, my mother burst in and blurted out "DANA REEVES DIED!" On her worse days, she has been known to ask my oldest brother if he's met my wife, or mistake a shadowy corner for a house guest. She has also become a caricature of her former self in some ways, obsessed with getting the mail before we do, which has almost caused us to pay a mortgage on a rental property late on two occasions. In a typical household, this can mostly be glossed over, but we are atypical. We run a business out of this home and there are three toddlers about below the age of 4 here. And they don't mix well with cutlery laying about, letter openers, and doors left ajar. She has become our 4th child.
Last week, my mother's penchant for saving things caught up with her and she ate food that should have been thrown out. She became sick, most likely food poisoning, and she couldn't make the bathroom in that state. We were already on the sleep deprivation program with the children having colds, so we have been worn ragged. Typically, my oldest brother has Mom up to his house two days a week, but he cannot have her there sick- his immunity is compromised by chemo. My remaining brother, who lives out of state, has never contributed in any meaningful way.
There is no moral to the story. I have no conclusion to draw or insight to offer. The only thing to state is that there are times that we all go through that are tough, and those times force us to make plans we would not otherwise consider. In our case, we need to educate ourselves on assisted living or home health aides. This can't go on forever, because we have not just my mother's well being to consider, but that of ourselves and our children. I know there are many people out there in similar situations, so if you run into one of them and they vent, give them room. You might be helping them keep their sanity.
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