We Oughta Get Some Tide

Walking through the aisles of Target, my mom and I read our list of items needed and pulled them off the shelves and into the cart. She likes to push the cart because it relieves her from the embarrassment of walking with a cane. I hold on to the front end so she doesn't push too fast and lose her balance. She doesn't complain like I did when I was little.

"NO! I got this. I don't need your help." I yelled.

She just strolls along. We work as a team.

"I think we need some laundry detergent," Mom reminds me.

"Yeah, I think we have that on the list, don't we?" I ask her, knowing it's holding firm at number three on the white piece of notebook paper she has in her hand.

"Oh ok," she says relieved.

We pace through a few more aisles. She is getting in her only exercise of the day while I am exhausted from teaching all day and cooking dinner and walking the dog.

"We probably need to get some washing powder," Mom says.

There are days when my mom will use a phrase from a long time ago or refer to something in a way I have never hear her do so in my life time and I will suddenly see the disease rearing it's ugly head in the nicest and gentle-ist of ways.

"Ok," I agree. "That's a few rows down here." I point ahead to the front of the store.

Quickly, I grab an outrageously priced gallon of milk from the dairy section. While she peruses the ice cream. She chooses chocolate and we continue on our route toward the cleaning products. We turn down the laundry aisle.

"Oh!" she says loudly, "We oughta get some Tide."

There are other days when the constant repetition of words or questions or phrases grates on my nerves. It frustrates and agitates and I have to continually remind myself that it's not her fault. I have to willfully suppress the desire to say, "yeah, you just said that" or "we already talked about that" because I don't want to hurt her feelings.

"Yep, I was thinking the same thing," I said, hauling a bottle of liquid Tide into the cart.

"Good," Mom sighs loudly.

A Day Out

Mom is so cute. She is going out today with a friend. That never happens. People rarely visit. Nobody comes and picks her up to take her out, except my sister sometimes.

So today, she was out of bed early, which almost never happens. The woman who cuts her hair is coming to get her, taking her to cut her hair and then taking her out for lunch. She is all dressed up in a red sweater that I gave her, probably 15 years ago. She has the scarf on that the hairdresser gave her for Christmas. She doesn't care that it is warm outside. She is wearing her dress shoes. She is clearly excited.

I am nervous about letting her be without us and in the care of someone else. But I am happy for her. She is changing so quickly. The ‪#‎Alzheimers‬ is beginning to take more of her. And so many people who she loves are missing out. Have fun mom.

The LONG ROAD to the Car

Balancing an angel food cake in the crook of my elbow, I picked up another cake carrier with my left hand before slinging my black and white chevron bag filled with birthday gifts over my right shoulder.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yep!" my dad responded.

"Oh no," my mom said. "I need to go to the bathroom first."

Dropping my bag to the floor, I set the cakes gently on the table and ran to the front of the house to grab the dog so she wouldn't run toward the front door when mom came back in to go to the bathroom. If the dog escaped, she would be gone forever.

Mom shuffled into the bathroom while I put the dog on my bed. Suddenly, I heard dad's walker scraping across the front hallway.

"Dad!" I yelled. "Don't go outside until we are with you."

"I'm not," he lied. "I'm just getting ready to go outside."

"Ok, I am ready," Mom interrupted.

I ushered her toward the front of the house, placing her cane in her hand. Once again, I loaded my arm up with cakes, grabbed my keys and pulled my bag up over my arm. I hurried to the front door. The dog was secure but I had to make sure that no parents escaped the front door without me.

"Let me run all of this to the car and then I will come back up to the house to get you," I said firmly.

I packed up the car and rushed back to the front porch where I helped my mom down the first set of steps, followed by holding my dad's walker still on every other step while he leaned his full body weight on it to descend from the porch. Slowly we walked to the second set of steps where we repeated the process. Once they were both firmly standing on flat land, I ran back to the car and opened the doors for them. We loaded up. I buckled mom's seat belt and then jumped into the driver's seat.

We were finally  ready for the 15 mile ride to my sister's house for dinner which took us as long as it did just to get in the car.

Until next time,

Michele