Mom's focus is waning.
On Easter Sunday, we sat in the first two rows at my sister's church, a wide but shallow building with extraordinary stained glass and stone-carved scenes hanging on the walls that those who grew up going to Catholic school would know as the Stations of the Cross. It's a fascinating place. Dad sat in front of the rest of us in the handicapped section and we positioned mom on the end of the pew beside me in the second row.
The priest led us in prayers and readings and songs and gave a boisterous homily about something Easter-related in his gravelly baritone voice. I am certain mom did not hear a word he said. She was watching the people around her and scratching at the tiny stain on her pants leg.
When it came time for communion, the Eucharistic minister approached the bench and before she could get the words "the body of Christ" out of her mouth, mom reached up and nervously grabbed the host out of the woman's hand and then returned to casually gazing around the church.
Now, I have to admit that I was bored out of my mind. But mom's inability to focus in large settings has become dramatically worse in recent months. We have to keep an eye on her and say things like, "Come on mom! Walk this way" to keep her attention so we don't lose her.
Mass finally ended and the priest released us as he made the sign of the cross. Mom was too busy trying to see around a plant on the alter to move her hand in a cross motion. Mom's focus is waning which means that the rest of us must be more vigilant than ever.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Baseball and the Brain
My dad is kind of a saint.
The time between mom's repetitions has shortened dramatically and her short-term memory is the worst it has ever been. The other day she asked him three times in a span of about 20 minutes if he wanted to save his leftover Chinese food. She had no idea she already asked. This type of interaction occurs on a daily basis.
This week, baseball began. My mom has always been a huge baseball fan. Before her Alzheimer's really took hold and back when dad was more mobile than he is now, my parents attended about six St. Louis Cardinals games per season. They sat in the bleachers where I had my season tickets. Each visit to the ballpark was quite the production. Donning there Cardinal t-shirts labeled "Meemo" and "Papa Joe," my parents left the house hours before game time so they could park at a nearby (and very expensive) parking lot, grab a couple of hot dogs, and catch a bit of batting practice.
Mom always lugged along a thermal bag with bottled water and often pulled a ridiculously large visor on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. Dad tugged on one of his many ball caps and once he sat in his seat, he usually didn't move until around the 6th inning when they would pack up and head home, listening to the rest of the game on the radio as the cruised back home along the back roads.
Mom doesn't remember this season's opening day, even though we all watched the game together. She doesn't remember the walk-off win, the first win of the season. There are only three pieces of Cardinal baseball my mom remembers every day: Mike Matheny, Adam Wainwright, and Yadier Molina. The three of them have been around long enough that they are a part of my mom's longer term memory.
Now, mom still enjoys the game of baseball. She will watch every single game, keeping a watchful eye out for Yadi, especially. But every game, she has the same questions. Over and over and over, dad sits beside her and reminds her who Randall Grichuk is and tells her why Jose Oquendo is no longer standing by third base. Sunday, dad "introduced" mom to Dexter Fowler about six times and tonight, he did it all over again.
Dad is much more patient than me. He always has been. But he is especially patient now. Sometimes, dad is kind of a saint. But he loves my mom and she loves her baseball so he does whatever he can to keep their love and her love of baseball alive.
The time between mom's repetitions has shortened dramatically and her short-term memory is the worst it has ever been. The other day she asked him three times in a span of about 20 minutes if he wanted to save his leftover Chinese food. She had no idea she already asked. This type of interaction occurs on a daily basis.
This week, baseball began. My mom has always been a huge baseball fan. Before her Alzheimer's really took hold and back when dad was more mobile than he is now, my parents attended about six St. Louis Cardinals games per season. They sat in the bleachers where I had my season tickets. Each visit to the ballpark was quite the production. Donning there Cardinal t-shirts labeled "Meemo" and "Papa Joe," my parents left the house hours before game time so they could park at a nearby (and very expensive) parking lot, grab a couple of hot dogs, and catch a bit of batting practice.
Mom always lugged along a thermal bag with bottled water and often pulled a ridiculously large visor on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. Dad tugged on one of his many ball caps and once he sat in his seat, he usually didn't move until around the 6th inning when they would pack up and head home, listening to the rest of the game on the radio as the cruised back home along the back roads.
Mom doesn't remember this season's opening day, even though we all watched the game together. She doesn't remember the walk-off win, the first win of the season. There are only three pieces of Cardinal baseball my mom remembers every day: Mike Matheny, Adam Wainwright, and Yadier Molina. The three of them have been around long enough that they are a part of my mom's longer term memory.
Now, mom still enjoys the game of baseball. She will watch every single game, keeping a watchful eye out for Yadi, especially. But every game, she has the same questions. Over and over and over, dad sits beside her and reminds her who Randall Grichuk is and tells her why Jose Oquendo is no longer standing by third base. Sunday, dad "introduced" mom to Dexter Fowler about six times and tonight, he did it all over again.
Dad is much more patient than me. He always has been. But he is especially patient now. Sometimes, dad is kind of a saint. But he loves my mom and she loves her baseball so he does whatever he can to keep their love and her love of baseball alive.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Everything is Preparation
Six years ago at this time, my family was moving my dad into a rehabilitation facility so he could regain his strength and learn to walk again after having a hip replacement. Mom had started showing definitive signs of her Alzheimer's at the same time.
Every morning, I was driving mom to the nursing home to sit with my dad while I went to work. In the evenings, I left work and headed back to the nursing home where we would eat dinner with dad and stay with him until about an hour before bed. When dad was ready for bed, I would drive mom back home, log on to my computer and work until about 11PM before hitting the sack and starting the process all over again.
While it was a difficult transition for all of us, I am grateful for how far we have come since then. To a degree, life is harder for us now. Mom has no real decision-making ability any more, even though she is still largely self-sufficient and dad is using a walker. But I have left my home and I am living with them which is a situation for which I would have never been prepared had we not experienced it a bit back in 2010.
I never fancied myself the kind of person who could take care of my parents but it is my primary duty to ensure they are safe and healthy and able to enjoy the time they have left on this earth. I am still learning. Every day, I see something else that needs to be changed or cleaned or replaced in the house to make their home more manageable or easy to live in for all three of us. And I am constantly learning how to navigate the challenges that come when the child is, generally, in charge of the parents. I would never want to do 2010 again but it confirms for me that everything is, indeed, preparation for something.
Every morning, I was driving mom to the nursing home to sit with my dad while I went to work. In the evenings, I left work and headed back to the nursing home where we would eat dinner with dad and stay with him until about an hour before bed. When dad was ready for bed, I would drive mom back home, log on to my computer and work until about 11PM before hitting the sack and starting the process all over again.
While it was a difficult transition for all of us, I am grateful for how far we have come since then. To a degree, life is harder for us now. Mom has no real decision-making ability any more, even though she is still largely self-sufficient and dad is using a walker. But I have left my home and I am living with them which is a situation for which I would have never been prepared had we not experienced it a bit back in 2010.
I never fancied myself the kind of person who could take care of my parents but it is my primary duty to ensure they are safe and healthy and able to enjoy the time they have left on this earth. I am still learning. Every day, I see something else that needs to be changed or cleaned or replaced in the house to make their home more manageable or easy to live in for all three of us. And I am constantly learning how to navigate the challenges that come when the child is, generally, in charge of the parents. I would never want to do 2010 again but it confirms for me that everything is, indeed, preparation for something.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Happy Birthday Dad!
Every morning, I make his coffee and get the newspaper from the porch. He eats an orange and a banana, while he has his one cup of black coffee and reads the front page, the obituaries and Family Circus. Then he heads to the living room to say his rosaries and man the remote. (The remote control is never more than a few inches within his reach.)Every Saturday, he hands me $10 and his winners. I take them to a convenience store not far from the house where I pick up his lottery tickets for the week. I also purchase our weekly supply of Diet Dr. Pepper. Panic ensues if I have Saturday morning plans that don't mesh with this weekly errand.
He is a television connoisseur of America's Got Talent, St. Louis Cardinals baseball, Blues hockey and reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. He seeks out new Hallmark movies for my mom and no matter how many times it airs, he will watch Ocean's Eleven EVERY SINGLE TIME it is on TV.
Some days, he will ask for a cheese sandwich for lunch. Other days, he prefers braunschweiger. Always drinks water at dinner. Never helps clean up. Unless there are big pots to wash. Then he will dry but only for my mom. If I am cleaning, I am on my own.
He worked for 56 years before he retired, starting his career at the age of eleven. That's why he never wanted my sister and I to work as teenagers. He broke his back for us so my mom could stay home and we could have fun.
My favorite memories of us when I was little are a little blurry. I don't remember much but I do remember rocking with him in his blue chair and getting up before dawn to go to our grocery store with him. We would leave the house around 4:30 AM and when we got to the store, he would stack potato sacks up in the back room near the heating vent so I could go back to sleep for a while. Then he would let me have the run of the store. People thought he spoiled me but, in my opinion, he was teaching me that I really could DO anything I wanted to do. He never told me something wasn't possible.
He was determined to make sure I went to college. We didn't have the money for it but he knew we could get there if our grades were good enough or if we worked hard playing sports. My sister was the smart one. I played ball. My dad came to every one of my volleyball and basketball games. Even in college, he showed up as often as possible. I can still hear him yelling, "Way to go!" When my sister and I graduated from college, even though it took me a long time, he was so proud.
After he retired, my dad spent his days taking care of my nephew who is his new pride and joy.
Before the walker became a primary assistant in his mobilization, he fished often and one day per month he ate lunch with his friends from high school. Now he mostly stays in the house. Sometimes you will catch him on the front porch in his socks. Putting on shoes seems silly when he isn't going far. If you see him, you should absolutely say hello and, if you have time, stop for a conversation. He would love that.
This month we celebrate his 77th birthday. What a milestone! So many accomplishments behind him. At least 1000 more viewings of Ocean's Eleven in his future.
Happy birthday, Dad!
Friday, July 1, 2016
Wishing for More Time
While my life rapidly evolves due to the changing health of my parents, there are many circumstances that add to the pressures of making sure their golden years are golden. Balancing my finances is the biggest challenge as I work to maintain two homes. It would be a dream to work just one job and make enough money to take care of all of us. The most fun part is creating weekly menus, grocery shopping, and cooking. I LOVE that part. If I could create menus, shop, and cook for 20 people every week, I would. My least favorite responsibility is the cleaning. Making sure my parents are living in a healthy and safe environment is a daily priority. The one thing I need more of is... time.
I always feel so pressed for time. Even when I am broke until the next payday (which is often 4 or 5 days away), all I can think about is how time is running out. The changes in my mom are becoming more and more visible. My dad has discovered a sudden burst of energy and responsibility. Yesterday, he sneaked out of the house on his own, in the rain, and drove to the doctor. He also jumped in yesterday and helped with mom's medicine. On days like that, I feel more pressure to take care of my dad better. Part of that effort is making sure my dad has time to connect with his brother.
My uncle who is a priest and a Franciscan monk, also has Alzheimer's. Six years younger, he is my dad's only brother. He was diagnosed a few years before my mom and his order shipped him off to Wisconsin to an assisted-living home specifically designed for Franciscans. I have been able to take my parents to see him twice but now, my uncle is swiftly declining.
Much like my grandfather, my uncle has recently become a bit aggressive and this has resulted in a shift in his residence. We used to be able to take him out with us. We could go to the lake or shopping or to a restaurant. But now, he is restricted to the property and every report comes with news of more change.
This summer, we will make the 7-hour trek to Manitowoc, WI to see my uncle again. Tearfully, my dad informed me that this could be our last trip to see my uncle. I extended our plans. We will stay a little longer so my dad can just sit with my uncle. We will celebrate my uncle's 45 year anniversary as a monk. There will be a special mass. We will also celebrate my dad's 77th birthday and my nephew's 14th birthday. We will spend TIME with family. Time which will inevitably feel too short. As it does every day.
I worry that seeing my uncle will create a greater fear in me regarding the future for my mom. But I will be strong because it is what I do. And I will keep working to make sure my parents' senior years are good and safe and as perfect as possible. And I will work three jobs if I have to even though it will take away from the time we so desperately need.
The clock keeps ticking and I keep chasing after every single minute with no regrets.
I always feel so pressed for time. Even when I am broke until the next payday (which is often 4 or 5 days away), all I can think about is how time is running out. The changes in my mom are becoming more and more visible. My dad has discovered a sudden burst of energy and responsibility. Yesterday, he sneaked out of the house on his own, in the rain, and drove to the doctor. He also jumped in yesterday and helped with mom's medicine. On days like that, I feel more pressure to take care of my dad better. Part of that effort is making sure my dad has time to connect with his brother.
My uncle who is a priest and a Franciscan monk, also has Alzheimer's. Six years younger, he is my dad's only brother. He was diagnosed a few years before my mom and his order shipped him off to Wisconsin to an assisted-living home specifically designed for Franciscans. I have been able to take my parents to see him twice but now, my uncle is swiftly declining.Much like my grandfather, my uncle has recently become a bit aggressive and this has resulted in a shift in his residence. We used to be able to take him out with us. We could go to the lake or shopping or to a restaurant. But now, he is restricted to the property and every report comes with news of more change.
This summer, we will make the 7-hour trek to Manitowoc, WI to see my uncle again. Tearfully, my dad informed me that this could be our last trip to see my uncle. I extended our plans. We will stay a little longer so my dad can just sit with my uncle. We will celebrate my uncle's 45 year anniversary as a monk. There will be a special mass. We will also celebrate my dad's 77th birthday and my nephew's 14th birthday. We will spend TIME with family. Time which will inevitably feel too short. As it does every day.
I worry that seeing my uncle will create a greater fear in me regarding the future for my mom. But I will be strong because it is what I do. And I will keep working to make sure my parents' senior years are good and safe and as perfect as possible. And I will work three jobs if I have to even though it will take away from the time we so desperately need.
The clock keeps ticking and I keep chasing after every single minute with no regrets.
Inside Her Mind
Sometimes I think there is so much going on in my mom's head that she can't focus on what is going on around her. Often when I am talking to her, she will think she has responded but she hasn't said a word.
As long as I can remember, my mom has talked to herself. When I was little, she talked out loud a lot. In my teen years, I would tease her.
"Who are you talking to mom?" I asked.
She laughed, "Myself!"
Now, however, everything is stuck in her head. Her facial expressions change and she shakes her head. Sometimes she will move her hands or even pound her hand on the table. Most often, she seems angry when she is talking to herself. It was so funny to my when I was a kid but now I worry as I see her falling deeper and deeper into her own thoughts and, on many days, unable to express herself.
My need to understand what is happening with my mom's brain has become more urgent.
As I research, I thought I would share some helpful links for others in the same situation.
http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_4719.asp
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/05/01/nyregion/living-with-alzheimers.html?_r=0
https://www.alz.org/braintour/alzheimers_changes.asp
http://www.nbcnews.com/feature/maria-shriver/embedded-inside-mind-alzheimers-n179596
As long as I can remember, my mom has talked to herself. When I was little, she talked out loud a lot. In my teen years, I would tease her.
"Who are you talking to mom?" I asked.
She laughed, "Myself!"
Now, however, everything is stuck in her head. Her facial expressions change and she shakes her head. Sometimes she will move her hands or even pound her hand on the table. Most often, she seems angry when she is talking to herself. It was so funny to my when I was a kid but now I worry as I see her falling deeper and deeper into her own thoughts and, on many days, unable to express herself.
My need to understand what is happening with my mom's brain has become more urgent.
As I research, I thought I would share some helpful links for others in the same situation.
http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_4719.asp
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/05/01/nyregion/living-with-alzheimers.html?_r=0
https://www.alz.org/braintour/alzheimers_changes.asp
http://www.nbcnews.com/feature/maria-shriver/embedded-inside-mind-alzheimers-n179596
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Keep 'Em Busy
Mom has been lost in her own head a lot over the last couple of weeks. She often sits, just looking at her hands. This past weekend, she spent some time with her siblings which was tremendous therapy. She didn't seem to participate in a lot of conversation but she enjoyed being around them which lightened her spirit a great deal.
I have become the creator of tasks. I invent easy things for her to do just to keep her busy. Dad is not as easy to convince to participate. He prefers lounging on the couch ALL DAY LONG and doing nothing more than watching "Oceans Eleven" for the 700th time. We sort a lot of things. The last few days, folding laundry served as mom's main responsibility. I even had her refold some things.
I am looking for suggestions for more ways to keep them busy so if anyone out there has a list, please pass it my way. We have to keep mom's mind working so it won't just stop any time soon.
I have become the creator of tasks. I invent easy things for her to do just to keep her busy. Dad is not as easy to convince to participate. He prefers lounging on the couch ALL DAY LONG and doing nothing more than watching "Oceans Eleven" for the 700th time. We sort a lot of things. The last few days, folding laundry served as mom's main responsibility. I even had her refold some things.
I am looking for suggestions for more ways to keep them busy so if anyone out there has a list, please pass it my way. We have to keep mom's mind working so it won't just stop any time soon.
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