peering into my day

Quiet here does not mean that it is, even though mother has had some sleepy days lately and that certainly makes it quieter from her end. My favorite quote that gives so much understanding to these cheesecloth days is, "The only thing that is predictable about a day is that it is unpredictable." Sorry. I do not know to whom credit  is due for that statement, but I have some kind of consolatory thought it could be someone taking care of a sick loved one.

She eats less and less. A larger woman in her day, I find rolling her is no longer a physically difficult thing for me to do. Always trying to "read" her, because part of caring for a person with dementia is knowing what they are trying to tell you; sign language with no one ever having written the how-to manual. And her vocabulary is diminishing so the fewer words she speaks mean more. And there are those times she comes up with her own words, "thinasisha wataban."

If we did not laugh at some things if would be unbearable. So is that why sometimes I just feel a need to go into a corner and have a good ol' belly laugh?  And is there anything wrong with that?

Christmas 2004

However, pulling out photos from the past bring such joy.

stumbling and grasping

I got angry at my mother yesterday. Right in front of my girls I became irritated at her relentless irrational behavior and I raised my voice at her. I was ashamed of myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth. But while she would never remember, my girls would never forget. I am not looking for sympathy here or even excuses, just revealing the truth of how weak I truly am and how common it is to my original fallen nature.  But isn't that the bottom line of why I needed Him to rescue me in the first place? He came to the earth incarnate and preceded all the way to the cross, to suffer and to die for me.

The events of this past week have left me in a conundrum. What is next? Sedation? Yesterday she was extremely restless and literally talked all afternoon, all evening and throughout the entire night...or at least she was when I last checked on her sometime around midnight, and as I came down the stairs early this morning I could hear her incessant words, carrying on a conversation with someone. Her mouth was dry and her lips were parched as the aid and I tried to give her morning meds and water.

I did not bring her here to my home to make her happy, those days are long gone. Therefore, her happiness is not the issue. But sometimes I find myself stepping into that mode of thinking, maybe I can control parts of what is happening. When that happens I must stop and readjust my thinking in order to continue on this path that I knew would be beyond my strength to manage from the beginning to the end.

I rejoice to think that all things are at thy disposal

and it delights me to leave them there...

I can of myself do nothing to glorify thy blessed name,

but I can through grace cheerfully surrender soul and body to thee.

                                   Valley of Vision:  A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions

purposeful silence

The silence here has been purposeful. I didn't know when to stop all the busy activity or how to type the words that convey what my heart is feeling. It was so much easier to just move on, get the next thing done, whatever it might be, keep moving and do not stop.

Knitting helps. It can put me in a different world for a moment, but even that has taken a backstage assignment these last few days.

 Suffering is a fact of life and the tenacity of the flesh to cling to life is unbelievable. But watching the daily suffering of someone you love is emotionally draining. The never knowing what the next day will bring is the only thing that is predictable. Then the hardest of all, the decision not to use the strongest pain medications, in spite of what some might say will provide relief for her. I have increased mother's pain meds, actually her "pills" and other meds are always changing. There is a wonderful apothecary that delivers to my door so there isn't even a need to run out and get the medicine that we are hoping will provide the comfort needed. Singing to her sometimes helps, along with numerous standing-by- the-bedside head rubs. We also pray, quite a bit. Some of my aids have become sweet prayer warriors right alongside me in the care of my mother.

And right now as I as am sitting here in my sun room typing this post I hear, "Mama, come here!"

Better go.