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.

I was not able to convince anyone else to make the trip to the nursing home with me this afternoon. Being New Years Day there were other things to draw them and the weather was gorgeous causing reasons to be outside tops on the list. But truthfully, I like it when I am visiting my mother with no one else along. These are my best times of all with her.

We had to succumb to a daily pain medication for Mother last Wednesday. She was obviously in pain and telling us quite often. The key is to get her comfortable and pain free, but not sedated. She is no longer accounting for any pain, but she is so very confused and rambles more than what has been normal for her as of late. Another meeting is planned for tomorrow to discuss this new issue with the medical staff. I've discovered I must stay on top of her medications. I have educated myself to a degree and I can help make suggestions and refuse those things I know are not personally fitting for her.

Today I tended to her hands.  Mother eats small amounts but what she does manage to feed herself is always with the use of her hands, if not assisted.  The use of eating utensils has become something outside her box of know how for some time now. Her nails become quite untidy, but she does not like for us to clean them sufficiently. The dry skin on her hands builds up too and it takes some serious scrubbing to get them clean. She does not care for any of these administrations and lets you know it.

But after I had applied the clean smelling lotion, I sat on the side of her bed and with our eyes locked and both concentrating, but in entirely different modes, we attempted a conversation. I listened with everything within me to try to understand what she was trying to tell me. Her nouns and verbs might have different meanings and it's a code you must decipher first. Finally I found a common ground. My name and a *Chatty Cathy* doll I was given one Christmas long ago. I rested my head upon her arm and we laughed together, she remembered my name. It felt so good to the both of us!

nightgowns

 Nightgowns were lifted from the dryer smelling clean and fresh; the softness of the material radiated comfort. I have taken on the extra chore of doing my mother's laundry for the past couple of weeks. It was time. No where will one get the concentrated effort of laundry done correctly like it is done at home.

It has been just a little over a year since Daddy was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He went to the hospital one Sunday morning in late October and was never able to return to his home again. This past year has branded itself into every pathway of my life. From these experiences my soul has developed at times what seems like deep valleys and crests; shadows and peaks; but there are also spectacular views which can only be seen through the lens when you are behind the camera.

 Lately, I have experienced a sense of relief, an uplifting in my spirit. Some of the days of last year I might relish the thought of living over, then there are other days I would prefer to stay as far outside my line of consciousness as possible. There are things that I have not talked about in this space, and many things only briefly recorded in my personal journal. I have lived by His grace, through His grace and because of His grace.

But as my mother's nightgowns were tenderly folded I was faced again with the overwhelming truth of role reversals. The last time such mindful care was spent over nightclothes was with the tiny gowns and sleepers of my children when they were very young. Even the recall of Ivory Snow and Dreft was stirred this morning in the simple act of laundering my mother's clothes.

basketfuls gathered

 I visited mother by myself this afternoon. The children were taking a walk in the woods with the neighbors, vegetable soup was simmering on the stove at my house and the flour mixture was waiting for the biscuits I would make upon my return.

As usual mother would eat very little. If it was not for the high protein shakes she imbibes, her food intake would be extremely low.

I was driving home just when the sky was at its most glorious, streaked with the colors of cotton candy.
 "Thank you Lord" were the words that began my prayer. Tears swelled my eyelids and slid down my cheeks. "Thank you Lord for being able to visit the nursing home, for the nurses, the aides, the staff, and especially for the precious souls I get to see and touch every time I enter into that place."The rewards are very evident to me, my life is only richer. Seeing with the eyes He so graciously gives is a gift.

I read in the newspaper recently how the elderly are a heavy burden in our society, and those words gripped me.  It is not a burden to care for those you love, yes, it is most certainly a responsibility, but one with great yield. I arrive there every day sharing my few "loaves and fishes". But I seldom leave without the gatherings of full baskets.

Spoons and Smiles

She eats so little. On most days I will make an effort to be there for one of her mealtimes.

"Oh, chocolate ice cream Mama. You love chocolate ice cream." I spoon small portions into her mouth. Her sweet tired eyes look into mine.

"It's good," she whispers.

I smile as she fixes her gaze on mine.

"That's enough", she says after three spoonfuls.

answers please

I hesitate to post. But as I was driving home this early afternoon, my heart was heavy. Mother has been falling, out of bed, out of her chair and finally with this last fall she broke a wrist. It has been a week of maximum concern for her. I crave answers. All we seem to have is just a few medical professionals doing what I assume is best for her. 

images of daily visits

"There is this difference between the grief of youth and that of old age; 

youth's burden is lightened up by as much of it as another shares;

old age may give and give, but the sorrow remains the same."

                     O. Henry "The Count and the Wedding Guest"

Of all the images that flash across my mind, this one has sticking power.

fine dining choices

It is called fine dining. She has her assigned place at a table with two gentlemen, Mr. L_____ and Mr. M____.  She is given choices for food selections at lunch and dinner during the times she dines in the dining room. Her choice of a particular meat, vegetable and starch. I see her gazing ahead trying to take in what the aide is patiently saying as the choices are given.

Then she looks up into my eyes and asks, "What do I want?"

"Chicken or beef, Mama?"

It is always the first food choice mentioned that she chooses.

Quickly in my brain I am offering what I remember as her favorites first. It is good that she has these choices.

Cheerleading

Mother is not interested in any sort of restorative physical therapy. Consequently, she is getting harder and harder to assist in getting around outside her wheelchair.

I have become her daily cheerleader.

I work with a physical therapist in encouraging mother to cooperate and participate in simple walking steps with her walker and mild leg exercises. Yesterday she became so agitated with me she stated," I did not make you do these things. This is a terrible way to treat someone."

Not giving up. She would not have given up on me either.

nametags ignored

Keeping my mother clothed is a challenge. The facility where she lives is in charge of her laundry. We write her name on every single item, still there are quite a few things that turn up missing.

 Who is wearing my mother's clothes?