2012 has arrived.
Rick and I visited my parents on the last day of 2011. My mother was in bed when we arrived and my father assigned me the job of getting her out of it, getting her meds in her and getting her to eat.
I walked into her room and my mother was laying on her back in bed, with her legs hanging over the side. My mother NEVER lays on her back. Stricken with polio as a kid, her crooked spine never allowed for her to comfortably lay any way other than on her right side, knees bent. I tried to help her roll but she screamed in pain. Finally with my Dad’s help, we were able to roll her and I could lift her to a sitting position on my own. She cried and cried.
My mother probably weighs about 90 pounds now. She screams in pain at the slightest touch to her arm or her leg, and bruises easily. It may not be pain at all, but the fear of being touched and the unknown. With Alzheimers, you never know for sure. She looks at things but looks through people. Yes often means no. No often means yes.
In the past couple of months, my mother has gone from hugging me back when I hug her to standing there allowing me to put my arms around her, if I warn her first. She now wears diapers. She tries to chew her pills instead of swallow them, IF they all make it into her mouth. I am “honey” one minute, I am a “son of a bitch” the next. Her hours-long conversation with herself consists of “Come on” repeated over and over, in an agitated, frustrated state. Some days, she sits almost comatose, oblivious of my existence. Others, some angel grants me an “I love you” before she leaves me again.
Out with the old, in with the new. I can appreciate that. I have new things in my life that I welcome, gratefully, gladly, lovingly.
I don’t feel in my heart my Mother will live to see her birthday in February. Forgive me if I don’t quite feel like singing today.