My mom has ups and downs. For the past two years I’ve
wondered daily if today might, perhaps, be her last. I think that those
feelings have been there because I cannot imagine further decline in her
health, but really, she has had plenty more to go. Monday, however, she refused to eat or drink
very much at all. She was weak because
of it. Tuesday I was determined to get a good, healthy amount of food and
especially water into her, but as I got her out of bed in the morning, she
seized in my arms, and I laid her right back into to bed. When she has her
seizures, particularly big ones, and this was a big one, they tend to sap her
of all her energy for several hours.
There would be no getting drink or food down her for awhile. By the end of the day, she still had accepted
very little nourishment. She was weak. Her pallor was greyish. And when I laid
her back in bed, she would make little gasps for air. Though I had tucked her
into bed before and wondered if it would be the last time I would kiss her
good-night, that night I felt compelled to stay with her. I couldn’t imagine it
would cost her sleep to have me stay in her room; she wasn’t even acknowledging
my presence.
I sat at her table typing on the computer watching to see if
her blankets would continue to move up and down with her breaths. Whenever she
would gasp, I would look and wait for the rise and fall. I didn’t dare say that
I felt this was the end because I had misjudged so many times before, but I
still felt that this time was different. She was different, and I felt
compelled to stay with her. I finally
decided to climb into bed next to her and just hold her hand. Sadly, I worried
about waking her and scaring her because she usually doesn’t recognize me, but
she didn’t awaken.
As I was lying next to her, I forced myself to remember her
as I used to know her. I was talking to Spencer earlier that day, and he said
that even though he has memories previous to Mom’s dementia, he doesn’t really
remember her prior to now. I had to confess that I have the same problem. I often have to remind myself what she was like,
how independent and engaging she was. I looked at her lying there on the pillow
next to me and rehearsed the many wonderful things that I admired about my
mother.
At about 2 am, my cute, half-asleep little Matthew came and
found me and crawled in bed next to me.
I found myself once again amazed at the ironies surrounding me as I was
sandwiched between the two people who demand the majority of my time, both
utterly dependent, although moving in opposite directions: Matthew gaining independence
and Mom losing it. I again was impressed by the love, the overwhelming love
that I felt for these two souls who take so much of my life. I felt blessed to
have them be a part of my life.
I eschewed Matthew back to Greg where he could snuggle into
my bed, rolled back to look at my mom, confirmed that things were okay, and let
my eyes droop closed for a few hours. I awoke with a start a few hours later,
checked to watch the rise and fall of the blankets, confirmed once again that
things were well and fell asleep again.
Morning came. Mom was still with me. She smiled at me as I
rubbed her arm. Thoughout the day she improved. My worries, once again, had not
been justified, but did I regret the night? No. There was a sweetness in
reviewing some of my tender feelings for my mom. A friend reminded me, as I explained how hard
it is to watch my mom die, that there is no place that I would rather be. As
difficult as it is, I love her and this is a service that I want to give. This
is a service that I can give. It isn’t easy. Not everyone can do it. Everyone
has their own path, but this is the one that I have chosen. It is made easier
by a supportive family and supportive friends.
