Day One

Josephine had a full-time job so the daytime care of my mother fell on me.  Even though we had prepared as best we could, the actual experience was a greater challenge than I had expected.  The year before Josephine and I had attended a work shop on aging that included Alzheimer’s, dementia and other age-related illnesses.  The workshop was primarily for nurses and professional caretakers; still we got a lot out of it so we thought we were ready.

At the beginning of my first day alone with her what I thought should have been an easy task took a great deal of time.  Giving mother her medications.  First of all, I had to sort it all out…which pills were taken with food, which ones on an empty stomach, which of her meds were to be taken in the morning, and which ones taken at bedtime and so on, and I was to keep a log of when I administered her meds.  Simple enough, but I was not able to do that with her present because she kept taking things and moving things around so I locked myself in our small office.  Big mistake. 

During the few minutes she was alone she turned on the water faucet in the kitchen and was trying to wash the toaster in the sink.  Fortunately the plug was far enough away from the sink that she had to unplug the toaster first.   After that Josephine would separate her medication into a weekly pill box that was labeled and color coded.

Later that same day I had to prepare a meal.  Mother, of course, tried to help, but she put empty pots on the stove and turned on the burners.  Then she kept taking food out of the fridge and laying the items all on the counter.  Then there was the bathroom.  Mother could take care of her bathroom needs just fine, but she would often run the water in the sink, or she  would flush and flush and flush the toilet.  That day was no different and something out of the ordinary went down the toilet.  I never looked to see what she put down the toilet (didn’t want to know), but like I said, we got to know the local plumber really well.  

But what wore me out the most was the verbal garbage that came out of her mouth.   She  talked and talked about how horrible her children are.   She would go through a list of offenses we supposedly committed against her years ago and how inconsiderate we were and that’s why we all ended up divorced or single… on and on.  In my mind I knew she couldn’t help herself but she managed to find all those sore spots and I felt I was being battered, but I was also terribly grieved. 

Then the pacing: she started a frantic pacing around 2:00 that afternoon and worked herself up to a panic.   I tried to calm her but then she became afraid and started the verbal spewing again that did not stop until my sister came home at 6:00.   I met Josephine at the door crying.  “I can’t do this, I can’t.”  

I fled to my apartment, overwhelmed and in tears.   I fell to the floor crying out to God.  Actually I was so angry at God I began screaming about how this was so unfair.  “Why?”  I asked over and over.  I was beating on the floor when suddenly these words flooded my mind.   "For God so loved the world, He gave His one and only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16)  God gave His son.  In a flash I saw my sons and I understood that what I was doing in caring for my mother, no matter how difficult, a positive affect would trickle down to other generations: my children and grandchildren.  This wasn’t about me.  As always, God has a greater vision and a better plan for our lives.  I still desperately wished to be far away, but I wasn’t angry at God anymore and I resolved to follow through.

The next day I dressed in scrubs.  I walked in and addressed my mother formally by her name.  It pained me to do it and yet she responded more respectfully to me then when I tried to get her to remember that I was her daughter.

I learned something else that day.  As I said before, mother would rant about her horrible children, and when I tried to reason with her she would throw God at me.  “God is going to make you pay!”   That was one of her favorite sayings.  So, I pulled out a Bible and said, “Let’s see what God has to say.”   I began reading in Matthew.   Now the only Bible that was handy was the King James version.   I never liked reading in King James; for me the language was a bit of a struggle.  But I learned to appreciate it because as I began reading, mother sat down next to me and listened.   For two hours I read the Bible… slowly... and for once she was calm. 

In talking with others who have cared for their aging parent or spouse, the challenge is that there isn’t a cookie cutter solution, and the patient is constantly changing.   They key is to be flexible, ask for help, and expect the unexpected.