My mom had Alzheimer's disease and I took care of her for nine years. For the last four, I kept notes, thinking they might help someone else on this path. Here are some excerpts from my book, On Forgetting:
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
My mom, Maggie, has been leaving half of her meal untouched for the past few days. I always tell her to just eat until she's full, no problem. But I asked her why just half each time...
Maggie: I'm saving it for your dad.
Me: Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I fix him a plate. That would never be enough for him. Go ahead and eat.
Maggie: You do? Oh, good.
She's finishing her meals now. I'm glad I asked. (My dad died in 2010; I'm sure he loves that she's saving him half of what she has.)
Monday, June 12, 2017
It's mid 90's today in Chicago...a real scorcher. I woke Maggie up at 10; she had gone to bed last night at 7:30. I woke her so that I could get some liquids in her and some protein. I pay much more attention to this now. She has had a few zombie moments that I've tracked back to not having enough hydration.
After scrambled eggs and toast, with coffee and milk, she fell asleep in her chair. She woke up briefly and opted for a nap in her bed.
We had this exchange, as I helped her to her room:
Maggie: What's your name?
Me: Terry. I'm your daughter...you remember me?
Maggie: Yes. You're a very, very nice person.
Me: So are you. We're a good team.
Maggie: I really like your hair. (I got my hair cut yesterday and she has mentioned it a couple of times -- that she notices a change like that is good.)
Me: Thank you.
Maggie: Is your dad right here? (My dad, her husband, died in 2010.)
Me, placing my hand over my heart: He's right here always.
Maggie nodded yes, then: I haven't been up to see my mom, lately. (she looks worried)
Me: She's sleeping now; she's older than you...she's about 120. (this doesn't phase her) I got her a nurse who stays with her 24/7 now, so someone is always with her.
Maggie: You did? Thank you...thank you so much. I am so...(she can't find words.)
Me: I know you are. Your mom is fine. She needs a lot of sleep now...even more than you get -- and you get a lot of sleep, right?
Maggie: Yes.
Me: We can check on everyone when you get up.
Maggie: Thank you.
Friday, May 11, 2018 (03:15 PM)
Our hospice nurse comes on Fridays and we always wind up talking a lot. Today we had a conversation and I was asking her about the impact hospice nursing has had on her; she said: All nurses cry in their cars.
I wrote this poem a little later:
Hospice Nurse
There’s a weight to each day; the hours; every story.
There’s bringing to each, a heart and mind
present to listening, anew,
to the measure of breath drawn in its moment.
The here of it, the now of it, the glacial letting go --
the sheer wait of it.
Ushering, with a deft and gentle hand, each core through
this coming and going and gone…
All nurses cry in their cars.
~Therese Flanagan 5/18
