My parents and I have always referred to ourselves as the “Three Musketeers” and now that my Dad has passed it is just Mom and Me. How do I begin to explain the feelings of loss not only for my Dad but also for my Mother? I came into this world with her being my Mommy. I grew to adolescence and she was my Mother, loving but very much the disciplinarian. I grew to adulthood and she became my very best friend and now, through the disease of Alzheimer’s, she has become my baby. She no longer knows me as her daughter and is unable to communicate as an adult. I bathe her, feed her, change her, talk to her and sing to her to soothe her. I am where I want to be and I am doing what I want to do but I feel very isolated and lonely. I am facing a very large adjustment and I will take it one day at a time.
I must admit that learning to be a mother to my Mom was a most difficult task and it didn’t come all at once. I have been known to become very frustrated when I ask her to do a very simple task (such as “move your hand” and she lifts her foot). Most of the time I could find some humor but when Dad was still here my time was at a premium and it could get to me. Mom has been totally bedridden and completely dependent since January 2000 so I am fitting into the role a little more comfortably now. Caring for her is a labor of love and never a chore, but it has become my identity.
There is no such thing as a typical day in our household. Since Dad’s passing Mom has slipped further away from me. She sleeps so much these days that any kind of a schedule is impossible. I change her on a fairly regular basis depending on her fluid intake and she is eating less and less. I have found in recent weeks that my best is the best that I can do. We are starting to have a serious problem with the skin on her back breaking down. I try to turn her every two hours during the day and evening but she seems to have no comprehensive skills at this time. I use foam wedges to keep her in place but that only works to a point. I managed to get a Duoderm dressing and put that in place this afternoon. They are called the second skin dressing and they are very hard to find and if Dad hadn’t been on hospice I wouldn’t have this one. I am also going to try to find an air mattress for her but without help these things are not too easy to do. I will persevere and hopefully I will get what we need. The Alzheimer’s caregiver needs to stay very flexible because the disease of Alzheimer’s dances to no-ones drummer.
I moved in with my folks before it was a total necessity so the progression for me has been gradual for the most part. The last year has been a Roller Coaster ride but that happens when all of the denial is stripped away. Our denial is our defense mechanism against the harsh reality of losing a loved one and it is God’s gift to us in the beginning. I have learned so much through caring for my folks and have traveled most of the road by the seat of my pants. I will spend the rest of my life helping others cope and persevere if that is God’s will for me. Caregiving has been the most rewarding experience of my life and I am grateful for the opportunity to return some nurturing.
In the midst of my feelings of uncertainty and helplessness, I have found that there are blessings in even the worst diseases. My Mom’s mother took her own life when my mother was 12 years old and she lived with bitter anger and resentment toward her mother for over 60 years. It was with the progression of the Alzheimer’s that she was freed from that anger and now knows only love and peace. She sees me as her mother now and responds happily to the care and love that I give to her. She will be much more prepared to meet with her Mom on the other side and that is a blessing for both of us.
I feel relieved that she does not feel the pain of Dad’s loss as I do, although I know that she is aware in her soul. The day that Dad passed she watched intently as they removed him from their room. She then went into a very deep sleep that lasted for several days. She would not take food or drink for about 36 hours and when she awoke she raised her right hand straight to the ceiling and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She went back into another sleep and didn’t return to me until after Dad’s service. I know that he is keeping a loving eye on both of us and will wait patiently for the time when she can be with him and me as well. I know that the day will come when the Three Musketeers will be reunited, but for now, it will be my gift to take care of Mom until the Lord takes her with him.
My parents and I have always referred to ourselves as the “Three Musketeers” and now that my Dad has passed it is just Mom and Me.
Donna Fee
