Each day that is left, I get to love my mom some more. Each day that I hear her say to her caregiver when I phone, “Oh, my daughter’s on the phone,” means more to me than words can ever say. So to my mom, who has become my best friend, I will also say, “Little things can mean a lot.” Thanks, Mom, for being who you are.
COMMENTS
My mother suffered with this dreaded disease for at least fourteen years before she left this world. Alzheimer’s is horrible and to watch a loved one go through it is truly life changing. I am sorry you are going through this. My mother died in 2005, and I am happy that she is now no longer suffering. Much love to you and your mother. Enjoy every coherent moment.
—Katrina
Your post brought back memories of Daddy and his love for reading. He loved to read and would read anything and everything. It was a sad time for me when I realized he was reading less and less. So much of his time had been spent reading, and all of a sudden there was more time on his hands with nothing he could do. I know you and your mom are enjoying your special times. Oh how I wish Alzheimer’s had a cure!
Hugs,
Dorothy
March 17, 2012
Is This a Dream or a Nightmare?
On Saturday around 10:30 in the morning I received a phone call from Elaine, my mom’s caregiver. Elaine phoned to tell me that since she could not reach my brother, she would like permission to take my mother with her daughter Trudy and her grandson to the beach.
My answer was that I thought it was a lovely idea. I shared with Elaine how my mom used to love to go to the beach. I explained to Elaine that I thought it would be quite difficult for my mom to actually walk on the beach and have the hot sun beating on her. I reminded her that because of Mom’s macular degeneration, the bright sun and the reflection of the water would blind her vision. I was enormously happy that Mom would be getting out and had total trust in Elaine and Trudy.
That was the last time in two days that I had any contact with my mom or her caregivers. I speak to mom every day. After not being able to reach anyone, no matter what time I tried or whose number I called, by early evening on Sunday I started to feel concerned and frightened.
On Sunday I was with my son during the day, so I was a little preoccupied and had not tried to reach anyone. I now wondered that if my mom was in a hospital. Certainly my brother or Elaine would have contacted me. Could all the phone circuits be out of order in Florida? I knew that was highly unlikely.
Finally that evening my brother called me back around 9:00 p.m. and reassured me that he had spoken to mom around 12:30 that day. He agreed with me that I had a reason to be upset, for neither Elaine nor Trudy answered their cell phones or called me back after leaving several voice mails. They split the twelve-hour shift of taking care of her, so where were they?
My mom’s phone just rang and rang, and all I was left with was total silence.
I tried again between 8:00 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. when my mom is ready for bed. Still at this time her telephone just continuously rang. Where could she be? I felt so helpless and there was absolutely nothing I could do.
As I went to bed, I had a thought of what it might feel like when I would no longer be able to speak to her. There was an overwhelming emptiness that I felt inside me.
When I finally fell asleep that night, I had a dream about her. It was a lovely dream. My mom was by a beach and she seemed to have come back to life. She was changing her clothes and having conversations with other people, not exactly as my mom used to be, yet she seemed free of Alzheimer’s. My mom appeared to be whole. The dream was so surreal. Yet when I awoke the feelings of heaviness were still with me.
Was it the fears of knowing that one day, even if my mom is still alive, I may not be able to speak to her? That I may not hear the sound of her voice? Or was it a deeper fear, that one day my mom would be gone? I have so many feelings, although on most days I seem to be able to stay in the moment. The moment is truly all that I have.
Was I upset because I could not speak to my mom, or was I upset for the unknown? Did I awake to a dream, or was it a nightmare, disguised in its own reality? As I speak to other adult children whose parents have Alzheimer’s, this seems to be a similar fear. We sit, we wait, we watch as our parents slowly disappear from this world.
COMMENTS
I can’t have a conversation with my mom anymore, so I have to see her in person. When I can’t visit for a few days in a row I get nervous—even though I know the nursing home staff would call me if anything was wrong. I’m being a worried mom to my mother!
—Lindsay
It’s a long goodbye, and we know what’s down the road for us. It’s not easy. It’s scary knowing that our moms will forget us. We aren’t there yet with our mom, and it makes me sad to know that that’s going to happen eventually. I cling to everything
