By Brenda J. Wood, Muskoka Seniors Magazine, Family Matters, Jan. 2018
Necessity’s name in our family is Grandma and so once more I find myself babysitting. It is much easier when they visit me, because I am not responsible for what happens, but today, I am on their turf. This is getting a little too regular for me.
Caregiver Dad wants to pick strawberries for the freezer before the season fails. I act excited about my time there, smile and hand him the containers he needs. The door closes.
I am at her mercy.
“What are we having for lunch today?” I ask with enthusiasm.
I get only a solemn stare. I mince up some ham and stack it between two slices of buttered bread. I hope small squares of food continue to be the acceptable form of serving. She changes her mind on a whim.
“Would you like a bite? See how small the pieces are? You can handle these.”
Her lack of response is unnerving. She does not care to feed herself. One by one I pick up the food bits and offer them to her mouth. She accepts each one graciously; chewing daintily. Sometime later, she utters her first comments.
“Where did all this stuff come from?”
Her voice is muffled; her words not clear. Her cheeks bulge with hoarded food. Gradually she picks layer after layer of gummy sandwich from her mouth. Yuck. This is but one more adventurous clean-up in the life of a Grandma.
The next minute she staggers to her feet and heads for the bathroom. I gallop behind at break neck speed. I am desperate to prevent a mess of a worse kind, and I make it just in time to prepare her for the sit down.
This is not appreciated. She wants to do it herself and I am but an interferer. I watch constantly because she might take off any minute, leaving a trail of who knows what behind. The pile of hand washing by the bathroom sink stands in silent testimony to other incidents.
With whispered kudos to Super Dad, I swallow my pride and scrub up the load that waits. Just for today, he won’t have to worry about that mess. After only a few steps in his shoes, I get a small inkling of how hard his life really is.
This twenty-four- hour a day job is definitely not for wimps. I help her clean herself. This is an unwelcome job for both of us. She doesn’t want help, but I am beholden to give it, if only to protect the furniture.
I sing ‘Silent Night’ and she croons the words with me. We smile our delight. Other tunes are beyond her and eventually I too give up the words in favour of a hum. She stares.
The day lingers. How can so few hours take so long to pass? The welcome return of Dad with pails of fresh berries should brighten my heart. No, she wants to help and insists that a fork is the best utensil for this. No one argues. It is easier to let her mush a quart of berries into smithereens. My heart breaks for her foolishness.
Is this the woman who raised me? Who taught me generosity, honesty, house hold skills and manners? Yes. This is my Mom, who suffers from Alzheimer disease.
My caregiver burden is light compared to my Dad’s. He lives it every day, but his love for the woman he married sustains him.
Though she might not realize it, Mom suffers more than we do. While her mind is confused, her relationships suffer. Others shudder, lose patience and stay away.
I ask myself, “Am I any different?”
Not really. I attend because someone must, but I brought impatience, aggravation, and annoyance with me.
When I get home, I beg my hubby to listen.
“I have a question for you,” I whisper.
I ask him to consider his answer carefully and then I begin.
“Will you love me less if I lose my mind?”
And our tears mingle.
Brenda J. Wood has been an author and motivational speaker for too many years to count. Enjoy her common sense wisdom and quirky humour at
http://heartfeltdevotionals.com and hopestreamradio.com
