Guardian Angels

 

On Saturday, Ron and I went to visit mom. We found mom hooked up to a nebulizer with her eyes closed.  After her treatment was finished, Ron and I wheeled mom down the hall near a Christmas tree where we sat for only a few moments.  Mom was fidgety; she was uncomfortable leaving the nurses’ station.  Mom glanced down the hall at the nurses’ station, ‘Who’s there?”

“Both Billy* and Barb* are there”. They are both mom’s nurses and two of mom’s favorite people.

Mom panicking said, “Let’s go.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“See . . . Barb*.

“We just wheeled you down here from Barb*.  Can we sit for awhile, Mom?”

Mom shook her need side to side as though my answer was not acceptable.  “Time?”

“The time is 1 o’clock.”

“No . . . time!”

“What is it time for, mom?”

“To go .  . . ask Barb*”.  I knew immediately that mom was back worrying about God coming to get her.

“Mom, it is not time right now.”

“Ask Barb*!” 

Since Mom seemed uncomfortable in her own skin and would not be satisfied until we wheeled her back, we did just that.

I went to see Barb* at mom’s suggestion.  She told me, “Yesterday your mom said she has been waiting for four days and He’s not coming.  I told her He will come when He is ready for you.”

Barb* walked over to mom, “Gilda, try to relax.  Don’t worry.  God will come when He is ready.”

“I am ready.”

“We know, but try Gilda, try hard not to worry about it.”

Mom said, “Today!”

Barb said, “Do you think He’s coming today?”

Mom shook her head affirming, “Yes.”

“Gilda, I don’t think so . . . not today.”

Mom sighed, “Not today”.  Her body language showed huge disappointment. 

“Gilda, we have no indication that it will be today.  Don’t you like us?”

With that mom said, “Oh . . .  love . . . you.  You’re . . . good  . . .t’me.”

“Mom, do you know that the nurses on your station are called Guardian Angels?”

 

 

 

Mom shook her head that she did not know.

“You have two great nurses.  They are both good to you; we could not be happier with them.”

Mom agreed, “Yes . . . wonderful.  They . . . run . . . place.”

Smiling Barb* said, “Oh no, Gilda, we don’t want to run the place.  It would be too many headaches.”  Mom smiled.

I turned to Barb*, “You have two activity rooms in this area.  How do you determine who goes in the small activity room and who goes in the big activity room?”

“The residents who go in the small activity room come from the Caring Hearts wing,” she pointed to the entrance to a hallway called Caring Hearts.  I had never noticed the sign on that hallway before.

Barb* spoke again, “Those residents have final stage dementia.”

 “What is final stage dementia?”

“Those residents do not communicate at all. They just stare.”

Chills ran down my spine.  Could mom still have to go through final stage dementia?