Holding Back Tears

 

 

Hope for mom ever using her walker again is slim.  Dementia is crippling mom and stripping mom of any joy.  Her abilities have become so limited.    While Mom sits in her wheelchair even picking her head up is a chore.  Mom’s feet are so swollen that she is in a lot of pain when she stands. The doctor has increased mom’s lasix for the last three days; however there is no improvement in mom’s swollen legs.  Since I am unable to lift her on the toilet seat, helping her to the restroom is now not an option for me.

Mom seems uncomfortable in her own skin.  She said, “Can . . . do . . . anything . . . me?”

Trying to find a way to make mom more comfortable, I asked her if she would like me to rub her legs.  She shook her head no.  The nurse told me that she had to feed mom for both breakfast and lunch.  Mom could not hold anything in her hands today because they were too weak and shook too much.  Her mouth was also shaking more than ever and even drinking water through a straw takes much effort.

Mom continually tried to talk to me, but I had little luck understanding her.  Discouraged mom closed her eyes shaking her head. I laid my head on her lap to hold back the tears because there seems to be less and less I can do to make her comfortable.  When I looked up at mom, she said, “I know . . . you . . .  best . . . can.”

I gently held and stroked mom’s hands; they were calm and weak.  I raised mom’s hand to my lips and kissed her hands.  Mom sadly smiled and with all her energy she raised my hand to her lips and kissed my hand.

“Mom, I know you love me.”  She shook her head agreeing.

“Mom, I love you very much.  All of your children love you very much.”  She smiled,  “I  . . . know.”

Mom’s nurse, Billy*, came over and gave mom her pills, “Take them, Gilda, you will feel better in a little while.

Mom shook her need, “feel . . . no difference.”

Mom also questioned me, “Money . . .  pay . . .  help?”  I knew what she meant. 

“Mom, let’s pray.”  We prayed the ‘Our Father’ and ‘Mom is the Light’.  While I prayed these prayers out loud, Mom closed her eyes and tried hard to concentrate repeating what she could.  Praying still comforts mom even if only a temporary condition. 

After praying mom asked me to take her into the activity room with the other residents.  Shirley* the activity director saw us coming; she made room for mom at the head of her table.  She brought mom crayons and a few different coloring book pages. 
 

Out of the nine people who were around the table only three of them were trying to color, the others were starring or sleeping. Mom used to love to color.  In fact, mom was very talented artist as a teenager.  Mom looked at the selections, “Which one?” 

“Mom, I like this drawing of the Blessed Virgin with the Baby Jesus in her arms.”

 

Mom shrugged her shoulders, “What  . . . color?  I put a blue crayon in front of mom.  Mom initially thought coloring was a good idea, until she realized her hands were too limp to even hold a crayon. Angry and frustrated mom said, “Take me  . . . out!”

“Mom we could sit and watch Art Linkletter.”  A Christmas edition of the Art Linkletter Show was on television in the activity room. 

“No . . . out . . .there.”

I wheeled mom to the Christmas tree, we looked at it for a while and talked about Christmas growing up.  Mom said, “Enough.”

I moved mom near Billy’s* station and told Billy* that mom wanted to sit out there by her.  Billy* told me she would keep an eye on her. 

“They  . . .  ignore.”

“Mom, I do not thing they are trying to ignore you.  I think sometimes like me they do not understand you.”  Mom shook her head as though that is probably true.

When I hugged and kissed mom, she used all her strength to hug me back.  I wondered if she would be able to still blow kisses when I walked away and I was so happy that she could and did.