Wild Imagination

 

On my last visit I left knowing this delusional paranoid version of mom is an ugly stage of dementia.  Mom was hurtful, cold, angry and frustrated.  And even though I understand, I personally hated last Friday.  Walking into The Community* on Monday, I was apprehensive as to how I would find mom.  I prayed that the nicer version of mom that I had been used to would show up.

The residents had just finished playing bingo.  When mom spotted me she yelled, “Look”.  Mom searched in her pockets and pulled out a bag of bite-size fudge swirl cookies and pocket-size tissues that mom had won with Shirley’s*, the activities’ director’s help.

“Congratulations, mom, you are a big winner.”

“She . . . helped.”

“Shirley* is always so good to you.”

Mom shook her head agreeing.  She handed me the bag of cookies, “Share?”

“You can eat them all, mom, I am allergic to chocolate.” I try to not say, ‘remember’ because obviously mom remembers very little these days.  I opened the bag of cookies and held the bag open so mom could serve herself.  She likes to be as independent as possible.

Mom really seemed to enjoy the cookies.  She ate them one at a time until the small bag was empty. When she was finished eating, mom tried telling me something.  Her voice was low and her words were mumbled.  Barely hearing mom, I moved closer to her. Mom seemed to get more aggravated with me for moving so close, I could not blame her I was almost in her face.  No matter how hard I tried I still could not understand mom.  She and I were both frustrated with the situation and we both felt helpless.

I brought over some water for mom as I could tell her mouth was so dry which made her trying to speak more difficult.  The water seemed to help.

Mom screamed, “Don’t look at me that way.”  Boy, she said that loud and clear.

“Mom, I wish I could understand what you are trying to tell me.  The good news is that you speak clearly when you are mad.”

“You . . . want me . . . dead,” she hollered.

“No, mom . . . I never said that nor would I. You are the one telling everyone you want to die. You ask me all the time to pray that God takes you.  I want you to have peace and be patient until God is ready for you.”

One of the aides passed by and smiled at mom saying, “Hi, Gilda”.

Mom said, “They’re  . . . nice . . . now.”

“They are always nice when I am here.”

“They  . . . know . . . tonight or tomorrow”

“What is happening tonight or tomorrow, mom?”

I triggered a nasty response from mom, “I said  . . . dying!”

“How do you know you are dying tonight or tomorrow, mom?”

“They  . . .  said it.”  I had to change the subject because this conversation was going nowhere fast and I was unintentionally aggravating her. 

“Mom, let’s pray.” 

Mom agreed and joined in when she remembered the words.

“Ok  . . . go!   I don’t  . . . make  . . . sense.”

“Mom, Ron and I are going to Vegas for a few days.  I will come see you on Saturday when I come home.”

“Saturday?   Today  . . .   Monday?”

“Yes today is Monday.  Ron and I leave tomorrow morning and we come home late on Friday night.  So I will spend time with you on Saturday.”

Mom held up her fingers to count.  “Monday . . . Tuesday . . . Wednesday  . . . Thursday  . . . Friday.”

“Saturday is the day I will be back mom.”

“Ok  . . . Saturday.”

“I love you, mom.”

Mom said clearly, “I love you, too.” 

Mom asked for several hugs and kisses before I left.  She also orchestrated blowing kisses to me and I reciprocated. Mom seemed to be so much calmer than during most of our conversation. 

“Have a nice time,” mom calmly said.

“Thanks, mom, I will see you Saturday.”

Mom’s imagination is running wild creating a living nightmare for her.  One that she wishes she could escape, but she has no control and neither do I.