The holiday season has finally ended. Tonight's final gathering was at the home of my mom's brother Randy. There was a good turn-out... somewhere near close to half of the brood. Lori had gotten mom ready today and she was wearing a new shirt I'd bought for her. All was relatively well until Mom brought up that she couldn't go to Dad's appointment with him. I think our aunts and uncles think my sisters and I are cruel and forbid to let her go but the truth is that we take off work to get the appointments handled and having to add an additional half hour or more to load/unload then reload/unload Mom is often just impossible for us to manage. Mom pouts and gets huffy when she doesn't get her way. She was always a bit like this but her stroke-damaged brain has caused it be far worse. In fact, some have said they think her mental capacity is deterioriating. For that matter, both parents are. The crazy part is they can be perfectly lucid one moment and vicious or bonkers the next.
My cousin Shelly said something that only my sisters and I have whispered to each other. We are in the process of mourning the loss of both of our parents. How true! And thank you God, for having that articulated by someone other than us. We feel guilty for thinking such. It is helpful though painful to hear someone else say it. My mom's siblings are struggling as well. They see the decline in cognition and are at a loss how to help. The depictions of us are no doubt distorted. We encouraged each to go visit and listen. We'll manage the doc appointments though taking mom every other week for a pro-time is something someone can help us with.
I feel numb tonight. I don't want the rest of the family to think we are horrible. Yet they aren't walking in our shoes. I love and adore the parents I used to have. But quite frequently I can't tolerate the hateful woman who now occupies my mother's body. She'd never be like this if it were her real mind. She'd never want to be so incapacitated that she can't feed herself with a fork or spoon. She'd never want to speak to someone across the table only to find out that person has already left. She can't see. Her body has betrayed her. Her bitterness is justified but the brunt of it goes to my dad. My Pop is a saint. Yes, he is sick and has dementia but how many other men do you know who would put ointment on the rectum of another person day in and day out and change the pads in her panties... or jump up to get cold water because the water in the glass is warm... or change the remote control because she can't operate the buttons.... or look for a coat that she insists is in the closet but no longer can be found. That's my Dad. That's his role. He complains some but only because he no sooner sits than another order is barked at him. Yet she can't see that he's sitting. Oh, what a mess it is.
My prediction for 2011 is that I won't have my parents -- even in their current state -- at the end of this year. And if I can survive this year with the pressure of parenting my parents, working full time, going to school, being a partner and not just a spouse, and remembering I'm a mother and doing motherly things... well then 2011 will be it for me as well. Now I'm not getting all freaked out here but my mom had a stroke at 57, my aunt died from a stroke at 45. Face it, females in the family who live his stress lifestyles don't have a good track record.
Then you'd think New Year's resolutions would be important. Yes, they are. I had exercised dutifully until my dad collapsed October 1. In those 3 months and 1 day, I no longer have time for myself like I did before. I've gained 17 pounds and don't exercise at all. I make bad food choices because I'm too tired to make good ones and haven't the time to plan ahead.
My respite is thinking of the 2 trips to Peru. Yes, they'll be lots of work but what a comforting diversion they offer. And my dear husband, Steve, is becoming more and more dear to me with each passing day. Maybe losing his own brother to suicide 3 years ago has helped him to know that none of us can truly understand the road another walks upon. He's a great guy, that Steve. He'll hand me my coat and keys and help me find my phone. He helps me keep it between the lines as I journey on this dark lonely highway.
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