“I Wish I Could Help”

One recent thread on a Facebook group for dementia caregivers discussed the topic of how to respond to people who say “I wish I could help.” Most have good intentions, but no concrete offers of help. Others are just making polite conversation and really have no intention of helping. One tongue in cheek caregiver response was, “I’m going to start a list to hand them.”

We all laughed.

One longtime caregiver’s contribution to the post was, “I think we should all make our own list to have ready whenever we hear that offer.” Before long, we had created a rather long list. Some of our responses were a bit of a tease, like the caregiver who said, “If you want to bring me a gift, bring Kleenex! My loved one goes through two boxes a day!” We all laughed because an obsession with Kleenex and toilet paper seems to be prevalent in the world of memory loss.

Let me share a few more of the ideas culled from our group effort:

  • Instead of “let me know if you need anything,” please just show up on my front porch with a good cup of coffee.
  • Another caregiver added her twist on the impromptu coffee date idea: “Yes, show up on my front porch with a cup of your favorite coffee. Then sit down with my loved one and tell me to get lost for awhile while you drink your cup of coffee.”
  • Talk to me. Listen to me. I don’t really have someone I can carry on a conversation with anymore.
  • If you see a need that you can meet, just do it. It will make my day.
  • One woman’s husband asks her each morning, “What can I do for you TODAY that will make your life easier?”
  • Send me a card once in awhile (I have a special friend who does this every single week).
  • Share with me one of your special memories of my loved one. In doing so, you will help me focus on the good and remind me that their life mattered.
  • Tell me that what I’m doing matters.

One item on the list was my favorite: Ask God to show you how you can help. I promise, He will.

In Everything Give Thanks

I just re-read this today and was reminded once again of the deep-rooted faith my sweet mom has in the middle of her trials of life. Much has changed in my mom’s body and mind in the two years that have passed since I wrote this…but her prayer life continues unscathed by Alzheimer’s.

Barefoot Lily Lady

One of the greatest indignities of the disease called Alzheimer’s is that in the later stages your body forgets how to do the most basic of daily routine care.

Like how to use a toilet.

In the hospital setting, a family member is not allowed to assist with these very private needs. Hospital safety regulations prevail subjecting that person you love and care for to accept help from a bevy of healthcare nurses and aides. All of them very capable and kind, but scary strangers to a confused mind.

In the wee hours of the morning, two of those beautiful people were assisting mom within the tight quarters of the hospital bathroom. I sat outside in her room listening. While they assisted Mom, her nurse asked a routine memory assessment question: “Do you know why you’re here, Charlotte?” Momma thought about it for awhile, then shook her head ‘no’ when…

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Charlotte P. Boyles, RN

Momma was still in bed when I arrived for a visit earlier this week. I learned that she had experienced two nights this week without sleep and it seemed to be catching up with her today. She did NOT want to get out of bed and had already missed breakfast and lunch. The hospice nurse was there visiting and asked me if this sort of thing had happened while I was still caring for her in our home and, if it did, how did we handle it.

I told her that it did happen. It was usually just one night and full day without sleep, but that Momma could sometimes go for 2 or 3 days with little to no sleep. When sleep would finally come, she’d be much like she was today – out cold. I soon learned it was very difficult to awaken her and try to cajole her into doing something she didn’t want to do (like changing clothes or bathing). She would be so groggy and uncooperative. On those days – right or wrong – I would just adjust my schedule to hers.

“So, when she does wake up, what’s she like?” the nurse further queried. I told her she would perk up and she’d be like a different person. The kind and thoughtful Charlotte would replace the grumpier, exhausted Charlotte.

Sure enough, before the hospice nurse left the building, Momma awakened. She was sitting up, got dressed, was chatty and very hungry. Previously verbally unresponsive and only opening her eyes a sliver, she was now bright-eyed and complimenting the nurse on her outfit and telling her how nice her hair looked.

A night and day difference.

I decided that the crisis was over and it was time for me to go home. Momma had already wheeled herself out into the great room and was chatting with one of the other residents. As I exited the building, I threw a glance over my shoulder and saw that my mother had wheeled herself up to another frailer looking resident. There they sat wheelchair to wheelchair with my mother gently stroking the woman’s arm, asking her how she was feeling today and wondering if there was anything she could do to help her feel better.

Charlotte P. Boyles, R.N. was on duty. My heart couldn’t help but swell with love and admiration for my mother, the nurse.

Remember: Why Good Friday Matters as Much as Resurrection Sunday

I follow Melanie’s blog for many reasons, first being, I need to learn to feel in at least a small measure the grief that accompanies the death of one’s own child. I have never had to experience such grief on a personal level, but I desire to better know how to pray for someone who has experienced such deep loss.

Today I am praying that those who read this post will feel on a much deeper level the ‘good’ in Good Friday as we gather in churches everywhere in remembrance of Christ’s death in payment for our sin.

And let’s also remember – Sunday’s coming!

thelifeididntchoose

“On the one hand Death is the triumph of Satan, the punishment of the Fall, and the last enemy. Christ shed tears at the grave of Lazarus and sweated blood in Gethsemane: the Life of Lives that was in Him detested this penal obscenity not less than we do, but more.
On the other hand, only he who loses his life will save it. We are baptized into the death of Christ, and it is the remedy for the Fall. Death is, in fact, what some modern people call “ambivalent.” It is Satan’s great weapon and also God’s great weapon: it is holy and unholy; our supreme disgrace and our only hope; the thing Christ came to conquer and the means by which He conquered.”

~C.S. Lewis,  Miracles

Bury a child and suddenly the death of Christ becomes oh, so personal. The image of Mary at the foot of the…

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“Pssst! Can you help me get out of this place?”

I have SO MUCH to tell you and can’t believe how much time has elapsed since I updated everyone concerning my journey in caring for my mom. I started writing this post the last week of March. Let me do a little back-tracking and a bit of catch-up writing here.

I already told you the story of her dolly here, but SO much has transpired in the past three weeks surrounding that story.

March 18, 2019

Lord willing, one week from today my dear, sweet Momma will be moving out of our home and into her new place at BeeHive Home in Oregon, WI.

If I think about it too long, it brings tears to my eyes. While I had hoped to care for mom here in my home until God chose to call her to her eternal home in heaven, I know in my heart that it is time to place her in a memory care environment where her needs will be better met.  

The first year we cared for Momma in our home, she would often tell people that our home was HER home and that we were living here with her. She’d point out which side of the house was hers and which side was ours. She’d express concern to anyone who’d listen, saying, “They sure do have a lot of stuff.” To her way of thinking, the gardens that I’ve toiled in for the past 20 years were planted by her many years ago. It blessed us to know that she felt “at home” here and was taking ownership, so we just joined her in her version of the story.

As we approach the two year anniversary of her living in our home, Momma looks lost and confused whenever she walks into the bedroom that has been hers all this time. Confusion clouds her fading brown eyes as she sits in her chair at the kitchen table surveying the gardens and wonders where she is and “how the heck” she got here. Her most often asked question is, “When do I get to go home?” Many times we find her sitting near her bedroom window, expectantly watching for her parents to come and pick her up in their car.

Nights are long and many of them are being spent without sleep – for her, or for me.  During those late nights of making and remaking her bed because she has repeatedly removed and folded up her bedding (in preparation for the move she thinks she is making), I find it disturbing to find my compassion is beginning to be replaced by exasperation. I can hear it in my voice and actually feel my blood pressure rising. Sleeping in our comfy bed next to my husband has been replaced by dozing in the chair next to her bed. Even if that were comfortable (and it’s NOT), it’s not particularly restful sleep and definitely not the coveted “restorative sleep” when it’s interrupted a dozen times or more with toileting needs, painful cries, bad dreams, and her shaking me awake to ask me if I’m okay. “You look so sick. I thought I better check on you.”

One year ago, Momma still knew I was her daughter. She knew my name and she knew Wayne’s as well. Now, she can sometimes come up with my name, but usually thinks I’m her mom or sister. Sadly, Momma no longer remembers Wayne’s name. She calls him “that guy” most of the time and thinks he is just a guy on the staff here.

Today Momma beckoned me into her room with a look of desperation and a ‘come-here’ wave of her hand. As I drew near she said in a whispered hiss, “Pssst! Can you get me out of this place?!”

Little does she know that she IS moving into a new home next week. I’m still not sure how (or if) I will tell her. I do know this. I’ve said it before and will say it again. God will give us the wisdom we need when we need it.

Need a little Violet in your Day?

One of our nesting boxes bit the dust last year when it was chewed up by neighborhood squirrels, so my grandkids Violet and Charlie painted this one. The birds have already set up housekeeping and we expect to hear little chirps and tweets very soon.

Spring is having a tough time making up its mind, but little signs of beauty to come are poking up all over the yard.

Only a few crocus are open, but there are more to come! I only wish they would hang around for a little bit longer.

Sempervivum is one of the first garden inhabitants to announce the arrival of Spring. I love how its color perks up as the soil warms.

A little garden trellis lends a splash of vibrant red. Now I just need to decide what I will grow on it this year.

Last, but far from least, a little gift from my favorite ‘flower’ and most frequent garden helper – my granddaughter Violet. She likes to fill jars with lots of little notes of love, encouragement, and blessings…oh, and a little bit of glitter to add an extra measure of sparkle to my day.

It feels good to finally get a little dirt under my fingernails again and to wander around my garden taking photos. Well, that’s my Six for this week. I hope you’ve enjoyed them. Check out all of the other Sixes courtesy of
https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/