Early on the morning of December 30, 2020 my phone pinged to alert me to a message. Picking up my phone from the nightstand, I saw this cheery message:Continue reading “Time: My Prayer Request”
This morning Momma emerged from her room carrying a photograph and a ballpoint pen. She had an all too familiar look of confusion on her face as she shuffled walker-less to her place at the kitchen table. As she gingerly turned herself and plopped hard in her chair she lamented, “I just can’t remember anything today. What day it is, what time it is, who am I, why am I here? It’s all so confusing. And who is this in this picture?”
I took a peek at the picture to see if I could help. It was one of the pictures my sister had been wondering about. The photo, along with a handful of other pictures of Viv’s children in their growing up years, had mysteriously disappeared during her last visit with Momma. Knowing Mom’s propensity to hide things, Viv had texted asking me to keep an eye out for the photos. I had found the others, but had missed this one.
“That’s your grandson Scotty when he was a boy. He’s a daddy himself now.” Momma sat silently studying the picture for a few moments, willing her mind to remember, but obviously drawing a blank. “Oh, no! I wrote on the back of it!”
Momma’s handwriting was definitely on the back of it, and the picture had been ruined by the tell-tale ballpoint markings. Momma had used the photo as if it were a piece of scrap paper, copying what she had read off of the face of the clock in her bedroom. Momma tried to reconcile what she had written on the photo with what she saw on the clock on the microwave. “No, it’s supposed to be 7:13, not 7:30!”
There was no point in trying to explain that time changes by the second. This was one of those moments in Momma’s changing world of Alzheimer’s where I could almost feel another piece of Momma’s mind slipping away.
I asked Momma if she remembered her name. She assured me she knew it, but wouldn’t say it. I prompted, “Of course, you know you’re Charlotte Peet Boyles.” She looked relieved at the reminder of what her name was as she nodded her head in agreement. I smiled at Momma in an effort to encourage and calm her, but on the inside, I cried knowing she was fearful of what was happening to her.
I find comfort in knowing I am not alone in this phase of life. I follow a blog called “God’s Grace and Mom’s Alzheimer’s.” The author’s own Mama had gone Home to be with Jesus in December of 2016, after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. Cheryl had been there with her through it all. Now, her mother-in-law lives with her, traveling a similar path in life. Today’s post met me where I am. I share it (click on the link below) for those of you who are in a similar place in life right now – in need of a reminder of God’s grace in the midst of a seemingly impossible trial.
I will probably run out of friends and family before I run out of things to give away. But, in this process, I’m learning much about the value of things in comparison with the value of being a blessing to others.
I’ve been working my way through some of mom’s possessions which followed her from her apartment to her new abode in our home. I’ve been trying to put as many of her decorative objects into use here as I have room, so as to make her feel more comfy and at home. Though she has already been through two other downsizing events in the past two years, we are still left with way more items than she needs (or can appreciate in this stage of Alzheimer’s). As much as possible has been given to family members who have expressed an interest in her belongings. My daughter took on the responsibility of selling or giving away the furniture that was no longer needed (and I am SO grateful for her help). Each day the invasion of moving boxes on my 3-season porch gets smaller as I carve out time to go through their contents. For this, I am grateful. Continue reading “Stuff Exchange Blessings”
This post is another in a series of my Facebook posts from 2015 related to caring for my mother. It’s really hard for me to re-post it without shedding my own tears. Those who are walking alongside a loved one struggling through the various stages of Alzheimer’s will probably relate very well. By the time you realize that the momentary lapse of memory is something more than the natural aging process forgetfulness, hints at “forgetting time” or how to tell time have already begun. Continue reading “Forgetting Time”