A Picture

They say a picture speaks a thousand words. Well, sometimes a picture doesn't speak at all. A while back, well, not that far back, my cousin sent me a picture of my dad when he was about 19 or 20 standing in front of an airplane with his Air force uniform on. He was saluting and you couldn't see his face as well as you would if he wasn't. Plus it is an old picture that my aunt had that my cousin had to "sneak" out of the house. So, when she sent it via Facebook I got it printed out. I made a few copies, and gave one to my sister. It is the only picture I have now of him. 

Our family was never a very picture taking family. Or at least I don't remember anyone running to be in front of the camera in all the years I have been in this family. But, nonetheless, I had a few of my dad but not any more. So, I was thrilled when my cousin said that she had this one.

When my nephew got the envelope out of the mail box and the envelope said "Snapfish" I almost ripped his arm off trying to grab it from him I was so excited. I opened the envelope and inside there he was my dad, looking as young as ever standing in front of the big airplane in black and white. I think I stared at it for about 5 minutes. It was looking at him again for the first time. I had only a picture in my mind for the last 40 something years of him and how he looked the last time I saw him which was in the hospital the night before he died. And of course the memories of him taking us fishing, and blowing out candles with us on our birthdays and him coming home from work with our last puppy. But, all those imagines were in my head not in a photo that I could physically take out and look at when I wanted to. I couldn't look on the wall and see a framed photograph of him like I can with most family members or he was not tucked away in a photo album with the pictures of my great grandfather and great grandmother and various aunts and uncles I didn't get to meet who died before I was born. I had none of that until about a week ago. 

I walked to my mother's chair where she was sitting and showed her the picture. I didn't say a word just put the picture in front of her and told her to look. She looked and looked and looked but there was no sign of recognition in her eyes of who it was. After a few minutes of looking she asked me who was this young man. I told her and she looked again. Granted she didn't meet him for about ten years after this picture was taken and it is hard to see his face but there was no glimmer of anything in her eyes that this person in the picture was someone she once knew and once loved and was married to. 
I told her that it has been years since we have seen his picture and she agreed and looked again.  I don't know if she really recognized him or she was humoring me by looking and saying that she did recognize him after I told her. 

But, at least she looked and eventually smiled and I can't ask for more then that.

Bringing the Outside Inside

There are some days when I can't really get out of the house due to my mom's health issues and so some days all I can do is open the windows and pull back the curtains and let the sun and the air inside to ease the stuffiness of the room. Other days I can enjoy a short walk to the corner store or around the corner or a block away while my nephew or my sister sits with my mom.  Those times I just get to think and be silent. I try to enjoy my time outside as much as I can. I miss the sunshine beating down on my face just warming it and my hands. I love the feel of the sun on my hands. I have always been an outside person. That is partly due to my parents. My dad loved the outdoors and was a gardener as was my grandmother and my great grandfather was also a farmer so I guess in is in my genes. And the fact that when my sister and I were growing up we played outside for a long time during the summers and shorter times during the school year but we were always out there walking, talking, exploring, and sometimes arguing like siblings do sometimes. 

Since my mom's health has been not great especially these past couple of years and the stairs can be a bit much for her tackle on some days I am finding that I look forward to the great outdoors more and more. I miss having a real backyard just to go and sit in, or even a patio. I often think that if there was anything similar to a yard or a patio my mom would get outside more. She wouldn't have far to go and with a limited amount of steps she might do it. When I think about her sitting on a patio my mind races back to 8 years ago when for a short moment in time we were living in the house that she basically grew up in and I basically  did too, my grandmother's house in the middle of the block that was painted bright yellow. I think of all the times that we sat in that backyard and celebrated birthdays, holidays, or just talked and laughed and the times when the swing set was there when my sister and I just swung and betting each other who can swing the highest before we jumped off into the green grass trying to avoid jumping on too many of the plumbs that had fallen from the plumb tree by the swings. 

I think of the times my sister climbed up that plumb tree in search of the perfect plumbs while I was the look out so we wouldn't get in trouble or get caught in a tree that nobody was supposed to be climbing. But, of course we were kids and didn't always do what we were told. And when we got caught we would do what kids do and blame each other. 

When I think back to those times I never thought back then we were making memories and that no more memories would be made in that house again after my grandmother died. I never really thought of her dying. I don't know why guess because she was so full of life and always on the go and always doing something. She only slowed down after she got sick. And then even though in her infinite wisdom as if she could see into the future she warned that after her death that certain people were going to make trouble and even though she would no longer be alive to see it she predicted everything that it became, a hot mess. 

Sometimes when I look into my mom's eyes I can tell she misses being herself and misses just being her mother's daughter. 

I always snap a few pictures when I am outside for the few minutes I am per day and it is like taking a little of the outside inside for my mom. One day I hope that I will no longer have to bring the outside inside and that she can be outside smelling the roses or just feeling the sunshine caressing her face again.

The New Normal

Sometimes for a long period of time, maybe months, maybe days, maybe even years things go good. They go so good that you are knocking on wood everyday hoping and praying that they will stay that way until the end of time or at least for the next week. It is just a period of time when things look great and if you had planned your life it wouldn't have come out any better then what you are living. Everything is just cool.

I take those periods and fully enjoy them because I know that before long they will just be a distant memory for me. I especially am over the moon happy when my mom doesn't have any health problems whatsoever. For a period of time she was in the hospital every other month and nobody, doctors wise, could figure out what was going on to drive her in and out of the hospital. They went with strokes, mini strokes as they called them and then some more doctor talk that they tried to bring down to the level of someone like me not in the medical profession, just a worried and concerned daughter, but most of it didn't make much sense to me and most of it I had to ask what they met over and over again until I got a better understanding of what they were talking about. At the last trip to the hospital they explained that on top of everything else they thought she was having small seizures and explained to me that all seizures are not the jerky kind, as they put it that you can just "zone out" like she was doing and being unresponsive but they come back in a few minutes or so. But the time they told me that my head was swimming with all the other things they told me and I was trying to digest it all. Five days later she was sent home with medications that could probably be used to open a small pharmacy. And to her it was a small pharmacy since she had never in her life been on anything until now. 

I always pray that we don't see another hospital and that her health at least stabilizes so to say. I know that she won't get much better and all these things won't disappear and that she will have to be on all these medications for the rest of her life but I just want the good days to last longer. I really want them to turn into good years and maybe a good decade. I want her to live the rest of her life as happy as she was before. She can't be as active but she can be as happy I think. So, everyday I try to do little things to make her happy. Just little things that she likes that makes a little difference to us but a big difference to her. She wanted chocolate candy the other day. I checked to see if she could have it. And it was a go so she got to have some chocolate candy and she smiled and ate that chocolate candy like it was the best thing she had tasted in her life. 

It gave me a smile seeing her enjoy it so much. She also likes her fuzzy bear slippers that we got her, my son and I, for Christmas two or three Christmas' ago. During the night she likes to wear them and giggles like a school girl when the ears of the bears move when she walks. Simple things like that give her joy now. We almost do the happy dance when she locates the sleeve or her shirt by herself and is able to put her arm through without any direction or help. My son even clapped for her one day when she did it all by herself. 

Well, this morning was rough. It had been the roughest one yet in a while. I would compare it to almost like taking care of a new born who is up every two or three hours and you are constantly up with the baby trying to figure out if she or he is hungry, wet, or just cranky and wanting attention from mom and dad. That was like my morning today. My mom had an upset tummy and she was in the bathroom practically all night and into the wee hours of the morning and it just not let up a little bit. I don't know what made that happen since she is not eating anything different. But, from time to time that happens and it takes it toll on us but in a day at the most she returns to her normal. 

Normal, that is a word for you. Normal changes way too often and what is normal today is not normal tomorrow and the next day and the next day and so on and so forth so I use that word with a grain of salt . Normal for my mom has changed greatly. Normal for me has changed and normal in general is not so "normal" any more. 

Mother Hearing

When I had my son ten years ago I developed this "mother hearing" where I can hear him from a country away if I had to. When he was a baby if he made a peep I would hear him. It is basically the same now with him and now since my mom has been sick and back and forth to the hospital more times then I can almost count I have developed the same kind of hearing with her. I call that "mother hearing for mom"  I can hear her if she makes a peep too.  When I hear those and look at her face then I know that something is wrong. Usually she will need a Tylenol for an ache or pain that just won't go away without it.  

It is funny how the roles are now reversed. It is like I am mothering her now. In many ways I am doing just that. She took care of me for many years and some ways she still is and now I am taking care of her. It is not an easy job and I never thought that it would be. I don't really consider it a "job" I just consider it something that I do out of love. The rewards are not money. The rewards are seeing her smile when I tell her a corny joke, and see her laugh when my son does something funny, and seeing her put on her coat without too much help from us for the first time, seeing her taking pride in putting her shoes on the right feet in the morning and seeing the glimmer in her eyes when she remembers the date. Those are my rewards. The strokes took so much away from her physically and mentally and on days when more things go right then wrong those are the good days and the days that we enjoy the most. 

Today has been a good day for the most part. All her therapy went well and her blood pressure was good and under control and has been for a while now. (Knock on Wood) She has had less pain today then usual and that is always a good thing. 

We take things one day at a time and today this day it was a good day. And she didn't even mind the nurse or the therapist coming by today. She did well with the therapist and the nurse was pleased with her progress too. And that brought a smile to both of our faces. 

Independent Woman!!

I could change my mom's name to Mrs. Independent and she would be happy. She is slowing holding on to her independence as much as she can. As I was making her breakfast she was sitting in the chair trying to put on her shoes. The physical therapist, the old woman, as she calls her, guess because she has a head full of white hair and that only means you are old to my mom, is coming this afternoon to walk with her and do the exercises. So, she has these non-slip socks on and they are thick and she was sitting there trying to get her foot in her shoe. I told her that the sock might be a tad too thick but she insisted that she can do it and didn't want or need my help. I smiled and took a step back. She is feisty this morning. Almost like her usual self. So, she pushed and pulled and pulled and pushed her foot determined to get that foot in that shoe with that sock on. I put her breakfast on her little black tray and pushed it near her. I asked again if she needed help. She declined and she sat there and ate her food with one shoe on and one shoe off. She reminded me of how my son was when he was small. When he was first learning to put on his clothes he was like that too. He refused my help too and was proud when he finally did it himself and I would clap my hands and cheer. I don't think my mom would appreciate me clapping my hands and cheering for her though when she finally got her other shoe on over her heavy non-slip socks. She would probably cuss me out if I did. Although, I felt like it. I won't lie. 

I love that fact that she holds on to doing little things. And she hasn't given up trying to do them. Yesterday she was putting on her jacket. I guess she saw it and just wanted it on. I asked if she was cold but she said no and she struggled with that jacket, had it upside down, this way and that way and I could tell that she was getting frustrated but in a few minutes she got that jacket on with a little help from my son. She will take help from him, go figure.  He tells her, "Grandma it is okay if you need a little help. Just ask me." He's 10 going on 20 sometimes. But, I am glad he is there to help and she takes his help and they talk and laugh about it later about how they got that jacket on finally. 

Today seems like it might be a good day. I will know more after this afternoon when the therapist comes and if she will agree to go down the stairs with her for a walk. Knowing my mom that could go either way. She may do it and she may not and insist that they walk around the house and mean it. Today she is feisty for sure.

A Good Day!

The time before this last time this month my mom was in the hospital with another mild stroke was in January. She was sitting there eating breakfast as usual and then all of a sudden she just stopped. Her eyes went blank and she did what I call a zombie stare. She was there but not really. My nephew and I screamed her name, first we just called it in our normal voices but then we screamed it like she was totally hard of hearing which she isn't yet. I immediately called 911 and within a few minutes the emergency people were here and they took her to the hospital. 

My mom hates hospitals and I can't much blame her. By the time she got there she was responsive again and knew just about everything and everyone she did before she got there and was mad as a pistol that she was there in the first place. She hated the open gowns and complained that more people have seen her butt then the law allows. She still had her sense of humor. She hated all the fussing and the all the IV's that were placed on all parts of her body and all the poking around they did looking for a vein. The one they found was in her neck so she had an IV hanging from there. It was a good thing that there were no mirrors in that room or she would have really had a fit. I am sure she had one when they put in her vein in her neck. 

I know it seemed to her that she would never get out and that all the questions about did she know where she was and did she know her name were endless. She did know where she was and her name but when it came to her birth date she would know the month and the day but the year she would not know. She would get it backwards almost every time. The days of the week she never really cared about when she didn't have demtia so that was always a blank to her even when you told her five minutes before they asked her. 

They asked the woman in the bed next to my mom almost the same questions and her daughter would cue her in on the answers before the medical people came to ask her and she was basically like my mom she knew some of the answers like where she was not the day of the week or the month. I wondered if she had dementia too. I knew that she had a lot of other things and was taking a lot of meds. I over heard that when the daughter was telling the doctors what she was taking. Hospital rooms have no privacy whatsoever unless I guess if you are in a private room.  But, she heard our stuff and we heard hers and that was just the way it was. 

When my mom came home 5 days later she was overjoyed and the light came back in her eyes. Once while she was at the hospital she had the nurse call and she asked me where she was and said she was confused. I told her where she was and that she would be home soon. That reminded me of something she told me about my dad when he was in the Airforce in Vietnam. I was around 3 or 4 years old and I would ask her where my dad was and when he was coming home and she would tell me that he would  be home soon and not to worry. I did worry though in my own way until he got home for good.  I told her not to worry she would also be home soon. 

The roles have been somewhat reversed now. I am parenting my parent and my child. But, that is okay with me. I am glad that I have both of them here with me. When I think I am drowning in paper work for medi-cal for my mom and this and that I just stop and take a break and think that I am blessed to have her here to be able to "parent" her and to have my son grow up with her. Then I get back to the mounds of paper work. 

Today so far has been a good day. My mom even surprised me when she remembered the day of the week. It is a small thing but I will take it. 

The Beginning

Dementia is not a specific disease. It's an overall term that describes a wide range of symptoms associated with a decline in memory or other thinking skills severe enough to reduce a person's ability to perform everyday activities.Alzheimer's disease accounts for 60 to 80 percent of cases.Vascular dementia, which occurs after a stroke, is the second most common dementia type. But there are many other conditions that can cause symptoms of dementia, including some that are reversible, such as thyroid problems and vitamin deficiencies.

Dementia is often incorrectly referred to as "senility" or "senile dementia," which reflects the formerly widespread but incorrect belief that serious mental decline is a normal part of aging.

The definition of dementia. I had heard this word before many times in the past but didn't really know what it met. My grandmother suffered from it and I think her sister had it too. All I can remember about my great aunt, Edith, my grandmother's sister is that people used to say she was a little "off" and that she couldn't remember things sometimes because she was a little "off" that she was not all there. I was young then and did not know what any of that met. I took it as that the grown ups knew and that it was not something that they wanted a kid to understand. That was my understanding at the age of 8 or 9 when I started hearing it on a regular basis. After aunt Edith's husband died in the late 70's  she came to live with my grandmother, Nana. By then Edith didn't speak anymore. She would just look at you with a question in her eyes asking did she know you? We would talk to her telling her who we were and talking about our days at school or what we were doing over summer vacation. Nana encouraged us to talk to her even though she couldn't talk back to us so we did, my sister and I. On Christmas Nana would put a little decorated Christmas tree in Edith's room and we would leave little gifts underneath it. Edith liked watching the lights I think. Sometimes I would go with Nana to do laundry or to grocery shop while my step grandfather would watch Edith and Nana would tell me that it was hard work taking care of her but that is her sister and you always take care of family no matter what. She made me promise that I would always take care of my family no matter what. And at the age of 11 that is what I promised her. 

Edith passed away when I was around 14 years old or so after she had lived with my grandmother for few years. I remember we had a little memorial service for her at Nana's church, the same church we attended and basically grew up in. It was very small mostly family. We had lost track of many of Edith's friends by then and the house that Edith lived in with her husband had been sold and the neighborhood had changed greatly since the time she lived there. 

About twenty years or so later my grandmother told me that she was not remembering things as well as she used to and was going to give up driving because she couldn't find her way home one day. She didn't call it dementia though she said she was forgetting things that she should be remembering. Sometimes I would have to remind her of things that she was supposed to do that day and so did my step grandfather whom she became more and more dependent on to remember stuff. Which for her was totally out of character. Nana was the most independent woman I would ever know and she always told me to be that way too and not to depend on anyone but myself. But, in her 70's now she had to depend on us. Slowly, Nana declined and by the time my son was born in 2004, Nana was 82 and she became like her sister, Edith she was not talking but there was still a light in her eyes. I could tell that at certain times she had some recognition of who we were but couldn't verbalize it. At other times her eyes were just blank. My step grandfather by then had found out he was dying of lung cancer and they both had care givers as well as family helping them out. I missed my Nana. I missed talking to her and her talking to me and us doing things together and wished that I had spent more time with her like she wanted. She would always say that I would miss her when she was gone and that was very true. Physically she wasn't gone but mentally she was. She couldn't make my favorite breakfast anymore, waffles or grits and eggs and no longer could I walk into her house and smell the smells of the morning, her morning coffee. No longer could I sit down and chat with her over breakfast about my non existent love life.  Nana always wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. Most of the time I didn't and she would frown and tell me how smart and beautiful I was and that one day the right one would come along but she would say to remember to stay independent too. I told her I would. 

On December 2nd, 2005 just days before my son's first birthday Nana passed away peacefully at home while my mom held her hand. That was one of the few times I ever saw my mom cry. My mom went into the "ugly cry" as she called it and so did everyone else. Nana was gone. I remembered the last time I told her that I loved her and I wished I had said it more often. 

Last year at the age of 76 on a hot August day my mom had a stroke. She had not had any health problems for 76 years and then a stroke, they called it a mild stroke. After many days in the hospital they also diagnosed her with vascular dementia. I didn't know what that was and when the doctor was explaining it to me it felt like I was in another world. I heard what he was saying but not really processing it while looking at my mom lying in that hospital bed. My mom had always had a memory like an elephant. She remembered things that I had forgotten. I couldn't believe that now she would not remember things. Not my mom. But, that was what the doctors were standing there telling me that when she came home she would not be the same person as when she left.  I was hoping against hope that they were wrong. They continued to explain about some brain vessels in the back of her brain and that is all I heard about that I didn't know what they were saying all I knew is that I selfishly wanted my old mother to come back home with me not this new person they were describing to me.

But, they were right. My mom was in a slow decline. She remembers some things just fine. But, sometimes confusion sets in and she can't remember what day it is. She still remembers us, our names but she doesn't always remember how many of us there are, her kids and grand kids.  The other day she called my sister her niece. I had to correct her and she laughed and said that she couldn't have really said that. She still has a sense of humor and I am thankful for that. 

This has been a good week so far. Yesterday she got out of the house for a little bit and walked with us to the corner and back. She now uses a walker for balance and has physical therapy twice a week and hates walking down the 17 stairs that we have to walk down to get out of the house and back in the house. So, I was surprised when she actually agreed to go outside further then the front porch yesterday. She was eager to get out and get some of the fresh spring air. She didn't go far but hey, if she only took two steps that was a good day for her and us too.