Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

As my sisters and our seven accumulated husbands can attest, the worst thing you can call us is "Jan". (I think I'd rather be hit with a C bomb!)

I admit it. My mother and I have similar personalities and quirks. I'd like to believe that I keep mine in check, but my husband might disagree. Mom fixates and so do I. My latest fixation is new silverware and pots and pans. Moms? Her damn CHRISTMAS TREE!!

Lord help me. The Activities Director called me nearly in tears today because Mom was ragging her ass for her Christmas tree. Hello? A) It's December 26, give it up. and B) Her room already looks like Christmas exploded in there. Her room mate's sons decorated the whole place. They'd have decorated the old ladies if they'd sit still long enough. Even the BATHROOM is decorated. How festive. Red hazardous waste cans with green ribbons. Fa La La La La La La La La....

Even their TV's have garland and bows. I keep asking Mom, "Where would you put the TREE?" On top of that pile of men's underwear that I swear I'm going to take HOME with me to throw away! (I've thrown them away TWICE now, only to have Mom figure out where I threw them and fish them back into her room!)

So the Activities Director calls to tell me "Your mom says we've stored her winter clothes and her Christmas tree." OK, yes, they lost her Christmas tree. It's a tiny little pre-decorated thing that was falling apart when I took it down last year. And her winter clothes? She demanded that I get rid of them, they're rags. Now they're her favorite things and she misses them terribly. Great.

So I waited until I was alone to call Mom and remind her that there are no clothes for her in storage and that it's too late for her tree. "But it's MINE and I WANT IT!" *sigh*

She's off her Zoloft. Boy can I tell. Her emotions are very friable. The slightest thing reduces her to tears. A pretty Christmas tree makes her cry. The gift I got her for Christmas... I expected it to make her cry, it was a side-by-side picture of my son and my dad. It's very moving how much they look alike. But Mom literally shrieked and bawled and cried. I began to think I'd done the wrong thing. (But the mere mention that maybe I should have gotten something else shut the faucette off immediately--so I know she can control it.)

As I'm on the phone with Mom tonight, she begins rattling off a litany of injustices being perpetrated upon her. Some of them are absolutely reasonable. However, Mom doesn't pick her battles wisely. She pitches the same fit over a fire in her room as she does a lost Christmas tree after Christmas is all over. Her intensity never waivers, it's always high gear, high pitch, and high volume-- no matter the issue. Quite frankly, it's exhausting. It's only human nature for the staff to give up on trying to please her. I'm her daughter and I'd love to give up!!!

She's cried "wolf" too many times.

My dilemma with her Zoloft is, she's telling me she's feeling more clear-headed than she has in years. But she's also a trembling bowl of jello! I called the nursing supervisor to start the process to get Mom back on the meds. Mom's other major (and justifiable) complaint is they canceled her order for artificial tears along with the order for Zoloft. The tears we can fix tonight. My mom is very child-like and easily distracted. If she feels she's won the "tears" battle tonight, she'll probably calm down for a day or two. Hope. Hope. Hope.

Why did the orders get cancelled? It seems there's some Medicare law that states when a nursing home patient gets admitted to a hospital, they get discharged from the nursing home. Apparently they can't legally be admitted to both facilities at the same time. What I don't understand, is why can't they reinstate the original doctor's orders when she returns to the nursing home? I guess it all depends on why they were in the hospital.

A friend once told me "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and each time, expecting a different result." So who's crazy? Mom, for her constant fixations? Or ME for thinking I can talk her down, for thinking if I just explain it right, talk a little more slowly, or yell or SOMETHING... then Mom will understand and remember that the clothes she's missing are the ones she hated. Or she'll remember that the Christmas tree she loves so much is falling apart and has been for years. (She declares she just bought it last Christmas.)

Dr. Phil says we fight about topics, not issues. Mom's topics du jour are old discarded clothes, a broken Christmas tree, and artificial tears. The issue? It's always the same. The core need or desire for my mother is to have you drop everything and do her bidding. Unfortunately, when you've jumped through all the hoops, she doesn't want it anymore. You arrive with the prize on a silver platter and she hands you a different list of "needs", ignoring the platter.

For the most part, I've stopped jumping through the hoops. That frustrates Mom to no end, and unfortunately, she takes it out on the staff. Honestly, I'm not trying to frustrate my mom. I'm trying to preserve my own sanity. I can't walk away from her physically. I do my best to keep her safe. The demands are becoming too demanding.

When Mom was rushed to the Emergency Room with chest pain two weeks ago, I said to my husband, "I don't think I know how to live without my mother." That is not to say "I can't live without my mother." I mean, for the past 20 years my mom has been the central focus of my life. Every decision I've made has been weighted with its affect on Mom and her well-being and happiness. That's not nobility on my part. It's a tragic mistake for there is no sense of well-being or happiness for my mom. I've watched her reach moments of contentment, only to put forth an effort to find fault or offense. My mistake has been in thinking I can fix that. It's a mistake for which my children have paid dearly. A mistake that I don't know how to rectify....

It is actually against nursing home regulations for a staff member to receive any kind of gratuity from a patient or a patient's family. A nursing home can be fined heavily if such activity is discovered. Most nursing homes terminate employees for accepting gifts of any kind from the patients or their families.

Mom called me from the hospital today and asked that I go buy something very nice for the activities directer and mom's favorite nurse. Once again I explained to Mom that this was against the rules. "I don't care about the rules. I want them to have a gift from me to show how much I care!" I explained to her that they will lose their jobs if they accept gifts from us.

It is such a difficult position in which to be. Part of my job at the nursing home was to navigate the financial waters for the residents and their families. Of course they were appreciative. They were often hurt when I had to refuse their gifts.

What can you do? You can do something that the entire staff can enjoy. Send pizzas. Bake cookies. Give each nurse's station one of those giant boxes of chocolates. My husband's grocery store sells those huge tins of flavored popcorn for under $10 a can. Those are always a hit.

Just don't put an individual in the awkward position of choosing their jobs over your feelings.

I suggested to my mother today that she write her gratitude in a card. We'll see what she does.

Today I went on a day trip to State College. I used to live there in another life... forgotten. Until today.

I've started this a half dozen times... only to scrap it and go to bed. Today I'm determined.

November is a difficult month for my family. On top of memories of Thanksgiving Nightmares of the past, it's also the month my dad died.

Dad's death is actually more impactful now than it was then. For me, his death came on the heels of a disastrous couple of years. I'd just gone through a divorce and remarried way too soon after. I had not been home since I'd remarried, and my first husband was from home. I was bringing a stranger into territory that belonged to my first husband and me. THAT was the hard part, believe it or not.

I come from a Christian family who feels absolutely assured of their final destination. Dad's passing was almost joyful. It was certainly peaceful. It was peaceful for most of us. I remember sitting in the waiting room with my sisters and my cousins, singing. We sang all of Dad's favorites, "Amazing Grace" "How Great Thou Art" and "It is Well With My Soul" And when the time came, we stood with Dad as his spirit left his body.

It wasn't until Mom went into the nursing home that she began to mourn my Dad's passing. She was sort of mad at him in the years just after his death. I don't blame her. My dad truly believed to the very depths of his soul, that he would not taste death. It's not that he thought he was special, he just was certain that Jesus would come back in his life time. And he lived like it. He didn't save. He didn't plan. He didn't buy life insurance. He didn't even buy credit life insurance. Mom had $80 to her name at the funeral. I'd have been pretty mad too, if I'd been left in such dire straights.

Mom's forgotten all of that. Blessedly, I think. She began to truly mourn him when she entered the nursing home -- 17 years after his passing.

And then there's Thanksgiving. I think we all have a "funny" story about the calamities that befell us on that day of the year. Like the year my dad decided it would be a good idea to baste the turkey with a mixture of orange juice concentrate and Tabasco sauce. Trust me, it was vile. Or the year Mom invited two families for dinner, and then canceled on Thanksgiving morning. Back then only Denny's was open on Thanksgiving Day.

The year after Dad died, Mom announced that SHE was cooking Thanksgiving Dinner and forbade any of us to help her. Oh my holy God. What a nightmare. There were pots and pans lining my kitchen floor. There were piles of vegetable peelings on newspaper all over the counter tops. (Excuse me, how hard is it to throw that stuff away???) And to add insult to injury, our kitchen faucet kept malfunctioning and spewing water all over the place.

The result of a life time of Thanksgiving chaos is stress free preparations and a flawless presentation when I cook. I plan and I plot. I clean and prepare and pre-cook. When I get up on Thanksgiving morning, all that's left to do is put the bird in the oven and prepare mashed potatoes. Everything else is done in advance. And when we sit down to dinner, the only dishes that need washing are the ones on the table. That's just as insane as the chaos, don't you think?

In recent years, the holiday has been even easier. We go to my mother-in-law's where everyone does something, and nobody does everything. Confidentially, I really miss cooking the dinner myself, but not enough to give up the time with my in-laws. I'm so blessed to have married into such a great family!

To end this post, I want to list the things I'm thankful for as it relates to my Mom--which is who this blog is all about.....

In No Particular Order I'm thankful....

-:- My mom got me hooked on reading

-:- My mom taught me how to dress well

-:- My mom taught me how to cook and bake

-:- My mom inspires me to excellence (in a "what not to wear" sort of way)

-:- My mom instilled in me an insatiable thirst for knowledge (she never accepted "I don't know" for an answer. She'd say "I didn't ask you if you knew...")

-:- Through her self-loathing my mother taught me self-love

A note about the final point... One of the most difficult things I deal with is my mother's sense of worthlessness. She mistrusts people who love and admire her in a Charlie Chaplin style. (He used to say, "any club that would have me, isn't worth joining") When I was growing up, I'd hear my mother berating herself for her weight or looks, and I'd think "If only she could see what a good looking woman she is, no matter what her size...." And I purposed in my heart to accept myself, no matter how old, or large I got. So mothers out there, step back and ask yourself "How am I impacting my daughter?" Please?

I got called to answer a survey today. The person who called me was the new RNAC (RN Assessment Coordinator) at the nursing home. She probably asked me thirty questions. I actually got the feeling that she was listening.

We talked about Mom's on-going issue with perching on the wheelchair all day. She agreed that many of Mom's issues with pain and circulation would be resolved if Mom spent less time in the wheelchair and more time in the recliner, putting her feet up.

She asked me the questions twice. First from my perspective and then from my mother's. She'd ask, do you feel that the facility is doing a good job in providing your mother with a variety of food? Then. Would your mother say that the facility is doing a good job in providing her with a variety of food. The answers were often polar opposites.

I did have a few complaints about the nursing home. They tend to make health decisions about Mom without consulting me. For instance, I got a phone call at work the other day saying that they were stopping Mom's physical therapy. What therapy? I didn't know anything about Therapy! They tend to change her meds without informing me and often schedule Dr.'s appointments without my knowlege.

I think my biggest gripe is her room. Every time I go in there, I've got a mountain to climb. The RNAC said, "So maybe this is something we can encourage your mother to work on." I nearly choked on my drink! AS IF!!! Good luck with that. My mother never in her life kept a handle on her clutter, to think she'd start doing it now is a portrait of insanity!

There were questions about my relationship with the nursing home administration. I'm locked in an odd, almost adversarial relationship with the administrator. Neither one of us has figured out how to move out of the boss/employee relationship. I do better with nursing administration.

The final question's answer would seem to be in direct opposition to the over all answers of the poll. "All in all, how would you say your mother's quality of life is here at the facility." Unlike my mother, I remember what her days were like when she was living alone. She was languishing. EMS was called to pick her up off the floor at least three times a week, and she had a virtual non-existent social life. Another frightening aspect of Mom's safety back then, was the fact that Pennsylvania had closed their mental hospitals and were housing young "able-bodied" mentally disturbed people in what had been senior housing. In the last days there, Mom was being hit up for cash and medication by much younger and stronger people. She was always a little afraid and often VERY afraid.

To sum it up, Mom is healthier, safer and happier at this time in her life than I've seen her in decades. She's got really good friends and adores dining with them in the evening. She has plenty of interesting choices of activities--and not just gluing macaroni to a paper plate and spraying it gold. Mom belongs to a current events discussion group. She can take painting classes, if she wants to. (She usually complains about "the medium" of paint supplies--whatever Mom.) The four foot stacks in every inch of her room indicate that she's got plenty to read. There is always some sort of visiting entertainment from musicians to ministers to pet therapy. They have trips to Red Lobster (don't get me started) Perkins (for breakfast) and Lord help me- Walmart.

Believe it or not, Mom's happier than I've seen her. She wouldn't tell you that. Those of us who know her could look back at any period of her life and tell you she's got it good... while Mom would report how bad it really was. So, I guess, the more things change-the more they stay the same.

Is it Sunday again already???

I found Mom in good spirits today. An old friend of mine was in the hallway as I approached Mom's room. Her dad's back in the nursing home after a bout of pneumonia. Linda stopped in to see Mom and went on a rant about all the trouble they've had with her dad's care.

That opened the door for MOM to complain. And complain. And complain. Her main grievance today was that she couldn't get anyone to clear off her recliner. (hint hint) So I tackled it. There were two pillows on her bed and three pillows in the seat of the recliner. I said, "MOM! How many pillows do you need????" She said, "Five" She sleeps in a twin hospital bed and needs FIVE PILLOWS. Lordie Lordie.

Also in the recliner was a two foot tall stack of magazines. I asked Mom who was bringing her all the magazines. She's lifting them from where ever she finds them. I found FOUR Reader's Digests for THE SAME MONTH!! Mom's like me, I'm more of a book owner than a book reader. And I wouldn't be surprised if I found multiple copies of the same book. So who am I to judge???

The other thing in the recliner (Can you IMAGINE how high this stuff was stacked!!) was a huge plastic bag of clothing. Stapled to the bag was a note that read "Please mark these clothes and return to room 602-2". There was a signature on the note that indicated the clothing was marked. So I said, "Mom, why don't I hang up these clothes for you?"

There were twelve pairs of men's underwear in the bag. (all with her name marked in them) I said, "oh, I think these aren't yours... they're men's briefs!" They're hers. She bought them at the rummage sale they had last weekend. Men's underwear.

It's all about ownership and my mother's absolute inability to pass up a bargain. I grabbed up the drawers and went to find a place to throw them out. There were several aides and nurses at the nurses station who got a big kick out of me. "Oh you found your mother's shopping spree!" Nice.

All in all, Mom's in good spirits. Life is normal. The piles of weirdness abound in her room. Life is good.

I guess the only way to get over writer's block is to write... so here goes....

I went to see Mom on TUESDAY this week. It had been 10 days since I'd seen her. I haven't gone that long without seeing my mother in about 5 years. It felt good and bad. It was good to have a break from the constant..... but the guilt felt bad.

A couple of weeks ago I slipped at work and did a number on my knee. It was all I could do to get through a day. The thought of hobbling through the nursing home was just too much. (Is that a good enough excuse?)

I'd love to go visit Mom and just have a conversation. Each visit has a theme-- the need of the day. It's always something that she wants me to fix, buy or arrange. It can get exhausting. She's been bugging to see an ophthalmologist. She won't consent to the cataract surgery she needs. The glaucoma is being monitored by the facility's optometrist. Both her ophthalmologist and optometrist agree that her vision can no longer be corrected with glasses. So.... now what?

A few weeks ago Mom kept telling me to "DO SOMETHING" about her heels. They HURT. *sigh*... I ignored her and did nothing. She complained loud enough and her nurse stepped in. She got regular foot massages, new sleeping booties and a new air mattress. Go MOM! Even in a nursing home, she works the system! Just as a precaution, the nurse ordered a dopler study on her legs.

Turns out, Mom is having pretty severe circulatory problems in BOTH legs causing nerve damage to her heels. I don't know which way to go with Mom. It seems like when I jump through her hoops, there's nothing wrong. When I throw up my hands and do nothing, it's something serious. Guess I should just jump through the hoops and let the chips fall where they may.

Back to the circulatory problems-- they are a direct result of her dependence upon her wheel chair. Mom can walk. She just won't. She perches on the front of her wheel chair 10 - 14 hours per day. She complains of back pain, heel pain, has bed sores. All as a result of the way she sits on a sheet of thin vinyl all day every day. There's no talking to her about it either.

So today I had a phone conference with Mom's RN coordinators. She's finishing up some therapies. She's back on blood thinners. Both RN's noted that Mom's memory is really slipping. I knew that. Mom has what I call Irish Alzheimer's. She forgets everything but the grudge. She remembers all offenses verbatim. *g* Anyway, the one RN was lamenting about how sad it is to see Mom slipping so much-mentally.

It is sad. But when I walked in yesterday she said, "How was your trip???" OK... we'll go with that. I'd much rather her think I'm on a trip that know that I just couldn't face a visit on Sunday. :-(

I'm not waxing very poetic tonight. Something's up with Mom. She's been having some bleeding so they took her to a gynecologist today. H `e didn't find anything wrong with her, so he referred her back to the urologist. (These two bat Mom back and forth like she's a badminton birdie.)

When the urologist heard Mom was having trouble, he wanted to see her right away. So she goes to see him on Wednesday. It's probably kidney stones again. Looking back over my journals, Mom gets kidney stones about twice a year. She's had one big one that seems to flare up now and then. I hope she isn't looking at surgery.

Mom was so cute on Sunday. She's got this HUGE sunburn! Saturday was "community day" at the nursing home and Mom didn't miss a minute of it. They gave her a sun visor, but I don't know how she wore it! She's got this big red band of sunburn at her hair line, a white line that starts halfway down her forehead and covers her eyes, then beet red on the rest of her face and hands. She refused sun screen saying the visor was enough. I chided her "Don't you know if you get sunburned now, you'll have wrinkles when you get old???" Ba dump bump.

Mom's emotions are still very friable. She cries at everything! Good and bad.

Please keep my mom in your thoughts and prayers. I'm worried.

OR... Lies my mother told me....

Before I begin, I want to stress that I'm not trying to paint my mother as a liar. My goal is to illustrate the disease process of an aging bi-polar.

We've talked about confabulation a lot on this blog. This is the tendency to fill in the missing memory items with assumptions of what the truth could be.

My siblings and I are pretty far apart in age. (I'm the menopause baby!) My older siblings have a history that I do not share. I remember when my grandmother (Mom's mom) turned 80, my sisters came to Pennsylvania to attend a luncheon in Grandma's honor. I live a couple of hours away from where Grandma lived and died, and where my brother and sisters were born and spent their formative years.

All the way to Grandma's house they pointed out landmarks and reminisced about people and places that I had never known or experienced. It struck me that our lives were completely different. Their foundation was one of family, extended family, the love of grandparents, life with cousins and aunts and uncles. This was something that I did not know.

I don't know my cousins, or even my aunts and uncles, really. Whenever we were around them, I always felt like "poor relations". Of course, that probably came as a result of the conversations my parents had in the car on the way.

Being the child of a bi-polar requires a meticulous attention to detail and a near photographic memory. The child must remember what sets off a tirade, where the keys are, phone numbers, what's in the fridge, who's coming to dinner, etc. etc. Even remembering all these things is no guarantee of peace. But it's a good hedge to the bet.

I say that to tell you that I remember my mother's history very well. I remember every job she had, from waitress to factory worker to fabric store clerk to Disney employee. I remember them well. And I remember dad's too.

My earliest memories of dad's career are of him being a mechanic of some sort with TWA. He was an airplane mechanic during the war and when the space program came along, they used airplane mechanics in the Apollo Space program. Dad's claim to fame in the space program was his run as a union shop steward.

Mom tells people that Dad was "Head of PR for NASA". And that prestigious position allowed him to "span the globe" in search of only the best titanium for her knee replacements. Total fabrication.

Family history tells that when Dad first came back from the war, he worked for Sylvania Electric as a research lab assistant. Dad's research team invented the process that allows you to see the color red on your color TV. I understand that the patent contains all the names of the people involved in this project.

When Mom's TV started making all the people look badly sunburned, she told everyone that this was the TV that my father used to single handedly invent the color red. I bought her the TV when she moved from my house to her own apartment about 10 years ago.

I went to Mom's room on Wednesday and found her wringing her hands over the Fannie May/Freddie Mac debacle. "When I owned a real estate firm, we had to deal with those crooks all the time." Folks, I can't even tie that to a thread of truth. Mom never had anything to do with real estate in my life time.

When my son was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, a form of autism, my mom related how many autistic kids she'd worked with when she was a special needs teacher. Again, I have no idea where she got that.

Mom's always been an embellisher and it used to mortify me when she'd start spinning her yarns. Now it doesn't bother me so much. I am certain that you could hook my mother up to a polygraph, ask her questions about her new history and she'd pass with flying colors. This is now my mother's reality. Absolutely.

I wish her life had been so fulfilling and so exciting. I know that her life was a disappointment to her. She's always been one of the most self-loathing people I've ever encountered. I never understood that. My mom was funny, talented, brainy, and attractive, yet she genuinely hated herself. I think my sisters and I all struggle with that same tendancy. I know that we are all driven to do well in our lives. We all clammor for "the prize". What is "the prize"? It's our mother's approval.

Approval. Funny. Mom approves of whichever one of us is not in the room.

A couple of weeks ago the nursing home called me just before midnight. I don't know about you, but phone calls after 9:00 PM make me nervous. The nurse who called said, "Your mom lost her wallet." What??? You called me at midnight to talk about her WALLET??? That's CRAZY.

So I go see my mom last night. She tells me that she's been passing blood. I asked her if she knew from where and she said, "They think I've got another UTI (urinary tract infection)." That makes sense. She went on to tell me that the nurse examined her and ordered tests. She said she was concerned because they hadn't done the catheterization yet.

Not that I don't believe Mom, but she has been known to embellish and exaggerate. So tonight I called to see if they'd done the tests. The nurse on the phone was a little defensive and dismissive. She said "Your mother didn't complain of pain...." When I pressed her for details about the hemorrhaging, she expressed doubts about Mom's story. I suggested she check nurses notes for the night before and sure enough, there was an entry detailing finding Mom in distress about the amount of blood that was present.

Now I ask you, why wouldn't someone have picked up the phone and called me??? They'll wake me up for a wallet, but let my mother be found with a bed full of blood and no one thinks to call. Of course, I made that point loud and clear to the nurse on duty.

A UTI explains a lot of my mom's confusion lately. She's been asking what day it is, what month it is. Her piles of stuff are odder. I realized that Mom does really strange things with her stuff when she's confused.

You know what bothers me??? The nurse told me that it will probably Monday or TUESDAY before the lab results come back. Are you KIDDING me??? Who waits that many days to find out the results? I'll be keeping a very close eye on my mom in the next few days.

So how about that Sara Palin??? Now there's a feminist. :-)

A movie. I've watched it twice in 24 hours. I love Meg Ryan so it's not hard to watch one of her movies a couple of times. What drew me to this movie was it's description on the "INFO" tab. It said it was about a young writer who is taking care of his elderly grandmother.... Funny, when I watched the movie, it didn't seem to be about that at all.

This is one of those rare movies where I could see myself in all five of the major characters.

The guy. He's an aspiring writer who decides to take some time off to take care of his demented grandmother. (Olympia Dukakis) At one point Grandma answers the door with no pants on. The boy/man sternly says "Grandma, get with the program here. It's not OK for you to do anything that involves other people when you're not dressed. If you want to give the illusion that you're not completely demented, you will heed my advice on this, OK? Put some pants on!" (My co-workers have seen my mother naked.)

The Mom. (Meg Ryan) Her teenaged daughter thinks "she breaks her neck trying to make her life look like a crate and barrel store". The mom wants to connect with her teenaged daughter, but can't break through the contempt that the girl holds for her. The girl is mad at her mother because her father hasn't been faithful. The mom's 10 year old child is happy to let mom in. So the family has become dad/16 year old: Mom/10 year old. Mom's got interests, hopes, dreams, aspirations. People in the household don't always see it.

The teenager. She is so angry at her mother. Her mother is so LAME! She's mad at her dad too, but she's madder at her mom. And she can't be mad at everybody or who would take care of her? The teenager has interests, hopes, dreams, aspirations. People in the household don't always see it.

The 10 year old. She's the youngest in the family. But often, she's the voice of reason. She reads up on everything. If something scares her, she finds out everything she can about the thing. She breaks it up into small, digestible pieces and conquers it. The chips often fall on her. When The Mother got sick, the 10 year old stepped in. The dad and the sister didn't know quite what to do. So the 10 year old finds out about the illness and takes it on.

The Grandmother. While I see my own mother in this character, I can also see myself. Sometimes I just don't WANT to be responsible. I want to dress funny, wear funny hats, and sort of check out. This grandmother keeps telling her grandson that she's dying. But he doesn't believe her. And when she choses her time with dignity (like I hope to someday do) he's devastated by the loss. While I never want to inflict pain on my children, I do want them to feel an empty place when I'm gone. An empty place that isn't a huge relief.

I received a call from the nursing home administration on Friday. Mom had been telling everyone that we were going on a shopping trip today. The nursing home asked that I please remove some things from her room before I bring more in.

I didn't end up needing to take much stuff out. Mostly it was newspapers and food stuff. Not a difficult clean up at all. In the end, Mom was really too tired to shop. Good. I was too!

When I first arrived at the nursing home, I saw that Mom wasn't in the dining room again, so I headed straight for her room. She wasn't there. I went out to the nurses' station and found Charlie, her nurse. Can I just take a minute here and sing Charlie's praises??? He's the most wonderful nurse I've ever had the pleasure to work with. He's found a way to treat the residents like they're perfectly rational and normal, yet meet their needs-no matter how odd or eccentric.

I told Charlie that I was concerned because Mom had just been through a rather pronounced manic phase. He seemed to notice it too. I said, "I worry when Mom comes out of these manic phases. Money seems to trigger and sustain the mania. If she can shop and buy, she stays 'up.' When she stops acquiring, she really crashes into a depression." Charlie asked me a question that just sort of stopped me in my tracks....

"What does she want?" He asked. "What is it that she's trying to acquire?"

Wow. What a loaded question. Honestly, I don't think I know. So much of what I do know, is based upon an accumulation of negatives. Mom doesn't like chocolate ice cream, but she loves chocolate. Mom hates the smell of grape bubblegum, but loves grapes. She must have a clean bathroom, but there better not be any grit left behind in the tub. I never knew exactly how she wanted something done, just how she didn't want them done.

I finally found Mom--all by herself--in the activities room. She was parked in front of a big screen TV that was playing a Gaither's Gospel Music Reunion. (Hence the new background music!) Mom looked at me and began sobbing. "I've been in mourning (she's so dramatic) all weekend because I FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!" She wailed. "Um. Mom? My birthday's nearly a month away!" She said, "Isn't today September 24th?" No. It's August 24th. "Oh." She said, and then stopped "mourning"--sort of.

Then, the fabulous Vestal Goodman began singing. I figured Mom would be ready to leave. She always hated hearing Vestal Goodman's "caterwauling". Mom would gripe and groan about how she shrieks and wails and who would want to listen to that??

Well, much to my surprise, mom lamented about how nobody knows how to sing good gospel music anymore. "Vestal was the best!" Apparently in Mom's new history, she really liked Vestal Goodman!

I sat with her while the good old groups sang one after another of the classics. The men in the crowd either looked like Elvis or Billy Ray Cyrus. Holy mullets batman. The women made me long for the 80's. I miss big hair and shoulder pads!

I asked Mom if she wanted to come guide me while I cleaned her room. I didn't want to just pitch stuff. (That is such a lie, I totally wanted to pitch stuff!) I offered her the opportunity to direct the disposition of her things. She let out a big sigh and said, "Nooooo... just do what you think is best... I just want to sit here and listen to the music." Her face was shiny with tears.

I fought back tears all the way to her room, praying no one would ask me what was wrong. That good old gospel music brought back a few my own memories.

I got Mom's room back in shape quickly. I went back to get Mom. She was hungry now. She had refused lunch earlier. So I went and got her Taco Bell. I left her with strict instructions to eat, warning her that delayed gratification is NO gratification. "This food won't keep. If you're not going to eat it now, just throw it out. It'll be horrible later."

As I left, she asked me for money. Fortunately, I didn't bring my purse in with me. The very last thing Mom needs right now is money. I left her in her recliner. I hope she gets some rest and wakes up feeling happier.

I doubt it will happen though. I think she's heading for a real doozie. Time will tell.

My mom is coming off a two week long manic phase.

I went to see her tonight and was surprised to find that she wasn't having dinner with her girlfriends in the dining room. They said she hadn't been at lunch either. When I went back to her room, I found her slumped over in wheelchair.

Her room was a total disaster area. Worse than I'd ever seen it. She's been on a couple of major shopping benders. They took her to Wal-Mart last Wednesday. Holy crap. She bought the store out. Her blood sugar has to be through the roof. There is so much candy in that room it's pathetic. She told me about all the fresh fruit she bought. The activities director actually came up to me and said, "You need to go organize your mother's room. She bought a LOT of stuff at Wal-Mart today." I have told them and told them "Don't take my mother to Wal-Mart." Did they listen? Noooooo. I told her "You took her to Wal-Mart, YOU deal with it." Hmmmm I think I ticked her off!

So if Wal-Mart wasn't enough, they had a big yard sale at the facility on Saturday. Mom's room is FILLED with stuff. She got a ton of clothes, shoes, books, TOYS (for babies!), kitchen stuff, tons of things.

As so often is the case with bi-polars, she's momentarily come to her senses. She's found herself sitting in chaos. She realizes it's a chaos of her own making and is coming down. She's headed for an emotional crash.

Her chair, again, was piled high with schtuff and she complained of how sore she was from sitting in the wheel chair. What to do, what to do...

I didn't have the energy to clean it up again today. She wants to go shopping on Sunday. How can we? There is NO PLACE LEFT to put anything. I'm hoping that by Sunday, I'll be rested up and can dig in once again.

Oh... and on a "lighter" note. Remember that 84 page PDF book I was so afraid to let my mother read? I found food soaked pages all over her room. Apparently she's not too broken up by it! LOL

They say bi-polars have a predictable pattern to their lives. So do the people who live with them. I know it sounds like I've got the short end of the stick here, but I think it's my mom who's suffering the most. She looked so bewildered and overwhelmed today. And there wasn't anything I could do to help her. One hundred percent of my energy was being put toward pressing my upper lip against my lower lip and shutting the heck up. I WANTED to scold, yell, question, advise, and fix. I just kept my mouth shut. It was EXHAUSTING!!!

Note: Before I launch into today's post, may I direct you to a web page that gives an interesting little history of the phrase that titles today's thoughts?

http://www.worldwidewords.org/qa/qa-hor2.htm


Yesterday I put a CD into my player at work. It was a John Denver duets collection. My co-workers were concerned when they saw me tearing up to the Placido Domingo pairing. It was beautiful. The result of listening to this ancient selection of music was a trip down my own memory lane. Each of the songs from my teen years brought back faces and places near to my heart.

Several weeks ago my niece sent me an 84 page PDF file that she'd found on line. It was "The History of Temple Baptist Church, Titusville, Florida". My dear husband spent hours printing out all of the pages for me to give to my mother. I've held it back and didn't even tell Mom it existed. A recent visit from my niece resulted in the cat being soundly let out of the bag.

I've truly been on the horns of a dilemma. Do I give it to Mom or not? You might wonder what the deal is.

I read the book. I don't know if it was the writing style or the fact that most of my entire life is on those 84 pages. At least from the years of five to thirty. I was carried from one page to the next until suddenly, it was over. Isn't life just like that?

The story begins in 1964 when our comfortable pastor was our music director. He and his family were the main "entertainment" in our church in Orlando. For every Correll kid, there was an Edsell kid. My oldest sister still maintains contact with their oldest daughter. I was the youngest and started first grade with their youngest. Ten minutes after first grade, my mom was driving both of us from Titusville, Florida to Springfield, Missouri where we both attended Baptist Bible College.

In 1964, Brother Correll was "called" to save this decrepit little church 38 miles away from Orlando. The book takes you from that first night with just eight people in attendance to the present day church that is the largest and most wealthy in the area. Mrs. Correll goes year by year mentioning births, deaths, marriages, graduations and other landmark events.

Today I sat at my desk at work and tearfully read about that horrible day in 1984 when an arson burned that gorgeous church to the ground. My heart broke all over again when she lovingly chronicled the life, ministry, and tragically untimely death of her beloved son Kim. Kim had been a professor at Baptist Bible College when I was a student. His wife often fed the poor starving kids from home. And like his father before him, Kim stepped away from a pretty comfy and cushy life of a professor and ventured out into the mission field. He died there of undiagnosed leukemia.

In the pages of that book I saw my own young life. There was my graduation, my departure to Bible college, my marriage, the birth of my daughter. And a loving tribute to my dad.

The past few days have been almost torturous for me. I am so filled with longing for happier and simpler days, and with regret for roads not taken--or roads taken and taken for granted. What will this do to my mother???

After much thought and prayer, I decided to take the book to Mom today. I started reading some of the old names and places to her. We both gave into tears.

I feel so bad for my mom. That church and the people there were her very life. It all came to a screeching halt when my dad died suddenly. Mom lived with me for a few years, and decided to try to go back on her own. She was back in Florida for about 4 years before she was too old to work and too broke to make it on her Social Security. She came back to PA to live with me. As the years slipped by, Mom has lost contact with all of her old friends from Temple.

I worry that reading Mrs. Correll's words will break her heart. I hope that she will be able to look back over the years fondly and not have too much regret. I hope I did the right thing by giving it to her.

If I messed up, I'll pick up the pieces.

Wednesday is my regular day to go to the Nursing Home. I just couldn't do it yesterday. I knew that if I went, I'd leave upset.

I spent the better part of Sunday hoeing out Mom's room. It's just half a room! How can she fill it up so full???? I took four large kitchen can liners out, FULL of schtuff. What baffles me is, how does she get it? I am very careful not to bring things in that she'll just stock pile.

I threw out twenty magazines that were from 2004 or earlier. I found dozens of pages that she ripped out of magazines. I think the theme was cooking, although there were pages that didn't have any reference to food or recipes. These pages seemed to mean something to Mom, so I put them in a pretty gift bag that had sturdy sides and bottom. (Filled it up!)

Mom's collections are interesting if you're a passer by, however, if you've got to deal with it, they're annoying. Her collections can be broken down into four categories. 1) Things for her scrap book. (i.e. pages ripped out of a magazine.) 2) Straws and plastic utensils. Now this collection baffles me. My mother hates plastic utensils. She thinks they're cheap and trashy. She wouldn't rest until I bought her a set of "real" eating utensils. So why save all the plastic stuff??? Why save straws in a place that uses thousands of them a month. Why ask why? (I digress.) 3) Books and magazines, and finally 4) food stuff.

Mom has four scrapbooks. All empty, but she's got plans for them. I hope she gets them done. I'm very interested in what captures her imagination. The books and magazines are ridiculous. She's read all the books and many of them don't belong to her, but she refuses to part with them. The hardest part of this collection is the bulk of it. She had books piled on her recliner, on the floor, on TWO over the bed dinner tables (she had three of them, and is only supposed to have one), on top of her TV, on the dresser and on top of the bookshelf. (This doesn't include the books that I neatly categorized onto her bookshelf six months ago--which she hasn't touched.)

With her recliner being full of junk, she's only got one place to sit: her wheelchair. Her wheelchair is plastic and the result of spending 18 hours a day in a plastic seat has created two problems. First, her feet and legs stay swollen because she doesn't lift them up unless she's asleep. Second, and more alarming, is she's developing bed sores. Being a diabetic, a bed sore can be deadly. I left harsh instructions to both Mom and the nurses: NOTHING IN THE CHAIR EXCEPT MY MOTHER'S BUTT!!! I wish you could have seen how comfy she was when she sat down in her chair.

The last, and most disconcerting collection is her food. Mom's food drawers tell a sad story of delayed gratification that ends up with disappointment. Case in point, her peach wine factory. On Saturday someone brought in fresh peaches for everyone. Pennsylvania peaches beat the crap out of Georgia peaches. Having lived in both states, I can say this with some authority. Mom put her peach in a ziplock bag and stuck it in her drawer. Overnight it was reduced to a bag full of rotting pulp.

I think Mom was so thrilled with the peach that she wanted to save it for tomorrow. What happened "tomorrow"? A bag of garbage that was drawing flies. Not only did Mom miss the chance to enjoy her peach, she set herself up for disappointment when she finally decided to partake.

I saw many examples of this tendency. Her food drawer was filled with salad dressing packets, dipping sauces from various fast food restaurants, moldy muffins, stale gourmet cookies. All things she wanted to save to enjoy later. All gone un-enjoyed.

I spent hours in Mom's room organizing, scrubbing, tossing and sweating! I got cheers from housekeeping and nursing staff alike. Mom throws them out of the room when they try to clean. I just wheeled Mom down to the dining room and told her not to come back until I came to get her.

So why did I skip my trip yesterday? I am certain she's trashed the room again. I'll find her in her wheelchair with junk and clothes piled on her recliner. And I'll be mad. I don't want to be mad, so I stayed away.

It takes me a couple of days to assimilate visits with Mom. I just wasn't ready to go back into the fray yesterday. Tomorrow night I'll go up, we'll run to Taco Bell for mango fruitistas. I'll clean out her chair, scold her for trashing the place again, and ask the nurses to please see that Mom sits in her recliner more. All exercises in futility.

Mike cashed Mom's stimulus check for her and I picked her up after work on Saturday. As we were wheeling toward the exit, I said, "OK, Mom. Close your eyes and think of the one thing you'd like to eat. No matter what or where, what would you want to eat?" It didn't take her long to say "Good Mexican food."

Easy. I took her to a local chain of restaurants called El Rodeo. I've frequented El Rodeo for about 30 years now, since it was a little hole in the wall owned by a Mexican family. (Remember Bonita?) Now their restaurants are large and elegant. When Mom went in, she said it was like being in Mexico City. There is a lot of exposed brick and stucco. The colors are bright and the decor is just outstanding. Our favorite part was that each chair is different. All are hand carved, some have toucans, some sunflowers, some flamingos, some parrots or sombreros. All a work of art unto themselves.

I told the waiter about having Mom close her eyes and dream of the best food she could get. "When she said 'Good Mexican food', I knew right where to bring her." Well, that's all I needed to say. Mom was queen for a day.

Our waiter catered to her every wish. (and when she figured out he would, she came up with LOTS of wishes!) Unfortunately, Mom's been on such a bland diet that the food seemed hot to her. It wasn't, but she struggled to eat. She was able to eat all the refritos with sausage and cheese and some of her chicken.

We knew we wanted dessert, but Mom was struggling between flan and a pastry filled with cream cheese. She settled on flan and enjoyed every single bite. As we were leaving, Luis, our waiter, brought her an order of refritos with sausage to go and the other dessert that she turned down. He didn't even charge us!

While we were pouring over the menu, Luis lingered nearby to answer any questions Mom might have about the menu. Mom shared with Luis how years ago, she and our pastor's family used to got Matamores every year to see a doctor of arthritis there. Then she told of how our pastor's son started a church in Mexico City and that she and Dad went down every year to work in his church.

At that moment, Mom remembered the day. It would have been her 63rd wedding anniversary with Dad. Apparently they'd spent a lot of their anniversaries in Mexico at Kim's church. Mom was tearful and related to Luis that they had planned on retiring there, "But he left me all alone."

Luis was attentive and seemed genuinely interested in Mom's stories. (We went early and were the only people in the restaurant for a while.) It did Mom good to have a fresh set of ears to hear what she says over and over again.

I got to see Mom through Luis' eyes. What an interesting lady. How funny and witty she is. I saw how she weaves a story and draws you in. I saw how she misses my dad.

Time does not heal all wounds. Sometimes, as time passes, the wound becomes more painful. It wasn't until Mom went into the nursing home that she began to miss my dad so acutely. In the years right after his death, she was a little mad at him for being so unprepared for his own death.

I've often said, "the largest surprise in my dad's life was his death." He was absolutely certain that he would never see death. He thought that he and Enoch would share that commonality. Dad was lead pipe sure that Jesus would come again before he died. I think he deliberately avoided medical help when he knew he was having a heart attack because he was sure whatever was going on would abate and he would live on--or Jesus was coming today.

I always thought Dad was the only one that wanted to retire in Mexico. It looks like Mom is very disappointed that it didn't work out that way.

My day with Mom on Saturday was bitter sweet. We had big plans to go shopping and spending her money. In the end, she made a list of things for me to order for her on the internet. She was exhausted after lunch. It was all I could do to get her back in the car and out again at the nursing home.

Remember me sharing how the Arocept was working so well? It skipped a beat on Saturday. Mom wanted a few dollars, so I gave her two fives and five ones. Any more than that and she loses it. I wasn't back home more than an hour or two when the nursing home called. Mom was in a panic. She was sure I'd given her two twenties and she had lost them. I had paid for our lunch with two twenties. :-( Mom often puts unrelated fragments together to form "the truth".

So for today, I'm missing my parents. Both of them.

How's that for a grabber???

My mom has been bugging and bugging about her stimulus check. I told her that since she had not filed a tax return in umptie leven years, she wouldn't qualify for one. All the old ladies around her were waving their $300 checks and Mom was sure she was entitled to one too.

I refused to help her. For two reasons, one--I'm tired and I don't want to do the research and two (they say the last reason is the real reason) the very last thing my mother needs is a bunch of cash.

To prove that my mother isn't nearly as helpless as she'd like you to believe, she got herself around and did what needed to be done to get that stimulus check. It finally came last week.

The nursing home is terrified that I'm going to sue them so they called me at work. God knows how many people were in the room, I was on speaker phone. "Your Mom's stimulus check came, what do you want us to do with it?" Great. I had them send it to me, which they did by registered mail.

So tomorrow, I take Mom to cash her check, and Lord Help Me, I take her shopping. I hate to go shopping with Mom. She wants every thing. She wants bags and bags and bags of everything.

I'm going to try to steer her into buying some things for herself that she can use. But if I'm not careful, she'll be bringing home trinkets and baubles and junk.

Funny. We go to a restaurant that sells these nifty "arrangements" of candy. It's become a holiday tradition. I get one for Mom at Christmas and Easter (about as often as I hit the church doors!) They're so cute. Whoever makes them is very clever. From afar they look like flower arrangements but they're actually candies put on sticks and stuck into some festive thing like a basket or a wreath.

At St. Patrick's Day this year, Mom took a liking to one of those arrangements in a big plastic mug. It was all green cellophane, lollipops, and white chocolate pops iced with green trim. (yuck-if it's white, it's candy-- NOT chocolate, but that's a battle to be fought another day.)

Last week, well after the fourth of July, I noticed that the St. Paddy's day "arrangement" was still in her room. The good stuff had been picked off and eaten. What was left were suckers, and dried out white candy (not chocolate, remember???), bare, candy-less sticks, and tufts of green cellophane. It looked like the prize in an alley cat fight. Raggedy!

I said to Mom, "You're done with this, aren't you?" I managed to talk her into getting rid of the ant magnet. I had hoped to save the green plastic mug for her to put pens and pencils in, but the green floral spongy stuff was hot glued into the cup. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it to be just a cup. So I ended up tossing the whole thing.

She asks me about it every time I'm in. "Somebody stole my green arrangement!"

Mom loves her "stuff".

Oh! And she's got a new roommate. The two of them seem to really like each other. I hope it continues to work. Frances is her name. Her sons are spoiling Mom rotten. They never come in empty handed!

Mom has started taking Arocept. When I found out, I was a little sad. That's an Alzheimer's treatment and I'm not ready to think of Mom having Alzheimer's. I must say though, it's doing wonders. Before Arocept, a visit with mom would be sentences that were always interrupted with, "darnit! what's the word? I don't even have a mind anymore!" Or it would be an hour of the same exact conversation we'd had yesterday. I don't hardly hear her complain about her memory anymore. Mom can grab the word she's looking for with very little effort.

She's also starting to recall things a little more clearly. She hasn't been glomming things all together like she'd been doing. For instance, Mom stopped driving long before my son was born eleven years ago, but she'd say she drove right up to the time she entered the nursing home. The Arocept is allowing her to keep her thoughts more organized.

Today, things are nice with Mom. I think she'll have fun tomorrow. And hey! I don't work there any more, Let THEM figure out what to do with her bags and bags of shtuff!

My mother says things to me like, "WHEN you get diabetes, WHEN you get diverticulitis, WHEN you have a hip replacement, WHEN you end up old and broke...." She assumes that I will experience everything she has experienced. She feels my destiny is inevitable.

Is it?

Every condition my mother suffers is a result of lifestyle. Even her financial situation is a result of the lifestyle choices she and my father made throughout their lives.

I heard something interesting the other day. I was listening to Oprah Winfrey interview Eckhart Tolle on her XM radio show. They were discussing the evolution of life - from birth to death - and how our society is repulsed by old age. Mr. Tolle spoke of how we tend to closet away our old people and we don't appreciate their contribution to life. I can't say that I agree with him completely, but on the foundational concept, I concur.

Mr. Tolle advised that as we approach our end of natural life, we should stop concentrating on DOING and be content with BEING. Wow. He put into one sentence a concept I've been trying to impress upon my mother. It's not that I want her to be a lump and do nothing, but I'd like for her to be content when she's doing nothing.

The apostle Paul said, "I've learned that whatsoever state I'm in, therewith to be content." (Even Alabama???) Easy words, hard accomplishment. Mom keeps asking me why she can't relax. It's difficult to say. I watch her settle in, seemingly at peace, only to see her stir everything up again.

One Sunday I sat in the dining room with Mom and her friend, Geri. The two of them are known as "royalty" in the kitchen. They survey their dinner and don't feel it's a good day unless they've sent something back as "inedible" or my mother's favorite word, "gelatinous".

On this day, the meal was lovely. There was roast beef with gravy, a baked potato with sour cream and butter, Geri got her brussel sprouts and Mom got her steamed broccoli, both had tossed salads with cucumbers, boiled egg, tomatoes (sans salmonella), cheese and greens. For dessert there was baked apples and vanilla ice cream. Steam came off the plate when the cover was lifted.

Mom nervously surveyed every dish, touching, smelling. Then she stuck her chin out and said, "You wouldn't believe the slop they tried to make us eat yesterday!" Forgive me folks, but I just howled. There truly IS no pleasing Mom.

Why? I don't know. Maybe it's a habit. My son almost always says "What?" After I say something to him. I used to always repeat what I had just said, until I realized he wasn't really saying "what?" to me, but to himself. I find that if I don't repeat, he still responds. He just needs to process, and his habit is to say "what?"

Maybe Mom has developed a habit of discontentment. And she says I'll feel just like she does some day.

Will I? I already look like my mother did at 48. Will I act like she does when I'm 81?

I can't accept her premise. There is a litany of things that she did at my age that I don't do now. Mom and I have similar tastes and personalities, but our views on life are vastly different. I won't be so ridiculous as to say I envy my mother. On some level though, I wish I had time to sit and reflect, to read, to write, to engage with people my own age, without having a house to clean, a job to do, etc.

My fondest wish is that Mom can find peace. I think she already blew her chance at happiness. That Sunday meal was a microcosm of her life. She had it good--husband, children, home, church, and she spent that wanting more.

I watch my mother as if she were a harbinger of my own future if I'm not careful. I know how the roses smell. In my youth I watched Mom trample right through the roses in pursuit of the greener grass. I learned that the roses are here and can be counted on, and while taking in their scent and savoring it, the grass beneath my feet grows more lush and green. I realize I am in greener grass, and I love it.

I don't feel good today. If you know me well, you'll know that when I don't feel good, I wear very flashy clothes. I figure I'll let my clothes do all the work while I curl up in a ball and feel like sha-poopie behind the glamor and glitz.

Today I wore (*gasp*) ORANGE! That was the forbidden color when I was a kid. I was never allowed to wear orange or red; or their pastel versions, peach or pink. Mom declared that red heads should never wear these colors, but most especially they should NEVER wear orange.

I remember when my big sister left home, the first thing she did was get an orange outfit. Although, it may have been the second thing she did. She probably got her ears pierced first because my mother always declared that pierced ears were for "gypsies and whores." Whatever Mom... I remember when my big sister came in wearing the orange dress. It had a scalloped hemline with white trim-it reminded me of a dream cicle. I thought it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen and I envied her for having the guts to wear it. Mom looked at the dress through thin slits, it seemed to really make her mad.

It's only been in the past couple of years that I've gotten orange clothing. As usual, I bought the orange shoes first. The first time I wore Orange to work at the nursing home, I told my boss, Barb, how my mother felt about orange and said, "She'll probably ground me for life when she sees this outfit!" Well a couple of hours later I noticed that mom kept wheeling past the business office but wouldn't come in. Finally, thinking she was lost, I yelled, "MOM??? Are you looking for me?" She stuck her nose up in the air and declared, "Well that IS you, I didn't think it was, I NEVER thought I'd see you in ORANGE!" Barb spit an entire mouthful of tea on the windows. It was hilarious!

Later I related to Barb just how verboten Orange was in my life. It may SHOCK you to know that I was a cheerleader when I was a young girl. (They call me relentlessly perky!) From eighth to tenth grade my school colors were orange and white. My mother actually made me wear a brown wig on picture days. Thank goodness she didn't make me cheer in the wig! It wasn't until I was telling Barb about the wig (and seeing the look of shock on her face) that it dawned on me that it just wasn't normal to expect a child to wear a wig if their cheerleading outfit was a bad color.

Mom and I had a big laugh about that today when I went to see her. She loves to stop people and say, "Look at Nansi wearing Orange. I never let her wear that color when she was growing up!" Mom says she didn't know what she was thinking. "Orange is a wonderful color for you! I wonder what else I got wrong?!" Got a life time? :o)

Well, it's happened. The thing I've dreaded for almost a year now. My mother has lost her room mate. Jane is gravely ill. She's in the hospital now. They're hoping she's stable enough for surgery tomorrow. Whatever happens, Jane will not be returning to the nursing home. Her family is very upset and blames the nursing home for the condition their mother is in.

In the beginning, Mom went through a lot of room mates. Her first one was a trip. Mom felt like she had to take responsibility for Anna. Everyone understood Anna and her ways except for Mom. Anna would curl up with her call bell button and press it while she was asleep. The aides learned to peek in and see that Anna was really asleep and just keep going. Mom saw it as Anna being neglected. Anna talked in her sleep. Lord have mercy, that woman must have had an adventurous youth! I would be sitting with Mom and she'd say something extremely sexual. Did I just hear what I THINK I heard????? Mom would nod and say, "Yep. That's what I hear all the time." I ended up requesting that Mom be moved. Not just because of the constant sexual talk, but because Mom was a nervous wreck that Anna might fall.

Her next room mate was a sweet lady who had suffered a horrible stroke at the top of a stair case. She'd tumbled down the stairs and broken her arm, her leg and several ribs. It was difficult to ascertain what was an orthopedic injury and what was the result of the stroke. She eventually recovered and went back to live with her children.

For several months Mom's room was like a revolving door. Mom is affable and the facility knew that she'd befriend whomever they placed with her.

Finally Jane moved in. They were fast friends immediately. Jane is just a few years older than my oldest sister, but suffers from a pretty severe case of Parkinson's. In the first few months, they bonded and took care of each other. Jane went to some of Mike's family functions with us. Then around Christmas she began to decline. She'd spend days in bed. She was just not herself.
Finally, Friday night, Jane was rushed to the hospital. They wanted to do emergency surgery, but couldn't get her stable enough.

My poor mom is devastated. I took her to see Jane this afternoon. They declared their mutual love and friendship. It was heart wrenching. As mad as Jane's family is, I don't think they realize how hard it's going to be on Jane to be separated from Mom.

I know how hard it's going to be on Mom. Mom will be lost without Jane.

I don't know how to pray. I prayed that Mom would find the perfect roommate. It happened, but Mom wasn't happy. I want to say "She's in a nursing home, how can she be happy???" But many of the people in the nursing home ARE happy. They're content and glad to be surrounded by people who love and care for them.

I breaks my heart to hear Mom ask what she has to do to prove she can live on her own. Mom can't live on her own. The local authorities had begun the process to force her into a nursing home before Mom had her last stroke. She was calling 911 at least 3 times a week to get help up off the floor. She was confusing her medications and either overdosing or not taking them at all.

Mike and I swept up a gallon zip lock bag full of pills off her floor when we cleaned out her apartment. She'd drop them and think she'd taken them. Her finances were a disaster. Two days after she went into the hospital they tacked an eviction notice on her door. She hadn't sent a rent check in four months. No wonder she thought she had lots of money when she lived out in the community.

Today Mom begged me to let her go back to her apartment. I feel like her jailer. I have this knot in the pit of my stomach that won't go away.

Keep us in your thoughts and prayers, OK? And please pray for Jane. She's such a great lady.

A couple of years ago, I BEGGED Mike for XM radio for my car. He got it for me and I love it. I'm a talk radio ADDICT, among my favorites is the Oprah and Friends network. All of her regular TV guests, like Dr. Mehmet Oz, Nate Burkas, Gayle King, etc. have hour long shows.

One of my favorites on the Oprah network is Rabbi Schmuley. He's a family man, father of eight, and all around wise leader. I first became acquainted with Schmuley's style when he had a show on The Learning Channel. He would practically move in with troubled families and help them get to the root of their problems. He actually helped a family who lives right near here, and who shops at my husband's grocery store.

Schmuley is very down-to-earth and extremely wise. But today? Not so much....

He was on a rant about the tremendous untapped resource that is America's elderly population. He talked about warehousing old people and how we don't listen to them anymore. He said that the reason he's got a show is because we no longer turn to our elders for guidance.

I think the reason we "warehouse" our elderly is because modern medicine is keeping them alive longer and longer. How many nursing home residents are there because they've had massive strokes that have left them utterly helpless? Or how many are afflicted with dementia and Alzheimer's and simply aren't the person they used to be.

Many elderly Americans live out the last years of their lives in a near vegetative state. I can tell you, without equivocation, that I'd rather die than be strapped into a wheelchair and spoon fed every day! No doubt about it. Sadly, by the time a person is in that state, they are no longer able to articulate just WHAT their wishes are.

I am reminded of a lovely lady I knew who was slipping a little. She'd get lost around town, or show up for an appointment that didn't exist. She'd be at the doctor's and would totally have forgotten that she was just there yesterday. Her son was tied to an invalid wife, and was simply unable to divide himself into two people. He was forced to put his mom in a secure facility.

Fortunately, in my town, there is an entire facility dedicated strictly to all stages of Alzheimer's. His mom seemed to adapt pretty well. She still dressed nicely every day. She still got her hair done once a week. She was an avid reader, prolific gardener and extreme social butterfly.

For several years my friend visited with his Mom. He gleaned much from her experience in life-- even if there were times that she thought he was her husband and not her son. Sadly, one day something most unexpected happened. She had a series of devastating strokes that nearly killed her.

I say "nearly". The truth is, the strokes should have killed her, but they used extraordinary measures and "saved her life". Now she sits in a lamb's wool padded wheelchair/bed. She's completely unable to do anything for her self. The only thing she can say is "help me!" How heartbreaking.

I thought of my friend's mom today when Rabbi Schuley was lamenting the fact the we ignore our elderly. I love ya, Rabbi, but you got this one wrong. We're not ignoring them. We didn't ignore them. When they were able to guide us, we listened. But now their ability to guide us is gone and we're left with the task of making sure they're safe and comfortable. It's an impossible situation with no good answers.

I have mentioned before that Mom fixates. She'll bug and nudge and nag and obsess until she gets what she wants. A couple of years ago she was fixated on Christmas cards and stamps. Now *I* knew that my mother has never sent out Christmas cards. She buys them. Some years she even addresses them. But send them? Never. She bugged, she nagged, she ranted, she raved. She stopped people in the halls and BEGGED them to get her some Christmas cards. People would come to my office and say, "Hey did you know your Mom wants Christmas Cards???" So finally, I bought her two boxes of religious Christmas cards and four books of stamps. That was Christmas 2006. The other day I was looking for a particular address in her address book and the four books of stamps slid onto the floor--not one stamp used. It didn't take me long to find the boxes of cards. Totally unopened. She just wanted them.

Lately she's been bugging to go to a fabric store. My sister came to visit. Mom hadn't seen her in years. She wasn't there ten minutes before Mom was bugging to go to a fabric store. Mom tells people, "I don't know WHY Nansi won't let me SEW!"

Here's why: She can't. Someone, against my wishes, brought Mom a sewing machine last year. It sat in her room unused. Mom couldn't figure it out. She ran up $300 on my cell phone bill calling Sears. Finally Sears called the nursing home and asked them to have Mom stop calling. The sewing machine became a source of major frustration for my mother. She couldn't get it to work and believed that if she could she would be able to sew like she did when she was younger. When her whole unit got moved from the second floor to the first, the sewing machine magically disappeared. It took mom MONTHS to miss it.

The truth is, Mom stopped sewing in the mid 90's. She didn't stop buying fabric and patterns, but she stopped sewing. For the most part, sewing meant buying fabric and stacking it in a corner. Sometimes Mom would actually lay the pattern out and cut out the pieces. It's been decades since an actual garment has come to completion.

Mom thinks she stopped sewing when she went into the nursing home. When we cleaned out her apartment, I found fabric that I remembered from my childhood. Her serger was coated with a red sticky substance. I remember scrubbing Jello off her kitchen floor and cabinets a few years back, I assume the serger was nearby when she dropped the pan of un-gelled Jello. That Jello accident happened three years before Mom went into the nursing home.

Why won't Nansi let her sew? That's the question I prefer my mother to be asking. The question I'm trying to protect her from is: What happened to me? Why can't I figure out how to put a garment together when I distinctly remember being able to make fabulous things?

I'd much rather have my mom mad at me than have her come to the painful realization that the most important thing in her life is lost to her. Besides failing eyesight, my mom has painful arthritis in her wrists. Those physical drawbacks are surmountable. What is insurmountable is the loss of reasoning. My mother can't string together the steps it would take to go from cutting out the pattern to assembling the garment.

Today, on a whim, I took Mom to a fabric store. I was immediately taken back to my childhood. I remember spending HOURS in the store, flipping through pattern books, digging in the remnant bin, listening to my mom oooh and ahhh over the latest patterns. I learned early on that just because Mom was buying a pattern and fabric didn't mean the item would actually come to be. Chances were it wouldn't come to be. Much of the fabric that I found in her apartment were purchased when I was a young girl.

Mom thoroughly enjoyed her trip to Jo-Ann Fabrics today. She spent $30 on pattern magazines. Dare I hope that it will scratch her itch? More than likely it will frustrate her even more. We'll see!