Frogs

Coming from a "dysfunctional" family shaped me into who I am. And who I am has never been so clear to me as it is right now. 

My mom has always carried a child-like essence. Her spirit is curious just like a toddler. Her sense of humor matches that of a young person. And that fairy-like attribute has been a blessing and a curse. It served her so well as an elementary school teacher, someone able to relate and play with and encourage those in her classroom. Her heart is as wide open and naive as an innocent young girl, even though life has repeatedly put her to the test. She collects little knick knacks that are whimsical and comically presented. Frogs. Everywhere frogs. Their significance in her world isn't lost on me. Creatures that adapt and change according to their surroundings. Creatures who sing and chirp and hop and flop and have that same sense of youthful exuberance that she has always had.

Those are the blessings. The really big blessings.

From as early as I can remember, I stepped in to be her guardian. I have always had this hugely urgent protective tendency where she is concerned. (A lot of the time feeling like a curse.) Over the years it became her joke that I was really her mother, and she was really my child. And sometimes I think that is exactly what happened, our roles reversed. And even when thousands of miles separated us, I felt an ever present "guilt" or whatever it is that I wasn't closer, that currently I'm not THERE to help take care of her as she becomes even more and more like a child needing constant care and tenderness.

Before I left home, a dear friend who recently lost her father gave me a big hug and said, "You know, it's a grieving process not only for letting go of your parent-- but it feels like you're losing your child, too." She explained how sometimes it winds around that those who once cared for you are now the ones you have to care for. And that made so much sense to me. Why the mourning takes on such a deepness. It's a double whammy. Parent/child. 

I'm so thankful I am currently here with her. Her small child state. I can hold her hand. Try to make her laugh. Soak in her innocence and pureness. And shut out the rest of the world and simply "be" with her.

I think the biggest thing I am gaining is feeling ok about the blessings and the curses. They all dance around each other and become the backdrop of life. And all the negative spaces and positive spaces create the unique design that is ultimately who we are. Dark and light. 💜

No Food... Fear... And Empty Space

My brain is trying to find words that encapsulate an emptiness and experience that hover in the shadows way beyond description. But I know that words tumbling outward help me get through the inward battle where my fearful child self is fighting off the demons that keep tearing away fragments of the woman my mother was. Piece by piece they have torn her away from herself, away from her children, husband, friends, grandchildren... And losing her in little parts seems the most cruel form of life punishment there is. Here I am for a few short days, trying to allow my stepdad some much needed "breathing room" time. And while I feed, clothe, wash, calm, clean up accidents, I find myself in that "nothing" zone. I can't feel anything, not joy, sorrow. Not even that familiar feeling of "numb". It's a place more than any emotions or lack of emotions and I find myself wondering if this is normal. I feel like I am just an empty locust shell with all the stuff that makes me real-- gone. Missing.

Mom keeps getting upset because she thinks the refrigerator is empty. She is in fearful panick that there will be no food for her next meal. That there isn't going to be enough for dinner, let alone tomorrow and the next day and what is she going to feed us all? Around and around I follow through her loop. And we go look inside the fridge to find reassurance and we create a plan B together, working on problem solving the imaginary emergency her thoughts have created that feel more real to her than reality around her. We've talked about how maybe it stems from her brain being triggered and taken back to other times when she was so worried about lack and never knowing from where answers would come. A cleansing on a cellular level. But pure hell for her to be trapped inside of. A part of her realizes she's caught in a warped thought pattern, and tears stream out of her eyes. 

I keep thinking that what I can take from my current interaction with her is--- a sense of peaceful knowing that everything always somehow manages to work out in this life. Bills get paid. Food is provided. Clothes keep us warm. Jobs find us. We never end up completely alone. And even when we think we are at our darkest hour, some little or big thing happens to turn it all around. All of that is who my mom used to be: a woman who even in her struggles and conflicts found a way around, under and through. So in her anxiety, confusion and angst, she's pushing me towards embracing a deeper attitude of trusting that everything will always be all right.

Maybe I have to be in the empty space for awhile, a space where I can see this disease as an objective observer. Maybe in that place, I am able to rise above the hurt and harm and see a bigger picture. But man do I ever miss feeling alive and vibrant.

I'm angry at Dementia/Alzheimer's for taking away her shine and for tarnishing my own light.... Or maybe? Like the food in the fridge, the shine and light are there, just unseen right now.

Meeting Mom For the First Time

In about a week I finally get to go see mom. I was so afraid of facing the experience, seeing how she has changed, I was waking up in the mornings trembling from head to toe. I felt like I was choking, literally, thinking about whether or not I have the personal strength right now to see her. Not a day goes by that I don't miss everything about my mom. I can't find her friendship, love and understanding among any other faces, no other smiles and no other arms. Middle-aged woman totally lost without being able to reach out to the one person who always knew me very best.

The past several weeks, my stepdad has been literally walking me through his daily journey. He sends pictures of him feeding her, her having a good day, feeding herself. He gives updates and anecdotes, stories and strategies. He has been more than amazing -- there isn't a word to describe his heroism in keeping my mother out of a nursing facility and in her own environment.

When I told him my son and I are coming, his response was, "you'll get to meet the woman your mother is." I am still blown away by his comment. He has made an incredible observation. One I believe we all need to take a look at more closely. He watches how doctors and nurses and those who have charge over dementia and Alzheimer's people - focus so much attention on what that person has LOST. They measure what CAN'T be done any more, what CAN'T be remembered. What CAN'T be completed. My stepdad has shown me the beauty found in meeting my mother every day exactly where she is. He meets her with newness and meets her all over again for the first time. His focus is on what she CAN do. And together they are magnificently helping my selfish ass out of the fearful trembling and the inability to face what lies ahead for my own self.

What more powerful lesson can there be? Are any of us the same each day? Are any of us really totally predictable or robotically programmed? Every single one of us rises each day a different person. We have to be. Life constantly changes our shape.

Instead of dreading my visit, I am opening myself up to meeting my new mom. Right where she is. Who she is--- now.