We didn't put up the trees tonight.
    Although Mom's "morning" wasn't scintillating, it wasn't bad, either. She's been retaining a little fluid here and there over the last few days and this has slowed her down (if you can imagine her any slower than usual).
    The second half of Mom's day, though, was bad, for both of us, worse for her at the beginning, worse for me through the middle and toward the end. It was so bad that I was silent through most of it in order to try to keep from being too much of an asshole, which worked marginally; turns out, one needn't talk to be an asshole.
    Not that I intend to give a blow-by-blow account, but it started when I realized about halfway through the first part of Mom's day that I was going to need a nap again today. I hate taking naps. They leave me disoriented. I couldn't figure out why I was so exhausted, since I'd gotten a good sleep last night, although it was interrupted by a strange but not frightening dream in which Mom and I, in our life here as it is in reality, were stalked, throughout, by, well, someone...I awoke before discovering the identity of the stalker. It was obvious that the stalker was not dangerous, this was the reason why, in the dream, I was so keen to discover the stalker's identity; his/her purpose seemed benign and benevolent. When I awoke it occurred to me that I had animated Death as the stalker...but I wasn't, and still am not, sure of that. The dream puzzled me all morning. Although I don't think this was the primary cause of my exhaustion and low spirits, I think it contributed. So, I was not as energetic and "head-'em-up, move-'em-out" in my approach to Mom. It didn't seem to make a difference, at the time. However, when I attempted to awaken her after a three hour nap, she was more than uncooperative; she was determined to stay put. Sometimes I'll give in, as I did this morning...I ended up letting her sleep until she roused herself, today, which happened at 1400. This evening, though, although I would have been fine with a Bedside Evening, I could absolutely not convince her to arise in order to make a bathroom run and get her into her pajamas (which are her usual lounge wear for a Bedside Evening). I wasn't in the mood. I physically lifted her from reclining into a sitting position. Twice. I crawled around her on the bed and sat against her back, after pulling her up the second time, to make sure she took her breathing treatment sitting up, since the contraption we use with the mask leaks when she's lying down, even when her upper body is elevated. When she refused to rise to get into the wheelchair for the bathroom run I squatted into Lift Position before her, even though I've been fairly unsuccessful with lifting her, lately, since she no longer works with me, and, literally, picked her up and swung her into the chair.
    Although she continued to insist that she was feeling no pain or discomfort, she just wanted to go back to sleep, her groaning and huffing and puffing told me otherwise, so I decided to put off the bathroom run and feed her a modified dinner (tuna sandwich on toast with lemon-ginger tea) in order to soften the 500 mg of acetaminophen I decided to give her, as well as all her other evening meds. By the time she polished off all this she was in a fine mood, no longer interested in going back to bed, wanting to watch some TV. Unfortunately, she also remembered that we'd talked about putting up the trees tonight.
    I couldn't do it. I simply couldn't face glittery ornaments and garlands after everything I'd just gone through to get the woman moving. I needed an evening of separation from her: From her need for my energy; from her need for my reminders and support for every bodily function imaginable; from her need for my spirit to keep hers attached to this life as she continues to want to be attached. That's when I shut down.
    Mom was fine, as far as I could tell, with my distance. I was brisk, talked little, motioned most of my instructions, occasionally delivered a resonant, one or two word order, even washed her hair, although I discovered I didn't want to touch her enough to set it in curlers so I scrambled it with mousse, knowing that this dries itself into the makings of a jaunty hairstyle by morning.
    The worst part of the evening, though, was that I played a little desperation tape in my head repeatedly: "How long can I keep this up? I don't think I can do this to the end, but I can't turn her over to others for even a few days, either; every time I've done that the clean-up afterword hasn't been worth it. I can just imagine how she'd come back to me, this time: Constipated, pressure bruised, rashed up and strung out on morphine before it was necessary...WHAT ARE WE THINKING THAT WE CAN'T TAKE CARE OF OUR ELDERS OR OUR CAREGIVERS ADEQUATELY?!?!?!"
    All I could think about was that I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I don't have the stamina to continue taking care of this old, sick, tired, demented, needy woman, a woman who thinks of herself as none of these and, therefore, isn't capable of being aware of how much of my energy it takes to keep her alive for as long as she wants to hang around in this existence. Then, out of left field, as I was, yet again briskly, tucking her into bed, came a revelation: I suddenly remembered this picture of her when she was a girl. Her dreams, her delight, her spirit, blazed from this image...and rekindled my heart. I realized, that's who I'm taking care of, that's who I'm nurturing, that's who I'm loving, because that's who she is. No wonder she becomes indignant when I find it necessary to alert her to what I consider to be her "real" situation; I'm talking about insignificant paraphernalia, I'm not talking about her.
    Now that I've finally realized who my mother is, I can do better than hang in there with her, I can hang on to the spirit captured in that picture as long as that spirit wants to dream and delight and blaze. Yes. I can.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 01:33   email  this post