Mother's Day

I lived my entire life in the same town as Mom and Dad, until nine years ago when a necessary job change for my husband led us to another state.  We moved six hours away from "home" at that time.  Since then my Dad has passed.  Mom lives alone and seems to have made the adjustment to being widowed. We continue to make the drive "home" quite, often and in between visits we have relied on phone calls and emails.  It isn't the ideal situation, but it has worked.

When we visit we try to divide up our time between seeing Mom and also seeing our oldest daughter, our son, and our three grandchildren.  It makes for very busy, but fun visits . . . In times past I would often choose to spend the nights with Mom when we visited, we were both night owls and enjoyed staying up late and chatting.  On one particular night Mom and I were in our pj's, eating ice cream and chatting well into the wee hours.  I can't remember what was said that upset her, but during our chat Mom became extremely agitated.  She cursed at me, called me a horrid name and said I shouldn't even be there.  This was bizarre.  I took offense and was very hurt by her words - Mom had NEVER spoken to me like this before.  I remember asking her if I should leave, but she conceded that I could go ahead and stay the night since it was so late.  The next morning was Mother's Day; I remember that part clearly.  I gave her a gift and expected that she would apologize for her behavior from the previous night.  Instead, she simply thanked me for the gift and remained aloof.  I left feeling very offended.  The outburst was never mentioned again, though I harbored the hurt for a good amount of time.  I continued to call and to visit with her each time we came to town, but I never spent the night there again, until she became ill a couple of years later.

There are so many things that can be understood in hindsight.
Dementia is a sneaky disease.

And then there was one.

Dink is the baby of a family of 6 girls.
All of the sisters lived to be well into their 80's; a couple even lived to be in their early 90's.  Dink's only remaining sister died this year in October - she was 93.  Dink is now the only living one of her original family.  I can't comprehend what that must actually feel like, but I'd think it is quite an unsettling feeling.

As one would expect, Dink wanted to attend her last sister's funeral.  The funeral was to be in the small town where her sister lived, two hours from Dink's home.  Dink wanted to drive there and she wanted my sister to ride there with her.  My sister told Mom she would be glad to go with her to the funeral, but that she would be doing the driving.

"I can drive".
"What makes you think that just because I'm old, I can't drive?".
And so the days leading up to the funeral went.
Mom was enraged that my sister would not ride in the car with her to attend this funeral.

The day of the funeral came and Mom rode in the car with my sister.  Mom was "red hot" angry, so there were few words spoken on that particular day.  My sister chose to drive a route different than the one Mom had traveled before.  This fact added even more insult to injury.  Mom had trouble getting past this.  She later relayed this story to me over and over and then over again.

There were once six little girls who lived, and loved, and raised families.
And then there was one.
Dink.


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Ice Cream.

Dink loves ice cream - any flavor is fine.
Any brand is fine.
It's been a staple in her home for as far back as I can remember.  Every night, without exception, she eats a bowl of ice cream before she goes to bed.  If the ice cream in the refrigerator freezer begins to be low, then you can be sure there are more gallons of the frozen treat in the deep freezer. Mom never allows herself to run out of ice cream.  The great grand kids love to visit "Grandma" because "she lets you have ice cream" and "you get to choose your flavor", as the 9 yr old granddoll recently told me.

Last Summer my daughter had the opportunity to visit with Dink on many occasions while her own children were out of school.  There were many bowls of ice cream shared during her visits.

One evening my phone rang, and my daughter said, "Mom, I think all Grandma is eating is ice cream".  (I live 6 hours away from Mom so I am not in and out of her house as often as my daughter is.)

"No.  Couldn't be", I said.
"What makes you think so?".

She had some vague, non-conclusive, reasoning she shared with me.

This was a new "red flag".
Later I would remember this conversation as an important one.

"It isn't Easy being Green", said the grass.

Mom turned 83 in June.

We gathered at Mom's house for her party.
We brought cake, ice cream and small gifts.
Mom was happy.
She sat on the sofa and enjoyed the buzz of family around her.

Her one complaint was the thought of keeping her lawn mowed during the summer months.  "Some people think I shouldn't be out there mowing the grass at my age", she lamented.  It was true.  We had been concerned about her doing yard work in the hot Oklahoma heat.  There were also on-going issues with her lawn mower, uh, lawnmowers, plural.  She continually had "problems" with her lawnmowers. Each time she couldn't get one to start she simply went to Sears and bought a new one.  She had given away two lawnmowers and there were three mowers in her garage at the moment.  We, the family, thought this was a bit much, but if lawnmowers made her happy, then so be it.

Dink had the money and could easily afford to pay someone to do her yard work.  She had paid some people to mow on occasion, but when they didn't return the next week to mow again she thought them to be irresponsible.  We tried to explain that she would need to call the mower each time she needed her lawn mowed, but to no avail.  "If they wanted to earn money for mowing my lawn then they should come to ask ME if I want my lawn mowed."  We couldn't convince her otherwise.

She tried to mow the lawn a couple of times that summer, but couldn't maneuver the lawnmower out of the garage...Occasionally someone would stop by randomly and ask if she'd like to have her lawn mowed; "Yes", she certainly would.  They mowed and she paid them...At other times her grandson would stop by to mow.  Though Dink stressed over the lawn all summer, the time grew into Fall, and most of that summer her lawn looked nice.

There are still three relatively new lawnmowers wintering in her garage.

Changes

We began to notice subtle changes in Dink.
There was nothing alarming about these changes, but we now realize these were symptoms of  what lay ahead.

When the family gathered for holidays we would often play board games or cards.  We were surprised when Dink chose not to join in the games, but rather to observe.  She had always enjoyed the friendly competition of these games throughout the years.  She quit her weekly Bridge group of friends.

Repetition.
Dink asked questions.
Then she asked them again.
And again.
At times she would ask the same question three of four times during the course of an evening.  It was not a big deal.  She was eighty.  It was OK if her memory was not as sharp as it once was.

She had some minor health issues.
She went to doctors.
She seemed to never like any doctor she saw.
She changed doctors often.

Mom and Dad had worked hard during their lifetime to save their money for retirement.  Mom was a pro at budgeting.  She balanced her checkbook to the penny.  Though not extravagant, she had money for most anything she desired to buy.  She enjoyed her banking errands.  Over time she perhaps enjoyed them to the point that she became somewhat of a nuisance where she banked.  She went to the banks OFTEN to "check on her money".  She was a bit obsessed with her banking accounts.

She changed her driving habits, just a bit.
She quit driving after dark.
We, as a family, discussed Mom's driving and wondered about her safety.  We wondered about how to approach this subject with her.  On the occasions where we refused to ride in the car with her she became very angry.  Just because she was "old" didn't mean she wasn't a good driver, she pointed out.  She had received no citations and had not had any wrecks.  She made some valid points.  Still, none of us were willing to ride with her when she drove.

Alone, none of these changes in Mom's behavior seemed anything to be concerned about.  Mom remained totally independent, just the way she liked it!

Dink

Dormilee is her name.
The young kids in the extended family found it impossible to say "Aunt Dormilee" so somewhere amidst the childish chatter her name became "Aunt Dink".  The name stuck.  The kids call her Dink.  And her 5 sisters also began calling her Dink.  Dormilee never really liked the name, but she really had no choice in the matter, so her family knows her as Dink, with the exception of my sister and I - we call her Mom.

Mom is 83.
My parents were married for 63 years before Dad passed 5 years ago.
As they aged the love that had been, faded.  Raised in a generation that frowned upon divorce, they remained together, tethered by duty and finances.  It worked for them, and though they argued a LOT they remained together, "till death do us part". 

Mom cared for Dad round-the-clock during the last three years of his life as he faded into the grips of Alzheimer's.  She is an amazing woman, proud, strong, and fiercely independent.  Fast forward 6 years and now Dink has been diagnosed with Dementia.  It has been a trying time.

Mom flourished after Dad passed.
She enjoyed a freedom she had never really known before.
She played Bridge with a group of women each week.
She ran errands.
She attended church.
Though not really a "people person" she enjoyed being part of a small group of women who were in her Sunday School class.  Each Sunday after church they went to a restaurant for Sunday lunch.  She enjoyed her family, also.  She began going to family functions with more regularity and though the family offered her rides to these events she refused, and chose to drive herself, even though the family lived far across town from her.

Mom had always had a feisty side and often had "troubles" with neighbors.  One neighbor in particular caused her grief - Jim.  Through the years they aggravated each other - it seemed a fairly even match.  Then, about three years ago, Mom began to tell all sorts of tales about Jim.  She accused him of knocking on her windows during the nights.  She told of him "walking on the roof" during the nights - she thought he did all of this in an effort to annoy her.  At times she thought he could hear her conversations within the house.  She talked to us, her family, about Jim.  Jim is in his early 60's -  we knew he wasn't walking on her roof.  We also knew he was not brazen enough to knock on her windows during the nights.  Mom called the police and reported Jim on several occasions.  The police came and left.  Mom followed up with a visit to an attorney to seek action against Jim.  The attorney never followed up.  We, the family, listened to Mom's tales and tried to reassure her that all was well.  Mom had a security system and double locks on all doors.  We knew that she was safe...My Sister  began to tell Mom that Jim was not actually doing all the things Mom accused him of.  This made for a horrible rift between Mom and my sister for a time.

These episodes with "Jackass Jim", as she began to call him, were the beginning of what we would later look back on as the beginning of her dementia.