It's been fully a year since I made an entry in here. The last post was actually created a year ago today; I just never got around to publishing it until today. So much has changed in the last year.
Mom is still with us and we are still caring for her at home. It's gotten a little more complicated now that she doesn't walk anymore. Reg has to lift her from wheelchair to bed, recliner, whatever. He's been a trooper as this latest change impacts him significantly. Morning, noon, night and night trips to the bathroom are all dependent on his ability to help transfer Mom. If nothing else, he is definitely getting strong in the arms.
This disease is insidious as it sneaks in and quietly steals one thing after another. We never know when the last day for some particular function is going to arrive. I suppose that can be said of all aspects of life, but right now for me it's made clearest here in the dementia dimension.
One day last fall Mom just seemed to get weak. She couldn't stand up on her feet very well so Reg lifted her into the wheel chair. There were days when we knew she was only up to a few steps so we would haul out the wheel chair and she would manage to walk to it and we would settle her in for the trip down the hall way.
This particular day she couldn't manage the few steps required to transfer to the chair so Reg lifted her up and set her in it. The remainder of the day his help was required to move Mom from one place to another. At the time, I thought it would be a temporary issue. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. One day turned into a week, which turned into months and now she cannot hold her weight at all.
There's a part of me that fought against this development. I believed if she willed herself to walk, she could regain the use of her legs. I spent fruitless time giving her pep talks hoping to motivate her back into taking even just a step or two. I happen to be a great proponent of "mind over matter" and I believe that, "As a man thinketh, so is he." In my mind, if Mom thought she could walk, then she would be able to walk. Of course, I just ignored the fact that for the past 12 years she'd be saying "I can't walk" with no evidence that it was so. Now it was true, but for obvious reasons, one being that there was no particular reason for her not being able to walk, I didn't want it to be true.
One time, determined to get her to move from her chair to the wheelchair, I brought her recliner up to the position where she was almost standing and coaxed her into taking a step but her legs wouldn't cooperate. I don't know if she wasn't trying or just couldn't will her legs to move. I don't have my brother's strength to lift her so I settled her back into her recliner and moved it to the resting position. The mission had been to get to the bathroom, but it was scrubbed.
Mom used to be quite the walker. Every day she would walk the trails Dad groomed on the back 40. Even when she lived with me in St. Paul years ago, she would go for a daily walk until one "strange character" as she called him said something to her and from that time on she didn't go out alone anymore. Still, we would go what she called "window shopping" which meant browsing through the stores but not necessarily buying anything and we would get in a little exercise that way.
She used to have a flower garden in the front of the house. She called it her rock garden and summers she would spend tending the flowers there. She had one particular flower that she really enjoyed. She said it was called Blue Fountain. She was quite proud of it as it was the crown jewel of her little garden. Then one fateful day "that old she-dog" (which was a distant neighbor's dog) came and sat on Mom's Blue Fountain and destroyed it. Somehow, that incident also seemed to destroy her joy in working in the flower garden. Amazing how one little incident can have such a huge impact on a person.
It's sad to know that Mom's days of tending her flower garden and walking the trails are over. They've been over for quite a while, but on sweet summer days when the scent of Karen's flowers waft through the house, I think about Mom in her garden. On my own infrequent walks, I think of her and how her daily constitution was to take a walk in the woods.
So what's the lesson here? Again, there are so many to choose from. But the one that stands out for me today is to enjoy to the max all the little things you do. If you're taking a walk, notice everything around you and really take in the beauty. If you're working in a garden, marvel at the wonder of it all.
There's a scene in the movie "American Pie" where a young man videoed a plastic bag caught by the wind. For many people this was an interesting, if weird scene. What's so great about a bag zipping around in the wind? For me, it was an affirmation of finding beauty in the most trivial of things. Living in the city, I found beauty in the strangest places.Long before the movie debuted I enjoyed watching bags dance in the breeze. I understood the amazement of trash caught up in "dust devils". It was trash, but there was something fascinating about the movement of it. I'm glad that I have the ability to see and appreciate the beauty in mundane things. I believe it's a gift. Some would say I am foolish or strange, but that's okay.
Wherever I am, in whatever circumstances I find myself, I choose to see and take in the beauty around me. I will never know which day may be my last to do so. We turn the recliner so that Mom can look out of the front door where she can see some of the flowers that Karen has planted and the little pond and fountain that's in the yard. Most times she just sleeps and when she is awake, it's difficult to tell whether or not she is enjoying the view. I hope and pray, that if she isn't aware of the view before her, that she still has the sweet memories of days gone by when she took her walks in the woods and worked in her flower garden.
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