People often ask, "How's your mother?" They are generally sincere in asking this. I know some who dislike such a question about their immediate relative who suffers, but I don't. But then, again, I'm never quite sure how to answer.
To be sure, this is a tricky question. One might answer, "Oh, the old gal is doing quite well, thank you!" and in many ways, Mom is, as she's breathing, eating, has interests in some things and interacts, to an extent, with others.
Another response might be, "She's like a well-built old boat. A few leaks here and there, but there's still some time before she goes under." This, too, is quite true. Mom's health is pretty solid, but for her blood pressure, edema, and dementia.
There are other quips that might suffice and they would seem callous and uncaring. The honest answer, which might not suffice nor be interpreted properly would be, "I'm not really sure. This is a new path we're moving down and there are surprises that arise nearly every day."
Looking back over the course of our journey, we've all been surprised and wonder what lies in store, as well as when will the next shoe (or, in this case, over-sized anvil) fall. We never know what to expect - she surprises us as much as the disease's progression.
When Mom was first admitted she was borderline as to receiving the care provided to her. This was difficult as she memorized the codes to get in and out, fought to move back home and kept playing (unknowingly) upon our guilt for moving her furniture without her permission.
Since then, within the past 8 months, the progression of decline has been a whirlwind of change. Her speech has become muddled and halting; her thoughts the same; her interest in exploration and walking has all but diminished. She hasn't the energy she once took for granted and enjoyed. She sits, more and more often, in the confines of her room just looking out the window onto the garden, at pictures in magazines, books, on the wall, or reading letters and cards sent from those wanting to stay in touch.
Her conversational ability (which used to be immense, as was her ability to convince you she knew best - always) has been left behind in one of her drawers, amongst her other abilities which are no longer in sight.
She still has a slight bit of humor (her style) as when she sneaks wine from dinner and sips it in the morning telling all that it may be water, as she holds a wry smile across her lips.
This is the woman who wrote family history books on the different ancestors that made up her bloodline, then went and wrote one on our father's family history. She loved genealogy.
All Mom's journeys - and there were many - are long lost. She doesn't recall her lone journey to Alaska in the Toyota Dolphin (this began with a fellow traveler but that relationship ended in Mom booting her back to Washington), a cruise that took her to Denali, and over to the Seward Penninsula with her friend, Nadya.
She and Nadya ventured to Mexico, where Mom also spent time with Dad and other friends, many times, on vacations and explorations of the ruins as well as the geology and cultures.
She and Dad toured the States visiting relatives and exploring the monuments. They also went to Europe on Elder Hostels (one of their favorite pastimes) meeting and visiting with relatives. I, too, and my Uncle Pete took journeys to England, Scotland and Wales with her - she has no recollection.
She went to Australia, New Zealand, Spain, Germany (for the Oberammergau event), Switzerland, Hawaii, Canada, among others. She ventured to China, with her good friend Nancy, and witnessed the building of the Three Gorges Dam, went to Tibet, and had some life-threatening events; yet to her none of this happened. If not for her journals, these would not exist for future generations.
Yes, Mom kept journals. It is remarkable to read her musings on life as she saw it. There are portions that would be better left in the ether, and in time could provide fodder for interesting discussions. She began these once her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. And yet, none of that articulate and able woman surface.
She was also a voracious reader. She would sit while listening to music and enjoy a good book and chart her thoughts for book groups and friends. Then she would up and take a good walk, whether with a group on the Olympic Penninsula, on Cannon Beach or alone wherever she found herself (Although she did find big hills somewhat discouraging). These are far from being abilities any longer.
So, one might ask, "How's your mother?" and I challenge you and others to help create an appropriate, yet brief, response.
I say this, not in bitterness, but in wanting to curate an accurate response that allows the questioner to be aware.
To be sure, this is a tricky question. One might answer, "Oh, the old gal is doing quite well, thank you!" and in many ways, Mom is, as she's breathing, eating, has interests in some things and interacts, to an extent, with others.
Another response might be, "She's like a well-built old boat. A few leaks here and there, but there's still some time before she goes under." This, too, is quite true. Mom's health is pretty solid, but for her blood pressure, edema, and dementia.
There are other quips that might suffice and they would seem callous and uncaring. The honest answer, which might not suffice nor be interpreted properly would be, "I'm not really sure. This is a new path we're moving down and there are surprises that arise nearly every day."
Looking back over the course of our journey, we've all been surprised and wonder what lies in store, as well as when will the next shoe (or, in this case, over-sized anvil) fall. We never know what to expect - she surprises us as much as the disease's progression.
When Mom was first admitted she was borderline as to receiving the care provided to her. This was difficult as she memorized the codes to get in and out, fought to move back home and kept playing (unknowingly) upon our guilt for moving her furniture without her permission.
Since then, within the past 8 months, the progression of decline has been a whirlwind of change. Her speech has become muddled and halting; her thoughts the same; her interest in exploration and walking has all but diminished. She hasn't the energy she once took for granted and enjoyed. She sits, more and more often, in the confines of her room just looking out the window onto the garden, at pictures in magazines, books, on the wall, or reading letters and cards sent from those wanting to stay in touch.
Her conversational ability (which used to be immense, as was her ability to convince you she knew best - always) has been left behind in one of her drawers, amongst her other abilities which are no longer in sight.
She still has a slight bit of humor (her style) as when she sneaks wine from dinner and sips it in the morning telling all that it may be water, as she holds a wry smile across her lips.
This is the woman who wrote family history books on the different ancestors that made up her bloodline, then went and wrote one on our father's family history. She loved genealogy.
All Mom's journeys - and there were many - are long lost. She doesn't recall her lone journey to Alaska in the Toyota Dolphin (this began with a fellow traveler but that relationship ended in Mom booting her back to Washington), a cruise that took her to Denali, and over to the Seward Penninsula with her friend, Nadya.
She and Nadya ventured to Mexico, where Mom also spent time with Dad and other friends, many times, on vacations and explorations of the ruins as well as the geology and cultures.
She and Dad toured the States visiting relatives and exploring the monuments. They also went to Europe on Elder Hostels (one of their favorite pastimes) meeting and visiting with relatives. I, too, and my Uncle Pete took journeys to England, Scotland and Wales with her - she has no recollection.
She went to Australia, New Zealand, Spain, Germany (for the Oberammergau event), Switzerland, Hawaii, Canada, among others. She ventured to China, with her good friend Nancy, and witnessed the building of the Three Gorges Dam, went to Tibet, and had some life-threatening events; yet to her none of this happened. If not for her journals, these would not exist for future generations.
Yes, Mom kept journals. It is remarkable to read her musings on life as she saw it. There are portions that would be better left in the ether, and in time could provide fodder for interesting discussions. She began these once her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. And yet, none of that articulate and able woman surface.
She was also a voracious reader. She would sit while listening to music and enjoy a good book and chart her thoughts for book groups and friends. Then she would up and take a good walk, whether with a group on the Olympic Penninsula, on Cannon Beach or alone wherever she found herself (Although she did find big hills somewhat discouraging). These are far from being abilities any longer.
So, one might ask, "How's your mother?" and I challenge you and others to help create an appropriate, yet brief, response.
I say this, not in bitterness, but in wanting to curate an accurate response that allows the questioner to be aware.
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