You read about these things. It's always someone else and in the back of your mind you shudder to imagine it happening to you. But, then, you also feel a tinge of momentary glee when you realize there might be some opportunity involved - but that's when you understand that it's really not something you could pull off.
Then it happens. You're left holding the world, decisions, and fate of the one who raised you, for better or worse. For the majority, I would hope, there's a sense that dignity must be maintained. I have met others for whom this is incidental and they simply want to wash their hands of their parent. What leads to the latter is beyond me, as they seem empathetic, normal, and good hearted people.
When the determination is made you're left with a pit in your stomach not knowing what to do and where to turn. You have a life relying on you. It's not a newborn but your parent or spouse. They've been diagnosed with dementia and you are in the center of a tornado trying to keep your grip on the ground before you spiral away.
I used to tell Mom that the time was coming where I was going to have to be the parent and she the child. She guffawed at this and said, "That'll be the day! Hell will freeze over first!" But it did appear that she was slowly losing her grip on reality which we were attributing to senility (after all, she was over 80). And then came the phone calls - not only from her but her friends, doctor, and other people associated with her. She was in her own world while the others were concerned about her welfare. Demands were made that I couldn't possibly make while working 250 miles away.
Finally, as I drove to visit her for several days I received the blow from her doctor - "Your mother can no longer live on her own. I need to send her to Seattle to the geri-psych ward for observation, and then you and your brothers can begin making preparations for the next step."
I suppose I'd been waiting for something like this. I called my brother who lived the closest to her and told him about the call. I told him I'd asked the doctor to fill out the paperwork but to wait until we had our consult the following Monday. He understood.
Heartbreaking is too mild a term to use in spending those last days with Mom in the house and town she loved so much. It was as though she knew and kept rubbing salt in the wound every evening when she stated, "I just love this view and this house." She'd be sitting in the front picture windows gazing over the Straits of Juan de Fuca gazing at Vancouver Island, the San Juan's, and Mount Baker.
It was beautiful but, sadly, too far away for anyone in the family to care for her in any way. We spent our days traveling to the spots she loved so much in Victoria, and around the Olympic Penninsula. Of course no mention was made about any of the plans that were being set forth, which made it all the more agonizing (but had she known the fight would have been bloody and the results would have been terrible).
Placing her, finally, into a residence that made sense was surreal. I knew I needed to be there to help her begin to feel wanted and at home - but what she needed was just the opposite. She needed her independence and to begin acclimating on her own time. So, I let it go - seeing her once a week rather than three or four times. It helped with the physical, mental, and psychic exhaustion I was experiencing. It also helped with her easing into the daily life of the facility.
Now, Mom always had a propensity for arguing with some people and using the logic of a 10-year-old if she wanted something and had to reason it out. It was quite annoying; however, now it seemed perfectly legitimate, except her logic had become that of a 4-6-year-old. Her reactions, too, had also gone to kindergarten, pushing, shoving, hitting. She was angry with me when I tried to explain to her to "use her words and not her fists".
While maintaining the dignity and respect due to my parent I also find myself leading her around and taking care of her needs. In may ways, (I hope this doesn't come out wrong), my dogs are much better with doing what needs be done. But, then, they have always had me to care for them - she used to be independent and by God she won't let that go!
There are elements of the situation which help create a stronger bond between us, but they need to be tempered as in her mind these are obliterated within minutes if not seconds.
While there are components of the relationship that are that of parent and child, it's more complicated. She's too smart and too set in her ways to be treated as an inferior, but her needs are those of a tot.
It's a conundrum that will repeat itself for time to come and with so many others. Another circle of life.
Then it happens. You're left holding the world, decisions, and fate of the one who raised you, for better or worse. For the majority, I would hope, there's a sense that dignity must be maintained. I have met others for whom this is incidental and they simply want to wash their hands of their parent. What leads to the latter is beyond me, as they seem empathetic, normal, and good hearted people.
When the determination is made you're left with a pit in your stomach not knowing what to do and where to turn. You have a life relying on you. It's not a newborn but your parent or spouse. They've been diagnosed with dementia and you are in the center of a tornado trying to keep your grip on the ground before you spiral away.
I used to tell Mom that the time was coming where I was going to have to be the parent and she the child. She guffawed at this and said, "That'll be the day! Hell will freeze over first!" But it did appear that she was slowly losing her grip on reality which we were attributing to senility (after all, she was over 80). And then came the phone calls - not only from her but her friends, doctor, and other people associated with her. She was in her own world while the others were concerned about her welfare. Demands were made that I couldn't possibly make while working 250 miles away.
Finally, as I drove to visit her for several days I received the blow from her doctor - "Your mother can no longer live on her own. I need to send her to Seattle to the geri-psych ward for observation, and then you and your brothers can begin making preparations for the next step."
I suppose I'd been waiting for something like this. I called my brother who lived the closest to her and told him about the call. I told him I'd asked the doctor to fill out the paperwork but to wait until we had our consult the following Monday. He understood.
Heartbreaking is too mild a term to use in spending those last days with Mom in the house and town she loved so much. It was as though she knew and kept rubbing salt in the wound every evening when she stated, "I just love this view and this house." She'd be sitting in the front picture windows gazing over the Straits of Juan de Fuca gazing at Vancouver Island, the San Juan's, and Mount Baker.
It was beautiful but, sadly, too far away for anyone in the family to care for her in any way. We spent our days traveling to the spots she loved so much in Victoria, and around the Olympic Penninsula. Of course no mention was made about any of the plans that were being set forth, which made it all the more agonizing (but had she known the fight would have been bloody and the results would have been terrible).
Placing her, finally, into a residence that made sense was surreal. I knew I needed to be there to help her begin to feel wanted and at home - but what she needed was just the opposite. She needed her independence and to begin acclimating on her own time. So, I let it go - seeing her once a week rather than three or four times. It helped with the physical, mental, and psychic exhaustion I was experiencing. It also helped with her easing into the daily life of the facility.
Now, Mom always had a propensity for arguing with some people and using the logic of a 10-year-old if she wanted something and had to reason it out. It was quite annoying; however, now it seemed perfectly legitimate, except her logic had become that of a 4-6-year-old. Her reactions, too, had also gone to kindergarten, pushing, shoving, hitting. She was angry with me when I tried to explain to her to "use her words and not her fists".
While maintaining the dignity and respect due to my parent I also find myself leading her around and taking care of her needs. In may ways, (I hope this doesn't come out wrong), my dogs are much better with doing what needs be done. But, then, they have always had me to care for them - she used to be independent and by God she won't let that go!
There are elements of the situation which help create a stronger bond between us, but they need to be tempered as in her mind these are obliterated within minutes if not seconds.
While there are components of the relationship that are that of parent and child, it's more complicated. She's too smart and too set in her ways to be treated as an inferior, but her needs are those of a tot.
It's a conundrum that will repeat itself for time to come and with so many others. Another circle of life.
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