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Just going to write it out.
Am at home (my parents house) for a few days to help give my father a bit of breathing room; he's stressed out and worn out taking care of my mother (who has Alzhiemer's and last stage emphysema) and also running errands for his elderly housebound sister.
Mom has fallen twice the last week. One time she had wandered out of bed in the middle of the night and taken out her oxygen. The other she slipped from a chair and hit her brow. She has the worst black eye I've ever seen. She's frail an skin and bones and I'm surprised she hasn't broken any bones. Dad has finally realized he cannot leave her in the house alone any longer (which he had been doing when he needed to do errands to help Marge). Actually, this step is somewhat overdue; but at least now he's looking for in-home care for Mom.
It is heartbreaking to see my Mom like this, and to see my father so patiently and lovingly tend to her. I don't think she has any idea who I am, altho she responds to me calling her Mom. Last night she asked Dad where his wife was? When he held her hands and replied "You're my wife." I almost wept. Then she replied to him, "I don't think so..." I did cry then, both for Dad (even knowing rationally why she would remark uh, how could you not cringe emotionally?) and for the brief spark of feistiness in her tone. She also did not now that she was at home. She asked about the strangers in family photos.
I've said it before; it's a haunting before death. The body is still alive, but she's a ghost already.
How has Dad managed through this? Watching her decline? They still sleep in the same bed, but isn't a bad dream he'll wake up from. He'll wake up to another day of guiding her from bed, to table, to chair; of coaxing her to eat, of cleaning herd tending to her like a child. No real conversation; she sits quietly or drowses; speaks infrequently and more and more incoherently.
This is a life that is ending. A slow and personal apocalypse. So much gone already, forever.
I'm sorry if this sounds morbid and maudlin; it is.
Am at home (my parents house) for a few days to help give my father a bit of breathing room; he's stressed out and worn out taking care of my mother (who has Alzhiemer's and last stage emphysema) and also running errands for his elderly housebound sister.
Mom has fallen twice the last week. One time she had wandered out of bed in the middle of the night and taken out her oxygen. The other she slipped from a chair and hit her brow. She has the worst black eye I've ever seen. She's frail an skin and bones and I'm surprised she hasn't broken any bones. Dad has finally realized he cannot leave her in the house alone any longer (which he had been doing when he needed to do errands to help Marge). Actually, this step is somewhat overdue; but at least now he's looking for in-home care for Mom.
It is heartbreaking to see my Mom like this, and to see my father so patiently and lovingly tend to her. I don't think she has any idea who I am, altho she responds to me calling her Mom. Last night she asked Dad where his wife was? When he held her hands and replied "You're my wife." I almost wept. Then she replied to him, "I don't think so..." I did cry then, both for Dad (even knowing rationally why she would remark uh, how could you not cringe emotionally?) and for the brief spark of feistiness in her tone. She also did not now that she was at home. She asked about the strangers in family photos.
I've said it before; it's a haunting before death. The body is still alive, but she's a ghost already.
How has Dad managed through this? Watching her decline? They still sleep in the same bed, but isn't a bad dream he'll wake up from. He'll wake up to another day of guiding her from bed, to table, to chair; of coaxing her to eat, of cleaning herd tending to her like a child. No real conversation; she sits quietly or drowses; speaks infrequently and more and more incoherently.
This is a life that is ending. A slow and personal apocalypse. So much gone already, forever.
I'm sorry if this sounds morbid and maudlin; it is.
