Monday, November 26, 2012

Blog 54: Fix You

Dear Mom, 

I had to leave you.  I had to go back home.  This time it was harder than ever to say goodbye.  I know that I won’t be able to talk to you on the phone, and I have no idea how long it will be before I am able to hear your beautiful voice again.  The nursing home can't take calls for you and even if they did, you really don’t know what to do with the phone anymore.  I will have to rely on family members to call me when they are visiting you, and most of them don’t live that close to you, so I will just have to wait for that phone call, and hope it comes. 

That phone call won’t come from Renee, Mom.  I guess we will never see eye to eye, and I know if you knew what she was doing to our family you would certainly be very disappointed in her.  When I texted her to ask how you are doing, she ignored me.  Then the next day I asked again.  She texted back and said she has everything under control and to stop asking.  She said 'we are done'. You are my mom and I want to know how you are doing.  She is my link to you since she lives near you and sees you the most.   I suppose it's going to be days or weeks before I will hear anything.  I can't call you when I want.  I just have to be quiet and let Renee contact me when or if she wants to.  When she hurts me like that,  it affects my whole day.  I can't stop crying...I can’t do anything!  I am lost.  I know, Mom, that you know I am trying, and I am the only one who is.   It's just so hard to talk to her.  You know how she is, Mom.  You especially know, because she always gave you a hard time.  

Mom, when I was with you, I felt bad that you were so scared when the nurse and I tried to change you.  You looked at me with such fear as you dug your fingers into my arms, squeezing me til my arms hurt, begging and pleading with me to help you.  You don’t understand that what I was doing was helping you.   Your granddaughter and her boyfriend were waiting outside of your room while you shouted at me to help you.  That must have been hard for them to hear, and my heart ached for you because you wouldn’t want them to see you like this, you wouldn’t want to live like this.

You told me you don’t want to be mean to me.  You aren’t being mean to me, Mom.  You are scared and you are fighting because you don’t want to live like this.  You want to be left alone and do things on your own, even though we know you would never survive if that happened.  You always were a fighter and I’m glad to see you fighting still, as hard as it is to see it.  When you stop fighting is when I’ll really worry. 

When I was visiting you Mom, you were suffering with a urinary tract infection.  The nurses told me that they need a urine specimen to treat it.  They were not diligent in taking care of this the whole two weeks I was there.  Renee was too busy with work to follow through.  I finally, nicely but firmly, spoke to the third nurse about it before I left, and told her that I know UTI’s can cause delusions and a lot more confusion for dementia sufferers, and they need to do something to get a urine sample and start the antibiotics.  She said they were going to put a catheter in while you were sleeping.  If they did, I’m sure you were very scared.  I’m sorry, Mom.  If they finally treated your infection, maybe then you won’t be ‘seeing’ mice crawling around in your room, cows stepping on everyone’s feet, your great grandson Kevin in a coffin, kids on railroad tracks, and thinking the waste-basket is the toilet.   I remember when Dad had a UTI and he was seeing things crawling on his walls.  When the infection was treated, he was a new man.  I’m sorry, Mom.   It’s not your fault, I wish I could fix you.

I hope you are eating your food, Mom.  You hardly ate when I was there, other than that time I sat with you for an hour and used every trick I knew to get you to open your mouth and take a bite.  I told you Kevin said he wants you to eat, and that look of love on your face for Kevin, got you to open up and let me put a small spoonful in your mouth.  You managed to eat one-quarter of your lunch.  Other times you wouldn’t eat, no matter what.  Maybe the UTI was causing you to lose your appetite, too.  I hope you are eating more now, because it is a scary sign when you stop eating.

Are you ready to go, Mom?  Do you see what we can’t see and know more than what we think you do?  Has the veil been lifted?  You have been talking so much about your mom and dad and other people who have passed on.  Are you seeing them now?  Are they bringing you comfort?  Are they calling you to come be with them in Heaven?  Rose, your granddaughter thinks so.  She thinks you are hanging on now because God knows we aren’t ready to let you go.  You were so loving to me when I was there visiting you.  More loving than you've ever been since you became sick with Alzheimer's.  You told me over and over again how much you love me.  Were you preparing me, Mom?  God will know when the time is right and He will take you home then.  He will fix you!

There’s a song called ‘Fix You’ that makes me think of you, Mom, and our family, and the struggles we have gone through.  I am going to have someone help me make a video about our family, and I am going to use this song.  Until then, I found this video on YouTube that I liked.  This is for you, Mom.

I love you and miss you so much,

Lizzie  XOXO

1 comment:

  1. I really do feel like the veil is lifting. It brings her comfort to see her loved ones that are waiting for her. I am so glad that she mentions them... Something is reminding her of their existence because she seems to have forgotten much of her past otherwise. She sees something that we don't. I love her so much and she will be whole again... She will be fixed.