My Mother’s Slow Death

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” (Melodie Beattie)

I could never create a list of what I am grateful for, the list would be to long, and if I could it would have to end with waking up next to a beautiful woman that has one of the purest souls I have ever known. We have a beautiful life, we have two incredibly articulate daughters and we have our health.

My mother, whose name is Sarah is sixty-three years old and has a massive array of life threatening illnesses: Diabetes, Crohns Disease, Emphysema and most recently Dementia. To those of you out there who are not aware of what Dementia is; it is just that:

“Not being aware.”

I remember being a child and looking at her and thinking; “I hope I grow up to be that pretty” My Mother was a beautiful woman back in the day. She was intelligent, articulate, caring, strong willed and compassionate and built like a “brick shit house” as they say.

I remember how she smelled; it was a chemical cocktail of Aqua Net hair spray and her Windsong perfume. I remember how strict she was with my brother and I, she kept us on the straight and narrow and we paid if we crossed that line.

People stricken with Dementia disease die two deaths: Long before their physical passing, they lose their sense of identity, forgetting loved ones and even themselves.

My mother’s Dementia has been caused by lack of oxygen; mainly a side effect of her Emphysema because she refused to go to see her physician for so very long the illness progressed very rapidly.

Dementia is a horrible disease. It has taken a woman who was once full of life and turned her into a stranger right before our very eyes. A stranger who repeats herself constantly, who doesn’t know what day it is nor the date or year for that matter, who doesn’t remember to bathe or brush her teeth or hair, a stranger who one day soon will not even remember that I am her daughter; and I think that is the hardest part for me to deal with.

Her body is still physically alive but her mind and her soul are already deceased.

The quiet grenades are what are happening to my mother, but watching her get shot to pieces is what is happening to us. I spoke with my father on Father’s Day and I listened horrified as he told me how much worse she has gotten. One statement that he made was seared not only into my brain but my heart. He said:

“I am watching her die right before my eyes and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

She will not bathe and has not for approximately six months. He has gently tried to coax her into accepting his help but her strong defiant personality is still hanging on by a thread so she refuses his assistance. He will not out right demand anything of her because he does not want to insult and dehumanize her.

The entire situation angers me, I am angry with God for handing down a death sentence to a woman who has tried so hard to do the right thing her entire life; a woman who sacrificed herself so that her children could thrive, a woman who went without eating so that her children could. I am angry with my brother Joe because he lives less than fifteen minutes from her and refuses to visit; in fact, he hasn’t seen her in over two years.

And to be perfectly honest, I am angry with her also. Angry that she let her health decline, angry that she forgot to call me on my birthday this past January, angry because my father, who has terminal bone cancer now, has his own problems compounded because his wife, my mother, is now his child. I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep because my mind races towards the “what ifs.”

On July third we are going on vacation for two weeks, the first leg of our trip will be to Virginia to visit my parents. I am constantly trying to prepare myself but how does one prepare oneself for this situation?

I have already accepted that she is terminally ill and these illnesses will eventually kill her, but my difficulties lie in accepting the death of her mind, heart and soul. You never expect the sky to fall down, the sky is always there and always will be. And that’s exactly how I feel about my mother’s illness.

Watching my Mother’s demise is like being trapped on a ride at the carnival that you do not like, it won’t stop and there is no way off. It’s a ride that I do not want any part of anymore but I have no choice.

I hope you all have a wonderfully prosperous week!

~Cee~

“The C Word”

They married and moved to Washington, DC. He wanted children right away. My mother, however, wanted to wait a while; but he was adamant, thus, I was conceived on Pennsylvania Avenue.

During the pregnancy, my mother experienced major problems and my father, who was then out of the Navy and selling cars at “Capital Buick” was at work constantly (actually he had other women keeping him company on his breaks, but that is a story in itself).

He decided that the best place for my mother to be during her difficult pregnancy was back in Pennsylvania, with her mother so that she could be properly cared for. Three months after arriving at her moms, so did her clothes, along with a “Dear Sally, I am not ready to be a father…Love Ed” letter. And then he dropped out of sight for twelve years until my grandfather passed away and that is when I finally met him.

“Bitter, party of one and a half?”

I can remember as a child hearing my mother call me “Edwina” when I did some