Fleeting Memories

I am a little distracted at the moment. Nancy is home with Mom right now. I am hoping she has an uneventful evening with her. I, however, am in Pittsburgh. I am attending the Self-Study Workshop, by The Association of Theological Schools, the Commission on Accrediting. It has been a busy, but productive day.
Most people who know me, know that I am very uncomfortable flying. I must admit though, our flight was not bad. I have had to eat two meals in public, I hate the pressure of trying not to drop food on myself, but even that time was well spent. And I am much too shy to be good at at networking. So it is really a measure of grace that I am not totally stressed out and crazy right now.
I love teaching. I love watching the “lights go on” as we discuss the ins and outs of the Old Testament revelation. But I don’t relish administrative duties. Yet, here I am, getting ready to be the coordinator of our seminary’s accreditation self-study. I am encouraged. I think that it is a real possibility. I think we are going to do this. So, just a short note from my hotel room, remember me, the seminary, mom and everything in your prayers.
Peace 

This is the first family picnic that I have not included Mom. She is so withdrawn that the interaction at the dinner table or repeated movement from room to room seems to agitate her. The Fourth of July ended with her being frustrated and resisting everything. Struggling in the wheel chair as I brought her home she tore the skin on her arm. It took until last week to heel. I did not want to force a repeat of that day.
So I spent much of the day sitting with Mom, trying to engage her. Even though she admits she does not recognize what she is watching, it is hard to get her to look at me when the TV is on. Her speech is halting and she seldom finishes a thought, her voice is feeble and tremulous. She moans almost constantly, and swears she is making no noise when I ask her what is wrong.
If all that is not bad enough, tonight was the first time she let a portion of her ice cream melt and puddle in her bowl. She has always devoured her ice cream. These are the days that bother me most. Her physical condition seems unchanged, but her affect and interactions display serious decline. These kind of days make me a little sad. Well this is just a short note, so let me say good night. Peace.Technorati Tags: Mom, Alzheimer’s, melted ice cream, decline

I just never know which of my “moms” is going to show up on any given days. Last night she was angry and stubborn and the simplest task was an ordeal. Today, Mom was just as attentive and helpful as she could be. As I prepared to put her to bed, I asked her if she was ready. She looked at me and smiled, she then said I was handsome. Our bedtime routine was painless. I feel really blessed to be able to actually enjoy a few moments together.
Psalm 90:10 says that our last years are mostly toil and trouble. Some days I wonder what keeps Mom going, I wonder what she is thinking. She can’t express herself without getting frustrated because she just can’t find the words she wants. As she looked at her ice cream tonight, she asked, “is that my… my… yummy?” She enjoyed it even if she didn’t remember its name. Tomorrow she will greet her cheerios with the same salute.
May God be gracious to  each of us, that when our minds and bodies fail, I hope that we will find our delight in him. Good night all. Grace & Peace
Technorati Tags: alzheimer’s, age, ice cream, grace, toil, trouble

It seems to me anymore, that every good day is followed by a bad day. I am very grateful for the good days, the days when it is easy to take a breath and enjoy the little simple things. I am grateful for the grace that lets me remember the good ones. I need to remember when there is no time to take a breath, when just putting on Mom’s disposable underwear is an ordeal. I am grateful that, when Mom looks me in the eye with her “angry eyeballs” because I need to move her from the commode to her bed, I can remember that it is the Alzheimer’s that I am fighting, not her.
Most people have never seen Mom give anyone a nasty look. They always tell me what a sweet thing she is. And she can be so nice, very polite, gracious even. This past 5 years, since Dad died, she has pretty much reserved her anger for me. And when being stubborn and angry wont get her out of standing up, she turns on this panicked expression. When she looks at me that way, it will bring help from every corner of the room to tell me why I am expecting too much of her. When I was helping her into the car tonight after our family night at Swarthmore Pizza, Mom flung herself down across the center console and turned on the look. I told her she had no reason to be afraid, I helped her sit upright, I told her Alan could see everything was all right, so turn off the look. Her face softened, I got her upright in the car seat, buckled her in, and she said sweetly, “thank you very much.”
What scares me is the reality of what can come out of us, when our guard is down. Mom’s veneer of civilization is being eroded by her disease. And 90 percent of the time, even with her guard down, she is genuinely nice. But when she does not get her way, something else sneaks out. I ask myself what I will be like at 89? Will I be in a murky fog of dementia like Mom? More importantly, will I be nice even 75 percent of the time? When reason and discipline have lost to physiology and pathology, will my heart be filled with mostly good, or mostly bad? Mom does not listen well, when I read the Bible. She seems disinterested and a little impatient when we put a preacher on TV. But the old hymns still have a powerful effect on her, I like to start each day with the good old songs of faith. I hope that I will be mostly nice and love the old wonderful songs of the church when I am as incapacitated as she is. But perhaps that wont be necessary. Oh how I long to have this mortal to be gobbled up by immortality. How I wish I might see Him coming in the clouds. Instead of breaking down and wearing out, I want to be transformed, remade into the image of the savior. What a day that will be. But tomorrow is another day, and unless He comes tonight, I will need to deal with bandages and disposable underwear, lotions and medications, the stuff of everyday, one more day. So I am off to bed. Shalom