Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today is my Mom's 83rd birthday! Happy Birthday, Mom!!

I wish I could tell her myself. I wish I could call her on the telephone and sing "Happy Birthday" to her. I wish I could send her some flowers or a funny card that would make her smile. Even though 700 miles separate us, I'd still like to help make her day special.

But I won't do any of those things.

You see, the very sad reality is that my mom doesn't know who I am. She probably doesn't even know it's her birthday. My mom has Alzheimer's Disease.

I've never known anyone with Alzheimer's until now. It's a mean disease. It robs the victim of the person they once were. It has robbed my mom of decades of memories. She and my dad were married for 56 years before Daddy passed away in 2007. My mom doesn't remember him. She can't recall his name when she looks at his picture. Not even when he was a young man.

And because she doesn't remember that she was married, she certainly doesn't remember having five children, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

I will never understand, at least in this lifetime, why my mom had to suffer with Alzheimer's Disease in these final years of life. She was a God-fearing, Jesus-loving woman. She loved her husband and her children. She did her very best as our mother. She taught Sunday School as long as I can remember. She held backyard Bible school's during the summers when I was growing up. She served her church faithfully. She taught other peoples' children for 25 years in the public school system. She was a good woman by the world's standards. She was a faithful servant by God's standards.

And yet she was not spared from this mean, mean disease.

I don't understand. But I accept it. She did too. She knew the disease was coming. She didn't know why, but she knew it would steal her away from us.

One day in the not too distant future my mom will be whole again. She will smile and laugh and sing and dance. She will know everyone around her. She'll see her loved ones again. She'll see my dad. She'll be Home.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I love you with all my heart!

Life with Alzheimer's...Conclusion

I wish things could have been different for Daddy and Mom. "If only" seems to be the theme of my thoughts when I consider the last years of their lives. If only Daddy hadn't been so sick he could have cared for Mom as her memory deteriorated and her confusion increased. But Dad's kidney's had failed, his diabetes raged on, he'd battled cancer twice, and he was 83 years old. It just wasn't possible for him to do much more than keep his own body going every day. The job of caring for Mom and their daily needs had to fall to someone else.

Steve and Chrys moved in and for the most part, things settled into a routine. Mom was mad much of the time. Dad complained about Steve's gourmet cooking. Yet it was clear to me that God had a hand in it all. When Daddy miscalculated his insulin and nearly went into a diabetic coma, Steve was there. When Mom angrily ran away from home and walked six miles to Walgreens (which took nearly four hours), Steve was there.

And thanks to Steve, Daddy was able to live his final years in the home he'd built with his own hands, just as he'd always wanted (pictured).
On January 4, 2007 he passed away in the bedroom he'd slept in for more than forty years. Mom, bless her heart, doesn't remember a thing about his passing or his funeral. She wore a confused expression for much of that day. She spoke to people and accepted their condolences. She greeted people she hadn't seen in years, though they had to remind her of who they were. She solemnly accepted the US Flag that had draped Dad's casket when the retired soldiers handed it to her. But through it all she seemed rather lost. Distant. I realize now that she wasn't really there. That she didn't fully grasp what was going on.

Sadly, there are now days when she doesn't remember Dad at all. She assumes she had a husband, but she can't quite remember who he was, even with a picture of him in her hand. Those are heartbreaking days for us, her children. To have shared ones life with another person for fifty-seven years is a beautiful thing. To have it stolen from your memory by a disease is a tragedy beyond imagination.

Life with Alzheimer's Disease is a slow, sad journey down a path no one wants to travel. I know the day is coming when my Mom won't recognize me as her daughter. I don't look forward to it, but I know I have to be prepared for its arrival. And I have to accept the fact that I or my husband may one day suffer from this disease. I may not know my loved ones or remember the life I had with them.

It sounds so hopeless, doesn't it?

It's not.

We have hope--real, true HOPE!--in Jesus Christ, who will restore Mom on the day she meets him in heaven! Daddy is already there, waiting for us to join him. Alzheimer's may have stolen some of Mom's earthly pleasures and peace, but her eternal hope remains alive and well. She accepted Jesus as her Savior long before this disease took over her mind. She lived her life for him as best she could. Her hope won't ever be lost despite her progressing confusion.

Thank you, Jesus!

Life with Alzheimer's...Part Three...

Mom and Dad could no longer live alone, yet they did not want help. Mom's idea of a solution was to move to an assisted living facility, but Daddy wouldn't budge from his house. He knew in his heart they needed Steve and Chrys to move in with them, but it wasn't an easy pill to swallow for a very independent, very private man. Mom was never happy with this plan and she has since let everyone know it, many times.

Steve and Chrys arrived, bringing a sense of relief to the rest of the family. To know that my parents would be well taken care of in their last years is truly a gift I can never repay to my brother and sister-in-law. Mom and Dad now ate regular, healthy meals instead of cereal and soups. The house and yard were taken care of after years of neglect. Doctor's appointments and medications were monitored. Sounds like all is well, right?

Wrong.

Mom resented every minute Steve and Chrys lived in "her" house. She resented them taking over "her" kitchen. She even resented them taking over "her" cat, because Steve was feeding it and making sure it had a warm place to stay during the winter months. When Mom continually became lost while driving in town and we knew she shouldn't drive anymore, she blamed Steve. Everything was Steve's fault in Mom's view and she let him know it.

I'll never forget the day I witnessed Mom's anger first-hand. We were visiting for a week during the summer. Steve and Chrys were out grocery shopping. I walked into the kitchen and found Mom sitting at the breakfast table, looking really mad.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

She looked up at me and I saw something in my mother's eyes I'd never seen before.

Hatred. Real, pure hatred.

"THEM!" she spat. "They're taking over everything! This is MY house and I want them to leave. I hate them!"

Steve had told me about her anger and some of the things she'd said to him, but I hadn't seen it for myself yet. I sat down with her, my heart heavy. I tried to reason with her for the next thirty minutes. I later realized you can't reason with a person with Alzheimer's Disease. There is no reason there anymore. It was difficult and painful to see my mother like this. She was a complete stranger in those minutes. I tried to calm her down, but her anger only grew. I talked of Jesus and how he wouldn't want her to hate her own son, but she ignored me and continued to rant. I began to cry, but she didn't seem to care.

It was in that moment that I finally accepted what I'd fought against for nearly three years.

The mother I'd known all my life was gone.

(Continued next time)

Life with Alzheimer's...Part Two...

Here is a picture of Mom and some of her family. From right to left: I'm next to her, then my sister, my gentle giant son, three nieces, my youngest son, and one of my brothers. My husband took this picture at the National Cemetery in Santa Fe, NM where my dad, a WWII vet, is buried. Notice the glimpse of mountains in the background. The cemetery sits on a hill where you can see various mountain ranges in every direction you look. It's beautiful!

Back to my story...

I shared my concerns that Christmas with my sister, who lives about an hour from Mom and Dad. She'd noticed some oddities, too, but I don't think either of us could imagine the seriousness and sadness of what was to come.

It wasn't until two years later that we finally accepted the fact that there was something seriously wrong with Mom. Her memory loss went beyond her usual I-can't-find-my-glasses forgetfulness. She couldn't remember basic things, like how to cook, and often left things burning on the stove top, which left me frantic with worry at times, 700 miles away and unable to help them manage day-to-day life. We also had Dad to worry about. He was on dialysis three times a week for five hours a day, along with other health issues. We kids came to the conclusion no kids want to come to: Our parents could no longer care for themselves without help. Daddy, at 82 years of age, was adamant that he would not move to an assisted living facility. He wanted to stay (and die, I believe) in the house he built himself more than fifty years ago. My oldest brother and sis-in-law, who were living in gorgeous Santa Barbara, CA at the time, willingly volunteered to pack up and move to Santa Fe to become our parents' full-time caretakers. Words cannot express my gratitude to them for their many, many sacrifices, one of which was leaving their only child, Nicholle, in California where, at 23 years of age, she is making a life for herself but still misses her folks.

You would think that things got better once Steve and Chrys arrived.

They didn't.

(Continued next time)

Life with Alzheimer's...

My mom has Alzheimer's Disease. We hear about this disease a lot these days, especially when President Reagan was alive. He suffered with it for ten years. There are books and movies about it, like The Notebook and ACFW's Deborah Raney's A Vow to Cherish. But if you don't personally know someone living with Alzheimer's, you can't really grasp the meanness and often hopelessness of this disease.

Mom was 74 when I first noticed signs that something was wrong. Living 700 miles from my parents, I only saw them twice a year. We made the most of our visits though. In the summer, we'd load everyone up and head to the mountains for an afternoon picnic. In winter, celebrating the holidays together was the highlight.

It was during our Christmas visit one year that I knew something was wrong. Mom was the best fudge maker, ever! Her fudge was famous in our family! When any of us kids (there are five of us) couldn't make it home for the holidays, we knew a two pound box of fudge would soon arrive in the mail. That year, Mom and I were in the kitchen preparing to make fudge. We got out pots and pans and then...Mom looked at me with the blankest stare I've ever seen.

"Now what do we do?" she asked.

I laughed. "What do you mean? You're the fudge-making expert."

But the blank stare continued and I realized she was serious. We did make the fudge, with me reading off the yellowed recipe card she hadn't used in decades.

The next day was December 24. It's been a long-standing tradition in our family to have a Mexican food buffet on Christmas Eve, with Mom's famous Chicken Enchiladas as the main course. The afternoon was filled with preparations for the evening when all our family would come together for food, fellowship, and presents. Mom wandered into the kitchen at one point. A confused and worried expression marred her features.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked.

"What are we going to serve for dinner? Everyone is coming over and I don't know what to serve."

I frowned. "Well, Mom, you're going to make your Chicken Enchiladas that everyone loves."

She looked at me with surprise. "Do I know how to make Chicken Enchiladas?"

That was the moment I knew something was terribly, horribly wrong.

(Continued next time)