On Being Mom's Mom

It is my practice to start the day by checking in with Mom on where she is, who she is, who I am and I get a variety of responses.  Often she's in Wenatchee, once in a while Milwaukee or DeWitt and these days she's been saying "your house."  Which is right but then she has some wild ideas about who I am.  For awhile I was Alex or Hallack (interesting how she can come up with our spouses' names but not ours), but once I was Kira(with a long i) and Aga (which she spelled out for me -
A-G-A).  When I ask her what our relationship is, she usually knows that I'm her daughter but the day I was Kira, I was her professor (which I thought was flattering and told her so.)  She laughed at that. 

The one that she's said to me twice now is "you're my mom."  The first time she said it, I thought for a moment and then answered, "yes, yes I am."  And I think I embraced it completely for the first time.  Our roles have completely reversed and she is no longer my cheerleader, mentor, advice giver and biggest fan but rather my very dependent responsibility.  The mom I used to call when my life was crashing down around me now needs me to walk her through an incredibly scary time in her life.  Life is so unfamiliar and not much makes sense to her anymore.  The first time she called me Mom, I asked her how old she was and she said 20, another time she said 13 or 14.  My sister Gail says that maybe she is regressing and will be an infant soon.  I don't know, it could be (although this morning she said 1300!)  In the book, "Final Gifts", the authors (who are hospice nurses) say that a person who is failing is much more aware of where they're at and if we listen they will tell us.  I'm listening and am confident that however long this lasts, that God gives me grace to love and grow in the midst of  it all.

Dad has been failing as well - and I ask myself, "what do you expect from a man who is 93?"  It's still hard to see him sleeping more and more and struggling to walk.  He really should have a walker but he refuses.  Now when we go anywhere, he needs my arm to lean on and yesterday, when we went to the library, he used the scooter they provide.  I offer it to him each time we go but that was the first time he took me up on it.  I'm happy to say that he negotiated the aisles of books pretty well.  I didn't think about that until he got on it and started to head for the racks.  The humorous part was that he can't hear over the sound of the motor very well and I found myself trying to whisper loudly.  Have you ever tried to do that? 

It's hard for me not to take responsibility for his failing because I struggle to meet his needs and Mom's at the same time.  He really should get out more but she resists.  He's also showing signs of dementia - forgetting to brush his hair, putting shirts on backwards, forgetting where his hearing aids are (even when they're in his pocket) etc.  Last week I took him to a friend's neighborhood pool and he flashed the pool while showing me he didn't have pants on under his towel.  I don't think anyone got a show because he had a shirt on that covered everything.  At least I hope so.  I didn't look but made him cover up right away.  YIKES! Again, I have to trust in God's grace to navigate each of these new twistings and turnings.  I still think they're better off with me than in any facility full of well meaning but overworked attendants.  Today, I'm going to take them to a church rummage sale where they're serving lunch.  It happens to be a church where I'll be the guest preacher on Sunday.  I'm really looking forward to having this opportunity and I want to see where I'll be.  And it will be good for them to get out for awhile.  So off I go to start the process of getting Mom up.  A daily exercise in patience and persistent kindness - one we are managing with humor and grace.  Most of the time!