Settling In

Okay.  I need to get the rest of this out of me.  Things will get better.  They have to.

I arrived at Maristone to relieve Alice at 4 p.m. on Friday, my mom's second day there.  She immediately greeted me with pleas to take her home.  She was confused and upset, as has been the case more and more at sundown since the end of daylight savings time.  I've learned that's pretty normal with people in her condition.

The plan was for me to spend the afternoon and evening with my mom, eating dinner with her in the dining room, then to leave shortly before bedtime.  I insisted, and Tracy and Alice agreed, it was imperative to get her used to staying by herself overnight.  Plans in theory almost always work to perfection.  In reality, though, it's often an entirely different story.

Almost immediately, my mom asked me if I was staying the night.  When I told her no, she got agitated.  Truthfully, I can't describe it any other way than to say that she pleaded for me stay the night and not leave her alone.  I was heartbroken.

I began crying as I told my mom how hard this was for me, for all of us.  I told her I knew that she didn't really want Tracy, Alice and me to be away from our families every third night to stay with her.  I told her my boys needed me at home at night.  Kaitlyn and Matthew needed Tracy home at night, too.

Somehow, when she saw how emotional I was, she became my mom again.  "I know," she said.  "The boys need you.  I know they do."  Suddenly, just for a brief moment, my mom was comforting me, like she always has done.  I don't know if it was a breakthrough or God's grace, or maybe a little of both.

So, we just hung out together the entire night.

We played checkers. (I picked up some games earlier that day.)  It's hard to explain but playing checkers with her was like a summer rain shower, where it rains but he sun peaks in and out of clouds.  In other words, I laughed with her as we played but I cried inside as she struggled with the rules and couldn't remember whether she was red or black.  I think that checkers game is a metaphor for my life with her moving forward.  Laughter and tears, mixed together.

We at dinner in the dining room downstairs.  After dinner, we settled in to watch Independence HS vs. Cane Ridge HS in the quarterfinals of the high school football playoffs.  Sadly, my mom couldn't keep track of which team was which until I wrote down that Independence HS was wearing white.  That was the only way she knew which team to cheer for.  Again, laughter and tears.

My mom insisted there was ice cream in the freezer compartment of her small refrigerator, although I told her that simply wasn't the case.  Then, she thought there was ice cream in her freezer outside, undoubtedly referring the deep freezer at home or the extra refrigerator in the storeroom at home.  Finally, I opened up the door to her apartment to show her that there was only a hallway outside, not the carport and the storeroom.  In the end, I drover over to Publix and bought her some Klondike bars.

We sat not on the couch together, still watching the football game, and looked at old photographs of the boys on my computer.  Her head began to nod and I let her fall asleep.  When she woke up at 10 p.m., I suggested she go to bed, so I could leave and go home to my family.  We argued a bit about that but she gave in after a few minutes, and shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth.  

I helped her into bed, tucked her in and told her I loved her as I tried to fight back the tears.  I turned off the lights, closed the door behind me, took the elevator downstairs and walked to my truck, head down and lost in thought.  I felt so conflicted, relieved to be leaving but guilty at not being able to do more for her.  I planned on returning the next morning to eat breakfast with her and to see how the night went.

The symbolism of tucking my mom into bed was not lost on me.  In fact, the significance of the moment overpowered me.  The parent had become the child and the child had become the parent.  And so it goes.