A Port in the Storm

Yesterday was a gift for me, probably from God.  I need to believe that, anyway.

After my mom's fall, Tracy, Alice and I agreed that someone should stay with her at all times for a few days.  Alice spent Thursday night at Maristone and Tracy spent last night there.  The staff at Maristone also agreed to check on mom every 2 hours.  We also got her a new pendant and instructed her, again, on how to use it if she needs assistance, not just if she falls, but with anything.

Since I already was off work for what would have been the boys' spring break trip to Atlanta, my calendar was clear yesterday.  We agreed I would relieve Alice at 9 a.m. and stay through mid-afternoon.  Alice would stay with mom for a couple of hours, then Tracy would take the night shift.

For the first time in well, forever, my mom and I spent several quiet hours together.  As she sat in her chair and I sat on the couch, we just enjoyed each other's company.

• She marveled at my typing skills as I answered e-mails on my laptop.
• She thumbed through a Nashville coloring book I had gotten for her, asking questions with childlike curiosity about landmarks she had forgotten existed.  She asked about restaurants or bars she didn't recognize that were featured in the coloring book.
• Prompted by a drawing of the new Johnny Cash Museum, I played part of a video for her on my cell phone of Johnny Cash singing "Hurt," not too long before he died.  She was transfixed, although it made her sad to see him looking so old.
• We worked on her technique getting out of and into her chair, in an effort to avoid her slipping on to the floor (which we learned from staff had happened on occasion).  
• We walked the halls upstairs, outside of her apartment, as I encouraged her to stay centered and inside the walker.  I also encouraged her to take larger, normal steps, rather than shuffling her feet (which I've been told is a common characteristic of Alzheimer's patients).
• We watched daytime television and asked a myriad of questions, mostly about commercials.  
• When a staff member arrived to clean my mom's apartment, we joked with her and each other.  Predictably and comfortably, my mom and I fell into our time honored routine of lightheartedly making fun of each other to the delight of the staff member.  That part was like old times.
• I walked her down to lunch.  Although she didn't want me to leave her in the dining room by herself, I did, and she was fine.  Strangely, I ate lunch at a table at Publix, of all places, and ran into Baird Harris.  I got back to Maristone just as she was finishing lunch.
• Before lunch, we walked the floors of the lobby downstairs and even went outside the front doors, just for a minute or two.  She joke with Tim, the maintenance man, whom she adores.  
• I watched her pet a large, shaggy dog who visits Maristone weekly.  My mom loves dogs and that was good to see.

It was a day to just be.  And I loved it.  The lesson, I think, is to schedule time with my mom when I don't have to be anywhere or do anything.  I want to try to do that weekly and just work it into my calendar, if I can.  

I felt a sense of peace and maybe, just maybe, acceptance.  That feeling is precarious, I know, and may disappear entirely today.  But I'm thankful I had it yesterday.  

It's time to close my laptop and leave the oasis that is my Saturday morning cup of coffee, this morning at Frothy Monkey on 12th Avenue.  I'm headed to Maristone.