Diminished

I'm sitting in the library at NHC Place after visiting with my mom for a little while.  I often stop by the library after I see her.  It's quiet - there's never anyone here - and it's a good place for me to collect my thoughts and get in a better frame of mind before I leave.

It's not a particularly large room, so it's cozy and most importantly, peaceful.  There are a pair of yellow, comfortable wing back chairs, with lamp in between, that I like to sit in and read.  There's a table in the middle of the room with four chairs, where I'm sitting right now.  There's also a couple of small desks with a computer on one of them.  Best of all, there are built in bookshelves filled with books for residents to read.  I think that's what I like best about the room.

I brought donuts today, as I often do on Sunday mornings when I visit.  I sat with my mom and 4 other ladies at a table and chatted.  They all ate donuts, which made me happy.  It was interesting to watch my mom and the lady sitting next to her - whom I don't know - interact and try to clean the donut glaze chips off each other after they were finished.  My mom, ever the nurse and caregiver, showed the lady how to put the brakes on her wheelchair so she could stand up and brush herself off.

My mom isn't strong enough to stand up on her own anymore, not by a long shot.  In fact, Alicia - the nurse in Aspen Arbor - offhandedly mentioned today that my mom had eaten breakfast a little late because it had taken two caregivers to rouse her and get her up this morning.

My mom seemed diminished today.  Smaller and thinner.  Weaker and more helpless.  She was in a good mood and seemed content, unlike yesterday.  That was nice, of course.  Still, I can't shake the feeling that time is running for her.  I don't t think she is going to be with us much longer.  I have a strong sense that God is not going to let her linger here, on earth, helpless and unable to recognize or communicate with anyone.  Maybe I'm wrong, but I think that's going to be his gift to her and to us.

It's hard to believe that almost exactly a year ago, she was able to attend a few of Kaitlyn's basketball games, walking with a cane, no less.  She was able to follow, generally, what was going on and to cheer when Kaitlyn's team played well.  Now, she can't get our of her wheelchair or go to the bathroom without assistance.  That's hard to fathom and hard to accept, for me, anyway.

Now, I'm going to drive to Nashville and go to church at St. Patrick.  I'm scheduled to do the second reading today.  I'll get through my reading and put on a false smile for my boys to disguise how sad I feel and how much I miss the mom I used to know before Alzheimer's stole her from me and my family.