DEMENTIA: "APP-JUICE & CACKAS PART 2"

When my youngest was a toddler all he wanted to ingest was apple juice and crackers. He'd stand in front of the refrigerator in his little jean overalls, t-shirt and bare feet- cute as hell - and pitifully point, blobber and beg, "app-juice ? cackas ? App-juice ? cackas ?" Over and over, whining and crying till he collapsed in a heap. This went on EVERYDAY. And EVERYDAY I'd say the same things, "I know. After you eat breakfast. After you eat breakfast. After you eat breakfast. After you... "

You mothers know.

I'd also break the pattern by physically moving him away, divert his attention with music, toys, Sesame Street - whatever ! - so I could stay sane ! (He's almost forty now and I've never seen him drink apple juice since.)

I tell you this because I found myself returning to the same pattern when my mother was in the throes of dementia. She was a tall toddler: diapered, repetitive, making up words, fiercely stubborn and single-minded, easily diverted, dependent yet fighting for independence, feisty, forgetful, daring, and, in general, a handful that required vigilance ! I was now a mother to my mother - except now I wasn't nurturing a little human into adulthood; I was caring for a fully formed, childlike adult who was living out her last days. To do it well, I had to learn what I could control and what I needed to let go.

I made a list.

THINGS I COULD NOT CONTROL~

her feelings

her thoughts

her beliefs

what she wore

how or what she ate

what she liked

what she said, how she said it

the way she moved or not

how she treated others

how she spent her time

who her friends were

how much she slept

how she cared for herself

her habits

THINGS I COULD CONTROL

my intentions

my commitments

my time

my responses

my state - mental, physical, spiritual

my medical intervention

In short, I had to learn we were simply two separate souls traveling together. Yes, I was legally responsible for her care, her protector and advocate, but it was still HER life, not mine. Even as she descended into a vegetative state, I kept in mind what I knew SHE wanted.

When I see these words in black and white, I think DUH ! Of course we were two separate people ! But day to day, when I would see remnants of lunch on her blouse, or her dressed in mismatched, old clothes, I'd go a little nuts trying to fix her up. That was not the mother I knew ! MY mother was fastidious about her appearance.

But THAT mother was dying. And maybe that's why I got a little nuts: I was scared. And sad. "Fixing her up," trying to control things, was me trying to preserve what was.

Looking back, motherhood and all the super powers it requires, was good training for elder care. And like motherhood, the return on investment, for me has been tenfold.

Beaming you all loving support and SUPER POWERS !

OXOX !