Forgotten

In recent days when people ask me about my Mom, I find myself looking all around the room, trying to think of something to say. I search and search but I often come up rather empty. What can you say about a person when they no longer speak to you? How can you eloquently describe a disease that is not always very eloquent to watch? I often comment on the things we do when visiting her, what A may have done, and simple facts of our visit, scooting right past the real issues of my heart.

It wasn’t until this past week in chatting with my sister that I realized why this occurs. It’s because I didn’t realize where we now are. We’re almost at the end. We’ve entered that final season when there are no more words, expressions, or conversation. It is all quiet.

I can remember when my Mom was first placed in full-time care. There was a woman in the final stages of ALZ who was always in a reclining wheel chair, expressionless, and spoon-fed. S and I would often look at her, finding it hard to imagine the day when my Mom would be that woman.

But I think she is that woman now, and I almost don’t know what to feel about it. It’s strange because so much grieving goes on in the early years that you are in many ways prepared for the later years. And yet I find myself feeling very hurt and lonely, quite saddened when we visit my Mom. And I now I know why. She does not remember me anymore. She does not know me. Sometimes she does not even look in my direction. And I love her. How does it feel to love and receive nothing in return, especially from one’s own mother? It’s heartbreaking to say the least.

It all makes me treasure those years I was at home to help care for her before marrying S. Those were precious times spent and I’m so thankful for them. I realize that it is not Mom’s choosing to forget me, but rather the disease that is slowly, yet quickly taking her memory away by force. She is left with very little in this regard, but I do trust her spirit is being replenished and continually fed by His Spirit.

One day it will all be restored. I hope to embrace her in heaven, again being known, even though all the tears will then be gone. It will be a joy to see her healed and restored.

My Little Martha

I had to get a filling re-filled this morning at the dentist. ICK. My head has hurt ever since. But, the dentist sure is a gem. He’s very sweet and I think he does a great job, despite the hole he left in our wallets.

I returned home to see my sweet little child run to the door, with her baby doll in one hand and the doll’s bottle in the other. It was obvious that she was very much occupied, yet she juggled her tasks to greet me with a big smile and much chatter. I was overjoyed. I almost forgot my head hurt.

Later in the day while packing boxes, A looked at me and said, “You are a busy, busy bee! You need Martha and Bobby!” We both laughed hysterically. For any of you who have read the book, We Help Mommy by Eloise Wilkin, you will recall the busy mother trying to accomplish all her tasks with her two little tots helping her each step of the way. A proved to be a little Martha to me today and took great joy in packing the boxes. Her specialty was reminding me when I needed “more tape” and making me chuckle the whole way through.

So we are almost all packed. We went to our new apartment last night and got so excited! A joined me in running around the bedrooms in circles and then finally collapsing on the floor in laughter.

We’re excited and so blessed to have a wonderful crew of friends to help us with the move! It helps share the weight and stirs up immense thankfulness to be part of a body of believers. Love each of you!