By Linda Kozar
If mama could remember, she’d know the
names of all her grandchildren and great grandchildren. She’d delight them with
stories about her childhood growing up on a farm. If mama could remember, she’d
whip up some of our favorite family recipes in the kitchen. She’d recall what
she wore yesterday and wonder why she’s wearing the same thing today. If only
mama could remember . . .
Are you a caregiver? I’ve been one for
three years now. My mother whom we affectionately call, “Mama Rose” was
diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and will be eighty-one this month. Other than
Alzheimer’s, she’s is remarkable health, and up until last year, on absolutely
no medications. My siblings and I share caring for our mother in five-month
periods, an arrangement that is sometimes difficult for us, but noticeably
beneficial to her.
According to the Alzheimer’s Foundation
of America (www.alzfdn.org), Alzheimer's disease is a progressive,
degenerative disorder that attacks the brain's nerve cells, or neurons,
resulting in loss of memory, thinking and language skills, and behavioral
changes. The disease is named for Dr. Alois Alzheimer, a German physician who
presented a case history before a medical meeting in 1906—of a 51-year-old
woman who suffered from a rare brain disorder. A later autopsy revealed and
identified the characteristic plaques and tangles associated with Alzheimer’s
disease.
Hearing that diagnosis pronounced on a
loved on is difficult to endure. The very first thing I imagined was a scene
from the 1968 science fiction film classic, 2001, A Space Odyssey, when
the lead character, Dr. David Bowman begins shutting down the rogue HAL 9000
computer’s processor core. As each bank of stored information is shut down, HAL
eventually regresses to his earliest programmed memory, the song, “Bicycle
Built for Two,” which he sings for Bowman. “Daisy, Daisy/Give me your answer,
do/I’m half crazy/all for the love of you.”
Would my mother’s mind diminish in like
manner? And would all her wonderful characteristics and personality be reduced
to its lowest form? I grieved that diagnosis, as did my sister and brother. Our
prayers for her continue, in spite of that pronouncement.
There are several scriptures I hold onto:
John 14:26 “But the Helper, the Holy
Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and
bring to your remembrance all things that I said unto you,” and Philippians 4:7, “ . . . And the peace of
God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds
through Christ Jesus.” (KJV)
All in all, I know my sister, brother and
I, made the right decision to take care of our mother. She is far better off
being with us and interacting with her extended family than living alone or in
a facility. We all love her and lavish affection on Mom. We feed her well,
dispense medicine as needed, and provide constant companionship. Is caregiving hard?
Yes, most definitely. And any activity we think of scheduling during our
five-month rotation absolutely has to include her.
Mom asks the same questions of me,
constantly and consistently. Each question she asks is a first for her, but for
me, one of a hundred repetitions. One day, I came up with an idea. Was it
possible Mom could keep a memory of a daily routine or schedule? If so, I could
use repetition to my advantage. I scheduled her life around meals, two daily
walks, and a relaxing soak in peppermint bath salts before bedtime. Once the
schedule was implemented, she began to settle down. She still asked lot of
questions, but not as many as before. I do my best to answer, but whenever I
become frustrated with repetitive questions, I leave the room, pray a lot and
regain my composure before she starts the process again.
Alzheimer’s has changed my mother’s view
of the world, but because of the disease, she’s been able to teach me some very
important things. Mom notices the smallest details—like the shape of a cloud or
a sparrow flitting from tree to tree. And each day she finds some sort of lost treasure
on the ground, while on a walk together, or in the mall or even a parking lot.
Mom finds the most unusual items on the ground! I keep jars of her sparkly
finds, and often wonder if some are tiny diamonds lost from ring settings or
earrings. She also finds coins, little
plastic toys, sequins, metal pieces, dice, buttons, tacks, beads—you name it.
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| Mom's Little Treasures Jar |
And rocks. We have a large quantity of
river stones in our landscaping. She began to focus on the broken ones for some
reason. One day, I began to understand why. She showed me the interior of the
stones--ribbons of color, banded and swirled. Amazing. Why didn’t I ever notice them before?
Mom is teaching me to see the beauty
inside the things I take for granted. The beauty inside simple stones, in the
flight patterns of butterflies and birds, and the parfait of puffy, white clouds
above our heads. All these nuances, like a twinkle in God’s eye, are special,
beautiful—a wonder to behold.
She’s also teaching me patience.
Everything I ever thought I knew about patience before is nothing to the
patience required in caregiving. I often remind myself--she didn’t ask for
this. She didn’t want Alzheimer’s. But she does want to be loved, to live in
grace and dignity. The time I offer to care for her is the time I’m giving back
to the woman who dried my tears, who treated me with tender care throughout my
childhood and adult years, who taught me, sacrificed for, and loved me
unconditionally.
Every evening, when my mom is ready to go
upstairs to bed, I stand at the bottom and watch as she slowly climbs the
stairwell. When she reaches the landing, she always turns to me and says, “Good
night.”
And I answer, “See you in the morning.”
But one day I know my mother will go to be
with the Lord and I imagine we will exchange different words. I see her climbing
a heavenly staircase illuminated by the glory of God, her knees nimble and
quick, a wide smile upon her sweet face. She will turn to me, and instead
of saying good night, she’ll whisper a soft good-bye.
With tears in my eyes I will wave and
answer, “See you in the morning, mama.”
For you see, the night is long indeed,
but joy comes in the morning.
