The Power of Music

          Paul Cardall must have been 15 at the time he had worked at the ice cream store. They didn’t hire younger than high school.  But he seemed to have such a junior high awkwardness about him.  But he may have lacked in social skills because of his heart and hospitalization and being in and out of the doctors all of the time.  But I don’t know.  I didn’t really have a whole lot of interaction with him.  I’m sure our difference in age and maturity contributed to that.

          Whenever Paul had been assigned to dishes and was able to listen to music – his music – some wholesome music even – the twerpy kid would disappear and he would actually turn into a regular human being.

          Corey said he had had some nice conversations with Paul regarding music.  I would have never dreamed that he would one day perform his music and record albums and become a name in many households.   

          I don’t know where he had been performing when Sunny had taken my mom to see it.  Mom tells it a little differently each time.  But one thing’s for certain – he did request for my mom to come stand by him on the stage as his picture was being taken by various people.

          Mom still has it on the mirror in her new room at assisted living.  And she can tell you about why she has it and how surprised she had been.  But she knew Paul from the ice cream store.  We all did.  Apparently some of us better than others.

          Today there was a program at the community where mom now lives.  Some of my family members were there when we arrived.  We took her by the hand and forced her to sit down. 

          “What’s going on?” she asked.

          “We are listening to someone who is playing the piano.  But it’s not Paul Cardall.”

          She related the story again.  This time she hadn’t known anyone else in the room.  Nor did he.

          In my entire life I had never seen the enthusiasm that mom displayed today – for the first seven or eight songs anyway.  Seems in the past she has always tuned music out so it wasn’t even a background sound.  But today she sang along with the player.  It was so awesome to see that – until Roland got up to escort Jenna out of the building and then panic set in.  She stood up to once again ask why she was there and why none of us would be taking her home.  But for a brief moment there was a vibrant thrill that had been awakened with mom.  And it was great to see her enjoying herself and singing along.

          Jenna had also chimed in with the few songs that she knew.  I love listening to my daughter singing.  She was singing with MercyMe in the car.  I wasn’t aware that she had even known the words to the song.  And I loved that she is so in tune and focused on the music that I like.

          Music can change our mood.  It can uplift our spirits and rejuvenate the soul.  It can also bring us down when dark tunes and lyrics are played.  I prefer being uplifted and invigorated.

          I love that we have so many varieties of music and how it is a language that each of us can understand.  

I have four coats and LOTS of Chapstick

          Having a coat in Utah is a necessity – sometimes a few coats (as there are various kinds) but sometimes the amount of coats one has in his or her possession

isn’t always seen as a necessity – but more of a desire.

          I have never spent an outrageous amount for a coat.  I have usually gone for something economical pricewise. Warm.  Cute.  Except for one year when it seemed the only coats offered were either wool or those down filled sleeping bags with arms (that’s what I called them)  I’m allergic to wool.  Greatly allergic.  I had red rings around my wrists just from trying them on.  Seriously.

 

          I did have a raincoat/trench coat at one time.  I’ve always wanted a rain slicker – but have never purchased one.  Though I did purchase a rain hat at one time.

 

          Currently I have four coats.  Only one of the four that I actually purchased – when I was single and could afford it.  It is my Sunday coat.  It isn’t very warm – though many people think it is.  I’ve had warmer jackets.

          The coat I wear most often – or DID wear the most often is a red reversible that was left behind in the house where we currently live.  It goes to my waist and usually serves its purpose for keeping me warm.

          I received a corduroy jacket from one of Biff’s friends who’d outgrown it.  It’s actually warmer than the red coat and so I’ve worn it a few times during the cold months.  The last couple of times that I put it on, I couldn't button because of my weight.  But it is still warm even when it's open. But I still wear the red coat the most – probably more than the other three put together.  

          Unlike my first coat which looks warmer than it is, I think the corduroy is warmer than it looks.  

          And then there’s the green coat – my only long coat.  Originally purchased by Sunny’s sister when she was on her mission in Spain, but didn’t have a use for it when she returned to the states as she is currently living in Arizona.

          She in turn passed it onto Ellen who is always cold – or so it seems.  She is really quite thin.  And I can’t believe that I can actually wear something that has been on Ellen’s body as I haven’t been that thin for decades.

         I don’t know how many years Ellen kept it before it was passed on to me.  I’ll wear it on occasion as it does cover my legs and so overall really is the warmest of the four.  Usually it has been too warm – except for this year.  Welcome to 2 degree weather!  I haven’t even touched any of the other three coats since the year started.

          Roland doesn’t like it.  He calls it my bag lady coat.  At least it doesn’t look like a sleeping bag with arms!  Roland wouldn’t even be able to be in the same house as one of those as he is allergic to feathers.

          I have a huge assortment of hats and gloves – mostly due to my being an airhead as I’m always misplacing both.  

          The purple hat initially belonged to a former co-worker.  She had made it for herself.  Every day I would tell her what I liked about it.  I thought it was a cute hat.  Possibly cuter on her than me.  The hat is cute – but I can make it appear to look dorky.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps it’s the huge mass of hair I have on my head 

          Roland and I have also knitted hats for each other.  I have never attempted to knit or crochet gloves or mittens however. 

          And then there is the long pink scarf that has been a part of my daily wardrobe many days in November and December and every day since this year began.

          It is, without doubt, the longest scarf I have ever seen in my life.  Sunny gave it to me just before the first really cold day.  I could wrap that pupper around my head and my neck and still have a lot left to cover both back and front.  And I really do stay warm.  

          My car has killed over a few times - I’m sure due to the cold.  I wouldn’t blame it for stopping all together.  But am very grateful that it doesn’t (or at least hasn’t yet). 

          The air has been so fricken cold – and dry.  Very DRY. 

          I had purchased a package of Chapsticks.  20 -  40 of them – which I meant to use as stocking stuffers but then forgot about them.  But I retrieved the package earlier this month and have opened several tubes and placed them in pockets of each coat and each purse or tote that I may use.  I don’t ever wish to be caught without something to keep my lips from cracking.

          You know it’s been cold when 20 degrees actually feels warm.

I’m Not Staying Here, Take Me Home

          Wow.  What a day. 

          Mom was discharged with a great bill of health.  Great . . .  

          The paper work had not yet been processed for the assisted living.  Mom didn’t have to go to a rehab center as had been speculated earlier.  She was discharged.  And it was up to me to drive her away from the hospital.
          It was disheartening as I watched the nurses wheel her to the curb and load her into my car.  Less than nine years before, I had given birth to Jenna.  And it was mom who was driving while the nurses wheeled me out and loaded me up.  It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about it.  I absolutely HATE this role reversal thing.

          So I take her to the house where she has lived for the last fifty years (and she has not lived anywhere else during that time) and we actually have trouble getting in the door (I don’t think my key got cut all the way) and have to really work at getting in.

          She doesn’t have a problem until we have walked through the door.  She sits down and checks HER MAIL – mail addressed to the house where I had taken her.  I say I am fixing lunch.  She says she is not hungry.  I still fix her lunch.  She childish refuses to eat.

          I tell her to take off her coat. 

          “I don’t want to stay here!”

          “Where do you want to be?”

          “Home.  My home.”

          “Do you have an address?”

          She was irate – thinking I was just playing games with her.  I guess I was.  But not to be funny. But it’s just better to give in to her reality than to argue.  But her reality doesn’t have an address. 

          But she doesn’t want to stay in the house where we are because it’s boring!  So I ask what makes it boring.  What makes her other replica house more exciting?

          She said it’s not the house itself – but the location.  Her other house is in the city.  And there is a store on every corner!  She doesn’t want to live in this boring house in the “country”.

          I cover my mouth and hope that she doesn’t see the laughter in my eyes.  Mom’s house may not be downtown city – but it is definitely NOT the country. I’ll admit that the location was on a bit the desolate side 50 years ago – but the city has built its way around her house.  There are at least thirty eating places that can be walked to.

          A former neighbor from across the street knocks at the door.  He came to talk to Nate.  Mom told him that Nate didn't live there.  Then she practically ordered the neighbor in to explore her “weird house” with her.  He seemed to provide more comforting words than I did.  She still wasn’t convinced, but he seemed to calm her nerves.  And he helped to lighten my load. 

          I had to go get Jenna from school.  Mom was ready to go at 2:30.  Jenna’s school doesn’t let out until 3:20.  Her school is only ten minutes away.  I wasn’t planning on leaving and told mom hang tight for another 30 minutes.  We played Taboo.

          Both Kayla and Sunny offered to sit while I went and got Jenna – but I knew that mom was anxious to leave and so I told both that it would be an hour less that each of them would have to deal with if I were to take her and have Nate come pick her up from where I currently reside.

          So after I picked up Jenna, I brought mom to my home.  She hasn’t been here often, but hasn’t ever been comfortable with being here.  I don’t blame her though.  I’m not all that comfortable myself.

          But yesterday she was content.  She finally ate something and watched one sitcom while we waited for Nate to come get her.  For in her mind, Nate and Ellen live in her new house.  So even though I couldn’t remember her new address, Nate would know where to take her.

          Poor mom.  I hope that when we are able to move her into assisted living – which hopefully will be soon this week – she may “recognize it” as somewhere she’s been before and will feel more at home there than she does in the house where she actually does live but doesn’t want to anymore.

          I’m certain that once she gets going, she will be comfortable in the community and know that she is not alone.  She will be on a consistent schedule and she’ll have peers that will share in her limited time frame.  Of course we will all continue to visit her – but as her children and not her primary care givers.  And that will be a blessing to ALL of us.

We Might as Well Just Write a Book!

          I went to several assisted living facilities by myself during November and December.  Many facilities would say they had no room but that we could get on a waiting list.  That seemed okay as my brothers weren’t looking to move her until maybe June or July.

At each location I was asked, “Does your mom need assistance with the shower?”

          “She can shower by herself.”  She could.  Two months ago.  Even just two weeks ago.  And then she’d forget to use soap.  And then she would just forget.

          Last Tuesday I created this post.  It was a good day for her.  It turned out to be the last good day at home.  Her home.  The one she has lived in for the last 50 plus years but has forgotten.  We’re moving her into assisted living.  I don’t know when.  It should have been a lot sooner in my opinion.

          Last week she was smiling.  Giggling.  That’s right – giggling.  And she called me crazy.  We had fun.  And then her friend called.  And she was alert enough to know who she was talking to.  I don’t know how soon after I left that she became withdrawn.  Disconnected.

          On Thursday she was almost in a stupor – though not quite.  She would answer my questions.  “No, I don’t want to do it”  “Not right now”  “I don’t know why I’m so tired . . .”

          I had suggested (several times) for her to lie down.  I did give her drinks from the fridge. Perhaps not enough.  The next two days were nightmarish for Nate and Ellen as mom would pass out which in turn would freak Ellen. 

          Newlyweds shouldn’t be in that position to take care of a grandma that rapidly declines.  Sunday morning was really bad for Ellen especially, who had found grandma in soiled sheets and apparently her room reeked.

          Patrick and Sunny took her to the hospital that morning.  It sounds like they all missed Church as Nate and Ellen had gone with them.  Apparently they were in the emergency room for what felt like forever – other cases were given a higher priority.

          When they did finally call mom back, only two people were allowed to go with her.  That ended up being Patrick – the only one of the four who has power of attorney, and Nate, who has been acting as mom’s care giver in Corey’s place.  Sunny and Ellen returned home and Sunny started in with phone calls to the rest of mom’s children.

          I had just barely started my lesson when the first phone call came.  A frantic caller as the person on the other end called three times.  When the lesson was over, I returned the call to my sister who related the events.

          I went to Kayla’s ward right after attending the meetings at ours.  Kayla had told me she was speaking.  I was sooooo glad that I went as she did an awesome job. 

While the sacrament was being passed, my phone went off again.  Fortunately it had been on vibrate all day and no one aside from Jenna and I seemed to notice.

          Sunny finally got a hold of Bill (Kayla’s husband) who has been through hospital administration many times with his first wife.  He’s got a deeper insight and understanding than the rest of us would like to experience.  But here we are.  Mom is in the hospital.  Quite confused.  Disoriented.  But happy.  Positive.

Or so I heard. 

          I was told to talk to a social worker about getting mom moved over to one of these facilities (there’s one we like that actually has an opening right now)  I was there for five hours yesterday before the social worker arrived. 

          At first glance he didn’t seem legitimate.  For me personally, he seemed to come across as a patient from the psychiatric ward – a happy go lucky fellow with mussed up hair.

          I was told that she’d probably be released today.  Really? But we need another day at least.

          Sunny picked up a packet from the assisted living.  A large packet.  She said there were over 35 pages to be filled out and that there was no way she and Patrick would be able to get it done just by themselves in the allotted time frame.

          So Roland and I went out to mom’s house to assist with the paperwork.  We Skyped Corey and fired questions at him.  We could see him, but evidently he could not see us. 

          For the most part we were laughing.  Corey came across like one of those old Japanese movies in which the lips are not in sync with what’s being said.  And when it came to personal questions – do we say how it really was or provide today’s reality which is only about 40% truth.

          Mom really has been to Europe and Greece, Alaska and Hawaii.  But in her mind she’s also been to Egypt, South Africa, Russia and China (to name a few)  Provide the name of any state and she claims she’s been there – usually just for the day.  And usually she drove.  She’s been to a quarter of the states at best.  She’s never been to Asia or many other places she’s claimed.  She was not driving when she was fourteen.

          It’s funny.  Mom has no clue why she was at the hospital – even after we told her.  She doesn’t retain information.  Corey had asked why she was in the hospital.  Her answer amused both me and Corey.

          She said (over the phone), “I’m not sick or anything – I had to come to take a shower.  And it’s here so I have to be here”

          Yet when “Everybody Loves Raymond” showed on TV, she was able to relate the events that were about to happen.  How is that even possible?  I mean, I know she’s seen it again and again.  It just floored me that she seemed to have it memorized.

          She’s worried about her purse.  She often will look for it while she’s home.  Once she finds it, she can relax – until she’s forgotten and has to search for it again.  It has become a part of her the way the cell phone has become a surgically implanted part of many people or a security blanket a child may drag around and refuse to part with.

          I don’t know where she’ll wake up tomorrow.  They say it takes a couple of days to process the paperwork.  We’re really not ready for her to be leaving the hospital today.  The transition will be so much easier if we didn’t have to take her back to her house. 

          Don’t guess I will know for a while yet.  Perhaps I’ll have be able to post more tomorrow.  Hopefully I will be too busy with transition to make the post.  We’ll see.

There’s a Dead Animal on My Head

          In 1995 Paramont brought back the Brady Bunch.  A movie spoofing the TV series that has never been nominated for any kind of award, but has been in sindication for the last forty years.  The Brady Bunch Movie: a guilty pleasure for those who had watched every episode time and time again.

          If one had not seen any episodes of the TV series, it was perhaps the lamest show ever.  But for those who grew up watching the Brady Bunch and practically had every scene memorized, it was a dang funny movie.

          I remember going over to the mall with mom.  We had purchased our tickets and were standing in line – the ONLY line – the line for the Brady Bunch movie.  I don’t recall a neon sign above our heads informing any passer-by what movie we were in line to see.  But I did notice several individuals in line looking around with that look of prayer on their faces, “Please Lord, don’t let anybody that I know see me in line”

          My mother and I sat together.  I think we were the only ones in the theatre not sitting by ourselves.  When the house lights went down, you could feel the relaxation and sighs of relief that each had made it into the movie without being discovered.

          As the movie started, you could hear laughter – some deep from inside the belly.  That was almost more amusing than the movie itself.  My favorite line from the movie (well, perhaps not my favorite, but the one I can remember the most) is when Jan is walking down the streets in this outrageous wig and a prostitute passing her asks, “Did an animal die on your head?”

          I don’t have a wig that could easily be removed.  All the hair that I have is attached to the scalp – well, most of it.  I should have it cut and thinned out more often – but we don’t always have the money – not that my hair dresser charges that much.  She’s actually pretty reasonable.  Located within walking distance from my mom’s house.  But I don’t always have money for gas expenses to get out there – and we’re at a point now where I can’t just leave my mom.  She needs to be watched 24/7.

          So my head now feels like a dead animal that grows larger with each passing day.  It’s wicked.  It’s unbearable.  It needs to go.

Producing Salty Water (and a LOT of it)

          This post reflects stirred emotions that between October and mid December 2012

          Poor mom.  For the most part we don’t know where she’s at.  The reality of her world is so far different from our own.

          In her mind, she believes that while State Street was under construction, she and all the other residences in her neighborhood were evacuated.  The construction crew had asked them to move somewhere else.  Mom doesn’t remember where it is that she moved – but she is back – along with many of her neighbors.  For a while she wanted to make certain that everybody knows she’s back.  Now she wants to go back to wherever she thinks she lived before.  She doesn’t know the address though – but she says it’s a house.

          She called Bill.  She always calls Bill’s cell phone when she’s trying to get a hold of Kayla.  She left a message to make Kayla aware that she was back in her old house.  Kayla called me to inform me of the events that had taken place.  I told her that Nate had posted his comment on file that all of mom’s children (and some spouses) all have access to.

I don’t know if she called Corey, or if Corey called her.  Same story.  Corey asked for her address.  Mom didn’t know.  She had to ask Sunny (who happened to be watching her) She returned to the phone and gave Corey the name of the city which she has lived for the last fifty years.

          Corey said that is the same address that all of us have and she didn’t need to call anyone else.  Mom was highly confused as to how everyone was aware of where she was but herself.  Sunny was super freaked out and had stayed longer than she usually does.

          Roland and I were on our way to pick up mom and take her to a dinner at the Church she attends.  I called to say we were on our way.  I guess I should have talked to Sunny instead of mom.  There was an accident on the Freeway.  It took us 20 minutes longer than normal.

          Sunny was wide eyed and felt a sense of relief when I walked through the door.  Mom was all ready to go.  I told her to head out to the car and I would be there momentarily.  Sunny expressed her concerns.  And I said I was a little hurt that mom hadn’t called me to tell me she was back.  That made Sunny laugh.  I’m glad I could give her that.

          Mom was fine at the party.  She wasn’t restless as she had been less than a month ago when it was just the family and she was overwhelmed by the tremendous amount of people.  I was overwhelmed by the huge turnout.  Between 240 -260 people.  We stayed for the whole event.  I hadn’t expected that.

          Patrick spent the night with mom as Nate and Ellen had gone out of town.  Not too long ago mom was independent and didn’t want to be babied.  She is, after all, a big girl and she can do things by herself.  Now she dreads the idea of being alone.  She often seems surprised by letters or people who show up at her door.  They think we all know where she used to live.  But it’s all in her mind.  She’s been in the same house for over 50 years.

          I met my husband 12 years ago.  Corey graduated from high school almost 20.  But for some reason she has the two crossing paths before Corey graduated.  For the most part I’ve been a pal that was raised in San Francisco alongside her – but there was one occasion that she did introduce me as her daughter – it was to a friend that was well aware of who I am – possibly better than mom does.

          Each time we mention the name of a state or country – she claims that she has been there.  It was always “just for a day” though.

          I didn’t want this to become a “dementia blog” any more than Corey wanted his to focus on dementia.  Actually dementia isn’t the biggest focus thus far as there are less than ten posts.  I can’t say I hope to have more – but as it will be on my mind I’m sure there will be more that mention the wretched thief.  There have been days when the dementia is really bad - moreso for me than my mom.  Sometimes I can take it with a grain of salt – and even laugh.  But often I am an emotional wreck.

          The neighbor across the street has a gathering of sisters once a week.  She suggested I bring mom but just drop her off and not stay myself.  But I wanted to visit.  I miss the socialization of those that I used to associate with.  Mom, who claimed she was bored, was not interested in going.  And if I persisted, she would become mean.

          So I cried.  I cried because I wasn’t invited.  I cried because mom was acting like a childish brat.  I cried because I was crying over something I couldn’t control.  I was pretty good about holding it in until we started playing games.  I took off the minute Nate returned home from school.

          That all took place in November and December.  Since Christmas, mom seems almost comatose at times.  Just as disheartening as trying to coax the child inside.  She lost her driver’s license over a year ago and became mean – well with me anyway.  I’m the one who had taken her to the Driver’s License renewal.

          There had been a few days when she had become her mother and greeted folks in a friendly way, without a care in the world.  And she was always pleasant when she went out with Sunny – at least in the beginning.  But Sunny has seen the mean side of my mom since. 

          Next week we have another family meeting.  Kayla and I are ready to take action.  Corey and Patrick both seemed to express a denial. But we may all be on the same page now.  Mom needs a community.  She needs a routine.  And the rest of us need to return to our roles of children and not the caregivers that we’ve become.

          I was so diligent about going through Jenna’s folder once she returned home from school – but have been quite slack for an entire year now.  I need my focus to be where it was.  I need to keep my mind clear of heavy tears.