Caregiving Journal 12

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I hope I can remember the details of the day of the Mother's Day Tea at Northwoods. Lodge.  I have pictures to remember the tea itself so that the details of that part are helped by the images.  I had managed to change Mom's clothes so that she could feel festive.  I took her 6 of her hats to choose from, but she wasn't very interested in choosing so I chose for her.  I chose a little black homburg with a leopard print band.  She looked very nice, but I don't think she cared much about that.  I got her into a wheelchair and wheeled her to the Fireside Room, placing her by the fireplace so that she could see everything.  The tables were decked with lovely edibles, most of which the patients couldn't eat--maybe some could, those without swallowing problems--but I had to be selective about what I chose for Mom.  She ate an entire chocolate covered strawberry--the strawberry was the size of a lemon, probably irradiated to get that size, but when you're 89, would you care?  The food was not as interesting to any of us as was the 3-year old little girl, in her Easter dress and hat, who was dancing to the music.  The music was being played softly by a woman I'd seen before who comes to Northwoods to entertain the troops--the troops being the people who are residing there fighting hard to get stronger, to recover from something that has happened to them.

If it had not been for the charming tot dancing, the tea would have been nice, but a little depressing.  Most people were wheeled in, only a few were ambulatory.  All mothers, including me, were given an orchid corsage, a lovely touch.  The food was beautifully prepared but most of those accompanying the guests of honor spent more of our time being solicitous to our parents than actually eating any of the pretty offerings.  I did eat a nice little quiche cup and a tiny chocolate something.  Mom only lasted 15 minutes before she asked to be taken back to her bed.  I think she wouldn't have lasted that long if not for the little girl swirling in the middle of the room with a fat strawberry in her chubby hand.  I'm so glad that one of the attendees had thought to bring her child, the patient's grandchild.  I think it's good for older people to look at the promise of youth--it's joyful for me, anyway, and my Mom seemed to enjoy it, too.

Mom exclaimed, as I wheeled her into her room, "Oh, my bed, my bed!"  It is her sanctuary, her beloved place.  I laid her down, still in her finery, removed her hat, left her corsage on and she exhaled that sigh of pleasure and relief that I've heard so many times lately, as she settled into her pillow.

Mom was not actually sleepy, so she talked to me, but it was mostly pronouncements.

"I want it to be known, that the paper, that paper we read, is important."  I asked her if she meant the newspaper and she affirmed that yes, that's what she meant and she closed her eyes.

After awhile she said, "I'm glad there is a large space for announcements".  It seemed as though she was still thinking about newspapers, or maybe this referred to a church service bulletin.  She closed her eyes again.

After a long silence she said, "I'm waiting for someone to discuss the issues of time and space".  That got my attention.  "Time and space?" I asked.  "As in the universe?"

"Yes, the Universe.  If we don't take care of it, it's going to be destroyed."

"Destroyed?  What do you mean?"

"It will go kaputt!" she said with emphasis.  At this point I wanted a little more clarification.  "Are we talking about the Universe or the Earth, Mom?"

"Both!"  She seemed pretty darn certain, as if she was experiencing some kind of link with a "higher authority" who was telling her to tell me.  Who knows what was occurring in her brain--a twilight sleep, a dream, whatever it was, she seemed to need to tell me.

Taking advantage of her state, I decided to ask her a question that I'd been thinking about in connection with the certainty that she is getting close to the end of her life.  I asked her about Heaven.  I know my Mom doesn't believe in a Heaven or a Hell, but that she does believe, very strongly, in God.  I don't happen to believe in a god of any kind, but I am fascinated by other's beliefs.  So I posed this question:

"Mom, I know you don't believe in heaven, so what do you think happens after a person dies?"

She said she didn't know, and of course, nobody knows.  As Betty White put it very well the other day, it's a Secret that is not revealed until we die.  She said only those who have died "know the secret".  But Mom decided she'd talk about heaven a little more.

"If there was a heaven, your Dad wouldn't have gone there," she said, "and neither would your brother, Dan".

"Really?"  I said, "and what about you?  If there was a heaven, would you go there?"

"Yes!  I'd go there because I've been a good person!"  "And humble, too," I joked.

So, no profound statements about what comes after death, but a conversation about time and space.  I look forward to more exchanges like that.  Only 3 more days until we pack Mom up and take her to her home of 53 years, where she has her very own bed, her beloved son and Diana, the Cat.

Mom seemed a little sad that day and I asked her what I could do to make her a little happier.  She said there wasn't anything I could do, though she appreciated that I wanted to try.  I asked her then, what would make her happier and she responded wistfully, "If Dad was here."