It is OK to forget

Took off for the weekend.

Left town for a long weekend actually.

Family went camping up near Sierra Buttes and we had a wonderful
time. Swimming in Upper Salmon Lake, camping within the shadow of the
buttes. Getting up at 5.15 AM for sunrise photos as the sun lights
the Sierra's with morning light. Watching a mother bear and three
cubs run across the road and then seeing two cubs climb a tree while
mom watched us from the fringe of the woods. It was a fabulous
weekend. Four wheel driving up to Upper Sardine Lake in the
Pathfinder was great fun. Later watching a lifted Jeep Cherokee try
to climb the same rather simple route and see them puncture a tire
side-wall, get stuck on a rock step and generally muck up the route
was also entertaining.

But, more importantly spending three days not thinking of Mom was
wonderful. I must be adjusting to where she is. I guess I presume she
is adjusting also. Oh my, I just said not thinking of her was
wonderful, what a terrible thing to say. But I hope you get my
meaning, each of us, Dad, Mom and myself are settling in to the new
reality of Mom in a nursing home, Dad home alone and me living my
life and visiting Mom on the weekends. Some normal.

Thousands of families are living this way. Alzheimer's has affected
so many families just like mine and the new normal is experienced by
tens of thousands who are dealing with adjusting to the new normal
and not falling into the guilt trap that is waiting around every corner.

I visited Mom on Monday, alone, Dad is visiting friends in Humbolt
County and this was my first visit to Petaluma alone. It went very
well, as these things go. She was in a wheel chair in the hallway
near her room and I rolled her out to the lobby with the bird cage of
budgies. I sat and talked and took several pictures while she talked
quietly. She recognized me right off but I have felt for several
visits that she is recognizing familiarity rather the me, Craig.
Despite my understanding that her knowing or not knowing "me" is a
pointless exercise, I asked her several times if she knew who I was.
Bless her heart, her answers were wonderfully defensive, "don't try
to fool me, you know your own name." "Of course I know your name.."
"no, I can not say your name, you already know it". And finally, "I
know your name, but not your last name". She never did say my name.

So I got fixated on names and I began telling her family stories. In
each short story ( I remember when you and your friend Bonny did this
or that..) I included several names that just three months ago she
would have reacted to with a smile or comment or recognition. This
time... nothing. Not sure why I played out the lose-lose exercise,
but I did.

Before I arrived at the facility I intended to speak with the staff
regarding Mom's care plan and inquire what "calming" medication she
was on, if any. I did not pursue the question, after about 15 minutes
she said she was tired and needed a nap so I rolled her back to the
nurse's station.

New reality.

People keep asking

It is the most natural thing in the world that interested people keep
asking about Mom, how is Mom, what is happening, what is new, what
has changed... and the answer is often harder then the question.

Mom is the same and nothing has changed. Mom is the same and
everything has changed.

Dad and I have fallen into a routine of visiting her nearly every
Friday, after work. Each time we go it is hard to see the changes and
then after the visit we seem to second guess ourselves on what the
changes were... if any.

Mom is still in Petaluma in the geriatric care center. She is in a
wheel chair now and physical therapy to assist her in returning to
any walking after her pelvis fracture has been only moderately
successful. She can walk with a walker and with an assistant by her
side for a few steps. She is sitting up just fine on her own in the
wheel chair and she sits with a foam wedge lap restraint across her
lap. The shape of the vinyl covered foam fits into slots in the frame
of the wheel chair and she can not figure out how to remove it. Yes,
she still gets agitated and would fall again. On each visit it seems
clear the pain medication has been reduced to lower levels and the
medication given for agitation was recently at a low level as well
and this last visit seemed to indicate increased confusion.

She is not in pain, it seems, she is able to push her chair with her
feet and she can move along the hallway wall by pulling on the wall
railing. The chair wheel locks confuse her a great deal and if she
gets one lock open and the chair moves in a circle it is very
upsetting to her. She wants to move.

I walked up to her and said HI as I always do and she merely
responded casually with no intimate recognition on this visit. I
pulled up a chair and sat right in front of her, at her level, and
said HI again and this time after I said a few words she recognized
me. Or at least she recognized that I was someone she knew and
appreciated. She has not said my name in many weeks and while I find
myself want to ask her, DO YOU KNOW MY NAME, I hold back from doing
so, I guess I fail to see the point.

Dad stood by her side and spoke to her and we tried on a new pair of
slip on shoes we brought, they fit fine, and she did not recognize
him until he sat down in the chair and spoke directly to her. She
then recognized him and said something like, "oh, it is you". The way
she says it has always been a voice and style of tone just for Dad.
She knew it was him. For maybe a minute. She complained briefly about
some promptly forgotten item in her life and then she drifted of into
how wonderful the people were that took care of her. A nurse or aide
walked past us and Mom pointed out that she was the sister of a girl
that Mom had known back in high school and it was too bad that I had
never had a chance to meet her friend. Then she drifted into tugging
at her lap foamy and fiddling with the wheelchair brakes and
generally wandering off in her mind.

When we left her she merely continued fiddling with her chair and
there was no recognition of our departure. We go out to the truck and
Dad is a mess. He tears up for just a few moments after each visit
and we tend to drive off quietly for a while before we start talking.

Does life have some grand rhyme, some grand meaning, some sense of
wonder at the power to live?