Mom and Dad: DC Tour

We all gathered in the lobby and visited while awaiting our bus assignments. When the first bus was called, Dad was ready to go. “They’re leaving!” It’s ok, Dad. We have to wait for bus 3. “Oh, I don’t think so.” Others chimed in trying to help convince him that we would not miss our bus, but before bus 2 was fully loaded, Dad would not be held back any longer.

We boarded our bus and got situated in our seats. Dad saw many Navy hats similar to his. He’d remove his hat and show the ship embroidered on the front, “Navy,” he’d say. Sometimes he’d point to their hat, “Navy.” Sometimes he’d try to take their hat, “My hat,” or, “Navy. Mine.” We’d make eye contact with them and hope to convey thanks for their patience and understanding.

We got to Arlington Cemetery only to discover we had very little time to get out and explore. Sis wanted to get some pictures, so I convinced Mom that we didn’t need to get out and walk around. We got off and stayed close to the bus stop while Sis went running to get to some of the monuments and grave sites she wished to capture on film. When we got back on the bus, Dad tried to grab someone else’s hat. It was a struggle to extract it from his grip – showing him his own hat from his own head was what finally made him release it. Then, the confusion… If he had his hat, then what hat was this man wearing? How did he get one just like Dad’s? And, they, not understanding the depth of Dad’s confusion, would often try to engage in conversation about their ship, Dad’s ship, and their time served. Dad would look on as if following every word and then say, “Navy.”

We rode around Washington DC getting the tour-guide highlights from our guide. We heard history and gossip, architectural trivia and structural facts. Dad napped despite Mom’s constant pawing, clawing, and nagging, “Bill! Wake up!” Then she’d complain that she missed something the guide had said… while missing more of what he was saying while complaining… and complain that she missed even more… Only once did she suggest he used a microphone. I pointed out that he was using one and gently suggested she, “Shhh.”

The first time around the Iwo Jima Memorial, our guide informed us that we had no time to stop. We watched out the bus windows as it made its way around the drive before moving onto the next attraction. Many passengers started complaining about not stopping – our tour package had, after all, said we would have plenty of time to get out and explore the sights.

There were enough complaints about not stopping at Iwo Jima that the bus driver and tour guide decided to return to the memorial and give us all time to get out and walk around it. Mom couldn’t recall what the statue was for, but she was awed by the size and the grandeur of the enormous flag. I tried to line them up for some pictures, but turning them away from the statue for a picture was proving difficult. I decided we’d continue walking around until they were both distracted enough to pose with the statue in the background. Sis ran around getting some awesome pictures and rejoined us about three quarters of the way around.

It was then that Dad’s pants fell down.

Neither of us had our camera ready to take a shot and Dad was quick to pull his drawers back into place. So much for the dignity and respect we should have been displaying at the base of such an awesome monument.

For lunch, we stopped at the mall. After eating, we raced around looking for a store that carried suspenders. Mom said, “Those are just like the pair we already have.” But, the pair you already have are in the bottom of the garment bag hanging on the door back in your room at the facility. He obviously needs them now…

Dad wasn’t happy about having suspenders put on him, but he soon forgot about them. Now that he didn’t have to hold his pants on, his hands were free. As we were getting off the bus at our next stop, Dad snatched the hat off the man sitting in front of us. I quickly snatched it back and handed it to the fellow. I stepped between Dad and the other sailor and reached for Dad’s hat atop his own head.
The other guy, not realizing just how fixated Dad had become on this one remaining shred of familiarity, left his hat sitting on the bus seat.
Back on the bus, Dad grabbed the abandoned hat and quickly secreted it away under his own hat, which he’d removed from his head and held at his side. He sat down pinning the hat under the side of his leg refusing to give it up without a struggle. I worried that I would damage either of the hats trying to get it away from Dad – I never liked keep away games!
I got it away just as the other gentleman returned to the bus. Keeping Dad distracted until the hat was back on its rightful owner’s head wasn’t easy.
He was more confused than ever, and he was starting to get angry.
He’d been displaying more signs of frustration and confusion and lashing out at Sis and I. We were swatted on the butt more times than either of us could count. Dad swatted jokingly, in defiance, as correction to an imagined wrong doing, as punctuation to something he’d just tried to say or understand… Taking that hat away from him, I was spared the swatting only because Dad was seated and Mom was between us.
When the other man put on his hat, Dad finally took another look at his own. By now, the other gentleman was willing to try to help Dad understand. They held their hats side by side while the other fellow pointed out the different ship names and numbers. This didn’t stop Dad from taking notice of the familiar hats, but he didn’t again try to take another person’s hat thinking it was his own. There was a moment when he was with some of his own shipmates, but they dodged his grabs, sidestepped his butt swats, and got Dad laughing instead.

When we were finally on the bus headed back to the hotel, I “allegedly” took a nap. Sis says she has proof, but I haven’t seen the evidence.

Mom and Dad: Friends, food, and floss

Sis returned to the room while I stayed with Mom and Dad. This gave her some much needed time away from the demands of looking after Mom and Dad. She took a moment to install the 9 volt battery in the door stop alarm, and test it. She called me to let me know it works. She was surprised other guests hadn’t called security at the noise!

After a couple of hours visiting with their friends, Mom was ready to return to the room. When we got back to the room, Dad was ready to go home.
“Bill! We aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t leaving. We’re sleeping here.”
“Bill, let me floss your teeth!”
“Bill, you need to brush your teeth!”
“Bill, leave that guy alone and pay attention!”
“Bill, get undressed and get into bed!”
And so on…
and so forth…
With Dad in bed, Mom futzed. She had to brush her teeth, and floss them – again. She needed to make sure they had something to wear for the next day. She wanted to know what our plans were for the Sunday? She wondered if the banquet was tomorrow night? She worried that the shirt that went with her new outfit wasn’t going to work and we wouldn’t get it exchanged. She needed to get cleaned up, but wasn’t willing to take a shower, claiming it was too late.

When I knew I had escaped for my last cig of the night, I took the doorstop alarm to the door. Sis warned me that it was very loud, and sensitive – offered a suggestion on how to place it without setting it off. It was like trying to set a mouse trap without the threat of snapping my fingers. Sis said it was easier to get it in place, then set the alarm. I slid the wedge under the edge of the door trying not to put any pressure on it. Holding it by the sides, I flipped the switch to “ON”…
This little contraption SCREEEEEEECHED out a siren sound that could pierce eardrums! And stop hearts! Holy crap!
Of course it startled Mom, too. “Oh Shhheeee! What was that?” (floss hanging out of her teeth)
I got it shut off and looked around the corner at Sis. “You’re right. It is very sensitive.” I finally got it in place without setting off the alarm again. Whew!
Dad didn’t try to escape and set it off, either. YAY!

Sis and I watched TV while Dad slept and Mom futzed.
Sis fell asleep, I watched TV, Dad slept, and Mom futzed.
Mom futzed…
Mom flossed.
Mom futzed…
“Mom, it’s after midnight. We have a busy day tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”
Mom made excuses for everything she had to do. She had to have everything organized to make it easier in the morning.
Futz, floss, futz
“Mom? I wonder something… How late do you usually get to bed back home?”
Futz, futz, floss
“Mom? Are you usually awake still trying to get things done at 1:00am back home?”
Futz, futz…
She finally crawled into bed at 1:30am.
At 1:35am Mom tossed the covers back and sat up, swinging her feet off the bed.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
Mom reached down to put on her slippers. “I forgot to floss my teeth!”
“Um, Mom? You flossed your teeth.”
She looked at me, not sure she understood and asked, “I did?”
I nodded, “Yes Mom, you did.”
She was not convinced. “I know I got your Dad’s teeth flossed, but I don’t think I got mine.”
“Mom, trust me. You flossed.”
She searched her mind, but found no memory of having flossed. “I don’t think I did. I feel pretty sure I haven’t flossed.”
“Mom, you flossed. You flossed 3 times.”
It was finally settled when I showed her 9 pieces of dental floss hanging over the side of the trash can. I didn’t even bother to show her the pieces -in- the trash can.
I had to explain that the trash had been emptied earlier in the day, so these flosses had accumulated since we got back from the Smithsonian. I ticked off a count on my finger: “One for each of you after our trip to the Smithsonian – that’s two. One for each of you after we got back to the room from dinner – that makes four. There are five more pieces of floss here. You flossed your teeth. Now you can rest assured, and get some sleep.”
*please, please*

It was 2am before Mom finally dozed off.
She would be bright eyed and bushy tailed in less than five hours.

When Dan and I stayed up past our bedtime, Mom would say, “Sleep fast,” when she tucked us in. I don’t know how it works, but it does. As I closed my eyes, I smiled and told myself, “Sleep fast.”
I woke shortly after Mom started to stir. I felt more rested that morning than any other morning of the trip…

…until later that afternoon on the bus.

Mom and Dad: Picking It Up, Putting it Down

When we got back to our room, the message light was blinking. Some of Mom and Dad’s friends had asked us to meet them for dinner in the hotel restaurant. We had some time to kill and Dad clearly needed a nap. He sat down in the chair next to the desk, and fell asleep.
Mom has never forgotten the time Dad fell asleep and toppled out of a chair. When Dad starts to drift off, Mom will start the pawing, clawing, and pestering. I say, “Oh, Mom, let him sleep.” She says, “He fell out of a chair!” I assure her we’ll watch for that, but she is not convinced. She tucks pillows on the arms of the chair and replaces his arms on the pillows. Dad wakes and asks, “What’s-a matter?” She props a pillow behind his head then tries to slide it further behind him. Dad wakes and asks, “What do you want?” Mom explains that she’s trying to make him more comfortable. Dad waits until she’s turned away, pulls the pillow from behind his head, and returns to napping.

With dinner coming up, Mom wonders if she will need a sweater or just her blouse. She loves to wear her long sleeve white blouse as a jacket, even under a sweater or coat. With the room being shared by 4 people, she tries to organize their things.
Thus began two hours of futzing with her blouse!
picking it up, putting it on, taking it off, putting it down on the bed
picking it up, folding it, hanging it on the back of the chair, pestering Dad with pillow propping
picking it up, putting it on, looking in the mirror, taking it off, putting it down on the chair
picking it up, buttoning it, putting it down on the bed
picking it up, unbuttoning it, putting it down on the chair, pestering Dad with pillow propping
picking it up, putting it on, looking in the mirror, taking it off, putting it down on the bed
picking it up, hanging it on a hanger, putting it in the closet
picking it up, taking it off the hanger, putting it down on the chair
picking it up, putting it on, taking it off, putting it down on the bed
picking it up, putting it on, taking it off, putting it down on the chair, startling Dad awake, then ordering, “Bill! Take a nap!”
For two hours.

Occasionally Dad would wake up and see Mom futzing. He’d think it must be time to leave and start to pack the suitcase. He’d pick up the opened suitcase and place it on the bed. Then he’d dump things into it and start to carry it around.
“Hey, Dad, we need to leave this here.”
He’d say, “Oh, I don’t think so.” or “You think so?” or “I’m not gonna do it!” or “Maybe tomorrow.”
Dad was clearly not happy being there and thought it was time to go home. He started to believe we had taken Mom and him against their will, and was convinced that Dan was going to come get them! He talked more and more about how Dan was going to come and we were going to be in trouble.
Mom would say, “Bill! We aren’t going anywhere.”
Dad would say, “What?”
“We aren’t leaving. We’re staying here.”
“Where?”
“Here!”
Mom would return to her blouse, Dad would return to trying to nap or pack, I’d try to prevent him from carrying the suitcase out the door.
Then, he started telling a new story, or making threats? “The little girl,” he’d say. His expression would change, dark and menacing, and he’d say “She’s dead,” and look very sad. Sometimes he’d add in something about the little girl’s mommy.
I have no idea what he was talking about, but I wonder if there’s more to his military past than even Alzheimer’s has released?
Often, his trips around the room looking for things to drop into the suitcase would lead him to Sis’ and my things. I’d step in and say, “That’s mine,” or “That’s hers,” pointing at myself or Sis. Dad would say, “Who? What do you mean?”
He spent more time talking to that guy, of course. I heard him telling that guy Dan was coming to get them and he’d better not be there when Dan arrived!
Sis heard him say that we wanted him dead! He refused to follow instructions because we wanted him dead, “I’m not gonna do it!”

Finally it was time to go to the restaurant, if only to get a break from the futzing. When we heard that there was a very long wait to get into the restaurant, I took Mom and Dad down to meet their friends. Sis had some time to herself to shower and relax. I assured her I would call if we got in sooner than expected.
The friends suggested that we all wait in the hospitality room and I led Mom and Dad down the hall. There was one other couple in the room, but they were not part of our party. With Mom and Dad secured in the room, I excused myself to run down to the car and plug in my phone. I hate to leave it unattended, but I needed to get back to Mom and Dad.
When I returned to the hospitality room, I found Mom and Dad sitting about halfway across the room at a table, alone. I asked how they were doing, and Mom stated that she was shocked that there weren’t more people here for the banquet! I told her we weren’t here for the banquet, just dinner in the restaurant, and went to check on the wait.
When I returned to the hospitality room, I found Mom and Dad sitting in chairs along the back wall, still alone. I went back out to find some of their friends and reminded them that they had wanted to wait in the hospitality room. One couple still hadn’t arrived, but I suggested at least a few of them go chat with Mom and Dad – no need for 10 people to wait for them out in the hall.
I returned to the hospitality room to find Mom and Dad sitting along the wall closer to the front of the room. Mom said, “It was too cold. There was a breeze, so we moved up here.”
Friends started to trickle in and finally there were other people to keep an eye on them. I could go out for a smoke.

When we got into the restaurant, there were simply not enough open seats to accommodate all of us in one area. Sis and I suggested that we didn’t need to sit with their group and would be happy to take a table elsewhere. With the crowd, there was only one place available – sharing with another gentleman who was dining alone. The woman who had gone with us to the Smithsonian joined Sis and I at Donald’s table. He was a sweet, little man who had spent his life working in the back room of a book store. Shy and slightly awkward, he was clearly pleased to chat with Sis about books and how his hometown was featured in some she’d read.

I got Mom and Dad situated at a table with their friends and suggested that I could go get their plates ready for them. One of their friends said, “Oh, that’s ok! We can help them. You go relax.”
(uh huh…)
So, of course I hovered nearby. People just have no way of knowing what ‘helping’ involves, and it doesn’t take long before they abandon all attempts. Mom and Dad went to the buffet with their friends.
One woman handed them each a plate… her lone contribution to ‘helping’, as it turned out.
Each food item was in a covered steam dish – neither Mom nor Dad could negotiate the domed lids. Another woman tried to serve a spoonful onto Dad’s plate, which he refused to hold flat. She moved on, abandoning Dad with an open serving dish in front of him. Dad opted to start grabbing food with his hands. I knew it was only a matter of moments before he started sampling and putting back things he didn’t like.
Mom was picking at each food item, wondering what it was, but getting no answer from their ‘helpful’ friends.
It was time to step in and help.
I tried to help Dad keep his plate level, but occasionally he would protest, yanking it out of my grasp. We only had one piece of food slip off his plate, which he picked back up off the counter and sampled.
I led them back to their seats and went to fetch drinks. Before I left to get my own plate, I asked around if anyone else needed anything and ended up fetching butter, coffee, juice, napkins, silverware, side dishes… We’d become such regulars that the staff didn’t mind one bit if we stepped in and lent a hand. Mom said, “You just let her know if you need anything and she’ll get it!” (I mentally cocked my head, thinking, ‘Hmm… I wonder how many times she calls, sounding frantic, knowing I’ll come running? Well, aren’t I the handy gopher?”)

After dinner, the friends adjourned to the lobby seating area. Chairs were shuffled around to make room for everyone, and visiting began. Their experience at the dinner table let their friends know just how little either of them could contribute to conversation, but they did try to include Mom in as much as they could.
Dad… napped.
Mom pawed and clawed at him until I told her to let him sleep. He was safe on the couch and it was nearly impossible for him to topple forward, being wedged into the corner like he was. Eventually, she left him alone and reveled in the feeling of being part of the group.
I took that time to go out and smoke, check on my phone’s charge, and just l e t m y s e l f b r e a t h e.
Sis and I both noticed a few times when we felt like, “Oh, wow. I can breathe!” We’d suck in air like we’d nearly drowned, filling our lungs greedily, letting it back out slowly, and sucking in another deep breath. I found myself standing outside getting a high from the evening air.

Or, from hyperventilating…

Mom and Dad: Batteries Not Included

For our trip, Sis bought a doorstop alarm. As its name suggests, you wedge this little contraption under the door like a door stop. It will sound the alarm if anyone attempts to open the door. It turns out this gadget needed a 9 volt battery. We forgot to pick one up. We had stopped at gas stations on the way to DC and never even thought about needing a 9 volt battery. We’d been shopping in the shopping district and still it didn’t cross our minds.
I am completely convinced it’s contagious.

One of the last things Mom had said before falling to sleep was to keep the bathroom light on and leave the door open a crack. That way, if Dad needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he would be able to find it.
Oh… if only that had been true!

Four o’clock in the morning, there is a frantic knocking on the door. Sis and I were awake. She popped up out of bed, I stretched up to look over at the next bed, expecting to see Mom’s head popping up at the sound, and Dad’s form rolling over to question her sudden movement…
I saw neither.
Mom was sound asleep, undisturbed by the pounding on the door.
Dad was not on his side of the bed!!
*Sinking feeling*
I hear a man say, “Does this guy belong to you?”
And I hear Sis say, “Yes! Thank you!”
The man’s voice says, “He was knocking on my girlfriend’s door.”

I don’t remember getting out of bed, but I was at their side as Sis closed the door. There stood Dad in nothing but his tighty whities and a big grin! Fear and relief washed over me in shuddering waves. As I took Dad’s arm he said, “I had to pee!” and laughed, clearly pleased with himself.
I showed him to the bathroom, but he only wanted to get back in bed, only wanted to be with his wife.
I resisted the temptation to walk the halls to see if he had actually peed somewhere out there…
I can tell you we did not get any ice from the ice maker!

There were no big plans for Saturday, no reservations for any tours with DESA, and no use attending any of the meetings. Sis went to the front desk and found out that the hotel shuttle would take us to the airport where we could pick up the Metro to the Smithsonian, a place Sis and I very much wanted to visit. It sounded like a great idea!
We ran into some of Mom and Dad’s friends after breakfast and discussion came around to plans for the day. All but one of the women were going on a shuttle tour provided by the hotel. That woman asked if we would mind her coming with us? Of course not! We returned to our room to get ready, and explained the plans to Mom – a few times. She would need Kleenex and a sweater. Dad would need a sweater or his jacket. Mom wondered if she would need her blouse?

Mom wanted to clean their teeth… the brush and floss ritual commenced. When Dad’s teeth were done, Mom did hers, again. Then, she’d have a question, or a thought, and come out of the bathroom to futz… with dental floss hanging from between her teeth. She asked questions with that floss waving around, she futzed with that floss swinging around, and then returned to flossing, only to repeat each again.
Sis later emailed me the picture linked here:>clicky<
hahahaha!

While Mom busied herself, Dad talked to that guy in the hallway mirrors. He’d make the rounds from the large single mirror to each of the closet door mirrors. Sometimes I’d go over and move one of the closet doors so it was behind the other, leaving Dad only the 2 mirrors to chat with. This had the unpredicted side effect of showing Dad where his jacket had been hiding… Soon he was trying to put on his jacket between chats with that guy; and Mom was adding in, “Bill! You don’t need your jacket!” as she’d breeze by with floss flapping from her teeth.

We got to the airport, found the Metro stations, and bought our tickets to ride. With turnstiles to navigate, I wondered how I would get Dad to go through them? Sending Mom through first didn’t work – I couldn’t get Dad to wait once Mom went through. Sending Dad through first was frightening! What if there was a delay sending Mom through and Dad was swept into the crowd? We made it through the turnstiles with only one glitch – my ticket was rejected! Mom and Dad were on the other side. I could see them, but it was too noisy to speak to them, too confusing to instruct them, and the alarms sounding at my repeated attempts had Mom terribly distressed. Sis and the other woman who’d come with us stayed with Mom and Dad while security checked my ticket, found it to be valid, and allowed me to pass. Whew!

On the train, the windows acted like mirrors whenever we went underground. Dad suddenly spotted his reflection and started conversing with that guy sitting over there. This, naturally, attracted the attention of other passengers who watched with rapt attention – I like to study their reactions, but I was also interacting with Dad with hope of preventing him from trying to reach that guy on a moving train.

While at the Smithsonian, we were on high alert for children. Sis took the lead calling back, “Baby alert!” And I’d try to reign Dad in with, “Doanboddadababy!”
Mom was sure we’d been there before, even tried to pin down a time. The time kept changing – perhaps it was when they brought us kids? Or maybe it was when they had come for another DESA event? Could it have been another trip they made here?
Dad roared at some of the lifelike animals, well preserved with taxidermy. The polar bear earned double roars, “Rawr, rawr!” and some teeth gnashing. He identified the large cats, “Kitty!” Some of the animals he’d say, “I don’t like them.” and shy away from them as if they made him nervous. Then he’d laugh, as if he’d been joking around to see if they scared us, too?

We came to the Butterfly Garden – something I simply can’t pass up! I love these beautiful gardens, seeing the butterflies up close, with the chance that one might grace you with the honor of landing on you for a visit. I raced ahead and bought tickets for everyone in our group. We wiggled into line, shuffled ahead to the entrance, and waited our turn. I was looking ahead, ready to plunge in as soon as they let us through when a single word sprang into my mind…

“Bug.”

Oh, no.

I was going to have to be extremely attentive to Dad. I couldn’t take my eye off him for a second, without first asking someone else to keep an eye on him. All it would take would be for one of them to fly near him and he’d start swatting. Heaven forbid one landed on him! *splat* My mind took it and ran… security called, Dad tackled, no amount of explaining would prevent the initial chaos, fear, and pain inflicted on Mom and Dad… Ok, I was getting carried away. Breathe. Calm down.
Something was making me nervous and sending my mind into spins of fancy.
We made it through the butterflies without incident. Dad wasn’t thrilled with them and wanted to leave. It was hot and humid in the enclosure. There was no room to maneuver and the few people allowed in there at one time included children. We made it to the other end and Dad wanted out. There were children in the divided exit room having hitchhiking butterflies removed. The worker gestured that we could come on in, but with a glance at the kids, I shook my head and mouthed, “We’d better wait.”

We had to make a bathroom stop after the heat and humidity of the butterflies. There weren’t any family restrooms in view – the women’s restroom would have to do. I think that whole ordeal was more educational than the rest of the museum for many of the restroom patrons… There were the usual repeat instructions for Dad to get his pants off to go potty, Mom’s admonitions to not move yet because she wasn’t done checking to see if he was clean, getting him redressed, turning him loose to wash his hands, and the subsequent discussions he had with that guy at the sink.

It wasn’t long before Dad was asking for, “Something to eat?” He was also showing signs of distress and wanting to go home. We got in line at the cafeteria and ordered some food. Dad requested (by pointing at) some sauerkraut, and the grill cook dished some up. I stopped him from putting it on Dad’s hotdog, asking him to put it on the plate instead. Mom then saw the sauerkraut and requested some as her side dish. The grill cook insisted that it was for the hotdogs and brats, only. He moved onto the next customer, clearly dismissing us. I assured Mom that Dad had enough for both of them to share, if she still wanted some after seeing all the other choices. Napkins, forks, and spoons acquired, I let Mom and Dad to the table Sis had found for our group. I got them some drinks, quickly woofed down my hotdog, and excused myself for a smoke.
My nerves were getting the better of me, and I couldn’t place the feeling.
Dad had escaped, and that was a first. Was that it?
It didn’t feel past tense.

We stopped at the gift shop where I picked up a 9 volt battery.
Sis tried to make some smashed pennies, but after 2 the machine stopped working. She had been the one to first spot the machine, and she didn’t get her own penny. *kick self*

Our first trip on the Metro had been relatively easy, we hadn’t been surrounded by throngs of people. Not so our return trip. Once again through the turnstiles, praying that there were no more problems with any of our cards. Then the slow, steady, movement of the crowd, carrying us toward the Metro platform. The added attention I needed to pay to Dad – I’d lose him in a second if he spotted a child! I’d lose Mom in a second if she were wedged away from my side. Add keeping an eye out for Sis and our guest, while Sis scouted ahead for our target destination. I felt a bit of how lost they must feel. I could not afford to look around for signs or arrows to see which direction, which stairs, which line…
We pushed our way onto the train, but Sis was caught in the door! There was no room to sit and no time to steady ourselves or prepare for the jolt as the train took off. I was thrown backwards and into the lap of a young man in a wheel chair. He invited me to remain seated… I think it made his day. Mom was thrown off balance, but a kindly elderly man caught her and held on tight. I managed to get back on my feet and wrap my arms around Dad and one of the poles just in time for the first stop. We were already packed in like sardines, and more people were getting on as others were trying to get off.
That feeling again…
Suddenly, a seat right in the front row opened up. That kindly old man, who had helped prevent Mom from taking a tumble earlier, and his wife were the obvious next in line for the bench. He gestured to us to get Mom and Dad into those seats, quickly.
Easier said than done!
Dad, sit. Sit. Sit here. *push, shove* Dad! Sit.
“Bill! Sit down!” *grab, tug*
HANG ON TIGHT as train pulls out of the station…
Dad, sit. Please, have a seat. Sit down. *turn, push, move*
“Bill! Sit down!” *grab, pull*
Dad, clearly unnerved, looked dark and menacing. “What!? What do you want!?”
We finally got him onto the bench next to Mom.
And then, that feeling became crystal clear. How were we going to manage to get Dad back up and on his feet? How, then, would we manage to get him to go out the door of the train? In the few seconds we would have to work with? We certainly could not make him stand back up while the train was moving – the stop would topple him over! Getting him to his feet would trigger Mom’s, “Bill! Get up!” and Dad’s attention diverted to answer with, “What? What are you talking about?”
My stomach knotted and threatened to offer up some pain, just to make sure I was paying serious attention…
That feeling was completely solidified. I grabbed onto it and shot up a quick prayer. “God, only you can help prevent a complete disaster. Only you can get both of them off this train and onto the platform. And, right now is not a good time for a stomach ache, so… um, would ya mind?”

We pulled into the station. Of course we had to repeat instructions and encourage Dad to get up, stand up, walk, go through the door, step onto the platform, and move out of the way of other passengers, but it went off without a hitch.
My memory, from the moment the train stopped, to the moment we stepped onto the platform, is fuzzy. I remember turning to Dad, and then it’s as if I were watching rather than doing… I shot another quick prayer off, “Thank you!” *smile upwards*
That feeling?
It was gone.

Mom and Dad: Doanboddadababy

It was time to catch the shuttle and Mom wondered if they would need their sweaters. I suggested they wear them even knowing there would come a time when I would have to carry one or both. Mom agreed and tried to get Dad into his sweater.
“Bill. Come here,” holding his sweater out, shaking it, as if to entice a bull into charging a cape. “Bill! Here! You need your sweater.”
Dad said, “What?”
“You need your sweater!”
Dad asked, “Why?”
“Bill. Come here,” waving the sweater like a cape. “Bill! Here! You need your sweater.”
Dad said, “What?”
“You need your sweater!”
“Why?”
“YOU NEED YOUR SWEATER!!!” You can almost hear the foot stomps in each word.

The shuttle driver explained the shuttle and bus routes as we rode to the shopping district. We wouldn’t be needing the bus, but I could see Mom concentrating, trying to understand what he was saying, as if (pretending) to commit it to memory.
I knew she would remember a detail or 2 of what he said, and then become fixated on her interpretation. “Didn’t he say we needed to meet the bus by 5:30? Are you sure? I was thinking he said…”

We walked the few blocks to a store Sis had heard about. On the way, we detoured to a few other stores, but a quick walk about said we were out of luck.

As we walk, naturally we will pass children. When Dad sees children, he gravitates toward them. I try to keep watch in every direction and divert his attention. If that fails, he’s heading off, and I’m stuck trying to catch his arm, saying, “Doanboddadababy!”
He’ll shake me off like a stray hair.
“Dad! (Or, Mr. Bill!) Doanboddadababy!”
And, he’s at the child, often times trying to pick them up! I say, “Oh, God. Mom, stop, please. Dad’s seen a kid!”
Dad mutters incomprehensible words to the child, face lit with warmth from forehead to heart, smiling from ear to ear.
And, I’m placing my hand on his back in a way that throws off his center of balance enough that he can’t stand back up with the child in his hands.
If they are in a stroller, or their parent’s arms, he’s touching their face, cooing and asking, “Where’s your mommy/daddy.”
“Please, Dad. Doanboddadababy!”

When he’s not chasing after children, Dad tries to take Mom’s purse. He’ll reach for it and lift it toward him; Mom will say, “Bill! I need this!” and pull it back. “I want to carry it. I feel better if I have ahold of it.” He persists. “Bill! Give me my purse!”
Sometimes she relents. Dad says, “Heavy! Feel how heavy!” and hefts it up and down, then tucks it close to his body and holds on for dear life.

Mom needed something nice for the banquet and Sis met the challenge! Sis, as always, had the right fashion sense!
Dad needed shirts, so I took Dad to the men’s department. Dad insisted that he didn’t need anything, but I just kept showing him one of the shirts and repeating, “You need a new shirt. Do you like this one?” After doing this a dozen or so times, Dad started to point out colors and indicate that he did not like them. He was pretty much set on white.

As we stood in line to pay, the purse grabbing continued. Then a child came into view and “Doanboddadababy” was repeated. Then the purse again, and the child again…
And, we finally get to pay. Mom has a huge, pink wallet that she must first fish from her purse.

“I keep everything in here.”
Then she must search for the right zipper to unzip the inner compartment.
Then she fingers through the various inner sections until she comes to the next zippered compartment where she keeps the secretary style picture/card insert. Now, she must search the leaves for her cards, and ask which card, and say, “Oh, that’s right. I was thinking we needed this card.”

We missed the return shuttle by just a few minutes meaning we would need to wait nearly an hour for the next one. A quick look around showed few places to spend the time without further stress to Dad (and us!) so Sis hailed a cab like a pro!
Soon we were back at the hotel and Mom was asking, for the umpteenth time, “Is the banquet tonight?”
No, Mom, it’s not until Monday. Today is Friday.
“Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking I heard someone say it was tonight.”
A few minutes later, “Is the banquet tomorrow?”
No, Mom, it’s not until Monday. Tomorrow is Saturday.
“Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking it’s tomorrow.”

Shopping complete, we were all starting to get hungry. We tried to coax Mom away from her futzing before it got out of hand. It was time to head down to the buffet.
There were more struggles with Mom trying to get Dad to wear his sweater, Dad trying to put on his jacket, or hang it over the back of the chair, set it on the bed, or hang it back in the closet. Mom would take it away and hang it up, Dad would retrieve it and put it back on.

Every trip to the closet led Dad in front of the mirrors and he’d start chatting with that guy…
Often times he’d catch the reflection of one of us and start directing that guy to look at us. I would wave at the the angled reflection of Dad, making eye contact. Dad would look that guy in the eye and say, “Look! You see them. Look!” and he’d gesture, hand colliding with the mirror. Sometimes when his hand would collide with the mirror and he’d turn to that guy and look him in the eye. One eyebrow would come down, and he’d try to determine if that guy was just being funny or intentionally trying to prevent Dad from reaching out to point. If he determined that that guy was trying to prevent him from reaching, Dad would ’spank’ that guy in the mirror. And, then he’d posture and mutter sounds that could only mean, “Don’t stop me again or you’ll get more of that!”
I fell face down on the bed in uncontrollable fits of laughter when he went to ’spank’ that guy and instead connected with the reflection of his, um, groin area. His face instantly reflected sympathetic discomfort, his other hand went into protective cover mode, and he apologized to that guy for the mistake.

After dinner, Mom wanted to visit with their friends. Dad, bored, picked up a foil wrapped pat of butter and ate it like a Hershey’s mini! Ugh! We couldn’t stop him in time, but we did manage to remove all the rest from temptation!
I asked our server if they had any ice cream? She wasn’t sure, but went to check. Moments later, she returned with a big slice of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. Mom said, “Bill! You don’t need that. Shheee!”

Ice cream and chocolate. Dad was in heaven!

Back in our room, futzing resumed…
Mom wanted to try on her new outfit, and I must say she looked great! Sis sure has an eye for what works! As Mom stood admiring herself in the mirror, I wanted to get a picture. Mom turned to me and posed, but my camera phone wasn’t ready. “Mom, do that again.” She’d pose, then, a split second later, turn to the mirror to see if that was how she’d done it before. *Snap* blurry face. “Ok, Mom, pose again.” Pose, turn and look, blurred picture… “…again.” A few tries later, I managed to snap this picture:

I think it took another half hour to get her back out of those clothes and moving on toward getting ready for sleep.

Mom wanted Dad to take a shower. Dad wanted nothing to do with taking off his clothing because that guy was in the bathroom with them. Mom said, “Bill! That’s us!” Dad protested, angry at that guy for not leaving the room while Mom tried to disrobe him.
When Mom got Dad into the shower, she’d turn on the water to get Dad wet, then turn it back off to spread the water, back on to get more wet, back off to spread the soap, back on to rinse, off to check the rinse, on to rewash or rinse, off to check again.
Dad was showered and Mom escorted him from the bathroom, past that guy in the bathroom mirror, past that guy in the mirror across the hall from the bathroom, past that guy in the mirrors on the closet doors, and over to their bed.
When Mom returned to the bathroom for her own shower, Dad decided to get dressed…

Those missed belt loops…

Satisfied that he was dressed, he picked up the suitcase and started stuffing it with other articles of clothing. I tried to stop him, but he’d return to it and start again. I’d try to explain that we needed to leave it there, but he wouldn’t believe a word of it.
When he wasn’t messing with the suitcase, he was fiddling with Mom’s blouse. He’d hold it, check it, pick it up, put it down… finally, he decided to put it on.
Those missed belt loops… his pants hit the floor, and Sis and I lost all control! He fished them back up, and resumed packing…

Mom, finished with her shower, started calling to Dad, wanting him to come to the bathroom so she could brush and floss his teeth…
“Bill! You need to brush your teeth!”
“What?”
“Bill! Let me floss your teeth!”
“What?”

Teeth taken care of, Mom guided Dad to bed.
Dad wanted nothing to do with that bed and insisted that it was time to go. “Bill! We aren’t going anywhere. We aren’t leaving. We’re sleeping here.”
Where?
“Here! We are sleeping here.”
Oh, I don’t think so…
“Bill, get into bed!”
Dad was finally put to bed and Mom’s futzing was about to intensify.

Sometime after midnight, I had to call an end to it! “Mom! You’ve been futzing for 2 hours. It’s time for bed!”
About an hour later, Mom finally gave in and went to bed. I turned out the lights and slid into bed.

Silence came over the room. I could hear Sis breathing in her sleep. I could hear Dad breathing in his sleep.
I heard Mom crying, softly…

Oh, man…
I had hurt her feelings.
I am such a shit.

I got up, went to her, held her, kissed her forehead, and told her I was sorry I’d been so stern. I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. It was late and we had a busy day ahead of us.
She dried her tears and said, “Is the banquet tomorrow?”

Mom and Dad: Our Futz Day in DC

Our trip took more than the predicted 8 hours. Sis did the driving because, for me, long distance driving is nap inducing. Whenever I’d hear Dad start to fidget, we’d stop to find a bathroom. Our last bathroom stop took far longer than could have been imagined. Every exit we saw that boasted of restrooms ended up involving miles of driving off the freeway. At the first exit, we abandoned the search after 20 minutes of searching. The exit we chose last involved a 15 minute drive into a downtown area, after midnight. Although the bathroom we found was filthy and the toilet wobbled precariously on its base, kudos to Sis for her dedication to finding the place!
Mom still thinks we were lost.

Construction sent us to a different exit than was on the map Sis brought; and the street we were looking for turned out to have 3 different names depending on where it ran through the city… Another hotel was kind enough to give Sis directions and a local map. It was 2:00am when we finally arrived at the hotel. I went inside and checked us in. We were in our room by 2:20…
The futzing
was about
to begin.

Mom announced that they both needed to brush and floss their teeth before getting into bed.
“Bill! You need to brush your teeth!”
“What?”
“Bill! Let me floss your teeth!”
“What?”
“Bill! You need to brush your teeth!”
“What?”
“Bill! Let me floss your teeth!”
“What?”
etc, etc, etc…
Finally, Mom was ready to make Dad go to bed.

Mom was not ready to go to bed.

She needed to check their suitcase, organize their pills, set out things she would need the next day, and (again?) brush and floss her own teeth. She needed to curl her hair! She could not do it in the morning!
Futz, futz, futz, futz…
3:00am and I’d seen enough futzing for one night. “Mom, you’ve been futzing for nearly an hour. It’s time to get to sleep!”
Futz, futz, futz…
She was finally crawling into bed at around 3:15am; but she wasn’t done and she wasn’t happy about being cut off from her futzing!
6:00am and she was awake. Dad was awake, too.
And she futzed and futzed and futzed.
Sis woke to the futzing.
Sis re-awoke to Mom and Dad staring at my sleeping form, nearly face to face with me… Something in my subconscious made me aware of their presence – and our day was about to begin.

The hotel had a buffet for each meal of the day. Being able to quickly grab a plate of food for each of them meant less time for Dad to start grazing on condiments.
When there had been enough futzing for the morning, and Sis and I were ready to go, I prodded Mom in the direction of thinking, ‘breakfast.’ Mom said, “Well, yes. If we were back at the facility, we would be having breakfast now. Seven-thirty, eight-thirty, nine. That’s when we have breakfast back at (*pause*) the facility, back home. That’s home, now. I tell people, ‘That’s our home. Our house sold. The facility is home, now.’”

Mom was convinced that the banquet was to be that evening and started looking for their dress clothes. She had packed them in that garment bag that had been hanging on their bathroom door. The bag she insisted we did not need to bring…
She argued that Dan had loaded the car and therefore that bag was still in the car. Sis and I had just forgotten to get it out of the car; if we went down to the car, we would find it in the trunk. Sis tried to reason with Mom – we hadn’t brought it, she had insisted that she didn’t need it, Dan hadn’t been there to pack anything. When Sis mentioned that Dan had not even been there to pack the car, Mom gave her a look that said, “I have no idea what you are talking about,” and reminded Sis of:

Mom was eventually convinced that we had left the bag behind. Dad was going to need a nice shirt. Mom pointed out that the shirts he does have don’t fit. She can’t get them buttoned around his belly and they are too big in the shoulders. (Come on, American designers! Embrace the shape of our people. Make triangle shirts!)
We were going to have to go shopping for clothes.
Mom was also convinced that Dad’s suspenders were in that garment bag. Dad’s pants were forever at risk of falling down, but holding them up kept his hands busy!
We added ’suspenders’ to the list.

Our first event was a lunch cruise on the Potomac. We were shown to the dining room as soon as we boarded. Mom said, “I feel like we just ate! Is it lunch time already?” Well, it is almost lunch time, yes. I think we are scheduled to eat lunch at 12:00. Mom said, “Oh, that’s right. If we were back at the facility, we would be having lunch now. Eleven-thirty, twelve-thirty, one. That’s when we have lunch back at (*pause*) the facility, back home. That’s home, now. I tell people, ‘That’s our home. Our house sold. The facility is home, now.’”
Although we had all ordered our meal choices ahead of time, when the server went around to verify these with everyone, Mom decided to change their order. Mom was then unhappy with the selection she’d made and requested her previous order. Sis and I sat at another table and kept an eye on Mom and Dad to be sure they weren’t having any problems eating their meals. One of their table mates helped Dad cut his food to bite sized pieces, and Dad seemed content to remain in his seat.
Until he no longer seemed content to remain in his seat…

Sis and I went to the upper deck for the view, but returned frequently to the main deck to at least look through the windows to check on Mom and Dad. At one point, I’d walked through the hallway that led down to the restrooms. The entire back wall was mirrored and I thought to myself, “Oh, man, I hope Dad doesn’t need to go to the restroom down there… he won’t get past the top of the stairs because of ‘that guy’ over there. Heck, he’d likely fall down the stairs trying to reach him!”
Well, as luck would have it, Dad needed to use the restroom. I started to lead him down the stairs, but, as feared, he saw ‘that guy’ over there and refused to budge! One of the stewards suggested I take him to the handicap restroom on the main deck. “Oh, thank you!!”
Dad won’t let anyone else help him in the bathroom; Mom’s assistance was required. I suggested that she might need to use the restroom, too.
“Bill! Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Take off your pants, so you can go potty.”
“What?”
etc, etc, etc…

The boat returned to the dock. Mom started to ask questions, “Didn’t we get on at another dock?” Nope, there is the ramp we came down. “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking we got on at another dock.”
When we were off the boat headed back to the buses, “Which one is our bus?” Bus #3, Mom. “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking we rode with that other couple.”
“Why was it your Dad couldn’t use the other bathroom?” Because there was a mirror at the top of the stairs. “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking someone said the other bathroom was out of order.”

Back at the hotel, Mom worried about not having clothing for the banquet. Sis found out that the hotel provided a shuttle to the nearby shopping district. With a little time to kill before the shuttle left, Mom futzed.
Dad sat down and started to nap. Mom thought he needed to be more comfortable and tried to stuff a fat pillow behind Dad. This served only to pitch him forward, making him uncomfortable. Falling asleep left him at risk for tumbling out of the chair. Mom futzed. She got more pillows, stuffed them in different ways around Dad: beside him, on the desk, behind his head rolled or folded, tucked in at the base of his back.

With all Mom’s futzing, Dad was not going to get a nap.

Mom and Dad: Going to Washington DC

In Mom and Dad: Plan of Confusion, I detailed our plans to attend the National reunion of the Destroyer Escort Sailors Association. I knew I couldn’t handle it alone, so I asked my wonderful sister for “HELP!” and she agreed.
I don’t think she had any idea how difficult this would be…

We got a later start than we’d planned, but this gave Mom plenty of time to get ready… or so you’d think! Mom called a few times throughout the morning, “Where are you? Are you on your way here?” I assured her we would be there in plenty of time. We figured the drive would take about 6 hours with additional time added for bathroom stops and a meal. With the few extra stops we needed to make on the way to picking up Mom and Dad, we got to the facility around 4pm.

When we arrived, Mom was still not ready. She had notes to check. She had luggage to check. She had to make sure she had plenty of kleenex for the drive.
Dad was ready. He took his coat out of the garment bag hanging on the bathroom door, and put it on. Mom tried to tell him he didn’t need that jacket, yet, but we refocused her attention to getting ready to go. While Mom puttered, Dad showed us his singing stuffed animals and a music box, or two. Dad got warm and took off his jacket. Dad saw his jacket laying on the bed and put it back on. He was ready to go for a ride.
When Mom was finally ready, we got their suitcase, did a final check, and found that garment bag hanging on the bathroom door. Sister asked Mom if that was going with us. Mom insisted that she did not need it – Dad, after all, was already wearing his jacket…
Finally, we were on the road.

We stopped to eat at Denny’s for supper. Denny’s offers ‘dip-able veggies’ with ranch dressing as one of their side dishes. I knew this would be a hit with Mom, so I made sure she got those with her order. She decided there was more than she could eat and offered to share them with Dad. Dad happily nibbled away at some of the veggies, until he got to the celery. He doesn’t like the strings. He took a piece of celery and started with small nibbles, feeding the piece of celery into his mouth, biting with his front teeth, biting with his front teeth, biting with his front teeth… until he had about two inches of celery stick in his mouth. Then, he bit down harder and pulled, scraping the celery flesh off with his teeth leaving nothing but the strings.
Dad wasn’t sure what to do with the little cup of ranch dressing…

so he drank it.

There were many other patrons at Denny’s. Some of them had children. Children attract Dad like a moth to a flame! Doanboddadababy! We were regaled with reports of pretty much everything the children did in Dad’s line of sight. Some of the kids discovered Dad’s amusement over their antics and stepped it up a notch, popping up over the back of the booth seat playing peak-a-boo, showing Dad whatever they held in their hands, and giggling right along with Dad.
When any of the children needed to pass by our table, we worked at distracting Dad so as to prevent his trying to reach out and grab the kids. We were mostly successful, except for the one kid that walked too close – Dad reached out to grab the kid by the arm… He always asks, “Where’s your mommy/daddy?”
It would take far too long to explain. He asks, “Where’s your mommy/daddy?” in part, because he misses his own parents.

Before we left the restaurant, Mom and Dad needed the restroom. The practice is to send them both into the lady’s room, then stand guard at the door to warn others that there is a man in the bathroom – and sometimes explain that Mom is helping Dad. With many public bathrooms having multiple stalls, most women are undeterred.
There is really no way to prepare them for what is happening in there…
“Bill! Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Take off your pants, so you can go potty.”
“What?”
“Bill! Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Take off your pants, so you can go potty.”
“What?”
“Bill! Take off your pants.”
“What?”
“Take off your pants, so you can go potty.”
“What?”
… etc, etc, etc

When Dad is done, it’s Mom’s turn to go. She releases him from the stall to wander the bathroom. He is drawn to the mirror. He’ll stand before it talking to that guy, gesturing, conversing, challenging, and pointing at the other people reflected in the mirror. Since he doesn’t realize it is a reflection, often times his hands will collide with the surface of the mirror when he reached to point.
When Mom is done, she works at getting Dad to wash his hands. This is a tedious process made nearly impossible if there are air hand driers instead of paper towels…
“Bill! Wet your hands! Bill! Put them under here! Bill! Rub your hands together… like this! Bill!”
With the air drier taking so long to dry his hands, and Mom’s instructions to rub his hands together the same as she does with the soap, Dad returns to the sink for more soap, more water,
and more conversation with that guy.

I watch the reactions of those women who went on in despite knowing there was a man in there. I watch their faces – they can’t help but watch what is happening; they can’t understand what is happening. Their eyes search my face, looking for an answer…
I smile. I nod. I understand.
And then they think they understand.
And, after 6 days, my sister understands.
And, a part of me wishes that she never had to understand so deeply, so completely. That that part of her psyche was never invaded in such an irrevocable way. To witness another human being’s complete loss of recognition of themselves in a mirror, indeed their inability to realize it is a mirror before them…
an innocence gone.

Dog treats

A friend gave me a case of Beneful Snackin Slices for our dogs. She claimed her dog didn’t like them. I should have been suspicious… her dog eats cardboard and her husband’s work boots.
Our dogs were not so picky. The Australian Shepherd picks at each piece, crunching the crunchy outside, nibbling the chewy inside. He is not a delicate eater, rather he is suspicious following an injury that resulted in antibiotics – which he discovered are not chewable! The Mastiff couldn’t tell you what they taste like, but she is certain she is being cheated – she takes my entire hand into her mouth when accepting a treat, then wonders why there is only a tiny crumb to consume… I get a free slobber glove!
Two days after I started offering these treats to the dogs, I noticed a reduction in their poop output. This is remarkable, considering a Mastiff can poop a cord of wood! I was curious, but didn’t give it much thought.
The next day, I still wasn’t seeing the usual poop output… there wasn’t a pile to scoop anywhere in the yard. This made no sense…
Had they both chosen new places to leave deposits at the same time? I walked the entire yard. No piles, anywhere.
Three days without a significant poop from either dog – this couldn’t be good.
And, then…
I found it.
Eww
Runny, gelatinous, green splats of pea soup!
The only thing different in their diet was the Beneful Snackin Slices.
I’d given a bag to my brother for his new puppy, so I called to ask him if he’d noticed anything. He said, “I got rid of those treats you gave me. It turned pup’s poop green and runny – blends right in with the grass – slippery as all get out… can’t get the stain out of my jeans.”

Suddenly a Step-mom (part 20)

Soon after Ana moved back in with her mom, the other shoe dropped. Not happy with the unenthusiastic welcome home, she drummed up some drama. Having been coached by an aunt, Ana was armed with an almost plausible story of abuse.
She accused her step-father of crawling into her bed and molesting her. What followed had to have been a living hell for this poor man!
He was ordered out of the house, threatened with prison, could have lost his job, certainly would have been labeled as a predator, and perhaps denied access to his other daughter.
He would have legal fees mount up beyond anyone’s ability to pay, and being kicked from his house, he couldn’t even get a loan against it.
Investigations were launched, embarrassing questions were asked, terrible assumptions were made.
We were required to speak with the children’s protective services investigators.
No one believed her story. No one. Except, of course, the CPS workers, who are required to believe (and prove!) every child’s story.
Within two weeks, their lives had returned to normal… step-dad was back in the house, charges were dropped, investigations concluded she made it up.
And, they were ordered to enter family counseling.
Ana was allowed to dictate how that happened by refusing to attend – they ended up having to pay far more to have this counselor come to their home to conduct sessions.
Counselor’s findings unknown.
Ana’s mother’s diagnosis: This was entirely Tom’s doing, and the fault of his ex-wife.

This past spring, Ana’s brother started encouraging Tom to reconnect with Ana. Ugh.
As we started to make some progress on the new house, Tom contacted Ana and invited her over. (NO!!!) She lives just a few blocks away, so she walked over. It was a nice early June afternoon.
During her visit, she talked non-stop about how well she is doing in school, and about how much all of her teachers simply love her. (naturally) She went on and on about her grandiose plans for her near future such as: getting married to her boyfriend, how much his family loves her, what she was going to do after school in the summer, after the following year’s graduation, and all the wedding plans her mommy was already helping her with.

A month later, Tom got a text message from Ana’s mother: Merry Christmas! You are going to be a grandpa. Ana is pregnant and due Christmas Day.
math…..
She’d been pregnant when she came to visit. And, she would have had to know.

The boyfriend bailed! His mother absolutely refuses to allow them to talk, and I’m sure she is just waiting for the DNA tests to be done.

Ana has another boyfriend, now…
He goes to a different school. Once again, Ana has managed to stir up drama – she’s made enemies of some girls from her boyfriend’s school.
At the same street fair we were required to go to her first weekend with us, she ran into these girls. A fight broke out.
She tried to tell her mother over the phone – her mother hung up on her, she called us, and we went over to be there when the police arrived. Huh?
Ana told us these girls had sent her many threatening text messages. She hadn’t saved any of them. Her boyfriend was in the house, online, trying to retrieve these messages from her cell phone online records. He was having no luck, because, apparently, the cell phone provider she has only saves these messages for 5 days.
Hmm… 5 days had passed since they’d exchanged texts, yet she took her big pregnant belly into a fist fight with 2 girls…
Or, they jumped her? She was unscathed, one of the other girls had a broken nose.
The police told her they wanted to talk to her… somehow she ended up 15 miles away, at home.
We stayed until the story was just beyond listening to another time, never moving closer to the truth. Supposedly the police arrived minutes after we left. Her mother arrived minutes later. And, her mother made an ass of herself ending with the police threatening to take her in.

I regret that we didn’t stay to watch. I regret not being there to hear the other side of the story or get the comparisons of witness statements. And, even though conflict of that nature makes me sick, I regret missing her mommy acting up.

All in all, we’ve had very little contact with her and that suits us both just fine.

Mom and Dad: Divadom

Mom has had some dramatic personality changes from Alzheimer’s. What once passed as attention to detail has become obsession. Where she once planned ahead she now checks and rechecks supplies. While she was once concerned with punctuality, she now works at being the last one ready so as to be the center of attention.

Dad’s interest in sweepstakes in the 80’s planted a seed in Mom. Some of these sweepstakes had contests with tricky rules that had to be followed to the letter, or the entry would be disqualified. When Dad was no longer able to assist with bill paying, Mom had to take over. She was so worried about making a mistake, she was careful to pay full attention to any instructions. We thought it was cute. Strange, but cute. She worried that a mistake would end up with a utility disconnected… heaven forbid! She stressed that a credit card payment would be late causing an increased interest rate, or worse – the company asking for their card back!
As Alzheimer’s damages her brain, that attention to detail is obsessive! She can spend hours going over something detail by detail by detail, over and over and over, never really satisfied that she understands everything well enough to act. Sure, she might understand the part about filling in her name, but there was something in the instructions that says the name will appear as written on that line, and somewhere else it says the name must match the credit card used, while somewhere else it says to use initials… and so on and so forth! Sorting through these instructions means finding the key, the order in which she can understand. Sometimes she is still not able to act on her own, but is willing to let someone else help. That help must include making sure she understands it, or panic might follow. Either way, she will still obsess over it for hours, days.
Then, the event comes and goes and she forgets all about the possible complications.

Mom always wanted to make sure she had plenty of kleenex. They had a car floor mat designed specifically to hold a box of tissues, and she was careful to buy only the brand specified by the manufacture lest the box not fit properly, perhaps even fall out and hinder the driver. She always carried small packages of kleenex in her purse, and there was a box of kleenex in every room of the house.
As Alzheimer’s damages her brain, she obsesses over how many tissues she will need for any trip out of their room. She has determined that they need 5 tissues per meal and will check her pockets to be certain she has enough. A trip outside requires at least 6. A ride in the car somewhere might require 15! Nearly every trip to the store means buying more kleenex. Mom said, “We must use a lot of kleenex!” I think I snorted…
One day, Mom forgot to take tissues to lunch. “We were very lucky that Helen had some tissues in her walker!”
I had to ask… “Did Helen go into shock at the request?”

Mom always hated to be late. She was embarrassed by the mere threat of arriving late, and to her late was less than 20 minutes prior to the scheduled time. Calling hours from 6:00pm to 8:00pm meant she had to be there by 5:40pm. One minute later meant she was late and humiliated.
As Alzheimer’s damages her brain, on time, early, and late have become confused. When I first took over driving, she would obsess over what time I was to pick them up for an appointment. A year later, I started giving her extra time to get ready, calling in advance to suggest they meet me out in front of the facility. When even that failed to get her moving toward the door in time, I started arriving early enough to try to help her focus on the task at hand and motivate her to move forward.
Her rituals can take hours, if uninterrupted. She checks her pockets for kleenex, checks her purse. She checks Dad’s pockets for kleenex, checks her purse. She checks her list, checks the calendar for appointment time, checks that she has laid out the right shirt, sweater, or coat for Dad, then checks the pockets for kleenex. She checks that she has the right shirt, sweater, or coat set out for herself, then checks the pockets for kleenex. She checks her pockets for kleenex… She checks her list… She checks her purse. She picks up something she has marked with a post it note, checks that against her list. Sometimes interrupting her deflects her attention toward actually getting herself ready to go. Sometimes she becomes frustrated. She can explain the reasons behind her actions with conviction. Addressing each step, however, can often refocus her attention to the actual task at hand.

I had to start using the child safety lock on the back door of my car to prevent Dad from opening the door whenever he thought it was time to get out, even when moving. Mom’s fidgeting often triggers Dad to unfasten his seatbelt, which leads to his trying to open the door. At first, I hoped this would lead Mom to exit the vehicle and open the door for Dad. I’d remind her as we pulled into a parking spot, “You will need to help Dad with his door because he can’t open it from inside.” Mom would frantically twist and turn in her seat in an attempt to unlock his door… “Um, Mom, you have to open it from outside.” I started just getting out as quickly as I could and going around to open his door myself.
This led to Mom taking even longer to get out of the car. Maybe she has to check her purse. Perhaps she needs to do another kleenex inventory. It could be that she needs to decide whether or not she will need her hat, or her extra shirt.
Whatever reason she comes up with to delay her exit from the car results in her being the center of attention while we wait for her to decide to get out.

My Mom has become a little Diva. Her obsessions make it so she is the last one ready, the last one in, or the last one out; and she will futz until she is certain all eyes are focused on her.

Mom and Dad: Another Family Reunion

Mom’s side of the family has many family reunions and we’ve always tried to attend them all. The latest reunion fell the day before Labor Day and Mom intended to attend.

They have been riding to church with another resident of their assisted living facility, or a member of the church who lives near by. Neither of these people intended to attend church the day of the reunion, so Mom was worried about how they would get there. I assured her that I would be happy to pick them up at the church or at the facility, whichever she preferred. She was having trouble getting past neither of their rides being available.
I suggested she try a few of the other people who have offered to help out. People from the church and former neighbors have said they would be happy to give them a ride to church, if needed. Mom didn’t want to impose.
I suggested calling Dan to see if he could give them a ride to church. Dan said he would know more about his schedule in a day or two, and would call her back. Mom called me to report what Dan had said. She called me again a few hours later, “Did I tell you I talked to Dan? He said he would call me Saturday to let me know if he can give us a ride to church.” This same conversation repeated hourly for the rest of the day and into the evening.

Saturday rolled around and Mom started to worry because she had not yet heard back from Dan. She called me Saturday morning; I tried to assure her that Dan would call her later – after work.
She called me every 30 minutes or so, repeating the conversation she’d had with Dan a couple days earlier and that he would call Saturday. She hadn’t heard from him, yet.
These half-hourly calls had her repeating her concerns about getting to church and the problems with their other two rides not being able to take them.
The calls also had her repeating her concerns about getting to the reunion… For some reason, she could not be convinced that there was no real difference in distance for me picking them up at either the church or the facility. Since I wasn’t offering to go to church with them, she worried that it was too much extra travel for me to pick them up.

Saturday morning became Saturday afternoon. Mom called me every half hour starting at 7:30am. During their lunch time, I didn’t hear from her for an hour! But, she picked up right where she left off after lunch. Mom still hadn’t heard from Dan.
Finally, when it was about time for Dan to be off work, I suggested she call him herself.

Mom called me back to let me know what Dan had said and fill me in on the plans for reunion day.
Somehow, Mom believed that the family would be eating at 11:30 am. I could not convince her that 12:30pm was more likely, especially since so many of the people attending would first be going to church. Reminding her that most of the other family reunions start at 12:30pm did no good, either.
So, Mom had convinced Dan that they needed to be at the reunion before 11:30am. Going to church would make them late for the reunion! Dan was going to be picking them up at 10:30am and taking them straight to the reunion.
I sent Dan a text asking if Mom had it right? He said that was the plan. I didn’t bother trying to explain that Mom was confused, I’d just roll with it.

Not twenty minutes passed before Mom called back. “Did I tell you I talked to Dan?”
Oh? What did he have to say?
And, she’d repeat the whole thing.
Every ten to twenty minutes, Mom would call again. “Did I tell you I talked to Dan?”
It wouldn’t matter how I answered, she would repeat everything. Answering that yes, she had already told me only served to frustrate her – and she’d still repeat it anyway.
So, I just said something like, “Oh? What did he have to say?”

By early evening, she was calling every 30-45 minutes.
Later in the evening she was only calling once an hour.
Her last call was around 9:30pm. She knew it was getting late, probably past my bedtime, but she wanted to make sure I knew that Dan was going to be picking them up…
See you in the morning, Mom. Have a great night!

The day of the reunion, naturally we arrived quite early to the event. There was nearly an hour to kill before the first family members began to arrive. Mom surveyed the tables and chairs and wondered allowed, “I wonder how many people they are planning for?” This was the question of the hour, asked again and again, until food was on their plates before them.
On the way back to the facility, Mom asked (repeatedly) how many people had attended.
Once back home, her concerns shifted to the upcoming trip to Washington DC for the DESA reunion.

There will be many stories from that reunion – I just have to sort through tons of notes, jog my memory a few times, and find my muse.

Mom and Dad: Fuzzy, Little Caterpillar

Mom wanted to go to the store so I made the trip to take them. When I arrived, she informed me that her friend was coming to visit. Our trip to the store would have to wait until later in the day. Well, I’d planned a 3-4 hour visit, but had no further plans for the day…

While we waited for her friend to arrive, Dad entertained me with his toys. When his attention would wander from showing me to showing ‘his friend’ in the mirror, Mom would fill the void with her own stories, concerns, and another round of going over her lists for shopping and things to do. Occasionally I would take a break from the litany and step outside for a smoke.

On my way to the car to grab a smoke, I passed a fuzzy little caterpillar in the parking lot. Upon closer inspection, it turned out he was a victim of hornet attack! Two hornets were busily working at dismembering the poor little guy – I wanted to squash him and end any misery he might still be in, but when my flip-flop clad foot approached, those beastly hornets turned their attention from their busy work to fending me off. I decided to let nature take its course.
I took this picture:

After I took that picture, a couple of the residents sitting outside asked if someone had hit my car because they had seen me leaning down examining something. I showed them the picture and explained what was happening out there in the parking lot. Other residents became interested in our discussion – some wanted to see the picture, some wanted to go see it for themselves. I reminded them that the hornets had been less than pleased with me getting too close and cautioned them.
I returned to Mom and Dad’s room and shared the picture with them. Dad thought the bug was cute. Mom was fascinated with the details of why the hornets were attacking the caterpillar.

An hour or so later I went back out to smoke again. I checked on the progress of the caterpillar…
Ewww! There wasn’t much left of the little guy.

I shared the picture with the residents and updated them on the progress. Most of the ones who’d wanted to see it for themselves reported that those hornets were indeed protective of their catch, and settled for looking at the picture.
Again, I showed the picture to Mom and Dad. Dad called it a bug; Mom felt sorry for the caterpillar.

After Mom’s friend had come and gone, it was time to go to the store. On the way to the car, Mom remembered the caterpillar pictures and wanted to see it for herself. I took her over to show her what was left of the fuzzy, little worm. One hornet was still working at extracting a chunk, but seemed oblivious to our presence. Mom leaned in for a closer look.
Dad came over

and stepped on the bug.

Owwwwww

Sept 4th I was getting ready to do the primer on the walls and needed to start with a new paint roller. I got a new one out of the package and started to snap it onto the handle. it wouldn’t budge past the last little bit. I pushed, squeezed, and struggled to no avail. I thought, for about a second, that I could just step on it, but realized it would either break the darn thing or slip out from under me… bad idea. So, I grabbed both ends and holding it against my chest, pushed – like one of those chest exercisers. It snapped right into place!
I had no time to savor the success…
I had snapped my boob into the darn thing!
And then I couldn’t get it back apart!

M&M’s Coconut!

Sunday was turning out to be a warm, sunny day for the reunion. On the way, I stopped for gas. When I went in to pay, I found Coconut M&M’s at the register, begging me to take them with me… so I did.
I opened the bag and tipped a couple of these wonderful treats out… YUM! Oh, man, they are so good! (Limited time? NOOOO!)
Well, I didn’t want to eat the whole bag because there was going to be lots of food at the reunion. I also thought these are so good I want to make sure I save some for my hubby. So, I tipped out just a few more and twisted the bag closed.
As I popped one in my mouth, I noticed that some of the candy coating was missing. Still yummy, no complaints there!
I glanced down at the other candies in my hand and noticed that they, too, were missing some of the candy coating.
What are the odds that I’ve gotten the only 3 candies in the bag that are slightly damaged?
M&M’s melt in your mouth, not in your hand, but that’s only good if the candy shell is intact. Was I going to have to check every candy? But, then I’d have to handle all of them. It was getting hot in the car, I’d be sure to leave dull marks on that shiny candy coating if I handled them.
I couldn’t leave them in the hot car if there were candies that could melt out of their broken candy shell! That would ruin the experience of these wonderful candies for my hubby!
So, I ate the whole bag.
Now, that gas station is sold out of these delicious snacks. Noooooo!

Mom and Dad: Shopping list

Mom called me the morning of her port flush appointment. She had a list of things they simply had to get. Dad needed pants, (under)shorts, and socks. Mom needed aspirin and batteries. I asked her to get her list ready and we’d go to the store while we were out.

When I arrived to pick them up, Mom was just not ready! Dad had taken too much time in the bathroom. Mom was having trouble getting him to pull his pants up over his belly… that same old concern, “He wears them down here,” she’ll say, pointing to her lower belly. “He should wear them up here,” pointing to her waist. I suggest his suspenders will help him keep them up, but she protests that he doesn’t like them.
Well, if he wears them every day, he’ll get used to them.

I was early, but Mom’s fussing around was eating up the clock. “What’s wrong, Mom?” She couldn’t find her shopping list. She had it right here! It was right here and now it’s not! “Well, what was on the list? I know you had pants, shorts, and socks for Dad. (I wasn’t about to mention the aspirin… we’d just solved that problem a few days before) Can you think of anything else?” She couldn’t think of anything else, but that was because she couldn’t find her list!
Her frustration was starting to manifest into a temper tantrum…
This is new.

She started muttering. She started shuffling things around. She started picking things up and slamming them back down. “Where’s my list?” *slam* “What happened to my shopping list?” *slam*
*slam* *slam* “Oh gee”
*slam* *slam* “Sheee!”
*slam* *slam* “Where is my list?”
Dad tried to offer comfort. Mom snapped at him…
I suggested we just concern ourselves with the things I could remember her reading to me that morning. If there was something else, we could get it the next time. Mom agreed, then returned to the search.
I gently suggested we needed to be aware of the time because her appointment time was fast approaching. I remembered back a year or so when appointment times were so very important, being early was imperative, and how stressed she got as ‘time to go’ approached.

Mom was finally ready to go. Her anger had drained away, forgotten in the process of busying herself with the rest of getting ready.
In the car, Mom started to fidget with her purse. She had looked in her purse many times in her earlier search for that shopping list, but she just wasn’t ready to completely let it go.
The list was found right there in her purse and she read over it carefully. She realized that I had listed everything but the aspirin.
Then she got mad at me for not remembering it because now she didn’t have the aspirin bottle to make sure she got the right kind.

I suggested she check the pocket of her change purse for a receipt showing the aspirin we’d just bought a couple days before.
By the time we got to the hospital for her appointment, she was satisfied that she did not need to get any more aspirin…
I knew that would change when the list came back out at the store and decided to try a different approach – I would ask her to let me have the list so she could concentrate on helping Dad with the cart.

When that didn’t work, I guided them through wrong department after wrong department until they were both tired of walking around looking for mens clothing. I suggested we go to another store…

…one that didn’t have aspirin.

Mom and Dad: Low Dose Aspirin

Mom is still in charge of their medication, so when they need something refilled she gets on the phone to the pharmacy. She might take a few tries to navigate the automated menu, but she perseveres. Her fear of making a mistake causes her to be extra cautious. My brother and I check to make sure she is still getting things in their right places and they are taking all of their meds. As long as Mom still acts faithfully on the word of the doctor, this plan will work. The time for their needing to turn over the administration of their medications to the staff is coming soon enough, but for now we are satisfied that she is handling the task.

There are times Mom will add something to their order. Twice, now, she’s ordered Low Dose Aspirin. Each time, the pharmacy fills the order from their stock rather than bringing a bottle from the shelf. Each time, Mom scrutinizes the label. She’ll compare wording from a store brand bottle to the pharmacy bottle. And she will find the differences!
One bottle might say it’s chewable, the other might say not to chew. One might say something about adult low dose, the other might say it’s for for heart aspirin therapy. Each difference, discovered individually, must be examined, questioned, compared, discussed, and eventually, perhaps, taken to the pharmacist for clarification. Not just any pharmacist, mind you – the one who actually filled the prescription. She knows which store she called. She may not know where she is once inside, but she knows if we are at the correct store. On the other hand, she doesn’t know that there are often multiple pharmacists who work there. She also doesn’t know that most of the people behind the counter are not pharmacists, in spite of their white coats.
The latest reason for alarm was a sticker on the side of the pharmacy bottle instructing that these tablets should be taken with food. Their other bottle does not say that! They eat too much as it is. She doesn’t want to take them to dinner with them to take with their meal. She doesn’t think these pills will work because they say they should be taken with food!!
This same bottle had made two prior trips to the pharmacy…

I managed to talk Mom out of taking the bottle with us to the store with the promise of getting her the kind of aspirin she wanted. I offered to take the others off her hands, but she would have none of that! Those aspirin had been prescribed to her – it said so right on the label. They had not been prescribed to me, and even though we used to have the same name, mine was different now. It would be against the law to give them to me!

My spideysenses tingled telling me this was an area of potential obsession…
All those TV news stories and PSA’s about prescription drug abuse – if Mom’s mind somehow made a connection between those aspirin and what she’d been seeing…

It was a path I did not want to travel and had enough sense to change the subject lest my response be the catalyst to that connection.

For a brief time, I felt guilty for allowing their aspirin count to get so low that she had to order them from the pharmacy.
I felt guilty for not getting her to the store in time to get the ones she recognized.
I don’t feel guilty anymore – I know this is just part of God’s great plan in the works.

When the time comes to have the staff take over medication administration, that just may be excuse we have to use. Mom is proud of the fact that she does their meds and often times mentions it when they are unlocking their door. “They came to us and said if we are taking our own medicines then we have to keep this door locked.” And she’ll point at the floor and almost stomp her foot to emphasize the importance of that admonition.

A trip to the store for her favorite aspirin netted a bonus buy one get one free deal. Her concerns about that pharmacy bottle drained away.
When we returned to the room she said, “I guess we could go ahead and take these other ones – no sense in wasting them.”

I bit my tongue…

Mom and Dad: They know us

Whenever I go to visit, Dad asks if we are going somewhere. He always asks where the car is, and frequently just wants to go look at it if we are not going for a ride. We take walks around the hallways and sometimes go outside to walk around the building. As we walk, Dad will smile and say, “We love you.” He often reaches out to hold my hand as we walk.

There are a few mirrors in the hallways. When we pass by one, Dad will stop to talk to that man. He’ll point to the reflection of Mom or me and try to compel that guy to turn and look at us. Making eye contact with his reflection doesn’t clue him in to that being his reflection.

One day we passed by the mirror on the way to their room. Dad waved at that guy then turned to me and said, “They know us.”

I said, “Yeah, but do you know them?” I couldn’t help myself.

Mom giggled and said, “He always does that!”
I said, “It’s heartbreaking to think, but you will be doing that one day, too.”
Mom said, “Don’t tell me that!”
I said, “He doesn’t know. You do. Which is better?”
She asked, “What do you mean, which is better?”
I said, “I just wonder if you think it is better knowing what is happening to you or if you would have been happier not knowing… like Dad?”
She said, “I’m glad I know. I’m glad he doesn’t. Does knowing help slow it down?”
I said, “I don’t think it matters, but your medication should help.”
She said, “That reminds me. We’re out of aspirin.”

Dad, tired of being left out of the conversation took me by the hand, led me to the bathroom, and showed me his friend in the mirror. “He knows us.”
I kissed him, hugged him, and said, “I’m glad you know me.”

Dad said, “I love you.” and gave me a big hug.

Mom and Dad: Lighthouse doors

Dad’s new (re)found interest in small crafts and sculptures has him re-examining everything from coins to dressers, music boxes to knick knacks. This has also added to the line-up of things he wants to show me in along with the animated stuffed animals.

He brought me each item from their dresser-top one at a time. There were ceramic and plastic lighthouses, giant collector-type coins, handmade gifts and simple crafts. He pointed to the details that he found fascinating and marveled at the work that went into making them. He supposed someone made a lot of money doing these things – he would like to watch them work.

Dad returned to the lighthouses many times. He told me, with grand sincerity, that there are places like this for real! He knows because he has seen them. He always did like lighthouses – he even has a special tie printed with them.

He tired of walking back and forth from the dresser to me and finally sat down beside me to share something else about the lighthouses. Each one had a little cottage attached on the side. Dad pointed to the doors and said, “You go in there.” He pointed to the windows and said, “You see out there.” I noticed each lighthouse had a door on it as well and asked about those. Dad said, “I suppose you could go in there,” looks up at me with a grin and a sparkle in his eye, “But I never tried.”

I didn’t ask if he’d tried the cottage doors…

Mom and Dad: Watches and “Time Square”

When Dad was still fixing watches, he dealt with a few local jewelers and other watch/clock repairmen. There were two little shops they returned to when he no longer could do the work, but they still had many people’s watches in need of repair. “Time Square” is a little shop crowded in the front of a small complex with room for one or two customers, if the door is closed. Often times, when I take Mom for her port flush, she will point down the road toward that little shop and remark about a watch that is still there, wondering if he ever got it fixed, no longer remembering to whom it belonged. We just never seem to need to pass by there any other time and they are closed on her port appointment day.

Now, Mom has a couple of their own watches in need of repair. She isn’t sure why they don’t work anymore, but is certain that when they quit working she knew then what was wrong. She picks up the watches, secure in a plastic baggie, and wonder aloud what is wrong with them. “I can’t remember what was wrong with this one. This one worked, then it quit. Seems to me it worked again after that, but now it doesn’t work. This one is your Dad’s. I don’t know why it won’t run. Do you think that store…? What is the name of that shop, again?” I tell her. “That’s right. I need to write that down so I can remember.” And, she’ll write it down. And, she’ll look around for a place to stick the little post-it note. And, before I leave, I will carefully remove the many copies, leaving one – with the phone number written on it. I have to be careful not to let her catch me removing them – this causes panic!

On a few occasions, Mom has insisted that we drive to that little shop in spite of it being Monday and them being closed. This happened enough times that she started telling their table mates about the place being closed. Then, one day she says, “That place is closing at the end of August. I have got to get these watches in there to get fixed!” I made a special point to take them to that side of town on a day they were open. She didn’t bring the watches. She reasoned that if they were closing, she would need to take them somewhere else to be fixed.

Mom and Dad squeezed into the storefront while I waited outside. I watched through the door glass in case I was needed to help explain anything, one way or the other. When I started to notice a change in his demeanor, I decided it was time to stretch the limits of the confines and go inside. Mom was telling him that she was sure she had heard he was closing. He was telling her he was sure he was not, and should probably know since he was the owner. Mom would start to tell him about the watches she needed him to look at, but was afraid he wouldn’t be around to fix them. And, so it went another round…
I suggested we let him get back to work and return another time with the watches. He thanked me, and we left.

Back in the car, Mom said, “I forgot to ask him what his new hours are.” and started to get back out of the car. I assured her that he had made it clear that his hours are the same as always and are posted on the door. He closes for lunch, but we could come back any day but Monday. She no longer worried that he was closing at the end of August.

When we returned to their room, she showed me the watch she wears from time to time. She said, “This is the last watch your Dad bought for me.” She doesn’t remember how long ago or for what occasion, but she looks at it and her love for Dad shows, her understanding of his love for her shows,

and then she says, “Time… flew.”

Mom and Dad: Tiny Details

At a recent family reunion, one of the cousins brought some wood cut-outs he had made over the winter. Each were made from a tree that had been felled on the family farm. There were many to choose from, and everyone was welcome to take one, or two if there were enough. I chose a squirrel, Mom chose a deer. When I took them back to the facility, Mom showed hers to everyone she passed in the hallway. Many of them expressed a desire to have one of their own, but there were none left.

Mom got on the phone and called around until she reached the man who’d made them and asked for more. Within a week, he had gone to visit them and brought more. Mom chose a horse as a second one for herself.

Dad wanted to show me their new cut-out and fetched it from the rails of the windowsill, where it sits next to the other one. He pointed to the intricate details – tiny cuts, thin pieces of wood making the picture come to life. He marveled at the skill required to make such a thing. “I don’t know how they do this.” He said. “I would like to watch the man or woman make them. I want to know how they do this.” His fingers traced the tiny cuts the scroll saw had made. “I would break this. I wonder how he or she did it?”

It is heartwarming when he finds something that sparks his interest. At those times, he can express himself in a way that is easy to understand and he puts together whole sentences!

He was showing me some of his stuffed animals, making them sing and dance, when his eye fell on one of the music boxes. He has tried to make this one dance on the floor before, but the top still just turns as it plays Edelweiss. This time, he held it up as it played and started pointing to the sculptures on top. “Fingers. Tiny fingers!” His eyes started to brim over. “I don’t know how they do that but I’m glad they do!” He spent a few minutes examining the fine detail, then returned to the wood cut-outs with the same awe and wonder.

On their dresser is another wood cut-out – not nearly so detailed, but it still holds his attention. It is cut out to look like an old man with a straw hat, bib overalls, and a cotton beard. He carries a sign that reads, “Grandpas are just antique little boys.”

I never knew how true that saying could be…

Moving right along, remodel behind schedule

Here is our new house (front), the first day it was ours:

The back of the house:

There is a Cucumber Magnolia tree in the front yard:

Magnolia trees poop…

We have 2 apple trees.  The apples are terrible, but the blossoms are beautiful.

We also have a lilac tree.  I have always wanted one of these.  No, Tom, put the chainsaw away!

Tom got started on the remodeling:

I planted flower baskets and started a ‘grass’ garden:



Tom made this heart hanger:

The truck delivered our new floors, padding/underlay, topsoil, and stuff:

The truck detaches from the trailer to become a fork truck!

We celebrated with a nice bottle of fine wine.  Since we haven’t unpacked, we had to use Styrofoam cups.  The fire was warm, the dog was happy, and the hatchet got put to good use:

Then, on July 4th, Tom decided to hire his nephew to help with the drywall…  The kid got a FOUR POINT OH in building trades.  Ok, first off, when did they start giving out grade point averages in ONE class?  (Foreshadowing, yes!)
We bought 5 gallons of drywall mud.  This should have been (more than) plenty for everything that needed mudded, including patching in the ceiling areas.
The next day…  “Uncle Tom, I need another bucket of mud.”  Um… what?  Perhaps you should do some sanding before applying any more mud?
And a few days later, another bucket of mud…
“Uncle Tom, I don’t understand why there are so many bubbles!”  (drip in water, work mud, work mud, work mud, work mud, work mud, work mud)

Sand that!
…and then another bucket.
I took the 4th bucket and hid it.  Seriously!
Sanding, washing, filling, washing, and we painted the bedroom!  (That flooring makes nice shelves!)

And, the kid went back home to mommy.
So, we finally get back in to inspect. And, to start sanding.


It was at about this point…  omg, no way!  A FOUR POINT O IN BUILDING TRADES!  (my ass)

He didn’t even tape!  (This is Tom’s dismayed face)

Even after sanding… BUBBLES!

There was a huge pile of dust after sanding:

Tracks in the grass left by drywall mud dust on our feet:

Tom found a way to rid the house of dust…

(note the fan hanging in the door!)

We burned this chair because the kid was back home and we couldn’t burn him!

There are some beautiful things.  This butterfly lazed around, until I got the camera.  Then, he flew away.  I started yelling at him to get back on that flower or I was going to get a net… and a pin.

Morning Glories on trellis Tom made for me:

Really cool plant stand:

Sometimes the funny is right there

I swear, I did not go dumpster diving behind the local buffet for this one:

It says “Made with the finest milk from the Alps”.  Ok, first of all, it’s DARK chocolate.  And, when did milk from the Alps become so special?

Got enough bikes??

Check out these Chocolate Chocolate Muffins:

Now check out the BAKE instructions…

(Until golden brown?  When would that be, exactly?)

Ok, name…  oh, I don’t know, three?

This ad came to a restaurant where I worked.  On the back of the card, it said the photo was taken in the “Busiest Mall in America”  I’m not really sure I would want to jump in on a franchise opportunity with this company.  The busiest mall…  and he looks like his customer vanished LONG before he noticed.  Where are all the other customers?  Oh, there’s just so much wrong with this photo!

When would this be… between baths, that is – for a cat?  Does anyone have a cat that would appreciate being wet wiped WHILE on a plane or in a car?  I can see it now:  “That screaming, snarling, hissing, and squalling is his way of showing how happy he is to be getting a bath at 20,000 feet.”

I think their signs are out of sequence?

(Yeah, but who’d want to eat it?!)

Mom and Dad: Plan of Confusion

The National Destroyer Escort Sailor’s Association reunion is being held in Washington DC this year and Mom would not be deterred from going.  She’s been talking about it for over a year.  There will be tours to the various war memorials and she feels very strongly that she and Dad need to see them.  She understands that Dad will not know what is going on, won’t recognize any of the symbolism or any of the people, but it is very important to her to go.  And so I agreed to take them…  (I know, I must be insane!)  The DESA newsletter printed the registration forms, instructions, and  information about activities, along with disclaimers about cancellations, late booking fees, and reservations being limited.

Mom started to study these pages.   Going over them with a fine toothed comb, retaining little of what she read, she would become frustrated by all the confusing directions and tiny print.  She started making notes of things she found alarming, confusing, or important.  She worried herself frantic.

She worried that we were waiting too long to send in the forms.  I frequently explained that we would get the forms filled out and mailed in when it was time to do so.  There was no need to mail them in too early.  Mom argued that if there were mistakes made there needed to be time to correct them or they would miss deadlines, forfeit their deposits, and have to find hotel accommodations elsewhere – it said so right in the DESA newsletter.

When the time came to send in the registration form, Mom worried that there wouldn’t be enough money to afford the trip.  I assured her that there was enough money.  Dan assured her that there was enough money.  We got busy filling out the forms and totaling up the amounts for various activities and such.  There were 2 separate forms:  one was to register for the event and banquet, the other was for the activities.  The event/banquet form also included information about the hotel.  Money for registration and banquet was to be sent to DESA.  Room reservations were up to each member to make on their own and the bill for the room was to be paid directly to the hotel.  Other activites were to be reserved through the reunion planning committee by filling out the activites form.  Money for activites was to be sent to the planning committee.  The instructions were clear, but Mom worried about mistakes.  The instructions clearly stated that money for activites was not to be sent to DESA.

We filled out the forms, totaled the columns, and I delivered the forms to my brother so he could write the checks and mail in the forms.  We spent hours going over the forms.  I explained every detail, read the instructions, explained the instructions, and showed Mom how we had followed the instructions to the letter.

Mom got distracted for about half an hour because she wanted to find a card Dad had been carrying in his billfold – until he got them wet, somehow, she can’t remember how.  Dad had been busy telling his “Kick his ass” story to the man in the mirror, holding his hat up and pointing to locations on the embroidered ship.  Dad saw Mom with his old billfold out and came to collect it.  Mom tried to keep his hands out of the stack of cards while Dad tried to reconcile having a billfold in his pocket while clearly there was a billfold on the table.

Back to the forms, we filled in the final details about Dad’s ship: number, name, and Dad’s rank.  I went over them again with Mom to make sure she was satisfied, then started to tear the pages from the newsletter.  Mom yelled in panic, “No!  I need those pages in there so I can make sure we didn’t make any mistakes!”  Um, Mom, we need to take these pages out so we can mail them in.  Would you like for me to make copies of them?

I went to the office and asked a staff member to copy both sides of both pages.  If Mom was missing the back to one of the pages, she would be all the more convinced that we had made some terrible error and would get to Washington DC with no place to stay and no way to attend activities and we would also be out all that money.  I took the copies and placed them back in the newsletter in order.  All was well and the originals were delivered to Dan for his role…

Mom called later that evening:  Did Dan know that he had to send 2 separate checks?  Did he realize there were 2 different places to mail the forms?  Was he aware that if mistakes were made they would lose all that money?  I assured her that Dan understood that there were 2 separate checks – one to DESA, one to Reunion Planners.  I assured her that I had pointed out the addresses and which form to mail with which check.  I also pointed out that each form was actually a page (of which she had copies) that included a full list of instructions that Dan could read over if he had questions.  This was less than reassuring to Mom because she was so stressed out over the confusing directions and the fear of making a costly mistake.  I tried to assure her that we were taking care of everything with plenty of time to correct any mistakes, but there was no way to relieve her of her anxiety over some of her perceptions of some of the wording of some of the instructions…  It was as if she were seeing this as a contest where every instruction must be followed to the letter or the entry would be ignored.

The next day, Mom called and was very distraught.  “Where is page six?” she demanded.

Page 6?  What do you mean, Mom?

“I have every other page but page 6!  What did you do with it?”

I had copies made of each page we needed to send in with the checks, Mom.  There should be 4 copied pages.  Each of the forms we filled out and whatever was on the back of those forms.

“Yes.  But there is no page 6!”

Um…  let’s see.  Are there 2 copies of one page?

“No!  And I am missing page 6!  I need page 6!”

We discussed these pages at great length.  I could not help her understand that each page from the newsletter had 2 sides and that the 4 copies she had were those pages.  She got angrier and more frustrated – either I was trying to pull a fast one, or there had been some terrible mistake made and all was lost!  A personal visit was in order…

Mom had taken the 4 copies and stapled them together in the order she thought was correct.  Only one of those 4 pages did not have a page number on it, so she had selected it as the last page of the 4.  This left a gap between pages 5 and 7, which she correctly reasoned was where page 6 belonged.  I did not dare remove the staple and re-order the pages.  Writing “Page 6″ wasn’t actually official enough – it wasn’t typed there like all the other page numbers so I could just be making it up!  I acted as if I were puzzling it out.  Hmm, let’s see.  We have these 4 copies of the pages we had to send in.  Let’s see if we can put them back in in order.  The front of the newsletter is page 1, the back of that is page 2 (turn the page).  The next page is 3, and the back of that is page 4 (turn the page).  The next page is page 5 – here is the copy of that page.  The back of page 5 should be page 6, correct?  “Yes.  And that’s the page that is missing!”  When the anxiety lessened again, I continued.  This next copied page is page 7, and here is page 8.  The next page is the original page 9 and on the back of that is page 10.  It doesn’t seem as if we are missing any pages.  The only thing I see is the page number was not typed onto page 6.  “Yes!  Page 6 is missing!  I need that page!”  I think these pages stapled together are in the wrong order.  I think this is the back of page 5, making it page 6.  There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else this page fits into the newsletter.  I wrote ‘page 6′ on this page.  Would you like for me to put them in order and restaple them?  “That won’t help!  I am still missing page 6!”

This went on for days.  Between phone calls and visits, page 6 remained ‘missing’ and doom and despair were sure to result!

Five or six days after this all began, my brother called me.  Mom had been calling him 2 to 3 times a day worried about him making a mistake with the checks, mailing addresses, and/or separate forms.  It was driving him crazy.  I couldn’t help but laugh and ask if she had expressed her concerns over the missing page 6?  She had, and he wanted it explained because he didn’t understand what she was talking about.  I explained as best I could and told him how I had handled it so far.

Mom got a call from DESA the very next day.  They had received everything and all was well.  They wondered about the mailing address, though.  They’d been sending everything to Dan’s address but the forms had their address listed at the assisted living facility.  They updated their records and this was what ultimately refocused Mom’s mind.  Now she was pleased that they had made a “special effort” to contact her and update their information.  She was now comfortable that Dan had followed the instructions and that each check went where it was supposed to go.

“Did I tell you I got a call from DESA?  They made a special effort to contact me and verify our information.”

I’m glad to hear that, Mom.  I’m looking forward to the trip.

“What do we have between now and our trip?  Will we see you before then?”

Many times, Mom.  Many times.  And I look forward to each of them.

Mom and Dad: Lost and Found

On a number of occasions, Mom has gotten it in her head that there was something she just had to find or at least know its current location.  Most of the time we can answer her questions with, “In a box.”  Some things, though, just don’t fit that answer.  Maybe it was given away, or is in use at my house, or was donated to the church rummage sale.  I try to get to the bottom of why she is looking for the item(s) when the answer doesn’t satisfy.  Surely the root of these concerns is loss – loss of their home, loss of their complete independence, loss of… so much.  But, what brings it to the surface in such a concentrated manner?   What is happening in her day-to-day life that causes her to become so concerned with individual items?

She returned an ‘ornament’ to an old friend along with the letter written about the item.  She read and reread the letter to the friend, never quite getting the entire story correct, but trying to explain it so that it was understood.  I stepped in and explained once, clear enough that when Mom tried to explain again, her friend told Mom she understood and they could move onto another subject.  Months later, on a subsequent visit, Mom wasn’t sure that the ‘ornament’ was still in her friend’s possession.  She had spoken to some of the family and they could not recall ever seeing any such thing.  Mom wanted to search the woman’s drawers.  I was glad it never came to that – in fact Mom seemed to forget all about it once we were with her friend.

When Mom couldn’t find her special hangers, she wanted to search their old room.  It didn’t help that she had actually had success finding her bobby pins when searching their old room.  One success fed the obsession.  She wasn’t permitted to search and later discovered the hangers right there in her closet.

Mom loaned Anne her curling iron.  Anne forgot to return it.  Mom wanted it back and ended up searching Anne’s room for it.  Neither of them could agree upon which curling iron was Mom’s and which one was Anne’s.

Mom loaned Anne some music to practice.  Anne forgot to practice, but the show went on.  Later Mom was convinced that Anne had not returned the music.  She searched Anne’s room, again.  Anne was very upset about this invasion and tried to discuss it with Mom.  Mom, upon returning to her room, found the ‘missing music’ and apologized to Anne.  But, Anne had ‘learned her place’ and was hurt.  This contributed to a breakdown in the friendship…

Mom and Dad have a little step stool in their room.  Mom always had multiples of these little stools around the house because she is short.  Being as their place is so much smaller, they only need one of these step stools.  After Mom started using the cupboard above their microwave, I noticed that the step stool was beginning to migrate.  Originally she had kept it under the piano, out from under foot, less risk of tripping over it for either of them.  Then, it moved to right beside the reclining chair.  From there it moved to beside the bed.  And, from there it moved in front of the dresser.  I was very concerned that this posed a tripping hazard and worked on convincing Mom to return the stool to its original storage place under the piano.  Mom said, “We used to have another one of these.”  I agreed that they had more at the house, but assured her that one was enough for where they are now.  Each visit I would work on getting her to move the stool.  Each time I’d get her to move it, she’d remember that they used to have more of them.  Each time I’d let her know they had no real need of another one, and would stress the importance of putting it away so it didn’t cause one of them to trip and hurt themselves.

A few weeks had gone by when I noticed that Mom had indeed found a new storage place for the step stool.  She was now keeping it on the far side of their bed.  In hindsight, I wish I’d never pointed out that I noticed the new resting place of the step stool…  New place… new look.

Days later Mom mentioned remembering that they had had multiple step stools except now she was convinced that they had brought them all with them to the facility.  And, she described them all.  There were two more just like this one in the room.  She could remember one being over by the closet.  She could remember one being in front of the dresser – out of the way of the door but close enough to reach if she needed to get into the cupboard.  Each of the locations she remembered seeing the stool was actually a place she had been storing the stool… a location I’d worried was unsafe.

This went on for weeks.  I was happy that the stool was still being kept next to the bed and had fallen into the habit of the conversations about them having had others but needing only one.  I don’t know how often the subtle change in dialogue occurred before I noticed…

I was leaning on the window sill reading over some papers.  Mom said she was having trouble understanding them and I was trying to find details to explain and write down for her to refer back to each time she returned to them.  The conversation was rote and my lines hadn’t changed for weeks.  Mom’s obsession with the step stools was as strong as Dad’s obsession with his dancing stuffed animals.

“We had more of these, I just know it.  I remember I had one sitting in front of the closet.  I used it to reach that shelf up there.”  Weren’t you afraid that you or Dad might trip over it in the middle of that narrow aisleway?

“I had one in front of the dresser.  It was out of the way of the door but close enough to get if I needed to get into the cupboard.”  I was worried one of you might come out of the bathroom and stumble over it when it was there.

“There was one next to the bed – I could step up there to put back your Dad’s toys without crawling onto the bed and messing it up.”  Weren’t you worried one of you might crawl out of bed and catch a foot on it in the dark?

“I had one under the piano – I could rest my feet on there while I played…”  That was a great idea and a safe place to keep it when it’s not in use somewhere else…  and so on and so forth, day in, day out, week in, week out.  And then I heard her say, “It was metal and white and had black on the steps.  There were 2 steps.”   (Cue sound of rewinding)  Metal… white with black on the steps – plural.  Um…  Mom, that step ladder is at Dan’s house.  That was not something you could have here.

Mom became convinced that Anne had borrowed the step ladder and searched her room, again.

Mom became convinced that Anne had borrowed the other step stools and searched her room, again.

Mom then confessed that it was because of Anne that she now hides the step stool on the other side of the bed.  If it was out of sight, she wouldn’t have to deal with the issue because Anne wouldn’t realize they had a step stool therefore she wouldn’t ask to borrow it.

I wonder if the step stool is symbolic of something – what is it she is reaching for?  Her first recognition of her condition came as a feeling of being pulled forward.

What is this new feeling saying?  Does she feel like she is sinking?  Does she feel like she needs to be taller?   Does she see herself as a child in need of growing?  Does she see herself shrinking in some way – her brain, her osteoporosis, simply being short but suddenly aware of it?  Does it have something to do with the fact that they don’t have a full length mirror and she had never before been without one?  I’ve found the step stool in the bathroom, and have seen her standing on it when she’s fixing herself up.  Could she be losing touch with her overall bodily appearance?

My husband is tall, I am short.  He hung the mirrors in our house – I stand on tip toe to see myself close up, or just give up and use the bathroom mirrors.  Often I am taken aback when I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection that includes anything below the shoulders, but I do catch those reflections.  There are few places for Mom to see all of herself in the facility.  I have experienced that strange but momentary identity crisis at my own full body reflection and wonder if a full length mirror would help Mom in some way?  Then there’s Dad…  he doesn’t know himself in the mirror anymore.  What would a full length mirror do to him?

Mom and Dad: Fire, fire, fire truck

A few months ago, we were returning to the facility from an appointment for Mom.  A left turn light indicated that I could turn left.  Across the intersection sat an ambulance waiting for the light to change, or so I thought…  Just as I had nearly cleared the intersection, the ambulance lurched from its lane and nearly collided with the passenger side of my car – the side where Mom and Dad always sit.  It appeared that the driver had simply become distracted, by the reaction of the passenger, and then the driver.  He slammed on the brakes missing me by a hair.  The passenger was screaming in the direction of the driver.  I couldn’t hear what he was screaming, but I could read his lips to the tune of something like, “WTF ARE YOU DOING OMG YOU NEARLY KILLED THOSE PEOPLE!”

Mom was terrified.    Mom was also convinced that I had run right out into the path of an emergency vehicle enroute to a dire emergency.  The ambulance’s headlights, grill and bumper right outside his car window coupled with Mom’s reaction left quite an impression on Dad.

For weeks after the close call, whenever there was a police, fire, emergency, or construction vehicle with lights on top within view, Dad would announce, “FIRE TRUCK!” and brace for a fast lane change or stop.  If I didn’t change lanes, he’d scold that I was supposed to pull over for fire trucks!  I gave up trying to explain that their lights need to be on before we have to pull over, but he assured me, “I know about these things!”

Suddenly Dad was triggering on any red light – brake lights, stop lights, store signs.  “Fire, fire,” he’d say.  “Fire, fire, fire truck!”

Lately he just says a few words or sounds, even if there’s a truck screaming past with lights and sirens blazing, “Fi fi fire fire terr fi fire truh truck over pull fi stop.” He will gesture at me in the rear view mirror, if I make eye contact, to pull over – with confidence that his command will be obeyed and his gestures will lead the way.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a Walk/Don’t Walk sign, a stop light, or brake lights on a nearby car, he tries to say, “Fire Truck.”  On those few occasions there has really been reason to pull aside, Dad is so proud that his cautions have finally been heeded.

On our last outing, Dad remembered that he used to work on fire trucks when he was a kid.  He let me know that he knew what he was talking about after a police car screamed by.   He said, “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE TRUCK!  GET OVER!” plain as day, then tried to tell me about his times on the fire truck growing up…

I let a few moments pass before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.