A Visit To Mommaville

My Dad called the other day and said the words guaranteed to make me hyperventilate...he needed me to watch Momma for a couple of hours.

Of course, I agreed, I don't do near enough helping out, in my opinion, but that could be the Accept And Embrace Any And All Possible Guilt method of child rearing my parents employed, and man, they were Masters at it, too. I can't go out in public without random guilt virtually attaching itself to me and comfortably settling in for the long haul. I am a Guilt Magnet...nice to meet ya.

Daddy said he'd drop Momma off at 8:00 a.m., so of course, he was banging on our door at 7:30. There's the standard time that the rest of the world uses and then there's "My Daddy Time", which is ALWAYS significantly earlier than the rest of the modern world.

We got Momma settled in a chair at the table - and I only had to throw my body in front of her to shield her from the 102 pound dog projectile, only once...things are starting off GREAT!

We sit at the table, and Roger reads the paper, while I work on my grocery list and Momma asks her questions. The same questions, over and over and over, with about a 2 minute interval between them.

What's interesting is, that between the questions, she starts telling these stories that, apparently, she's making up in her head, about things that have never happened. It's kind of entertaining if you can get past the horror of the fact that your beloved Mother is pretty much waaay out there, living in a world known only to herself.

That's one of the things I've learned about Alzheimer's...in order to cope with the horror of what it does to your loved one, it's best to suspend your belief in a normal world and just enter their world and ride THEIR ride with them.

Roger is a pro at this. He can sit, calmly and patiently, and listen to Mother, who's making no sense whatsoever and join her in her Fantasy Land. Me and my Dad? Not so much. My Dad is a total control freak and, unfortunately his youngest apple (me) didn't fall far from the tree. I don't argue with Momma when she says something that's not right, but my father has yet to learn that's a battle you won't ever win, so why bother fighting? I swear, I think the phrase "Don't Sweat The Small Stuff" was coined for people who deal with those suffering from dementia. You have to let the small stuff go, or you'll be sticking your head in the oven in no time.

It's hard, so hard, to hear your own mother ask who you are, and think her son-in-law is her husband, and that her husband is her father. It's hard, but it's not completely unbearable, as long as you realize that the world SHE lives in is a fairly happy place. It has it's moments of uncertainty, but, for the most part, it's a child-like existence she lives and she lives it with the innocence and trust of a child, believing that someone will always be there to care for her and to love her. Undoubtedly, this is the only positive part of having Alzheimer's....but, it's STILL not enough.