October 27, 2002
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Alas and did my Saviour bleed and did my sovereign die...... the words came out clearly as Mom joined in the song. I leaned closer to hear her better, not looking at her for fear it might cause her to stop. At the cross, at the cross... her harmony continued. I savored the moment. A duet with my Mom. Hearing only us two. My eyes filled with tears I couldn’t stop from spilling over. How many notes are left inside of her? How many words? How many days? My heart is full because I am back at the brink of placing her in a facility. Mom is becoming increasingly incontinent and her refusal to allow me to clean her is ever present. She continues to pee on the living room carpet, ruining it and the floor beneath. At this very moment she is without any undergarments, because she refuses to put them on. That means more messes for me to clean. Her clothes, her bed, the furniture, the floor? I tried for over an hour to get her dressed properly. She is very strong willed and very determined not to yield to my whims. I am the underwear enemy. I’m going to check out two more facilities this week. Even if they’re nice, I won’t like them. With every story I hear about some little old lady lying in bed calling out to people walking by to please come talk to her, I die inside a little more. Mom’s mother was placed in an assisted living apartment against her wishes. I suppose there was no one willing to take her, I’m not familiar with the details. I do know she fell and broke her hip on a Friday and lay there all weekend, alone on the floor. A few items were out of place and it was evident that she had thrown them, trying to attract attention by the noise. The people at the place thought my aunt had picked her up for the weekend, but became concerned when they didn’t see her on Monday. She was in a coma by the time they found her and died without ever regaining consciousness. This tormented Mom. She said her mom spent her entire life caring for others and had to spend her last hours on this earth alone on the floor. Definitely not a happy memory. Of course, she has been relieved
of that awful image. She asks me sometimes,”Have you seen Mom?” Anyway, I can’t help but wonder if this will be my mother. Will she feel tossed away, discarded because she isn’t loved? Will she pine for company? Will I take away the last tiny hope and joy she found in living? Will her existence be reduced to being allowed to have her favorite chair? Will she just close her eyes and die? If she cried and said she wanted to come home, I would have to bring her. Is it time for me to give up? Am I bowing out too early, cowering from a bit of unpleasantness? When the going gets rough, I fizzle? Will I be forever tormented with the knowledge that I was a washout, a warrior not worthy of the fight? Or will I feel a sense of accomplishment? A daughter who was willing to do the right thing. Will I know I did all I could possibly do? Could it happen that she would adjust and be as content as possible in the new place? Would she be happy when she saw me? Could we still have good times, still make gratifying memories? Will my mother die alone in a nursing home room? Somebody help me. Psalm 142:3a When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path.
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