Happy Holidays?
Juan and I considered not telling Mom it was Christmas because she gets stressed so easily. She doesn’t go out, read the newspaper, or watch the news so we might have gotten away with it. But we decided to celebrate because my brother was visiting from Buffalo and we thought this might be Mom’s last Christmas.
In all honesty, I hoped some simple holiday preparations might give Mom something to do. Dementia has stripped her ability to engage in any activity successfully – she’s not as coordinated as she once was, things don’t make sense, and she has a short attention span. I have tried for months to involve her in crafts and art projects – things Mom used to do – but she can’t and she won’t do any of it. She is bored out of her socks and it drives me wild.
But I keep trying. She used to enjoy decorating her home so I snowshoed around our property and thinned out several lodgepole pines so we could use the boughs for window garlands. Mom could no longer make the garlands herself so I played dumb as I wound the wire around the boughs, asking her to instruct me, knowing that she always feels better when she is involved. Once the garlands were in place Mom nestled colored ornaments and pinecones amongst them and was pleased with the result, so that part went well.
In all honesty, I hoped some simple holiday preparations might give Mom something to do. Dementia has stripped her ability to engage in any activity successfully – she’s not as coordinated as she once was, things don’t make sense, and she has a short attention span. I have tried for months to involve her in crafts and art projects – things Mom used to do – but she can’t and she won’t do any of it. She is bored out of her socks and it drives me wild.
But I keep trying. She used to enjoy decorating her home so I snowshoed around our property and thinned out several lodgepole pines so we could use the boughs for window garlands. Mom could no longer make the garlands herself so I played dumb as I wound the wire around the boughs, asking her to instruct me, knowing that she always feels better when she is involved. Once the garlands were in place Mom nestled colored ornaments and pinecones amongst them and was pleased with the result, so that part went well.
Mom also couldn’t write her own Christmas cards but I knew she wanted to send some out, so I sat next to her and wrote them myself then she signed them. But Mom grew distressed when she couldn’t remember some of the people we were sending cards to and she didn’t understand the concept of niece and nephew. When I tried to explain and told her who her nieces and nephews were she just shook her head with a disheartened look on her face and asked, “Where has my brain gone? What’s happening Randi?” I bundled up all her cards and mailed them off so she would stop fretting.
When my brother decorated the tree with the ornaments Mom had either made or received as gifts, she struggled unsuccessfully to retrieve the memories they triggered. Once again, that lost look crept over her face. By then I was clearly questioning our wisdom in celebrating Christmas. On Christmas morning I baked Mom’s mother’s coffee cake and then we opened presents. It wasn’t a gorge fest like some Christmases can be – there were probably eight small gifts under the tree for the four of us so we hoped Mom wouldn't get overwhelmed.
When my brother decorated the tree with the ornaments Mom had either made or received as gifts, she struggled unsuccessfully to retrieve the memories they triggered. Once again, that lost look crept over her face. By then I was clearly questioning our wisdom in celebrating Christmas. On Christmas morning I baked Mom’s mother’s coffee cake and then we opened presents. It wasn’t a gorge fest like some Christmases can be – there were probably eight small gifts under the tree for the four of us so we hoped Mom wouldn't get overwhelmed.
But as we gave Mom her presents she became unsettled. I suspect she was worrying about whether or not she had given anything to us and whether it had been enough, the universal stressor in the gift exchange scene. And it seemed, she didn't always know what a gadget was used for...
Mom’s youngest son called mid morning, which pleased her. Then midday another brother stopped by with his son and former wife and a friend. We had arranged for them to stay only a couple hours because we knew a long visit would top Mom out. I found out later that halfway through their visit Mom told Juan she just wanted them to leave – she had no concept that they were family. There was just too much going on and she needed it to stop. Again, Mom's history, her kin was lost to her. By dinnertime on Christmas day Mom asked me who that man sitting on the couch was – (son Fred) and she looked straight at me and said, “You’re not Randi. Do you know where Randi is?” She saw ducks standing in the snow and strangers walking down the hall. Our dog’s eyes were yellow and she saw bugs crawling on the floor. After getting her into bed Juan and I were completely spent, our psyches worn down by her vulnerability. |
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I must own my part in causing Mom distress. I sat with her a lot but I could have sat with her more, could have been less busy. But in all honesty it is brutal feeling Mom’s boredom. It takes conscious effort not to get sucked into her vortex of despair. So when I have reached my emotional limit I get up and I get busy, which is really just my way of hiding from my inability to fill Mom’s day with meaningful activities. Hiding from the sadness I see on her face. Hiding from my urge to tell her that her life is winding down and she just needs to deal with it - an unkind attitude, yes, but one I am quite capable of when off balance.
As much as I struggle with Mom’s diminishing life and the feeling that I must come up with some ingenious fix for her grief, what matters to Mom is not nearly as complicated as that. Mom needs to feel connected. She feels connected when she reads the many Christmas cards that friends and family sent. Connected when she watches the birds feeding on the suet, connected when we sit with her and keep her company. A simple need perhaps, but one that is not always simple to fulfill. Once again my mother has shown me the way. Once again I will whittle back the edges of my emotional limitations and keep showing up.
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