I lost my mother about five years ago. But she did not die.
I still remember that phone call when I realized that the woman I always went to for anything and everything no longer existed. In her place was a very self-centered, crabby and needy child who wanted all her children to fix what was wrong with her life.
When the only thing that was wrong with her life was old age.
Welcome fellow travelers on the grief journey and a special welcome to anyone new to The Grieving Room. We meet every Monday evening. Whether your loss is recent, or many years ago; whether you lost a person or a pet; or even if the person you are "mourning" is still alive, (pre-grief can be a very lonely and confusing time) you can come to this diary and say whatever you need to say. We can't solve each other's problems but we can be a sounding board and a place of connection.
Unlike a private journal, here, you know: your words are read by people who have been through their own hell. There's no need to pretty it up or tone it down. It just is.
So I cried every day for almost a month. Wanting and needing "Mommy". Not ready to accept that she was gone. Even though I am a grandmother myself, I still wanted that connection. I grieved the loss.
I would still call, but instead of the loving and understanding listener, I got an earful of how this one was bothering her, and that one was hurting her, and how just about everyone in her life was conspiring against her. Hanging up, I knew I couldn't handle this. And neither could any of my siblings. But what could we do?
She was my mother. The woman who raised seven children alone. (My father died when I was seven.) Who brought us to Broadway plays and movies while we ate noodles and gravy. The woman who worked long before the feminist movement said it was OK for woman to work. Who instilled those work ethics in all of us. A strong woman who could do it all.
Who now could not take care of herself.
Over the next few years, my mother only got worse. Going to doctors for the littlest ailments, we soon learned that that was her way of getting attention. And she wanted a lot of attention. And if I didn't give that right amount, say those right words, ooh and ah at just the right time- she hung up on me.
Finally my sister managed to get her to a psychologist who diagnosed dementia. The personality change was part of the disease (if you want to call it that). And after researching it online, suddenly it all made sense.
We made the decision to place my mother in a nursing home two years ago. It was for the best. We were so afraid of fire, or her falling or getting lost. We researched around and found one of the best. Lots of social activities, a great staff and close to my sister who was a main caregiver, God bless her)
But then I got the phone calls from a crying woman. "Get me out of here!" "How could my own children do this to me!" "I can't stand it here!"
Concerned, I called my sister, who contacted the nursing home. And she learned that during the day, my mother socialized with other 'patients', enjoyed playing games and watching movies, and was pretty much doing OK. She just seemed hell bent on making her children's lives miserable with frequent phone calls to torment us. Why?
I cried every day for about a month over that one.
We celebrated my mother's 90th birthday with a party at the home. She seemed happy with all the attention. Maybe this year will be one of contentment and peace.
No way. Within a month, my mother had an intestinal blockage that required surgery. At 90! Between the five siblings that lived local, we arranged round the clock visitation so that, as my sister said, "Mom will not die alone."
She didn't die. Came out of the surgery with flying colors. All is well.
Except she called me to complain that she just had surgery and nobody came to visit her.
One month after that, she fell trying to go to the bathroom and broke her clavicle. Bed rest for six weeks. Phone calls complaining about the conspiracy to kill her. "Call the police! I'm being held prisoner!"
So, she tried to get out by herself, fell again and broke her hip.
The pain meds she is on now have her extremely delirious. She can't use the phone. (She calls and hangs up). I call, no answer. She didn't recognize my brother when he went to visit.
And he opened to floodgates to what we've all been avoiding. Even after the past three years, when she drove us all crazy. Even after i knew the woman who raised me was gone. Even after all the pain and suffering she's been through.
"Carol", he asked me, saddened by what he went through. "What are we going to do when she dies?"