As If She Is Dead

More than one family member who has admitted a loved one to a nursing home, particularly a loved one who is severely demented, has told me, in my role as nurse, that they once harbored ill feelings towards those who rarely, if ever, visited the relative once they were placed but now, being in that position, they "understand".  I always say "Yes. It is painful, and you need to take care of yourself." or something to that effect.

I really did understand. Some days it is hard to walk in and out as a professional caregiver, that is nothing compared to those who remember the past.  For families there are a few patterns that develop; some continue to act as daily caregivers, some visit at a predictable rate, others fade away. Some are angry, some sad, some accepting or resigned. Relief is also expressed, and gratitude to the staff who provide care.

More and more often, I find myself thinking of my mother right along with my father, brother, as dead. I have to catch myself. Mornings especially I may wake up thinking I can now place all their ashes together...I wonder why I have waited.

I am not a "good" family member. I do not visit regularly and I do not respond well to hearing my mother is doing "better" in walking with physical therapy; I can only think of the pain of walking on a broken pelvic bone and compare what they call "good" to her previous miles-a-day independent ambulation status. I feel angry. I feel guilty, I could have done better by her. And, I don't want to, I just can't, deal with it anymore. At least that is how I feel right now. I can also hear in the voices that call me that she is not someone who has garnered favorite status with any staff member (there may be an LNA out there for her but I don't know), she is not easy, not "sweet" or always accepting, she has no consideration real or acted on habit for those caring for her. This is an unhappy, irritable woman who never would have wanted to survive in this state, there is no acceptance, no lasting sense of grace. It would be work to become someone to her, work that there is no time for in that kind of setting. Here, the two things she really did enjoy was when people came and played music and the times she could see flowers in gardens.

Her side of the room is bare. The life-portrait I wrote for inclusion in her chart sits somewhere in my house. They will never know who she was once upon a time, and, fairly enough, few have the time or emotional energy to want to know, it hurts if you care.  The photographs I intended to bring are here as well. Again, these would be for the few staff who take time to look at the faces of strangers and not for her, she had taken to turning photographs face down when she lived here. Now, she would not notice them. I bought a large, colorful soft flower that has a long stem that could wind around her side rail. It's here somewhere. I imagine the actions as insincere, done with a kind of hopelessness, not in a real attempt to make her place "homey". It could even annoy her, that is a real possibility knowing her personality.

I visit very briefly and sporadically. The last time I was there she seemed clear in a way that was wrenching; "I can't get anyone to take me to the bathroom when I need to go, it is frustrating but there is nothing I can do." she said with a mournful face and a dismissive gesture I recognize from days long gone. "Thank you for visiting me." she says, I wonder who I might be to her.

This woman, my mother, did not develop close relationships with her grandchildren and though they both helped me when she was first with me and they were nearby, I was surprised by their kindness. Not that she had been unkind, but she had not been emotionally/intellectually connected. A good one for gifts and holiday dinners, a house that was set in a place that provided good outdoor fun and thoughtful in her way. She was not the kind of grandma you spent time with or did things with, she did not "sit" the kids or have them visit on their own. There was no "special" bond.

This could be said of her relationship with her children also and  could be what scares me off from staying involved, resulting in a real physical sense of pain and dread when I contemplate what I might be doing. "If I could just think of her as an old woman who could be comforted somehow by my presence" I tell myself, and it could be true.

I imagine holding her hand at bedtime. There were times I did this here and it was a good thing, a real thing. This is a woman who hadn't slept alone for many years. Words are something for me to refrain from, if she wants to talk I can listen. A back-rub at bedtime perhaps...

I think, if I can get there, it would be in the evening, after dinner, after the bustle of the day is done---if I got out of work on time I might be able to help her get ready for bed, give her something and the staff a break. Okay.  Maybe later today (it is the middle of med pass now) I will call and find out what time she goes to bed. Maybe, at least on the weekend, I can do that much for her, for me, for her caretakers who I know are doing their best.

Maybe. I can make no promises, my thoughts will go where they will over the day and either reinforce or destroy this small image I hold in my hands and buff up like a soothing scene caught in a snow-globe.