Moving can be fun and exciting, but seriously, I hate all the "stuff" involved in moving. Every time we've moved I've wished we could throw out half of our stuff and not look back. I hate moving stuff.
Today my Mother-In-Law moved. She packed much lighter for a permanent move than I would for a week long trip. One suitcase. Everything she "needs" is in one suitcase. About ten days worth of clothes, shoes, a couple of pictures, her Bible, glasses. That's it. She doesn't even want anymore. Not much stuff.
Of course she needed clothes, but the only other things that were important to her were a few choice pictures of her loved ones.
I know she has Alzheimer's, so that makes this different. Still, she is able to say and is resolute, that those items are all she needs. I think that is really profound.
(Somebody is gonna have to move her household full of stuff though. I just hope it isn't me. I hate moving stuff.)
Showing posts with label Alzheimer's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alzheimer's. Show all posts
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
H is for...
My sister felt like she whimped out with "H" on her alphabet soup blog challenge (though I thought hers was a strong entry), and I am kinda feeling that way about mine too. Seeing as I don't yet have an "H."
Mmmm... Heaven, Hell, Hope, Hippie, Hair, Hiccup, Happy, Horrible, Hmmmmm.... yes, Hair...
You know what? My last post, right before I started the alphabet blogs started with an "H" and it is very worthy of being in my Alphabet Soup.
H is for Haircut
I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.
Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).
What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.
I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.
I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.
While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.
My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.
Mmmm... Heaven, Hell, Hope, Hippie, Hair, Hiccup, Happy, Horrible, Hmmmmm.... yes, Hair...
You know what? My last post, right before I started the alphabet blogs started with an "H" and it is very worthy of being in my Alphabet Soup.
H is for Haircut
I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.
Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).
What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.
I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.
I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.
While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.
My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
A is for Alzheimer's
My little sister is doing an alphabet blogging challenge, so I will join her. Here we go...
A is for Alzheimer's
If you've read my blog, you know that is an easy one. My life revolves around my immediate family, our business and my mother-in-law, who has Alzheimer's. What other A is there right now?
Let me just be honest and raw this time. Alzheimer's is a terrible disease. It takes away your loved one slowly, not physically, but in every other way. The person you knew disappears from the inside out. I wish I could be poetic and inspiring about it, but I can't.
Alzheimer's forces you to grieve your loved one long before they physically leave you. She was a strong, independent woman conquered adversity and took on the world alone as a young lady. Knowing she couldn't have children, after marrying the love of her life, she fearlessly adopted a toddler and a 6-month-old boy. She raised her sons right and loved them unconditionally. She thought of me as her own daughter, but usually can't remember how I am related to her anymore.
Alzheimer's stinks. Boooooo! Hopefully B will be a little brighter. I apologize.
A is for Alzheimer's
If you've read my blog, you know that is an easy one. My life revolves around my immediate family, our business and my mother-in-law, who has Alzheimer's. What other A is there right now?
Let me just be honest and raw this time. Alzheimer's is a terrible disease. It takes away your loved one slowly, not physically, but in every other way. The person you knew disappears from the inside out. I wish I could be poetic and inspiring about it, but I can't.
Alzheimer's forces you to grieve your loved one long before they physically leave you. She was a strong, independent woman conquered adversity and took on the world alone as a young lady. Knowing she couldn't have children, after marrying the love of her life, she fearlessly adopted a toddler and a 6-month-old boy. She raised her sons right and loved them unconditionally. She thought of me as her own daughter, but usually can't remember how I am related to her anymore.
Alzheimer's stinks. Boooooo! Hopefully B will be a little brighter. I apologize.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Hair Cuts
First of all... Party Foul! I haven't blogged for a month. I am sorry!
So... hair cuts. I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.
Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).
What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.
I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.
I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.
While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.
My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.
So... hair cuts. I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.
Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).
What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.
I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.
I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.
While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.
My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Confused and Not Amused
My life has been in overdrive for about two weeks now. I've been surviving and coping because of adrenaline and caffeine. And sometimes, just not coping.
I broke down, sobbing while driving to the medical clinic this last week. My mother-in-law sat next to me and was none-the-wiser, though my baby girl, in the back seat, was trying to mimic my strange sounds. She noticed.
My mother-in-law had just finished railing into me, telling me I lie and I am going to hell. It wasn't because she used to ever believe that. We've always had a marvelous relationship. It's because she is confused.
A month ago, her doctor, her neurologist, had finally committed to saying that she has "Onset Alzheimer's." But somehow, since then, she has plummeted into the intermediate stages of it. Out of respect for her, I won't even write about most of her struggle these last few weeks.
Today she was adamant that a picture of her, her husband and my husband and brother-in-law as kids, was none of those such people.
I talk with my kids almost every day about their Naana, trying to help them navigate through this rapid change. They can no longer have a conversation with their grandmother because they lack the maturity to redirect, comfort or make some level of sense out of what she is saying. They are losing their grandmother right in front of my eyes. It is breaking my heart.
My mother-in-law speaks of wishing to die every day. She is losing the ability to care for herself in the most basic ways. It is a stomach-turning, stressful reality. Her sons and I are doing all we can, which at this moment is just doing the next thing (because the bigger picture is so overwhelming.) I've realized we were unprepared in almost every way for such a rapid decline.
Sometimes her sons and I feel so overwhelmed we land in our own moments of confusion. But we are pulling together. We are being forced to practice patience beyond what we thought we were capable of. We are leaning on each other. We are communicating continuously. We are sharing encouragement and support. We are being a family, one step at a time.
I broke down, sobbing while driving to the medical clinic this last week. My mother-in-law sat next to me and was none-the-wiser, though my baby girl, in the back seat, was trying to mimic my strange sounds. She noticed.
My mother-in-law had just finished railing into me, telling me I lie and I am going to hell. It wasn't because she used to ever believe that. We've always had a marvelous relationship. It's because she is confused.
A month ago, her doctor, her neurologist, had finally committed to saying that she has "Onset Alzheimer's." But somehow, since then, she has plummeted into the intermediate stages of it. Out of respect for her, I won't even write about most of her struggle these last few weeks.
Today she was adamant that a picture of her, her husband and my husband and brother-in-law as kids, was none of those such people.
I talk with my kids almost every day about their Naana, trying to help them navigate through this rapid change. They can no longer have a conversation with their grandmother because they lack the maturity to redirect, comfort or make some level of sense out of what she is saying. They are losing their grandmother right in front of my eyes. It is breaking my heart.
My mother-in-law speaks of wishing to die every day. She is losing the ability to care for herself in the most basic ways. It is a stomach-turning, stressful reality. Her sons and I are doing all we can, which at this moment is just doing the next thing (because the bigger picture is so overwhelming.) I've realized we were unprepared in almost every way for such a rapid decline.
Sometimes her sons and I feel so overwhelmed we land in our own moments of confusion. But we are pulling together. We are being forced to practice patience beyond what we thought we were capable of. We are leaning on each other. We are communicating continuously. We are sharing encouragement and support. We are being a family, one step at a time.
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