Good and bad

We are in Door County -- third day here. A year ago when we were here, I got a call that Mom had fallen, and I contemplated driving down to sit with her in the ER. I didn't go, thank goodness. Those days, I hope, are behind me.

She seems improved. She has more energy than she has had, and will choose to stay up and commune with her friends in the penalty box after church, when before she would have sought the refuge of bed. She chats, tries to engage people, often not making much sense. But the tone is right. What's sad is the state of her friends. A couple of them have sunk to non-verbal states and sit with pasted-on smiles.

We celebrated her birthday Aug. 20 -- on the actual day. Mom has always been a big one for her birthday -- keeping track, making sure it's not just noted, but celebrated. So I brought flowers, chocolate cake, an outfit Julie had picked out, and dark-chocolate-covered almonds. It was enough. She got flowers and calls from a lot of the people she knows.

Her eating has become a problem. She puts food in her mouth, chews, but doesn't swallow. I urge her to drink water, but it's really hard to help. I asked her doctor a few months ago, "What does it mean to say someone dies of Parkinson's?" He said, "They can't eat."

Mom and the one-mile trip

Well, I'm loath to show Mom online. So here is me, with a corner of Mom. She'd been begging me for weeks to see the new condo, and I kept delaying, hoping she'd forget. Mom doesn't travel well -- though this was only a mile -- and I am, well, just plain not good at taking her out.

But today, after chapel, she seemed pretty chipper, and I loaded a backpack with extra diapers and cleaning materials, wrestled her out of the wheelchair and into the car, drove the mile, wrestled her out of the car and into the wheelchair, working up a hearty flop sweat. Down in the garage, she said, "I've never been here before."

We spent about 10 minutes in the condo, and there were no accidents. I showed her all the views, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the study, the bedrooms, and all the wonderful closets. She said, "It's nice. It's beautiful." And I have to admit that, for a moment, I made a little involuntary transition from doing a favor for my mom to being really happy, really satisfied that she had seen it -- for my ownself. Your mom should know where you live.

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That was a good moment. In other ways, at other times, her place, and this job, are really getting to me. It's not that I resent the time it costs me -- though of course I do -- it's the way it brings me down. I took Mom to "Move and Groove" Wednesday, and there were, I think, seven residents there -- seven residents and seven kinds of misery. Joy was sobbing uncontrollably, John was agitated and wondered if he should be there, Joanne was staring unhappily at the floor, and B -- good old B -- has lost so much in recent weeks that she's only barely present. I thought I'd scream. Instead I left early, feeling bad that I'd abandoned Lauren, the leader, alone in room full of hurt.

The Island Revisited
Homage to Jimmy