A personal blog...

...chronicling the dementia adventures of...

...Girl and

The Other Girl...

...sharing hilarious and 

heartbreaking moments

of life...

 

...with our mom who has vascular dementia.

 

Dementia conversations. They're the best.

We had a wonderful day today. The Boyfriend's sister and two nieces joined us for a matinee of the Jefferson Dancers, and a bite to eat. A spectacular performance, great company to see it with, a yummy meal, and a smiley Mom all day. Yeah me! I was feeling like a care giver hero. So, of course, I wanted Mom to acknowledge it. As she and I drove home I threw her a leading question and got ready for my pat on the back. Me "Did you have a nice day?" Mom "Yes. (pause) But I'm upset." Me "What are you upset about?" Mom "I don't know." Me "Are you upset because I'm too pretty?" Mom (no pause) "No." Me "Geez, Mom! You could at least say 'Yes' to be nice." Mom (smile) A few moments pass in silence.

Stars I shall find...

She lays back into the sunlight spilling on the bed. Impatient. Annoyed. She is waiting for me. She is waiting for me to apply lotions, mascara, eyeliner; my daily battle armor. She finds this ritual superfluous, a word she can no longer conjure, but would hurl at my head if she could. Ignoring her air of martyrdom, I continue making face, slyly peeking at her as I finish my war paint. She reclines because her back hurts, and to take advantage of the warmth of the spring sun, the heat multiplied by the window's glass. The warmth pleases her, and when her back finally relaxes, the pleasure spreads across her face. The lines soften, a serenity infuses her features. She's peaceful. I pause in m

Don't dementia despair!

Sometimes you get to have a really good week. Well! This last week we busted out of the abyss of Anxiety Overload and made our way onto the gently rolling hills of Anxiety Manageable. What a pleasure it's been to have smiles rain down throughout the day, to meet a trickster making incomprehensible dementia jokes in the hallway, or hear an unsolicited giggle from the arm chair! (Honestly, I have no idea why she thinks The Big Bang Theory so damn funny, but there you have it.) We're still wading through puddles of anxiety, mostly during the sundowner hours, but when 3/4 of the day is filled with frolicking fun (mind you, an excruciatingly sloooooww frolic) I'll happily spend a couple hours in

Dementia breakfast.

It's the most important meal of the day. It's never too early for a chuckle. Got this text from The Other Girl today: "Mom helped me make pancakes this morning..." #dementiahumor

It takes a village...

...to help someone to the end of their life. A big, noisy, there-when-you-need them village. A village of two. The first few years of Mom's dementia Dad was adamant that he alone would take care of my mother until her last breath. Never one who liked to be told what to do (U.S. Government), I believe he feared interference from Mom's circle of family and friends as he often bristled whenever anyone broached the subject of outside help for he or Mom. I once had to act as go-between for an aunt and my Dad. She thought he was keeping Mom from her, he got defensive and wouldn't take the time to explain that Mom was becoming increasingly uncomfortable being away from the familiar: him and home. I

Another day in the life...

9:15 am - Woke up late. Hear The Other Girl and Mom moving upstairs. Good. Coffee must be ready. Hop up. Gotta hurry. Got a 2.5 hour drive up I-5 to see boyfriend's niece ride in her Equestrian Meet. Mom's gonna love it. I'm excited to see boyfriend's family, and PONIES! I love ponies. Gonna be a great day. 9:30 am - Gulp coffee. Time to shower. Hustle into bathroom. Don't smell right. Spot little brown nuggets of poop in sink. Huh. At least it's next to the toilet and easy to clean up. 9:40 am - Finish scooping poop nuggets out of sink. Turns out toilet paper isn't the best tool for this type of work, gets wet, sticks to fingers along with excrement. Sink and hand scrubbing complete. Shower

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Today is my father's birthday. So I went to the cemetery. I picked daffodils from his yard to place at the grave; three cheerfully yellow spring "Hellos!" from his Babe and the two daughters he left behind. And even though I'm pretty sure Dad checks in on us here and there (when he's on a break from arguing with Grandma), I talked to him, telling him the ups and downs of life without him. I told him all-in-all we were doing pretty good. I said he would be proud of Mom; even though her fearfulness and anxiety never really leave her, she still laughs, she still smiles, she still wakes up every morning and faces her day, ready or not. I also told him she still pouts when things aren't going her

Stumped Town Dementia

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