Rollercoaster through Hell

The weather echoes my mood. Dense fog and dreariness. Days… no, weeks of it. The wettest February we’ve had in recent history. It doesn’t help that I have the flu, and that my husband will be flying to the other side of the world in a couple of days.

We put my mother into a memory care facility this week. Her Alzheimer’s has advanced to the stage where we can’t care for her properly anymore. It’s for the best. That’s what I keep telling myself, and it’s probably true, but it doesn’t make the guilt go away.

My son and I fix her room up as pretty as I can. Homey? Yes, but not home. No, that’s not right. It’ll be her home now…until this monstrous disease finally takes her body as it has her mind.

The next day, I’m in bed, fighting a fever when my phone rings. Mama is having a meltdown, combative and mean. The hopes I had of a smooth transition swirl down the drain. Now she’s in the hospital where they can manage her meds, figure out the magic potion to keep her calm so they can handle her, but hopefully not turn her into a zombie.

This is hard, but I can’t imagine what my daddy is going through. His sweetheart of over 60 years has been stolen away and in her place is this stranger who doesn’t know him, a shell who looks like his wife, but that’s where the resemblance stops. That’s bad enough, but even worse is how she hurts him…emotionally, physically; scars I can see and those I can’t.

After two weeks of medication in the hospital, I get another phone call. This time it’s my dad who informs me that mama just fell and is complaining of pain in her hip. X-rays show the fracture. Surgery scheduled the following morning. What else?

She’s in rehab now. Mostly sleeping through this roller coaster ride through hell. If you think about it, pray for us, that we’ll be able to help her finish her race well.