Merry CHRISTmas!

Christmas Eve Mommy went with us to church. Meg was singing with the choir and was the cantor. Mommy was a little apprehensive about knowing what to do, but our order of mass is the same as used in the green hymnal at St. Paul's, so most of it sounded familiar, and she was glad to sing many of the Christmas hymns she knows (following the words seemed a little difficult, like going back to the next verse- I don't know if it was because she forgot how to go back up to the top, or if she just couldn't remember the verse we had just sung-probably a combination of the two. I just pointed on the page to where we were at the time.), and it was good to sit next to her and hear her sing in her beautiful voice.

The Christmas pageant was done in lieu of the gospel reading, and brought back so many memories of past pageants...the major production that started at Adam and Eve (Mel was Adam); the one where Mary was played by Marty (was that the one where I was one of the 3 kings?) where Kelly McClellan, as an angel, went up to we 3 kings (of orient are..) and to the shepherds in turn, asking each, "Are you my brother?"; the one where Carl had practiced "Away in a Manger" so diligently, but ended up asleep in a corner, with his bottle dangling from his tired little angel mouth; or a later one where his voice was recorded and he sounded just like Linus in the "Charlie Brown Christmas"... good times... good times.

On Christmas Day, Mommy joined us for opening presents and lunch. Then on Saturday, the 27th we were joined by Linda, Melissa and Todd, Chris and Jill, Paul and Thomas and Grace, for our family celebration. Mommy came in for that (she can't realize that her apartment is only through the door in the sun room-it's too abstract an idea). She did fine for a while, but then toward afternoon she started asking who was giving her a ride home? or where was she spending the night? Anyway she will really enjoy the pictures in the digital frame. They are a good representation of our family.

We enjoyed getting to know Jill (Mikey said, " It seems like she's been in our family for a long time.") and we are delighted that Chris has a job with a Shreveport computer company. He starts on January 5. We were excited to learn that he hopes to lease (with option to purchase) Mommy's house, so it will remain in the family! It's wonderful, and he did a lot of work with John and Linda to fix it up, so he really knows it inside-out now. Mommy seemed to like the idea as well.

Sunday we went to IHOP for supper. So, now she's pretty exhausted with all of her outings and visiting. This morning she told me that she woke up and thought, "Where am I?" and later in the day she is still confused. Shadow gave her a little bit of a vacation by going to the groomer's, but then we had to plant notes on the doors and her phone that Shadow was at the groomer's, but she still asked about him.

She told us the other day, I just wish I still got mail here. We've explained that she gets all of her mail here- she got a bunch of Christmas cards (Yes, there's one from Chris Davis with his usual flair for exaggeration and sarcasm, e.g., his daughter "pupped " again, the baby has only eight fingers... the other two are thumbs!) and the packages y'all sent her, magazines,etc. We take care of her bills...she just forgets what she's gotten. She also got a call from Lenora and said she had a nice visit with her (Lenora just had a birthday and turned 65!). On Christmas Day she was looking in the Shreveport phone book for "Irene's number, to wish her a Merry Christmas." We had to remind her that Irene died, and Bennie Hiller, too.

It's a mix of emotions, but mainly we are grateful for the time we have with her, and the love and support of family. God bless you all.

Full-Circle

The other day, in a moment of clarity, Mommy told me that she appreciated me taking care of her, and that she realized how much it has changed our lives.

I told her that she deserved to be taken care of. She took care of Grandpa (Pretzer) and Grandma (Griese), and now it was her turn. (She said that they weren't as bad as she is.)


It demonstrates how life comes full-circle; because she cared for them, and we learned by her example; we now care for her. (John, too, grew up helping to care for his grandparents, so his example was the same.)


I had a similar epiphany one day when Meg was little. We were at Mommy's house in Shreveport, and were looking at The Pretzers of Pomerania, a genealogy study including Mommy's relatives. I got to the part about her father that read, "John and Anna had a daughter, and named her Margaret."


I was like, Whoa! deja vu. Yes, we did. (Okay, so I'm not Anna, but I was named Ann Elise after Anna (Mommy's mom) and Elise (who raised her after Anna died when Mommy was 9 months old). John is named after both of his grandfathers, John (Johann) and Rudolph. When it came time to name Meg, we naturally named her Margaret Emma, for both of her grandmothers. Margaret means pearl (hence, Pearls of Wisdom), and Emma means universe. I always tell Meg, she's the "pearl of our universe".


So, it came to pass, again, that "John and Ann had a daughter, and named her Margaret."

"Angry Eyes"

Did you ever see the episode of Seinfeld where Uncle Leo burns off his eyebrows? He gets a marker or something, and draws new brows on, only he makes them very thick, dark and slanted downward toward his nose. His friend comes in (complicated plot-line aside) and says, "Leo! Why are you so angry?"

Or...when the toys in Toy Story 2 are going in search of Woody, after he's been taken by Big Al, and Mrs. Potato-Head is helping Mr. Potato-Head to pack...She reminds him to take his "Angry eyes"?

Some days, Mommy gets a little crazy with the eyebrow pencil. She will either have the aforementioned "angry eyes" or raised eyebrows that make her look very surprised. I don't mean to be disrespectful (disclaimer meaning I'm getting ready to be), but it just makes me want to laugh. Lord knows, she can't help it, but, well...we have to find our humor where we can. God forgive me.

Mommy locked herself out of her apartment on Monday. I went to the bank for Mommy, then to get stamps for her Christmas cards, but as I pulled into CVS parking lot to get her chewable calcium supplements, I suddenly just told myself, "Go on home. Do this later." When I was minutes from home, John called and asked,"where are you?" I said by the boys' school. He said," Well, Grammy's locked herself out of the apartment and she's at Mrs. Glasscock's" (next door).

When I got home, I saw them getting up from the kitchen table (they have a bay window there on Mommy's side), and coming to greet me. Of course, Mommy was very embarrassed and agitated. She kept talking about going to all of the neighbors' houses and none were home. (She really only walked around the back yard and knocked on the sun room door. The gates are locked, except the one by the sidewalk, but the lock is in the gate, just not locked). Mrs. Glasscock saw her wandering around the yard and thought she might be getting cold, so rescued her and called John at work.

I've been afraid to leave since then. I go to drop off and pick up the boys from school, but I save everything else until they can be home while I go shopping or whatever. I'd rather spend that time with the boys, but they understand. John changed the doorknob that day, so it's impossible to lock yourself out.

She keeps asking are we going to celebrate Thanksgiving? I tell her we did have 2 Thanksgiving dinners. One at home and the other on Saturday at Linda's. "Did I go?" Yes. "Did I eat?" Yes. We tell her Carl and his gang, and Paul, Thomas and Grace, Chris, Brian, Tina, Aunt Jessie and Uncle Max were all there at Linda's. Remember we took two cars, so you and John could come back to feed and walk the dogs? She just looks at me like she's pretty sure I'm making this up.

I'm working on her Christmas cards. She dictated a letter for me to type and print, but then forgot that we had done it, and tried to dictate it again. We went over who she wanted cards sent to, and who she didn't...

John's going to put up the lights and tree (hers, anyway...we'll probably wait 'til Meg's home for ours) this Saturday. She said she told Janet last year, that she'd always think of her when she looks at the tree (Paul and Janet gave her).

The boys and I will be selling gumbo at the Christmas parade for their Boy Scout troop. I'm glad John will be off (and at home) then.

Last night she asked John, " Is he (Shadow) my dog?" Yes. "Where does he sleep?" In here with you, on the bed, or the floor, and sometimes the couch. She said it was going to be cold tonight, and she hoped he didn't have to sleep outside. (Shadow hopes so, too.)

When Meg was home, she didn't know who she was. I don't know if she knows Carl and Maurenne were here. Any change (even a slight one) is so confusing, and once it's over, it's wiped from her memory.

But, I'm sure, in her heart, she knows us all.

She never had a problem remembering to eat lunch, but now I ask, "Did you eat?" I don't know. I think so... but I look and find no evidence of her having done so. I just routinely, now, take lunch out to her or prepare it in there. We also have to check on supper. So far, no trouble with breakfast, though there have been a few days where I had to fix that, too, because she just didn't seem to have it in her.

The other day she washed her own hair, but had no clue how to "roll" it.

She gets very distressed over being so "scrambled", and I can tell she is fighting for control of her thought processes, as much as she can, but it feels like a losing battle...it is a losing battle.

We're just trying to do the best we can to keep her safe and healthy.

"You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"

The other day I was cutting Mommy's fingernails and noticed they were pretty dirty. I said "Maybe you should soak these. 'You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!' Remember how you always said that?" She smiled and nodded.

We all hated to wash the dishes. I don't know why. As far as chores went, it was cooler and easier than say, weeding the garden or cleaning your (multiply-occupied) room. "It's not my night! I did them last night." (I, for one, put it off as long as possible, often finally getting around to it during the 10 o'clock news. I don't know how Mommy could stand to wait that long for me to get them done.)

But she never missed an opportunity to extol the many curative powers of dishwater...
"My hand (finger, arm, head, foot) hurts!"
Her answer, "You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"
Any ailment or heartache was no match for the magical properties of hot water and suds (For humans...poor Kim probably heard all about the wonder that could be found in the kitchen sink, and flew in search of that restorative fountain of youth...alas, parakeets, apparently find the bubbly incompatible with life).
They all were met with this sage advice, "You know what's good for that?...Dishwater!"

That line was (what Matt and Mike would refer to as) her catch-phrase.

Anyway, the dirty nails made me realize what I had been trying to ignore... She's really been neglecting her hygiene. Going weeks without washing her hair, not even bothering to comb it unless I urge her to do so. I'd say, "Let me help you wash your hair." Sometimes she would submit to my clumsy attempts to do so at the kitchen sink, or she would wash it herself. But the time had come to make it more of a routine thing. John and I got a shower chair for her tub, and with a folded towel on the seat, it's sturdy and somewhat comfortable. With my help, and the bathroom heat blowing hot, she and I managed to get her hygiene needs taken care of. The hand-held shower was much easier to manage hair washing, and served the dual purpose of getting the rest of her clean in the process. She and I both dreaded it, beforehand (it represents one more thing "lost", her independence and ability to care for herself) and neither of us wanted to acknowledge that, but we've jumped that hurdle and it will be easier from here on out.

I got her some new "pink curlers" (you know the sponge ones she always uses) and she rolled her hair. This morning when I went in the apartment, she was sitting on the couch with her hair looking so beautiful...just like always.

Got Gas-X?

Today wasn't a very good day for Mommy. She must have asked me 7 or 8 times about where we are going to have Thanksgiving dinner. I explained every time that we are not sure of Carl and Maurenne's plans, yet, but we are going to have our Thanksgiving meal on Thursday, but the big family gathering will be on Saturday at Linda's house. (Usually if she asks something so many times, the answer begins to sound familiar, and she will say, "I've asked you that before, haven't I?", but the answer never sunk in.) I think her biggest concern was,"Does everyone know how bad my memory is getting? I'm sure the big question will be what are we going to do about Mommy." Mommy, we're already taking care of you here, I assure her.

Every day seems like a Saturday. "What's today?" Monday. "Monday?!" I thaught it was Saturday.
Today is Saturday? No, it's Tuesday. Tuesday? What happened to Sunday and Monday.
What's today? Wednesday. Wednesday? I thought it was Saturday.
What day is it? Thursday. Thursday? It seems like a Sunday. (okay, they're not all Saturdays)

She told me the other day, "With the holidays coming up, someone could get me one of those ID bracelets or necklaces, just in case I can't think of where I live. I don't think I'll wander..."
"No", I tell her, "I don't think you will either, but it is probably a good idea to have one."
I don't mention that John and I have been talking about getting a lock or alarm for her outside door, for at night. We do lock the gates.

She told me one night she dreamed that there was a news report of a little 80 year old lady going from house to house asking for Gas-X at 3am. She thought to herself, "Was that me?"
For weeks, she wore a dress over her nitegown...I guess to be presentable if she should need some Gas-X during the night.

It's so upsetting to her when she's aware of how confused she is, but it's worse for me when she isn't...last night she asked me, "When do we go home?" This is your home, now. That's why we have all of your furniture and things here with you. "Good...we don't have to go anywhere."

Love, Your Big Sister,...

It was 2nd grade picture day, only, I wasn't looking too great... I had asked Mommy to fix my hair to be special. She had rolled it up and tied it with rags. It was going have big ringlets. It's always a bad idea to change your hair for picture day (a lesson I wish I had remembered when I decided, with disastrous results, to part my hair on the side, for a change, for 9th grade picture day). When we woke up, Mommy and Linda were gone. Linda had driven her to the hospital. Now who was going to fix my hair? My hair ended up looking like a bird had tried to make a nest in it, but I was too happy to care.

It was November 9, 1966. We had a new baby sister (thank goodness she was a girl, otherwise I think her name was going to be Frank).

Daddy was in Vietnam, and I remember writing a letter to him in class:

Dear Daddy,
Mommy had the baby today. It's a girl, named Janet Carol.
She weighs 7 pounds, 9 ounces.
Love,
Annie


Janet would be 42 tomorrow.

I love and miss her so much...

Happy birthday, Jannie.
Love, your big sister,
Annie

Always Grateful

No matter how confused or lost Mommy is, she never forgets to say, "Thank you".

Happy Birthday, John!

I know, third entry today. The one about voting was for today. Yesterday's, The Best Gift, was lost because we have a new computer and I hit a key and lost it, so had to re-enter it today. The third is one I included on the lost one, but felt it merited its own entry and title.

November 4 was also John's 50th birthday (yeah, he's now the same age as I).

I wanted to take this opportunity to wish him a Happy Birthday!

I also want to thank him so much for everything; his love, his patience, his opening his heart and our home to caring for Mommy (he simply said, "She's my mommy, too.") for working so hard to support us all, and wanting the best for our children and our family, for keeping his promise to Daddy (that he would take care of the house and Mommy), and for always being there for me and the kids, always knowing what to say, setting a good example, being active in the Church, and trusting in God.

I love you, Bear, with all my heart, and soul, and being. I thank God for you, every minute of every day.

All my love,
Annie

p.s. Mommy was right when she said you were a "good egg".

The Best Gift...

This past Saturday, Paul, Thomas, Grace and Linda (they picked her up in Shreveport) came over for a visit. While we were all exchanging greetings, Mommy asked is this all that are coming? I answered, yes, did you want more? "I just always expect Janet to be with them." (I said I was sure she is with them.)

We had a very nice time; lot's of snacking on chips and salsa, veggies and chocolate chip cookies (baked by Grace) and brownies (baked by Linda), and sharing pictures, etc. on computers. I know Mommy enjoyed the fact that they were here, but I could tell she was not following much, if any of the conversation.

I've noticed, lately, that if I don't use the most simple sentences, she has trouble understanding what I say. She also complains that the TV anchors just jibber-jabber all day long, "talking so fast, you can't even understand them."

She fretted when they started to leave ( brought in a pad and pencil for me to write "who's going where? and with whom?"). They're leaving and we are staying. I guess she felt like she was solely responsible for getting everyone where they needed to be. It was just (such a simple thing), too confusing and complicated for her to comprehend. Now, I wonder how Thanksgiving is going to be for her. Maybe, if people will visit with her, one at a time, in a quiet space...it would be better for her, and the visitor.

I know she is glad to see family. She once told me that "the best gift you can give someone is your time."

God Bless America

So, we went and voted yesterday. For weeks Mommy has been asking, "Am I registered to vote here? Where do we vote? How will I get there? When do we vote?" Finally, the big day arrived, and we went and voted (there were long lines, but one kind poll worker came and pulled the three more feeble looking ladies-one in a wheelchair, one with a cane, and Mommy, to come to the front of the line-I got to go, by default"she's with me"). We got to the car, and Mommy asked, " So, what did we vote for?" When John got home, he asked how voting went? She didn't remember voting.

Oh, thus be it ever, when free men shall stand between their loved homes and war's desolation.
Blessed with victory and peace, may this heaven-rescued land, praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then, conquer we must, when our cause it is just; and this be our motto: In God Is Our Trust!
And the star spangled banner, in triumph, yet waves o'er the land of the free and home of the brave!

How can you not love the national anthem, the flag, the pledge, the ideals our country was set up on? How can you take the American Dream of coming to this country (legally) and working hard and long to build a home and future for your family, and make it wrong or selfish to have done so? How can we have elected someone who has so little regard for all we hold dear; truth, honor and justice? How can our country survive?...I guess the same way we survived it before, when Clinton was in office... by believing that our founding fathers set up our government to last, by trusting the process, and most importantly, by praying to God to preserve us and keep us "one nation, under God".

I'm depressed by the election results, but have hope and faith in God to help us through whatever lies ahead.

I also pray for strength and patience to continue caring for Mommy as her memory worsens. It's not just her memory, now, but her whole thought process...her mind just isn't working right. Keep us in your prayers, as we do all of you.

Diorama

Yesterday after the weather warmed up, Mommy changed from her green sweat-shirt and black jumper to her black floral cotton dress (inside-out) with the green sweat-shirt over it (also, inside-out). She had on a pair of socks and one blue and white slipper. I asked her if she lost a slipper, and she said she hadn't noticed. I didn't even mention that her clothes were inside out.

One time, years ago, we all went to church, and afterward someone pointed out to Mommy that her sweater (embroidered with flowers and leaves) was on inside-out. She said, "With all you kids, you'd think one of you would tell me!"

While that story was funny, then, lately there have been more frequent wardrobe gaffs. It's all a part of the worsening dementia. I find myself going in to see what she's wearing, and if it's appropriate. I try to make adjustments in a way that won't point out her errors, "This jumper and a coat would be warmer." or "Let's try that without the nightgown underneath."

It makes my heart ache.

I remember all the times she dressed so beautifully (for church or for going somewhere special, like an Officer's Wives' tea, an Altar Society tea, or a Shreveport Symphony concert), her hair, sprayed in it's place with Aqua Net and pulled back with a headband or pinned with bobby pins, her strings of pearls, her fur coat (so warm and comforting to snuggle up next to her in) and the ever present odor of her Christian Dior Diorama.

Pansies for Rememberance

When 9-11 happened, we were shocked, then terrified, then a certain numbness took over. It was all so surreal...we all went on going to work, sending the kids to school, shopping for groceries and going to church. It was as if nothing had changed...but everything had changed.

In the uncertainty of the following days, one could not help but notice the stillness (due to the halt of all air traffic, save the military fighter jets flying low and fast overhead, which were both frightening and reassuring at the same time).

I remembered when Momma would tell me about how, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, as the neighbors watched what she was going to do (send the kids to school, or pack up the car to leave town), she planted pansies. She didn't know if she'd live to see them bloom, but she prayed that she would.

So in the days following 9-11, like her, in an effort to maintain some sense of normalcy and to hold out hope for the future...I planted pansies and prayed to see them bloom.

I remember once reading that pansies, in the language of flowers, were for remembrance. My writings here are dedicated to my memories of growing up with her as my momma, my time with her now, when so many memories are faded, and all the love and life lessons I gained from her.