I didn't stay long at my mother's this
morning. She had called in a panic because she was going to have to
wear her underwear for a second day. I told her I had all her clean
laundry and was bringing it to her this morning.
On the way to her apartment, I passed Elise's
apartment. Elise is 98 and doubled over from that old age hump that I
am in the process of getting. Her door was open and I could see she
was sorting her laundry, getting ready to take it a few steps to the washing
machine to wash it.
My mother was delighted to see me and
apologized over and over again for making me do her washing, but she just
didn't want to wear dirty underwear. I told her if she got desperate
she could walk a few steps to the washing machine and do the washing
herself...or I could get the crippled 98 year old to show her how to do it.
She pretended she had not heard me.
I'm afraid my 3+ weeks at Mallard Point did
bad things to me. Many of the people there seem to be in worse
physical condition than those at Atria, yet you met all of them, sooner or
later, washing their clothes.
My mother is 95, physically in better shape
than I am, and does nothing all day long. It's not that I mind
doing things for her, but I am starting to get angry for doing her laundry
when she could do it easily herself.
Later, we were talking about something and I
mentioned the rain yesterday. She was surprised. It rained
yesterday? She knew nothing about it.
She sits in a chair all day long
staring out a window, she says she watches the news, and the stormageddon
has been banner headlines in the paper she reads "cover to cover" every day,
but she had no idea it had rained all. day. yesterday.
I know that's her dementia, but washing her
clothes isn't necessarily tied to her dementia. I am angry with myself
that I am starting to be mad at her for her refusal to take responsibility
for anything in her life.
I pointed out to her that she really needed a
haircut. She got that coy smile she uses when you know she isn't going
to do anything and she said "I'm thinking about it." I told her she
looked terrible, like the Wicked Witch of the West.
I decided I'm not going to bug her about her
hair. I'm going to leave it to her to decide when to have it done.
This is the woman who had her hair done every week before she moved
to Davis. Who always looked like a model, with never a hair out of
place. Now it's long and stringy and fly-away. She looks like my
only memory of my great grandmother, whose appearance terrified me.
And it makes me angry that she doesn't care.
If I make a big deal out of it she will just
sign and say "you know...when you're pushing hunnert...." and use that as
her excuse for doing NOTHING.
My appointment with a therapist is on Monday
and believe me it can't come soon enough. I have to reach mental peace with
my mother or our last years together are going to be terrible. I need
a place to get out all the anger and frustration I feel about her in a safe
environment and learn coping skills.
I thought I had them and though I got
frustrated with her, things were more or less OK until I went to Iowa.
But seeing all those old people caring for themselves made me look at my
mother in a different light and I don't like the light I'm seeing her in.
I need help if I'm to get through her last
years without ruining our 71 year relationship.
In other news, I took my desktop computer to
my guru, who did NOT make me feel like an idiot (yet), but he did talk to me
about something called "virtual computer," which would make it possible for
me to get a newer computer and still run the programs I rely on which aren't
compatible with the newer operating systems.
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