Alzheimer's

   I have just stayed one day too long and one day long enough. One day too long to happily go on my way home, which is all I have wanted to do, and would still love to do. And one day long enough to really have the truth sink in about the situation my parents are having to live in.

  Uncle Everett was unusually clingy to dad today, wanting to know where he was every time dad left his sight. He slept in his chair so heavily and so long that mom was pretty worried. He had his head back and there was what looked to be a growing bruise under his chin and mom was worried that he had somehow fallen without them knowing about it, so she mentioned it to dad and he gently took a cloth and wiped at it. It was an accumulation of food from several days, but dad still had him open his mouth and check his teeth and tongue in case he had fallen.

   Rob and Marti came over (I was asleep on the narcotic couch all day since I couldn't sleep all night, so I barely heard them), I guess happily talking about their plans for the month. After they left Uncle Everett came out and asked if they had left. They didn't even say hi to him, I guess. I know how it is - I usually say hi when he says hi to me.

   He went to bed and mom heard a thump, I think, and got worried and sent dad back to check on him. We realized a long time later that dad still hadn't come back. Mom went back to check on him and heard dad talking to him about a biopsy being painful (Everett is very concerned about his medical stuff).

   When she came back, we started talking about the reality of her leaving; she had been doing some hard thinking since the stress test. Dad only wanted Glen there for Everett's lunch but Glen thankfully was there longer. Mom, who really knew this, but didn't want to, started to see that there was no respite care for dad to be away, despite his protestations. No one comes to help him. I asked her what it would have done to dad if he had gone in there, while she was gone, and Everett had died. She hadn't thought of that. She had asked dad what the doctor said about his condition and the doctor says he's in the final stages of Alzheimer's. He's dying. Everett is dad's only little brother, and he lovingly, beautifully and patiently takes such gentle care of him, not wanting to put any more stress on mom, who he also takes care of. I'm sure that he wants mom to go, so she can be away from what's going on, but also so that he has one less thing to take care of. 

   Here's where the reality hits. My family is going to the cabin for the Fourth of July. My PARENT'S cabin, for the Fourth of July, giving no thought to the fact that mom and dad can't go. They keep telling him to bring Uncle Everett up there, but they have no idea what that really means. Then, at the end of the month, Glen and Corky and Rob and Marti are going to go camping at a lake up in Flagstaff, again, leaving mom and dad alone in the Valley.

   When I was here there were people, the girls, were in and out all the time. Now mom is so lonely and doesn't see anyone. I don't hold any illusions that it has anything to do with me. I figured they just moved it to another house and mom felt like an outsider and it was hard on her and they let it be that way. Anyway, now I think it's probably because of Everett. He's like the elephant in the living room. He sleeps there all day, like the living dead, but he does have moments of awareness. He's pretty impressed with the way Ozzy begs, for instance. 

   I'm not blameless. When Aunt Lanora died of the same thing, I wasn't over at Glen and Corky's house, or when she was living with Sherry, offering any of them any respite care either. But I wasn't using their vacation house. That kinda burns me a little. Aunt Lanora did recognize me now and then, but the oddness of her actions and the obvious diminishing of her capacities wasn't something that I wanted to see, so I didn't put myself in the position of seeing her deteriorate. Maybe I've grown up since then. 

   I'll have to talk to them, and I'm hopefully going to do it individually. Mom doesn't think that dad really wants her to go. She really wants to go to Oklahoma, but I think she's really just lonely and would like to get out and do something every now and then. She doesn't want to leave dad alone. Dad wants mom to be happy but doesn't want to be alone. I think what needs to happen is that this time they need some help. They've been there every time I've needed them, and this time I think they really need me. In fact, I can hardly think of a case where the two of them could need me more. I think that staying a little while longer and postponing my plans is a little thing I can give them that would mean a lot to all of us. I hope dad lets me. Well, he can hardly kick me out of this spare room after all. I think. 

   The next part of my vacation is to drive (after resting up in Moore) to West Virginia and spend some time with Marilyn, Glen's sister. It was her mother who died of Alzheimer's. I've put off going to see her for quite a while and am so excited about seeing her, and I'm not looking forward to the call about not making it again, but it's a discussion I'm looking forward to. 

   When Aunt Lanora started to go downhill, she first stayed with my cousin Sherry, who had her mix in with family life. I remember going over there to visit Sherry and it was a zoo and pandemonium and she had Aunt Lanora's door open up to it and she would wander in and out. We had a nice visit and I saw the kids and all the animals (Sherry always has the most interesting places to live and they're always full of life, and there was Aunt Lanora, a full member). When I was getting ready to go, Aunt Lanora walked by and looked me in the eye and recognized me, I could tell, and said that I should come by more often and visit. This was at a time when she often couldn't remember who Sherry was. I've never forgotten that moment.

   When Sherry moved, Aunt Lanora's care was taken over by Glen and Corky, who gradually ended up building an apartment for her in the backyard, air conditioned, and that's the way she spent the rest of her life, alone in that apartment, in the backyard, locked in so she wouldn't walk away and get lost. Her needs were taken care of. Her needs.

   So I think that Marilyn and I might have a good discussion, and I think she might understand my dilemma. I hate having to postpone again. It's beginning to look like my little house in Moore is a staging area, but this is the right thing to do. I'll let you know what happens.