| Not Who I Should Be |
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| Sunday, 22 February 2009 | |
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Today I wasn't the daughter I should be. Frustration overcame me and I yelled at my mother. I slip slide down the rabbit hole and expect logic to pop up, a blazing torch in the darkness. Instead I reach the door in the dark finding I am too large or too small. My mother has become victim to this horrific disease that gives her enough memory to make her fearful, and not enough to know where she lives. I am aware that my mother doesn't understand and is victimized by Alzheimer's disease. It is soooo difficult to see her this way and I am afraid every time I have to leave her that she will do something to hurt herself. My mother still has control of her finances and is at a stage where she believes she is capable of doing everything. She believes that everyone wants whatever she has. I am not financially able to pay for all the care she needs and she isn't aware that she needs it. I feel like the proverbial doctor that has been imprisoned by the inmates in the asylum. I have to leave the area for nine days. I told her that she has to pay a friends daughter to help her at least several days while I am gone. She goes balistic and swears that everyone just wants her money and she has managed to take care of herself all of her life. The sad reality is that my mother is overwhelmed by the choices in the kitchen and cannot fix her own food. She cannot watch tv because it has become too confusing. She delusionally believes that she does all the things she used to and I can't get her to understand she has to have help. I spend eight to twelve hours a day with her and I vascillate between all the stages of grief, sympathy and love. I pray for both of us. I am trying to embrace my mother's tantrums along with her smiles. I am learning (albeit slowly) to give more of myself and meditate on patience. I will be the best that I can each day and treasure the moments that she knows who I am, because I know she eventually won't. I will try to be the daughter I should be tomorrow. |
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