The Beginning of the End: When a Parent Starts to Fade
Ebbing
by Tori of Babybloomr
I didn’t even know I was crying until my cheeks were wet.
I pulled up to the stop sign, made sure there wasn’t a car behind me, and started fishing around in my purse for a Kleenex. Charlotte’s concerned voice came from the back seat, “Mom, what’s wrong?” I smiled weakly, made a dismissive wave with my hand and blew my nose. “I’m okay, honey. Just got kind of sad all of a sudden about leaving Nanno and Papa. It’s all right, I’m ready to drive now.” Madi eyed me suspiciously, and then said firmly, “He’s FINE. Papa is just fine,” before replacing her iPod earbud and studiously looking out of the car window. Sweet Madi, with the tough girl stance– you don’t fool me for a minute.
Because the thing is, he’s not fine.
It’s not an emergency, it’s not drastic or horrifying. But he’s slowing down, he’s hesitating, he’s struggling just a little as he tries to retrieve a name or a word he KNOWS he knows. And sometimes, if you unexpectedly ask him something that he’s not prepared for, there’s a slight look of distress and a momentary blankness that flickers across his face, then a grimace of frustration. “So stupid,” he says under his breath. But he’s not stupid, he’s just slowing down. It’s normal. For the love of God, the man is 93 years old!
For the love of God.
I know it is the order of things. I know we have had him much longer than anyone has a right to expect, healthy and in his right mind despite the “little bit of a heart attack” and subsequent stent surgery he had a couple of years ago. We have all known that this was coming, it shouldn’t shock me and it doesn’t, really. My reaction is what shocks me.
Honestly? I’m having to fight the urge to go stand outside in the yard and start bargaining so loudly with God that I scare the neighbors. Since we got back to Nashville I find myself Googling all manner of subjects relating to ‘geriatric medicine’ and ‘memory recall’ and vitamin regimens and blah blah blah DENIAL!!! It’s the Mom in me, I know that. She’s almost 93 too, but trust me, that feisty little piece of work is not about to go gently into that good night. She’ll stave it off with everything she can think of, from crossword puzzles and Sudoku to walking laps around the backyard, cooking and gardening. They’ll probably have to pry a hoe and a spatula out of her cold dead hands. In fact, one of the most heartbreaking parts of being home this last week was noticing that Mom’s usual combative attitude towards any sign of what she terms ‘weakness’ or ‘giving up’ in Dad was, for the most part, gone. I saw her eyes soften towards him a couple of times when he moved even s l o w e r than usual, and once I saw her look pained when he didn’t grasp something that was being said to him right away, instead of being impatient and cross. Mom always gets mad when she gets scared, bless her, and the thought of Dad declining or God forbid, leaving her alone usually just pisses her off. She is convinced that sheer force of will should keep him healthy and whole indefinitely. Well, sheer force of will and fresh fruit and deep breathing and watching less television. But this time, there was something closer to compassion in her manner towards him. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll be back to her usual cattle prod self before too long, it’s her way–but behind all that bluster is a child inside who is terrified of being abandoned. However, there is also the heart of a lion. She’ll be OK.
And so will Daddy. When he was having his heart problems a few years ago I truly saw what he was made of, and how very deep and solid his lifelong faith really was. He wasn’t afraid, there was only a quiet acceptance and deep sense of peace. He was dignified and kind, and of course, funny. The Funny goes a long way in this family. I’m sure we’ll all be digging deep for it in the weeks/months/years to come.
Please God, give me the courage to let him go as gracefully as he is hanging on.
I love him so much.
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Oh Linda, what a hard situation you are facing. But I agree, you are dealing with a man whose brain is no longer functioning normally and there have to be steps made for his own protection. Doesn’t make it less heartbreaking though, does it?
My dad is 90 and within the past 6 months has deteriorated so quickly…he imagines people in the house, my brother came in the middle of the night and “stole his front teeth.” He believes my sister in law asked him to marry her because my brother is having an affair with his 90 year old woman friend. Then, the next day we have a normal conversation about me, my dog, living in La (he’s in Chicago). What my brother and I struggle with is my dad absolutely will not go see a doctor, he’s lost 35 lbs over the past several months…”and I just don’t know why, Linda.” My brother and I are planning an “intervention,” where we will ask him to go to the hospital and if he refuses, which we know he will, we will call 911 and have the police forcibly take him. All I can do to get through this is to keep on telling myself that this isn’t my father…it’s a 90 year old man with a brain that no longer functions. My mother passed several years ago and I’m divorced with no children. As someone said to me, when youre parents die, the realization that “you’re on the batter’s mound..you’re next.” There’s no more playing in the outfield, being o the bench..you’re at bat and facing your own aging and immortality is very challenging…especially since I feel so terribly alone and very lonely. Thanks for bringing up this subject as painful as it is.
Well put. That makes perfect sense to me.
More stubborn than 10 mules, I never doubted my mom when she said she just might live forever. It seemed plausible. Yet, I just crossed this threshold with my mother who is finally beginning to fade.
We haven’t had the easiest of relationships for a variety of reasons. We’ve both made the peace we enjoy now. So, you’d think I’d want her here longer. But I don’t. I’ll be happy if she goes quietly in her sleep sometime soon.
I realized on my last visit that mom’s tired of being strong. Ready to put down her burdens and take a new path. I’ll trade having her at graduation, or the kids weddings easily for she has no more days of pain, frustration and soul weariness. She deserves better.
My dad has dementia too, and his is the result of hardening of the arteries in his brain. Makes sense, since he has problems in his heart as well. But – he is able to use the Alzheimer’s drugs, even though what he has is different, and they do work for him. Perhaps they might work for your dad?
Duchess,
I believe in inheritance, too, I can see some of each of my parents in my girls.
Judi,
Thank you, I appreciate those words.
Joanna,
Sounds like you have walked/are walking this road…
This is a story I know all too well. Grace is a hard thing to find when you’re scared and sad and your heart is breaking, but it sounds like you are all doing a lovely and loving job of it. xo
You did a wonderful job saying what so many of us feel. God bless you all!
Your daughter and your mother are strong people (you too!). It isn’t just an aphorism: you really are lucky to have him for so long. I wish I believed in order, systems, plans, even humanity, let alone God. But I believe in inheritance. You keep part of your father in your child, even when you can’t see it. You can’t help it. It’s there.
Laura,
That’s the biggest paradox of the whole situation: I KNOW it’s inevitable, I KNOW I’m so blessed to have had them this long, I KNOW it’s the natural order of things… but it just seems all wrong.
The idea of losing someone who has been a part of our life since even before our life started is horrifying. My parents, in their mid-70′s, still seem well but those regular visits to the doctor to check this and that are always cause for concern. A colleague just lost her mother and even though she had been sick for years with Alzheimers so feels so lost without her. The power of the love that parents have for us and we for them. What a tough cycle to have end–at any age.