I hate this disease, dementia. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Mom called me this morning and we spoke briefly on Facetime. She asked, once again, when my brother and I would deliver the lounge bed she ordered. I have no idea what she is talking about. I try to console myself with the knowledge that she is safe where she is, in assisted living, and fairly comfortable. But I find myself grieving just about every day.
She is safe that is the important thing.
funkygrandma59 is right on with the "fiblets"
Back order
Can't be delivered until next week
They ordered the wrong color
And here is an idea...
If she is wanting to replace a couch or chair in her room get a cover for it. When she is at lunch or at an activity cover what she has with the new cover and she may think that she has a new piece of furniture.
Rejoice in the fact that she can still call you and talk to you. My Husband was nonverbal the last 7 or so years of his life so if he said even 1 word I would have been happy.
I’ve found the phrase, “ Everything is pre-arranged” to be very very helpful. “ No worries, the payment for lunch is pre-arranged”, “ The schedule for the family roller skating party is pre-arranged”, “ The lounge bed logistics are pre-arranged, it’s just a slow process…” etc…that kind of thing. May have to repeat the phrase but it often works for me.
Best to you…
My mother died at 95 from advanced dementia and CHF after 6 years of a progressive downhill slide with the dementia. I cried every time i saw her for a visit in Memory Care Assisted Living. I didnt try to stop the tears either, I just let them flow. Same with my father who was devastated by the brain tumor which rendered him immobile at the end. It tugged at my heart to watch them fall apart, knowing there was nothing I could do to fix the situation this time. Only God could intervene and end their suffering at that point.
I'm sorry for your pain. It's the price of love, Wheat. May you find peace along the way for yourself.
When mom asks where her lounge bed is just tell her that it's on backorder and you will let her know when it comes in. Eventually she'll be on to something else.
You must learn little "fiblets" to keep her and you calm.
I'm glad to hear that at least your mom is in assisted living so that the brunt of her care is not on you. That is a blessing for sure.
You're going to be ok, as this too shall pass.
Back in early 2020 it would hit me. I would almost be sick to my stomach with grief over my Mother, and here she is still chugging along at 97.
Anyway, what you're feeling is a normal part of watching your Mother go through that slow decline called dementia.
I wish you peace.
If you are her PoA and, if you haven't already done this, read it to see what is required to activate the authority. Usually it's 1 official medical diagnosis of cognitive/memory impairment. Make sure you get this done so you don't have to do it in a crisis.
A certified elder law attorney will determine, during an appointment with her, whether she has legal capacity or not. The bar is low so don't presume she doesn't meet it.
Everything about dementia is hard. I wish you peace in your heart on this journey.
Every thing I do with her now, I'm thinking this may be are last time.
It's hard and it stinks, but it's life.
By accepting, this is what happens, we are not alone, let myself be sad when I am, but also how to put it out of my mind and enjoy my life.
Because all of are life's are short, every day we have is one less day. And I try not to ruin that day I have , by worrying about something that I have no power over.
Writer Heidi Priebe on love and grief:
"As long as there is love, there will be grief. The grief of time passing, of life moving on half-finished, of empty spaces that were once bursting with the laughter and energy of people we loved.
As long as there is love there will be grief because grief is love's natural continuation. It shows up in the aisles of stores we once frequented, in the half-finished bottle of wine we pour out, in the whiff of cologne we get two years after they've been gone.
Grief is a giant neon sign, protruding through everything, pointing everywhere, broadcasting loudly, "Love was here." In the finer print, quietly, "Love still is."
https://jamesclear.com/3-2-1/September-19-2024
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