My mother informed me that I was a dictator. My mother lives with my husband and I. I always think of her safety and her well-being. I do not force her to do anything she does not want to do. I talk to her and explain an issue to her in a diplomatic manner. Being called a dictator hurt me and it makes me not want to say much to her. I do not think I am a dictator at all. I have been respectful to my mother. Help!
debralee - you are anything but a deadbeat and I congratulate you for setting boundaries and sticking to them. It isn't easy but is necessary.
((((hugs)))) to all of us in our various struggles.
I watched as my elders minimized then gave up Christmas decorating...it was always a harbinger to depression and decline...whether is was the chicken or the egg or both, I do not know. So I fight my hubby and son, who bascially prefer to live like bachelors, LOL, though they occasionally acknowledge my near-futile efforts to clean and organize a little, when they suggest there is no need to bother with that just for those few weeks every year. I can guarantee you if I didn't do most of it and insist on the little bit of help I do get with it, the neighbors would think we were Muslims by now. I am no stranger to cajoling people into doing stuff that they will truly enjoy once they get their rumps off the couch or favorite chair to do it...and not always suceeding, either.
She has a hair appointment coming up.....maybe I'll mention it to her.....see what she says.....if she fusses.....I'll cancel it! Then weeks later I'll hear about how it's in her face, etc. Ugh, caregiving is emotional on so many levels.......even the little things....... :p
I have said good bye thousands of moments and I can let God and my mother have their own conversation. I am out of it. There seems to be no need for me other than chauffer and shopping mate, and that is done for her without much appreciation. I have gotten quite bloodless about this now. I feel like I am waiting for the big event. Even in the hospital she was verbally abusive. Next time I am simply leaving. I can't take any more of her. It's a matter of survival for myself at this point. She has no idea how to relate to a daughter who grew up and has boundaries. That's her problem. I have tried and having a simple conversation is now just unreasonable to expect.
Do you all feel any of this? How else can I cope?
"What are you doing? Why don't you just give yourself to them?" She laughed in her best sarcastic evil voice. And I had a fast reply: "These days, now that I have some self esteem, I am only going to give them my clothes!" I jumped out of the car and left Mom sitting there with a dropped jaw. A young man came to help me with the bag. "Here you go. I lost 15 pounds and won't need these anymore!" And I held my head up high and got back into the car with a real smile.
Yeah, this is going to be my year, baby!!
Another shopping trip with Mom. New lessons learned every time.
She tries to control everything: the temperature in the car, the volume of my voice, the flow of my thoughts. She is stuck in her own mind by choice, or at 92 is there less and less mind and less and less choice? She looks like the mother I knew and loved, but that person doesn't exist anymore.
Maybe I could share one little experience or thought, I think and I try. She doesn't hear, doesn't want to hear it, criticizes it or me, in general, shuts the door. Bam.
Enter the new me: a shell of myself to pretend having a conversation with the shell of herself. How far are we going? 7 miles of awkwardess seems like an eternity.
At her apartment she forgot the keys somewhere. I use the pair I made for this purpose. It's happening more frequently. Certain things like how we open the car door and bring up the groceries are repeated every time. No lessons are learned from the last time for either of us.
How do I like the portrait she did of her best friend? I think it is as frozen and forced and unreal as we are now. "It's nice." is all I can choke up. I offer a few questions about it but she interrupts and has her own story about why it is the way it is and she is going on to the next portrait anyway. Can't talk about art anymore.
I give her a hug, but there is no response, recognition, or anything warm that is returned. Was mine that cold?
I walk away broken hearted. I bawl as soon as I get in the door.
I go to the bathroom and catch myself in the mirror. I dressed nicely for her. Did she notice? I talk to the mirror:
"Say, I like your hair these days. It was a great idea to grow it longer. And your outfit looks great. Thanks for dressing up for me. Your health does seem to be improving. You are brave to try out diets and improve yourself. Sorry to hear you are struggling with your business. But with your talents and persistence it will turn out alright. I am so proud of you
What a lovely and intelligent daughter I have!"
No. That only makes this worse. There goes the mascara. As the black streaks down my face I wonder, is she feeling this sad too? Or is that gone as well?
The difficult part is realizing that what she's saying is coming from the transfer of control in her life, her loss of memory and the desperation to remember when it's impossible. She can say very hurtful things that have a lasting sting and then turn around and say she loves me and how important family is. It's a rollercoaster ride to say the least.
I also choose my battles, some things will not change no matter what. No point fighting about them. For me that is bathroom issues. I choose the most important issue, wash your hands right before you leave the bathroom, and that was ok.
Vpiffani: if your dad likes to fix things, what if you got him a work area and got stuff from the GoodWill or second hand store to work on??? If he is picking up milk with his fingers, he is not processing well enough for real changes. Bless you for helping him.
Seriously, my Mom and I have finally gotten to the place where we either have to laugh it off or be depressed. If your Mom has no sense of humor, ask her what she needs that you're not providing, then listen and try to accommodate her on a few things.
Sorry - need to vent this morning.
I suspect it is just another reason to complain. They thrive on complaints. My mother would not have a life if she did not have complaints and she does not have dementia, but she does have increasing paranoia and a personality disorder and narcissism, and when I will not take her out of her "terrible place" where dreadful things are going to happen to her, and if I talk to her about taking the meds which would help her, I am the bad daughter again who sits in judgement of her and her situation and doesn't know anything and doesn't care for her. My sis will pick up on anything negative said about me and exaggerate it and feed it back to mother and others to get her more agitated and to black ball me. I do detach, but I am human and some of this hurts.
Tell me again. Why am I doing this?
Is it reasonable to make hair appointments for mom every four to five weeks? She wears her hair short so any longer than five weeks it loses its shape. Mom will say the night before or morning of "Why do I need it cut? Maybe I want to grow it out and wear it in a ponytail. I used to wear it like that, you know." I'm thinking, yeah, in the early 1970's!
I get the name calling.....control freak, etc. by my sibling, apparently the monthly hair appointments is one of the issues (per my mom talking to sibling). So, my question is, should I let it go? Let mom decide when she wants it cut? I might add she always likes her cut after she gets it. It's like it's just another reason to complain (I also understand it's the dementia). Bottom line, cut hair is nice looking. Letting it go and not getting it cut on top of only washing it two times a week is something.......as long as I take care of mom.....I don't want to do. I think my sibling should grow up and use some common sense! Any thoughts?
Texas - just think of this as a trial run for the future as she progresses. I have graduated from communist to now a communist who is stealing his money from his bank account. I'm only now seriously documenting every single darn penny, receipts for HIS petty cash, etc... because he now threatens to call the police on me. Sigh... I sure miss being called just a "communist."