Funeral and Burial

It's strange how the absence of just one person can make the world seem a much emptier place.

I miss Mom.  She's in a better place and she's better off, but I miss her.  I miss her presence.  I miss her voice.

It's funny, when I was her primary caretaker, I admit there were moments that I kind of wished she would pass.  That's hard for me to admit, but I understand it's a common feeling for caretakers to have.  Her mental decline was just hard to watch, and caring for her could be very stressful at times.

I never thought Mom would go this quickly.  She had the kind of personality and energy where I just thought she'd hang around for years no matter how badly her dementia robbed her of her faculties, independence, and abilities.

In truth, it's a great blessing that she went out the way she did.  Two weeks ago, she was doing well.  Although her mind was continuing to get progressively worse, she still knew all of us and was still able to learn new information.  She was still independent and active.  And most of all, she was happy.

It was only the last week that was difficult, and even then, I never felt she was suffering or in much pain, and I still felt she was very much aware of those who around her and who loved her.  What more can you ask for?

She lived a great life and her influence will be forever felt by those she touched.  I'm glad I don't have to watch a slow, painful decline in both mental and physical health.

But I miss her.

Friday morning we went to the funeral home to dress Mom.  Initially, I didn't want to dress her.  I wasn't sure how it would make me feel.  But I had changed my mind after talking with a friend who helped dress her grandmother.  It felt like one final act of service for my mom.

My aunt and cousin had come to help do Mom's makeup.  I had asked them to help because when they did my aunt's mother's makeup when she died, it looked terrific.

It turned out the funeral home had really done a great job with Mom.  Both her hair and makeup looked great, and she truly looked like she was sleeping.  She certainly looked a great deal better than she did when she died.  I had sent the funeral home pictures of Mom with her hair done up, and they really did a good job.  Jonah made a couple of alterations that really made her look like Mom.  My cousin only put some of Mom's lipstick on her, and it really turned out great.  It made Mom look like Mom on her best day.

Dressing Mom was both spiritual and...well, weird.  We put Mom's temple clothes on her.  The mortician was LDS so he knew how she should look.  Mom was very cold.  She'd obviously been in refrigeration.  Parts of her body that had scars from surgery and from her fall had been wrapped with plastic.  Her feet were too swollen to get her temple booties on, so we just laid them beside her feet.  

Mom's dress was of a fabric with not much give, and it was a little tight, so we just cut it down the back so it could breathe.  Flipping her from side to side to get the dress and accessories on and trying to get her stiff fingers through her sleeves was an odd experience, but also gratifying in a way.  By the time she was all dressed and made up, she really looked beautiful.

The mortician said his favorite part of his job was taking people that looked terrible upon death and making them look the way they looked in life.

My cousin's friend had died of cancer the same week Mom died (and in fact, the funeral home was handling her funeral as well) and both funerals were at the same time, so she was feeling very conflicted, although it turns out she went to Mom's.

After the funeral home, Jonah and I went to lunch (eating at the same table Mom and I often ate at, and it made me sad to know there would never be another lunch with her again in this life) and shopping to get him some nicer clothes to wear for the viewing and funeral.  Then we went back to the apartment we were staying at to get dressed.

While out shopping, I received a call from the bishop of Mom's old ward (my old ward as well) informing me that both he and the stake presidency had a problem with the song Jonah was to sing at the funeral.  It was "Embraceable You" by George Gershwin, and because a funeral takes place in the chapel, it must be according to Sacrament Meeting standards.  I guess they felt some of the lyrics to "Embraceable You" were too racy.

I was livid.  "Embraceable You" was one of Mom's favorite songs and also one I had sung with her as she lay dying.  I felt like it was an insult to Mom's memory, and felt that something lascivious and salacious was being attached to a song that was neither.  The bishop passed me on to an old family friend who is in the stake presidency.  He is a dear friend, and I don't think I have ever been angry at him in my life...except for at that moment.  I was mad and at that moment, if I had had the power to move the funeral elsewhere, I would have.

I ended up choosing "Smile" by Charlie Chaplin as its replacement (and that was approved), but I went to the viewing with a lot of anger in my heart, which was unfortunate since I had expected to feel peaceful and contemplative.

The viewing was nice.  Mom looked great.  We had the funeral home put her purse in with her.  In life (and especially as her dementia worsened), Mom was rarely without her purse, and we felt it fitting (and humorous) that she should take it to the grave.

Jonah and my sister-in-law made some flowers to go in the lid of Mom's casket.  They looked beautiful.  My brother-in-law had made a video presentation about Mom.  We had pictures of her, although I regretted that the picture of Jonah, Mom, and me at our commitment ceremony wasn't there due to the funeral home borrowing it for the obituary.

It was good to see old friends and relatives and visit with them.  Among my recollections at both viewings was one sister who talked about Mom being one of her favorite visiting teaching partners; one woman who's husband just died thanked me for a phone message I left for her (her daughter thanked me as well); Mom's childhood friend visiting; my old boss at a theater I used to work at seemed especially grief-stricken; another friend from the same theater made me feel better about the song situation.  Truth is, Mom wouldn't have cared that much.  She liked "Smile," too, and would have been happy to hear Jonah sing anything.  She certainly wouldn't have wanted me to carry a grudge about it.

I had no shame in introducing my partner to many of my former Mormon neighbors, and hardly any of them batted an eye.

 Jonah's Mom and sister-in-law had surprised us Friday night by coming up from Las Vegas.  I was so surprised and touched to see them.  We invited them to have dinner with us at my brother's and sister-in-law's house.

The viewing the next day was good, and we had to to wait a few minutes for my cousins to arrive.  My sister-in-law gave the family prayer, and it was quite nice.

Both of my sisters spoke as did I.  A family friend shared a retrospective of Mom's life.  I think the service was recorded by the funeral home, and if so, perhaps I'll publish my remarks in a future post.  Several people remarked on Mom's quiet service, and that is quite accurate.

I had seen my mom's former coworker (and former boss of mine) in the congregation and had hoped to talk with her, but she left before I got the chance, but she left a card and a plant for my siblings and me.

The weather was cool and rainy, but it didn't rain until after the graveside service.  I guess a marathon was going on on the same route as the funeral caravan, so that caused a bit of delay, but everything went smoothly and on time.

As we were at the graveside service, I couldn't help bu notice the trees showing the very first inklings of fall, and I thought that apropos that things were dying and changing from summer to autumn just as Mom made her departure.  It seemed metaphorically fitting as did the rain that started falling literally as soon as the service had ended.

We had a simple luncheon at the church, and my cousin played a really fitting song that seemed to relate to Mom.  After the luncheon was over, I said goodbye to my siblings, not sure when I'd see them again.  Mom felt like the glue that held us together, and I hope we will still get together even though she has passed.

I spent the rest of the time with Jonah, his mom and sister-in-law.  We took naps and then ate dinner at, coincidentally, the last place Jonah and I took Mom out to eat.

Sunday morning we went to a farmer's market and then to IKEA and then said goodbye to Jonah's mom and sister-in-law.  Then we ate, did some shopping, and then visited Mom's friend Harold at the assisted living facility.  He was so sad and lost.  He asked me to send him a photo of Mom.  I shall.  I also plan on calling him from time to time and will ask my siblings to check in on him if they feel the inkling to do so.

Jonah and I then visited Mom's grave again.  I had also visited it on Saturday after they had buried her, and it looked beautiful with the fresh flowers.  I'm not typically a grave visitor, but I somehow felt the need.  It was very peaceful.

Monday, Jonah and I headed home.  And now here I am trying to go back to normal without Mom.  It's going to take some time to adjust.

Of Dreams And Dementia

I had an odd dream yesterday morning.  I was outside my childhood home, the one we just sold a few months ago.  The lawn was not well kept and the garbage cans were out for collection, but not in the place where my family normally put them.

Taped to one of the garbage cans was a note from our nosy neighbors telling the people that now lived in Mom's old house that they needed to do a better job maintaining their yard.  I tore the note off the can because I was angry because this is the sort of thing my neighbor might have done when we lived there, and I always found his obtrusiveness annoying.

Just as I tore the note off the can, the current owner of the house came out.  I've never met him in a real life, so I don't know what he really looks like, but in my dream he was kind of stocky.  Not wanting him to think I had taken something from his property, I handed him the note and told him I had found it nearby and it must be his.  I also extended my hand and told him who I was and that I used to live there.  He shook my hand reluctantly, as if he thought I was some kind of stalker.  Not wanting to bother him further, I said goodbye and headed next door to our former neighbors house.

I knocked on their door and could hear my sister-in-law laughing inside, but no one answered.  At this moment a phone call from my brother woke me up from my dream.

It was about 6:00 a.m. so I knew it must be an emergency of some sort.  My brother rarely calls me and he doesn't call me that early.  I knew it was probably about Mom.

Sure enough, Mom had been taken to the hospital after one of the caregivers at the assisted living facility found her on the floor on her knees in a crouched position resting on her elbows.  She was sweating profusely, was very disoriented, and had wet herself.  Mom had last been checked at 4:00 am and was fine.  They check the residents every two hours.  Some time between 4 and 6 a.m. Mom had fallen, probably on her way to the bathroom.

Her blood sugar was through the roof.  At the hospital it was determined that she had a skin infection, which may explain the rise in blood sugar and was also diagnosed with rhabdomyolysis, a breakdown of muscle tissue that can get in the blood stream and cause kidney damage.  Mom complained of knee soreness (presumably from her fall).

Anyway, she's still in the hospital, but her prognosis is good and she is expected to be released to the assisted living facility in a couple of days.

I must confess that my first thought (before I knew how serious or not serious her condition was) was "If it's her time to go, I hope she goes and goes quickly."  I had thought it strange that I was just dreaming about her house when I got the call and wondered if it was a sign of some sort.

The truth is that Mom's condition will only continue to deteriorate while she's living, and I am not exactly thrilled to watch that happen.  I am not eager to see the day when she forgets who I am or can no longer control her bowels or feed herself or communicate.  I'd rather remember my mom as happy, functioning, and independent, which she still is, than see her become even more of a shell of her former self.

Whenever it is Mom's time, I feel ready.  I can honestly say that I have no regrets when it comes to Mom.  I have cared for her the best way I know how and I know she knows how much I love her, and I feel the same from her.  I do not feel I could have done any more regarding Mom's care than I have done.  Our last conversation before I received the phone call from my brother was a good one.  She was happy.

I have since talked to her.  She seems a bit out of it, but still seems fairly coherent.  She is eager to go back to her home at the assisted living facility.  It evidently isn't her time right now, and as I have long suspected, she will likely live a while.

I have spoken to Mom every day but three since she went into the assisted living facility in January.  I have watched her go from hating the place she lives to really enjoying it and making friends.

The dream about Mom's house made me remember again how unfair it sometimes seems that Mom's destined path is one of a loss of independence and mental faculties.  I wish she could have lived in her own home on her own terms for the rest of her life.  Obviously that wasn't meant to be, and both she and her children are better off now that she is in the assisted living facility.  We are less stressed and worried, and she is far healthier and seems happier in many ways.  But it is not what I would have wished for her nor is it what she would have wished for herself.  But what is, is, and we have all come to terms with that.  I only know that when it is Mom's time to go, whether it be tomorrow or 15 years from now, I am ready to let her go.  I am ready for her to be free of the shackles that mortality can bring and for her to be reunited with loved ones who have already passed, including my dad.

The other interesting thing about my dream was that I found out that the neighbor next door to Mom, who didn't answer his door in the dream and who also suffered from dementia in real life, had passed away on Friday (but I did not find this out until after I had had the dream).  I am sad for his widow, but I also know his deterioration has been hard on her.  Both of them have lived next to my mom (and dad) as long as my parents lived in that house.  While I don't necessarily feel we had a lot in common with them or their family, they were valued friends and neighbors whom I have know my entire life.  I left a phone message with the wife expressing my condolences.

I thought it interesting that the Lord would take one person suffering from this disease and leave another to continue experiencing it.  Such is the way of life, I suppose.

Anyway, this entry seems a bit rambling to me.  I'm not even sure what my point has been.  Hopefully you who read it will get something out of it.

Jealous...But Only Slightly

Mom is doing very well...considering.  She seems very happy in the place where she lives and has pretty much completely forgotten she ever had a home.  In fact, when she does refer to "home," it's her childhood home in San Francisco, not the house she lived in in Utah for 52 years.

I miss Mom, both physically and the lady she once was.  I miss the in-depth talks we once had.  I call her every day.  I've only missed one day since she moved into her assisted living facility in January.  Most days it's almost the exact same conversation.  I don't mind so much.  I want to stay connected to her, and I also recognize that one day she may forget me, so I want to hold on to her knowing who I am for as long as I can.  I also just want her to know that I care.  Her short term memory is so bad I'm sure she doesn't remember much of our conversations or even that I call after the fact, although she does recognize that I call her every day.

She's still at a stage where she can learn and retain new information.  For example, she remembers that Jonah's dad died or what my job is.  Statistically she probably has another year or two in this stage.  Eventually, however, she will not be able to retain new information and there will likely come a day when my phone calls will have less or no meaning to her at all and even a day where she will not be able to verbally communicate at all.  I do not look forward to that.

She enjoys my phone calls, and I enjoy talking to her.  Every once in a while she tells me something new, and often things she says makes me laugh.  Today she told me she didn't like a particular resident because she was "weird" and "was always butting into people's conversations."  She also told me she had been on a roller coaster recently.  She was so detailed about it, I almost believed her.  But I'm sure it didn't really happen.

I've mentioned that Mom has a male friend named Harold.  They hang out a lot.  I've talked about how Mom feels about him here.  I'm really glad she has a close friend that she likes and can do stuff with.  But I also admit to feeling jealous at times.  Sometimes I will call Mom and she will barely speak to me because she has to "get back to Harold."  I'm only mildly jealous.  Truthfully.  I guess it's like a parent might feel when his or her child gets married.  The child moves out of the house and starts a new phase of their life.  It doesn't mean he or she loves the parent any less, but their attention is focused elsewhere, and the parent needs to let them move on and progress.

I guess as someone who was Mom's primary caretaker for so long and who was considered the "Golden Child," it's just weird to her fixate on someone else.  But it's good.  It really is a good thing, and I'm glad she has found happiness and purpose in her relationship with Harold.  In spite of the stress and worry it often caused, I guess I just miss being a bigger part of Mom's life.  But that's the cycle of life we are in.  I'm just glad she is happy.  She really seems to be, and I am grateful for that.

The Crocheted Santa Claus

I was transcribing more of my mom's journals and I came across an entry from November 14, 1980 where she wrote about crocheting some Christmas ornaments.  She said, "I made, stocking, bell, candy cane, gingerbread man, snowman, wreath.  It was fun & some turned out pretty good."

I remember when Mom made these ornaments.  In my house, my family had a tradition of getting new ornaments for each of us every year, and we would decorate our tree with them.  So our decorated tree was always a Hodge-podge of different ornaments.  Jonah tends to do themed trees where all of the ornaments go along with a similar theme, and I know there are many households that do that.  But I am used to decorating a tree with a bunch of unrelated ornaments tied only by the fact that they belonged to us.

So 1980 was the year we got our crocheted ornaments handmade by Mom.  So I was surprised to see that my ornament was not listed.  This guy:

I've had this guy in the same box for years.  This box:

Apparently I was pretty possessive about my ornaments.  How's that for the Christmas spirit?

All the ornaments I've had from my very first one to the last one I obtained are in this box.  I think the earliest is a flat gold (or brass) one shaped liked Santa Claus in his sleigh that has my birth year on it (1971).  Another very early one is a Styrofoam snowman that has seen better days.  He's held together with toothpicks (which aren't doing a good job) and he hasn't been hung on a tree in years.  I probably should throw him away but I can't bring myself to.  He's been with me almost my whole life.  I also have two ornaments that were originally Mom and/or Dad's: a plastic snowman and a plastic Santa, both manufactured in the 50s, which look very similar to the ones pictured here:

I always liked them and Mom or Dad (or both) eventually just gave them to me.  My Santa is broken in the feet area, but I still hang him up.  And my snowman is actually this color:

Anyway, back to the crocheted Santa.  I read in Mom's next entry, November 15, 1980 that she "tried knitting a Santa ornament," and I actually got a little teary-eyed.  That's my ornament.

If I recall correctly, Mom let each of us choose which ornament we wanted, and I wanted the Santa so badly.  I was so happy to score it.  I don't even think Mom was particularly happy with how the Santa turned out compared with some of the others.  But I loved it.  Still do.

  I guess what got me emotional was that Mom was quite a crocheter and knitter in her day.  She was always making afghans.  One time she asked me what kind of afghan I would like her to make for me.  I wanted every color in it, and if I remember correctly, we went to the fabric and yarn store, and I picked out the colors I wanted.  I think Mom felt it would look ugly, but I was insistent.  After she finished it, I think she still felt it was kind of ugly (not up to her afghan standards at least), but I loved with it and slept with it for much of my childhood.  I still have it, although I haven't used it in years.  I mainly keep it around for sentimental value:

 

Some years later, Mom made me another afghan.  I also requested another multicolored one, but this one was more in line with her style and standards:

I still use this when it gets cold.  It is both beautiful and very warm, and I love it.

After I met Jonah, Mom wanted to make an afghan for him.  She asked me what his favorite color was.  I told her it was purple (same as me), and she made this one for him (for Christmas, I think): 

The cats actually seem to have commandeered the afghan from Jonah.  They use it more than he does.  But I was always so touched that Mom made it for Jonah.

It's hard to believe that was only about six or seven years ago; I'm not even sure Mom would remember how to crochet or knit today.  I was in a play in 2009 where I played a character that needed to knit on stage, and Mom was able to teach me then how to do it then, but I'm not sure if she would still remember now.  Maybe if we brought her some yarn and needles, she might pick it up again.  Who knows?

I guess that's why I got emotional.  Most days I'm at peace with who my mom currently is, but once in a while there are reminders of who she was and what she used to be able to do, and I miss it.  But like Jonah reminds me, Mom seems very happy right now.  She's always very animated and upbeat when I talk to her; she has friends at the assisted living place (including one male friend who is definitely not her boyfriend (although I notice she makes more time for him than for me lately); and she is definitely doing better now that she's there.  Yes, her memory and mental condition continue to get worse, but she is physically healthier and we no longer worry about her endangering herself.  She's actually become so used to where she lives that she rarely even wants to leave (compare that with that terrible first month when she begged to go home every day and was sooo unhappy).

I'm glad she is well.  I miss her a lot.  I wish I could see her more often.  I do talk to her every single day, sometimes just for a few short minutes, sometimes for a half hour; and I've only missed one day since she moved in there in January.  I used to wonder if I was calling too much, if the staff was annoyed by my daily calls, but I learned that they love it.  They say Mom loves getting my calls (which Mom tells me, too), and they said it's really great that I do it when so many other residents' families seem to completely forget about them.  I think that's sad.  After all, she's still my mom, and I love her.  Why would I want to abandon her?

Anyway, it was nice to be reminded of the crocheted Santa Claus from yesteryear. 

Dementia Epiphany

I was in the shower the other day and I had an epiphany about dementia.  I thought about it in a way I'd never considered.

We always think of dementia in terms of being a terrible disease that robs a person of their mind.  I look at someone like Mom and think because her memories are mixed up that there is something wrong with her.

But I have this theory that the eternal spirit sees things all at once.  Linear time is how things appear to us in mortality, but I believe God sees things all at once.  Past, present, and future are all one.  For example, when my dad wrote love letters to my mom in 1958, God knew I would read them in 2013 because time does not exist.  I don't know how to explain it, but I know when I had a very revelatory experience, that's what I sensed and felt.  I could see things all at once.  Time didn't exist.

And as I've thought about this, I think, "What if what appears to us as a scrambling of memories and experiences is simply the inability of a mortal body to see things as the eternal spirit naturally sees them?"  Maybe as a person ages and gets closer to the end of his or her mortal life, the spirit's natural way of seeing things becomes more pronounced, but the mortal body can't process it, and so to the outside observer, it appears that there is something wrong. 

But what if what we view as disease in mortality is actually how an enlightened mind thinks normally?  What if the weakness we deem in my mother is actually a strength?

I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well, but it just gave me a different perspective on what we view as a disease.

Speaking of Mom, here's today's nugget:

I called Mom up, and I said, "How's it going?"

"I'm in a very bad mood," she grumbled.

"Uh-oh, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I'm sick of people butting into things that are none of their damn business," she responded.  [Mom is not a swearer, by the way.]

"Oh, what happened?"

"Well, I have this friend, and he's really old, and he's in my room, and we're just talking. I don't know what they think we're doing, but they want me to leave my door open, and I don't want to leave my door open. It's none of their damn business!

"I don't know if they think we're making out or what. We're just talking! I've kissed him before, but it's like he's my father. He's really old. We're just friends. And if the door is open, anybody can hear our conversation, and it's none of their damn business. I'm in a really bad mood...but I love you."

"Well, that's good."

"When I hang up with you, I'm going to close my door, and if they open it again, I'm just going to close it. It's my room, and it's none of their damn business what we're doing in there."

And yes, folks, she did say "none of their damn business" several times. I didn't try to fight it; I don't think it would have done any good.

A New Perspective On Dad

I've mentioned that I've been transcribing Mom's journals.  I've been taking a break from that to transcribe my dad's love letters that he wrote Mom while he was in the Navy, and which she saved.  (I only wish Dad had saved her letters as well.)

These letters were written from November 1958 to June 1959, and Dad wrote Mom nearly every day during much of that time.  I knew these letters existed and even made every effort to find and preserve them when Mom's house was being cleaned out, but I have never actually started reading them until now.

They are a treasure trove indeed, and I will tell you why.  Not only do they capture what Mom and Dad were going through in the infancy of their love (which later led to their marriage in October of 1959), but they capture the thoughts of a man who never talked much about himself, his history, or what he was feeling.  They also capture a time he never talked about: his time in the Navy.

I've written before that Dad disliked the Navy a lot.  My great aunt said when he came home from the Navy, he threw away his uniform, and I believe Mom confirmed that story as well.  I think Dad probably didn't like the rigidity of service life nor did he care for the atmosphere; I also think he just plain hated being away from Mom, which is very evident in his letters.

The dad I knew was very loving and a wonderful provider to his family, but he was not very demonstrative or open with his emotions.  He was very quiet and kept a lot inside.

The 19 year-old boy who writes these letters I'm currently reading is funny, poetic, and madly in love with my mom.  I've always been a mama's boy and always considered my interests closer to Mom's than Dad's, but I see from my dad's letters that I probably inherited my writing skills, my love for music, and my singing ability from him.

The dad I knew tended to be serious, but the guy in these letters is goofy, intelligent, and poetic.  It's so great to see this side of my dad.  He was a great man who I admired a lot, but these letters bring out a whole other side of him.  I can see why my mom fell for him (and vice-versa).

Some of my favorite passages so far:


"Tell me, if a person talks to a picture, does it mean he’d better see a...head-shrinker ...I’ve found myself talking to your picture two or three times since I put it on my dresser-drawers – It is the large picture of both of us.  By the way, I sleep facing the dresser so you’re the last person I see before going to bed and the first one I see in the morning."

"I guess about all there is left to say is I Love You and imagine by now you’ve already guessed that.  So I’ll sign off now with this little thought: Confucious say, 'Boy and Girl who get caught in revolving door go around together'

"P.S. I do love you...more than words can tell and Confucious was right ‘cause we’re both caught in the revolving door of love"

"While I’m downtown today I must remember to pick up some more writing paper or my next letter to you is liable to be written on Kleenex tissues.  Do you realize that since I’ve started writing you, I’ve used up what would ordinarily be a two months supply of stationary for me.  I don’t care, though, ‘cause it’s worth every sheet of paper, every envelope, and every stamp I use just to hear from you and know that you still love me."

 "I hope to see you in a week and I’ll meet your plane no matter what time of day or night it comes in.  In the meantime I’ll keep sending my love to you by mail."

"It is now 11:05 A.M.  That...means in exactly 5,163 minutes, providing the plane is on time, we’ll be in each others arms.  Actually I haven’t started counting the minutes, yet.  I just figured it out.  I have started counting the hours, however.  I started counting them last night just before I went to bed.  If you get this letter at 6:00 PM Monday we’ll only be 31 hours apart as you read this.  I can hardly wait..

"You know, several times during the last two nights I’ve awakened from my sleep and just laid there thinking of you for about 45 minutes or an hour before I would fall asleep again."

"I’ve never loved or missed anyone so in my whole life.  All I can think about anymore in my spare time is you and the good times we’ve had together and dream of...good times yet to come.  Oh, my darling, I miss you so, and your letters mean very much to me so write often."

"I was singing the song, “Linger Awhile” to myself today.  The reason I tell you this is because the song has taken on a new meaning for me.  One verse starts out 'and when you are gone away, each hour will seem a day.'  Each hour away from you...does seem like a day and these past four days...have seemed like an eternity.  Oh, my darling, I love you so, and I miss you so and wish you were here with me, but I know this cannot be so all I can do now is send my love by mail and save the love in my heart until I am with you again."

Dad was a "smitten kitten."  I'm glad it worked out.

On another note, most days I feel I've adjusted well to Mom's declining mental health.  I'm able to see the humor in it and appreciate who Mom is.  And the fact is, she's healthy and seems happy.  But every once in a while I do have a melancholy or angry day where I just miss the woman I grew up with.  Of course, she's the same person, but her personality and mental capacity have altered a great deal.  I never would have imagined nine or ten years ago that we would be where we are now.

I call Mom every single day.  Most of the time we have the same exact conversation, but I'm grateful she's still in a stage where she can still create new memories (although sometimes she's not so successful at hanging on to them) and that she's able to communicate; that she still knows who I am and remembers much about my life.

But I do miss the woman I once had deep conversations with; who was an excellent Trivial Pursuit player; who read (and retained) a lot; who was very independent; who knew her history the way it happened; who I would go to lunch with; etc.  I just miss the old times.  

But I'm adjusting to the new.  It's all you can do, right? 

Turning A Glorious Corner

So six days ago on March 13, I had my usual conversation with Mom where she told me she didn't understand why she just couldn't go home and was trying to figure out ways to escape and was mad at my younger sister for not taking her home.  She felt her kids didn't care about her and was her normal, sad self that she's been since we moved her into assisted living.

The very next day, March 14, it was like talking to a completely different person: she was happy and laughing and talking about how she'd lived at the facility for two or three years and liked it there and talked about her friends and shared an experience about visiting one of her friends in her room and the therapy dog coming to visit. She was laughing about it.

She talked about playing a game and winning. She was in a great mood and said she saw no reason to go back to her old place because no one was there anyway and she didn't even know if the house was there anymore.

She talked about having her own room and TV and said the place she was at wasn't too bad. She was looking forward to a Planetarium visit the next day.  She talked about how she and my older sister had gone on a fun drive (forgetting that it was actually a not-so-fun drive to the doctor).

She said she hadn't seen my younger sister in a while and that she had once asked her to take my mom home, but probably wouldn't now because "[my younger sister and her husband] need to live their own lives and don't need me hanging around."

She said she had lived at the assisted living facility before she lived there and would probably live there the rest of her life.

I am not sure what caused such an abrupt reversal in my mom, but it was so great to see her happy for a change.

 My biggest fear was that it would be temporary, but every day I've talked to Mom since then, she has said essentially the same thing: she's happy where she's living; it's her home; she has no reason to go back to where she used to live because nobody is there; she has friends where she is; and things are looking up.

 It's a miracle, and I credit God with helping her make a positive adjustment.  I also think there are things my family has done that have helped her become positive about her living arrangement.  Mom refers to a note my sister put up (based on another note my sister-in-law put up) essentially telling Mom this place is her home and that she lives there and that he family loves her.  

 Coincidentally (or not-so-coincidentally (I don't believe in coincidences)), the night before Mom's incredible change, I was on the phone for about an hour with a distant relative I went to school with who has been working with people in Mom's situation for ten years.  She offered a good picture of what we how we can expect Mom to be now and in the future  and things we can do to help her.  She actually offered some helpful suggestions, but one of the things she talked about was positive programming, and I believe the notes created by my sister and sister-in-law have been helpful in changing Mom's programming into something more positive.  

 Mom and I also had a conversation on the 13th where she had been depressed at the start of the call, and I steered her in a more positive direction by the end; I'd like to think that helped as well.

Whatever the reason, I so don't care.  It's just so nice to hear Mom be so positive about where she lives.  I must admit, she made me silently chuckle when she said a funny/not-so-funny thing.  In her excitement about her new digs, she said, "...and we get three meals a day here, and it's all free! We don't have a pay a thing!"

Oh, if you only knew, Mom. If you only knew.

Still, hearing my mom so happy and engaged is worth any price.  It's what I've longed for and it happened much sooner than I expected.  I hope it sticks.  It seems to be.

When Did I Become Responsible?

Sorry I've been a way for a while.  Life has been busy, and I just haven't been able to find the time (or frankly, the motivation) to write.  You probably needed a break from the sad story of my dementia-addled mom anyway because, yes, that's yet again the subject of today's post.

Jonah and I went back to Utah a week ago to take care of some legal and house matters involving my mom.  For once, I was actually grateful that the two of us were unemployed so we could take the trip down together.

Legally, essentially what we are doing is moving all of Mom's assets (except for her monthly Social Security check) into a new trust so that some of her assets can theoretically be saved.  Basically, it's a loophole that gives the trust ownership over her assets so that when she applies for Medicaid, the only money she will have in her own account is her monthly Social Security check, which is good since the state only allows a person to have less than $2,000 to qualify for Medicaid and only leaves the recipient with $45 a month to use for things Medicaid and Medicare don't cover such as regular dental care, vision care, podiatry care, and getting her hair done, for example.  Just another example of how our broken health care system bleeds the infirm and ill dry and leaves them with little dignity.

Of course, the downside is that gifting one's assets before applying for Medicaid carries a penalty.  Essentially, Mom's lawyer will apply for state aid now knowing full well that she will be denied and penalized for gifting all of her assets to the trust.  The penalty period is approximately four years, during which time we use Mom's assets, which will be in this new trust, to pay for her care.  Once the penalty period is over, Mom's lawyer will help her reapply for Medicaid, and because she, herself, will not make enough through Social Security to be denied, she should theoretically be approved, and the assets in the trust can be used to pay for those things Medicare and Medicaid don't cover, and possibly there may even be some money remaining after she dies, which is what should would have wanted.

Frankly, I don't care if there's any money left over after her death (well, except to cover funeral and death expenses); I just want my mom taken care of in this life.

Much of the success of this plan depends on selling her house because that is where the bulk of the money used to pay for her care during the penalty period will come from.  We should have enough from other assets to last 8-10 months, and we're sure we can sell her house in that amount of time.  I sure hope so anyway.  It's a nice house in a good area, and our appraiser actually valued it higher than we were expecting, so we hope we can get what it's worth.

Here's the big kicker: I am now sole trustee over the new trust that his been created, and I am sole power-of-attorney for my mom.  This carries an enormous amount of power and responsibility, neither of which I take lightly.

I am a responsible person, but I never would have imagined myself in this position.  Somehow I always thought my brother would be the one to deal with these sorts of things.  He's always been good with finances and has always struck me as level-headed and responsible.  I've always struck myself as the kid who never quite grew up.  I think that's part of why I'm an actor.

I have often been selfish in my life and freely admit I am lazy.  I would much rather play than work.  I have ambitions but rarely enough motivation to do anything about them.  I've always kind of lived my life in a "go-with-the-flow" manner rather than having concrete plans about how to get where I desire to go.  I tend to be more of a dreamer than a doer.  Certainly I have done many great things in both my personal life and career, but I've always felt I could have been capable of more if I had really put my mind to it.  Instead, I feel like much of my fortune, which I am truly grateful for, has often resulted more from happenstance than massive effort on my part.

I think my relationship with Jonah and Mom's illness have caused me to grow up more.  Mom's dementia, in particular, has really forced me to be more of a take charge kind of guy, which really is contrary to my personality.  The irony is I often have felt stymied in taking charge of some of the aspects in my own life, but somehow my love and devotion for my mother have caused me to take charge in hers.

The stress of dealing with Mom's affairs was too much for my brother.  This surprised me, actually.  His health was being adversely affected, and he asked me if I would be in charge.  My older sister didn't want the responsibility nor did any of us feel it would be wise for Mom's money to be near my brother-in-law, whose financial record hasn't been very great, partly because of troubles with his ex-wife.  My younger sister probably wouldn't feel comfortable taking the responsibility.  In any case, I am in charge.

I actually don't mind and, unlike my brother, I don't feel terribly stressed by any of it.  Perhaps I will later.  But I sleep well, and I try to manage Mom's affairs as best I can.  It does take some time and work to handle it, but I feel like I'm doing okay, and hopefully, in the long run, this will help her and us.

I do worry about what will happen if her health declines further or if she has to be moved to another facility, but I figure I'll cross those bridges when I get to them.

I have been particularly been saddened by how hard this has been for Mom.  She so wants to go home, even though she won't likely recognize her home anymore.   She feels so sad and lonely even though we visit her.  I call her every single day.  She complains that she's bored and lonely, but also makes little effort to participate or be social.  She also has a poor concept of time and a poor memory, which gives her the illusion that no one visits her or that they haven't visited her in a very long time.

Jonah and I tried redirecting her a lot while we were there.  It is almost like how you'd behave with a kid, making them forget that just bonked their head by distracting them with something else.  And that's another frustrating thing; Mom can be so childish in her behavior.  I'm truly glad there are two security doors at the place she's at because I know she would try to escape otherwise.

The time not spent with Mom or taking care of legal matters was spent going through old papers and photos of Mom's.  It was bittersweet.  Mom's house is a shell of its former self.  Furniture and donations and trash and things to sell are all placed in different rooms.  Mom's room is almost completely empty except for a chair, a vacuum, and a garbage can.  Going through Mom's stuff...selling her stuff...selling her house...spending her hard-earned money on a place she doesn't even want to be - it just feels wrong and unfair.  But it is what it is, and Mom is safer and healthier where she is.  But sadder, too.  And that makes me sad.

Jonah has been great through all this - very supportive and understanding.  I know it must get old.  And I am still is state of mourning, I suppose.  I've become almost obsessive about Mom - reading her journals...looking at old photos...preoccupying myself with her legal matters...calling her every day.  I had to take a break.  I do feel I need to call every day.  I don't want her to forget me...and she could.  But I have taken a step back from some of the other things.

I've been fortunate that some freelance writing work came my way, and I've been busy with that.  I also think I may be close to getting hired for a job here.  The company had me do two interviews and asked me to take a drug test, so I feel those are good signs.  It's an on call job, but it has the potential to turn into something more permanent.  It is theatre-related, but not acting, and somehow I seem to be okay with that.  I've had a very successful and wonderful career as an actor, and I certainly do not intend to give up that career.  But I do long for something a bit more secure.  Some days I feel like I'm getting too old for the transient, "feast-or-famine," "always-trying-to-hustle-for-the-next-job" lifestyle that an acting career is.  Maybe I am indeed growing up.  I also just want to be here with Jonah for a while.

Jonah was offered an on call position, too, but it could be very good money when he works.  He's also doing a temporary gig doing costume construction.  Anyway, after a long period of unemployment, I'm hoping things are picking up for both of us.

Well, I'm pretty wiped out.  I'm off to bed.

Oh, the very last photo I found at Mom's house (and the one I had been looking for without success) was this one taken of her at a conference President David O. Mckay presided over.

Mom is fifth from the left on the back row (with the "x" above her).  David O. McKay is on stand above and between the two men standing on the right.  I always thought it was a cool picture.  So Glad I found it.

Taking Risks

I've never thought of myself as much of a risk taker.  I'm pretty practical and tend to take the safest route.  But as I thought about it, I have seen two huge risks I've taken in my life that paid off very well: my choice to become an actor and my choice to essentially leave the LDS Church to have a life with Jonah.  Both of those choices have brought me immeasurable happiness.  That isn't to say there haven't been challenges associated with either, but I certainly do not regret either one, and certainly neither one was necessarily a "safe" choice.

I am faced with a potentially risky prospect, although I feel it is the right thing to do.  As you well, know, Mom is now in an assisted living facility, and of course, that is very expensive and will eat through Mom's assets relatively quickly.

A family advocate who deals with Medicaid issues faced by families going through what mine is going through and who was recommended to us by the assisted living facility where Mom is put us in touch with an attorney who specializes in financial planning for the elderly and who also has a great knowledge about Medicaid, how it works, and its pitfalls.  He and the family advocate both said that there is a way to save some of Mom's assets from being completely spent down before Medicaid will take care of Mom's expenses.

The attorney also said that even once one qualifies for Medicaid, there are certain things that neither Medicare nor Medicaid will cover so it's good to have a safety net of assets that Medicaid can't touch.  Essentially the plan the attorney proposes is setting up a living trust of which one of Mom's kids would be the trustee and which most of Mom's assets would be put into.  This would make what were once Mom's assets technically become someone else's even though, in truth, they are still really hers.  This is kind of a legal loophole one can use to avoid losing all of Mom's assets before the state will help out.

However, when an applicant applies for Medicaid, the state will look back and see if such transactions have occurred and will penalize the applicant for doing so, preventing them for applying for Medicaid for a certain period of time.

Our rough estimate is that if we were to go forward with this plan, Mom would be unable to qualify for Medicaid for nearly four years, during which time we would still use her assets to pay for her care, but then once she qualifies for Medicaid we could still hang on to whatever assets are remaining to help pay for the things Medicaid and Medicare don't cover and could even perhaps leave some remaining for funeral and death expenses and even inheritance (although inheritance is not our goal; our goal is to help care for Mom).

The legal fees for implementing this plan run anywhere from $5000 to $8000 depending on the complexity of the plan, and of course, when you're already stressed and worried about having enough money to care for your mom, that seems like a lot; but it's also important to look at the money as an investment that you will theoretically gain back.

The big risk is what happens if we don't sell Mom's house because that is crucial, as the bulk of the money we would use to pay for Mom's care during the penalty period will come from that, and if we don't sell it, how will we pay for her care once the money we have runs out.

Now Mom's house is a pretty good house in a decent neighborhood and should be fairly simple to sell, but in real estate, who knows?

It is comforting to know that the law firm we're dealing with has a great reputation for honesty and trustworthiness.  It is also comforting to know that an independent lawyer friend who helped Mom in the past when my dad died recommended we do this.  And it is very, very comforting to know that the attorney we are dealing with has had a 100% success rate in preserving some of the assets of the elderly in similar situations as my mom except in cases where the person died during the penalty period, and I actually anticipate Mom will live a while, and even if she doesn't, we would burn through her assets anyway, so really, what do we have to lose.

I am also very comforted by the attorney himself.  In my conversations with him, he is both confident and knowledgeable, but more importantly, I genuinely think he cares about the elderly and their families and how situations like this affect them.  He got into this branch of law originally because of the struggles his own family faced when his grandmother suffered a stroke.

My brother and I hold power of attorney for Mom.  Until just recently, my brother was trustee over her trust, which theoretically protects her assets after she dies (which is different from the trust this lawyer wants to help us create, which theoretically will protect some of her assets while she's still living).  My brother chose to abdicate his duties as trustee because the financial responsibilities have caused him great stress and have been affecting his health in negative ways.  I am now the trustee and am now largely responsible for Mom's bills and financial matters.

After having a long conversation with this attorney, I am convinced that this plan can help save some of Mom's assets and will help her and us financially in the future.  I have talked to my family about this.  My brother, surprisingly (because I thought he would be the most resistant), said if I felt it was a good idea and because our family friend recommended it as well, he supports me in my endeavors (I think more than anything, he's just glad I'm in charge of this stuff and not him).

But, good idea or not, I am scared to make this decision because there are potential risks, and I certainly don't want to do anything to put Mom at even greater risk than she already is; and if things do fall apart for some reason, it will be on my head, and who wants that?

As I was stressing about whether to actually go through with this prospect, I was in a store with Jonah yesterday and there was one of those motivational signs that said simply, "What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?"  I thought to myself, "I would save as much of what my mom worked her whole life for as I could."  Simple as that.

Of course, I do not know if this plan will succeed or not.  If everything works out the way it should, it will.  But things can go wrong.  Like I said, I think of myself as someone who doesn't take risks very often; who would rather play it safe than gamble.  So I'm scared even though I think this is the right way to go.  And I guess it's okay to be scared.  But as Jonah often says, "You have to live life by faith, not fear."

I hope this is the right decision.  I believe it is.  Nothing's ever 100% guaranteed.  I can't worry too much about "what if?"  I just have to believe that things will work out for the best.  God has always looked out for my family, and I believe he always will.  We will certainly face challenges, but I believe we can succeed.  I hope and pray so anyway.

"I'm Not Dead."

 "I'm not dead."  "I feel happy.  I feel happy."

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975

Why does it feel like my mom has died?  She most certainly hasn't.  In fact, today she was quite coherent and happy to receive my phone call.  She said she was really grateful I called because even though the people at her new home are very nice, it's not the same as when your own family members call or visit?  She even remembered an incident that occurred last summer that I really thought she wouldn't remember.  She sounded good today.  Still wants to go home, but she sounds like she's adapting.

I think part of why it feels like she's died isn't so much to do with who she's become but because I'm spending so much time lately poring through her journals, looking at old photos, and dealing with her mementos.

This picture hung Mom's bedroom for many years:

It is now hanging in mine a few hundred miles away from where Mom lives.

I think Mom and Dad got the painting as a wedding gift, if I am not mistaken.  From whom, I don't know.  I see no sign of it in Mom's wedding gift registry (yep, I have that, too), but I feel like one of her San Francisco friends (where Mom grew up) gave it to her.  Perhaps I'm wrong.

It hung in Mom's bedroom for many years.  Then she moved it downstairs and replaced it with an old family photo.  Anyway, as the house has been prepared for cleaning, I asked if I could have it.  I don't know if anybody else cared.  But I'm glad it's hanging in my and Jonah's room and that when I wake up I can see a picture that will always remind me of Mom.

Just below it is another memento that has hung in Mom's room since 1977:

That's my hand.  I made this for Mom in elementary school.  I don't know if it's always lived in the same place, but it hung in her room for years and years.  Right below it was a nearly identical one my younger sister made a few years later.  It's still there as far as I know.  Mine now hangs in my bedroom.

It feels both right and wrong to have it here.  It really should be in Mom's room.  But then so should Mom.

As I was leaving Mom's house to come back home, my sister-in-law suggested I make a video recording of the house before it all changes for good.  I did.  It will never be the same again and if we're to pay for Mom's future care, it likely won't be in the family for relatively much longer.

I was noticing that one of the oldest pictures in the house was hanging to the newest.  This picture has been in Mom and Dad's house almost since the beginning:

Sorry.  It's not a great photo.  It was cropped from an old photo from the 70s.  I think my dad's parents may have even given this painting to them as a housewarming gift.  I'm not sure.  All I know is it's been in our living room almost as long as the house has existed.

It was painted by an artist named O. Yeline.  I think several prints exist of the painting, including my mom's.  It's called Swiss Chalet.  And based on my search online, this may have been the only work he did.  I found one selling on eBay for $80.00 (although it doesn't look like anyone purchased it).  I also found one that sold for $9.99.  I think it was a fairly common print when the one my mom owns was originally bought.

It's actually not my favorite painting in the world.  It's also rather large.  I thought about asking if I could take it, but not only doesn't it fit my personal taste, but it's too large to really put anywhere in my house.  It's also faded, scratched, and has some stains on it.  It's outdated.  But it reminds me of home, and I will miss seeing it.

Next to it was a set of framed photos Jonah and I had given Mom just this past Christmas.  I was sad she hadn't gotten to enjoy it longer, so I took it to her new home and hung it up with the other many photos my family had taken over there.

I guess change is part of life.

I found an interesting entry in one of Mom's journals, dated November 10, 1986.  Mom's original grammar and spelling are basically intact.  I have included some punctuation, however, for clarity (Mom wasn't very fond of periods for some reason):

            "Yesterday in Relief Society we had a lesson in death in the plan of eternity and how we as survivors deal with the death of a loved one.

            "Not because I’m going to die soon or anything but I feel the need to write a few of my thoughts down.

            "Of course death is eventuall.  Everyone is born & everyone dies.  When we are born we are leaving loved ones to go to other loved ones.  When we die we again are born again and return to loved ones.  It is hard to see our loved ones go but we are also glad for their continual growth whether it be off to school, college, marriage, a new job or a mission and we are happy for them.  It is hard to be separated from them but I guess it isn’t so hard because we can still write or call but then not always as we look at people missing in action in the war or runaway children where we don’t know where they are.  At least in death we know that they are in a beautiful happy place.

            "I guess death is hardest on the living.  They tend to blame God, or the person who died.  They can’t understand why they were chosen to deal with this death of a loved one, they are numb, they don’t want to accept that this has happed.   Perharps Perhaps they even blame themselves.  “If I had done thus & so” they say.  Forget it!!  Everybody spends so much time regretting this & that.  It happed now pick yourself up and get on with life.  Don’t blame yourself or me and don’t blame God.  Stay close to him and live by his guidance.  I would hope you would let me live on in you and that you know I love each of you for the “special” (I know you think that word is overused Keith) person you are.  Always love and help each other and do the best you are capable of.  I must go to work but perhaps I can write a special letter to each of you later."

I do love the lines,  "I would hope you would let me live on in you..." and "Always love and help each other and do the best you are capable of."

Words from a wise woman.  A very much alive woman.

The Power of Music

I find it interesting that my sister wrote a post on her blog with the exact same title I had planned for mine.  But like she said, there can be more than one post in the world with the same title.

I had talked in this post about how Mom and I had been playing a game of Trivial Pursuit.  One of the other questions was "What airplane did Shirley Temple sing about in the 1934 film, Bright Eyes?"

The answer was "the Good Ship Lollipop."  Mom has always been a big fan of Shirley Temple.  She loves so many of her movies and pre-dementia, she would have had no problem answering this question.  But this evening she did not know the answer.

I decided to give her a hint and started humming the song.  I could see Mom's eyes register recognition and she even mustered a few lyrics from the song and finally was able to come up with the title.

It reminded how powerful of a tool music can be in assisting the memory.  Sometimes music can reach a person in a way that other means are unable to do.  I started singing a song to Mom recently (I can't even remember which one), but she knew all the lyrics started singing them herself, so I let her finish unaided.  And yet, she no longer remembers the name of the city where she has lived for nearly 52 years or how her own mother died.  I find that fascinating.

My younger sister grew up with a developmental disability that made it hard for her to retain information.  My mom would spend hours and hours with her helping her study, and one of the methods she used that helped my sister greatly was creating songs to help her remember stuff, and that seemed to help a lot.

I remember a physiology class I took in college.  I remember very little of what I learned in it, but I do remember that the word coalesce means "to come together" because my friend and I used the Beatles' song, "Come Together" as a mnemonic device to help us remember the definition.

The song "Our House" by Madness always makes me think of waking up in my brother's bedroom, which I was sleeping in while he served a mission, because I had fallen asleep with the radio on, and that song was playing when I woke up.  I was walking through a market in Belgium with my missionary companion the first time I ever heard Whitney Houston's version of "I Will Always Love You."  Those are just a couple of examples of music being tied to very specific memories.

I think music transcends verbal communication and can speak to our hearts and minds on a whole different level.  I remember watching a ballet and hearing the music and being brought to tears for no reason than that the beauty of the music spoke to me in such an emotional way.  Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings" always makes me cry even though I associate no particular sad thought with it.  It is just a powerfully sad piece of music.  Likewise, ABBA's "Dancing Queen" always makes me feel so happy.

I may have said it in this blog before, but if I had to choose between going blind or deaf, I would choose blindness.  I could get along without seeing, but I would find it very difficult to get by without music.

When researching different memory care units for my mom, one of them sent me power point presentation which included a fascinating video on reaching Alzheimer patients through nontraditional means.  I find this video absolutely stunning and amazing:

It's really amazing what music can do.

I like this one, too:

As I was driving the big rental truck with some of Mom's stuff in it back home, I was listening to the only CDS I had which were a bunch of Barry Manilow compilations given to me by my brother-in-law.  Some of Barry's songs seemed more poignant and sad to me given Mom's current situation.

One song I like of Barry's is called "When October Goes."  The music is by Barry Manilow set to some old lyrics by Johnny Mercer, one of the great songwriters.  It's a sad tune.  I don't know Mercer's original intent, but as I really listened to the lyrics, it seemed to me to be about getting older; of one season ending and another beginning.  It seems October represents a season before it gets cold and everything starts to die.  It just made me think of my mom and how the youthful season of her life has ended and the season that leads to death, whether slowly or quickly, is upon her.  And it made me think of how hard is sometimes is to "let October go." 

Maybe that's not what the intent of the song originally was, but that's what it means to me.  Here are the lyrics:

And when October goes
The snow begins to fly
Above the smokey roofs
I watch the planes go by
The children running home
Beneath a twilight sky
Oh, for the fun of them
When I was one of them

And when October goes
The same old dream appears
And you are in my arms
To share the happy years
I turn my head away
To hide the helpless tears
Oh how I hate to see October go

And when October goes
The same old dream appears
And you are in my arms
To share the happy years
I turn my head away
To hide the helpless tears
Oh how I hate to see October go
I should be over it now I know
It doesn't matter much
How old I grow
I hate to see October go

It's hard to let your loved ones go into that season, wanting to help them, but feeling helpless at times.  I was a sobbing mess as I listened to it, knowing that things will never, never be the same for my mom again...or for us either.

A family friend who is advising us on some legal matters that may potentially save some of Mom's assets wrote the following to me:

 "Here my thoughts.

"First, accept that things are happening that you can't change, and then ONLY stress about deciding on the things you have power over.

"Accept:
-Your mom needs to be in a care facility
-She won't respond like she did before, ever
-Your role, and that of your siblings has changed from your mother's children, to your Mom's caregivers. She's totally dependant on whatever you do, and nothing will come "back to you" from her as the parent she once was.
-Plan on getting NO inheritance so long as she is in the care facility (this info you are sending me seems like an amazing exception to this)

"What you have power over
-The facility she will be in
-How much time you will spend visiting her - even though she probably won't remember your visits or even you
-Can you save some of her money as an inheritance and STILL provide for her fully? This option from Callister seems excellent. I know this firm by reputation and trust them. Even if it costs you a bit, its all money you would never get. I say do it.
-Acceptance of your Mom's condition and that she will soon, if not already, forget who you are.

"These are difficult times for you. I love your Mom. She's special to me both as a person and as an old Cub Scout Den mother. I know what you are losing. Just know that this is the time of life you are in, as is she. My mom is also starting to decline and lose her memory.

"Hang in there. All the good parts of you have a lot to do with her gifts to you over the years."

I appreciated his thoughts and words of counsel.  You could tell he was sending them as a concerned friend and not just a lawyer.  And his words help put things in perspective.

Mom still wants to leave.  Probably will for a long time.  I hope she can adapt and find happiness with where she is.  It's a challenging road we walk these days.  10 years ago I never would have fathomed we'd be where we are today.