A Woman’s Life in Shoes

Scan_20180412 (4)You can tell a lot about a woman and her outlook by her shoes.

Today I took mom shopping for diabetic support shoes. At the Leather Banana (don’t ask me why they named it that), which was the only place in a ten mile radius that offered both shoes and insole supports. Apparently butt-ugly orthopedics is the tradeoff for good circulation. There was one pair of pink-and-fuzzy slippers on the shelf, which I tried to get as a consolation prize. “We don’t carry those anymore,” she told me. But of course.

So, we went with the beige Velcro slip-ons. She walks steadily in them, which is a good thing. But oh, you’ve come a long way, baby!

Look at this. It’s the photograph Mom selected for the “Guess the Geezer” contest this week at her adult daycare. This was a young girl who was going places – white cowboy boots and all. As I was cleaning out her stuff from my father’s house last year, I came across these high-heeled golden lame sandals that Sarah snatched up before I could get a close look. These were in a corner, next to the sensible church lady heels and the garden clompers and the fuzzy house slippers and the running-through-the-grocery store athletic shoes. Like the good Catholic girl I am, I saw these as tangible proof of the many sides of my mother.

Now that she is squarely in her declining years, it seems a shame that it all comes down to utilitarian concerns like balance and circulation. But maybe this, too, is something to consider, something to remember, something even to venerate. Because these are the shoes for the last mile, the hardest mile, before that little cowgirl goes home for good.

What do your shoes say about you? Put your favorite pair in the comments!

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Alaska Dreaming

alaskaFor as long as I can recall, my mother has talked of wanting to go to Alaska. When she was younger she dreamed of wanting to go and work as a missionary among the Native Americans. As a wife and mother, she set this dream aside … but the longing has never gone away. Something about the place fires her imagination.

When I used to visit her at the memory care facility in Georgia, one of the hardest parts of walking away and leaving her behind was knowing that, although she was still living, her life was pretty much over. An occasional visitor was the only relief of monotony in days filled with the drone of the television set or staring at the four walls of her bedroom. This, for a woman who had filled her own days with quilt making, cookie baking, and volunteering at church every time the doors opened. (After tending to her own home and husband, of course.) She and Dad traveled all over the country those last years of their marriage, making a special trip on their fiftieth anniversary. But they never made it to Alaska.

Now that she’s with me, her life has gotten better. Her lift recliner is squarely in the middle of the family room, where she is in the middle of all our comings and goings. She goes to daycare four days a week, so she can interact with people her own age. I’ve made efforts to help her find a church home, but she seems content going with us. And when we go places, she hops in the car and rides along. This summer she’s going to go visit my sister Kathy … and if I can manage it, we’re going to go visit my other sister in Washington, too. I’ve never been to Seattle, so this is on my bucket list, too.

As I think about making the trip west, though … Alaska is just a little further, beckoning me. We could take a train to Vancouver (another place I’ve always wanted to see), and then … what would it take to make it to Alaska?

I don’t know if we can do it. But I’d sure like to try. What wouldn’t I give to be able to say that I was able to make my mother’s dreams come true?

 

 

It’s Dementia, Dammit.

IMG_2934Just when we had turned a corner,

Just when you were getting better,

There you go again.

How I wish that you were here.

 

Just when you were settling in,

Just when we began to win,

There it goes again,

That thief that robs you senseless.

 

Restless hands. Troubled mind.

Anger never far behind.

Close your eyes, wish for day,

Let the voices have their say.

 

Take my hand so you don’t fall.

Hear me whisper love so tall, that

All the shadows hug you tight.

Good night, dear Mother. Just good night.

 

 

Tips for Caring for Parent with Dementia

womanIf you give Mom a cookie … She’ll want another one to go with it. Some days, that’s her idea of a balanced diet: one cookie in each hand.

Not always, though. Most days she’s pretty careful to eat and drink like someone with a history of diabetes. But some days, dementia wins and the child in her comes out to play.

I’ve decided that caregiving for someone with dementia is a lot like parenting a toddler. Some differences, of course … I would always want to treat her like the adult she is, and give her as much say in the details of her life as possible (clothing and drink options, etc.) But this is a marathon, not a sprint: To some degree, it’s important to manage the chaos. Especially since I have two chaos-generating teenagers as well as a husband to think of. And the dogs. Oh, Lord, the dogs.

Some of the same lessons I learned (a bit too late, in some cases) while raising Chris and Sarah have come in handy for taking care of mom:

  • Enjoy the moment. When they were little, I would attempt to work when they were on the floor playing. In retrospect, life would have been much sweeter if I had joined the fun more often, instead of powering through. Now, with Mom, I move at a slower pace — but, thanks to the kids, I’ve learned to stop fuming and to reset my internal clock. I may not get as much done — but I’m enjoying it more.
  • Think twice, act once. Thinking through the steps of a task while changing, bathing, or transporting her saves wear and tear on the body from lifting her or getting myself on the floor (or up again). Gathering everything ahead of time – lotion, clothes, socks and shoes, wipes and bags, etc. – and putting them in arm’s reach can save a lot of wear and tear on both of us.
  • Go-Bag at the ready. When the kids were little, I’d never go anywhere without an emergency bag (diapers and wipes, sunscreen, change of clothes, snack and juice box, activities, emergency Diet Coke and clean shirt for me). Add a few tabs of Ammodium and an emergency set of morning meds, it comes in handy now, too.
  • Morning and evening routines make for a better day. When the kids were little, doing the same things in the same order in the morning and again at night was our best shot at a good night’s sleep. Now they are MOM’s best chance. Change into nighty, warm socks, tuck in with a kiss, soft music while I read to her, lights out. After about 10 minutes, gentle snores come over the monitor. All is well. The next morning, turn on a gentle light and a five-minute warning before getting her up helps her to be relatively alert and steady on her feet.
  • Soothing music and baby monitors. As a new parent, I discovered that the monitor was as much about my peace of mind as their safety – which holds true for the elderly, too. When she seems especially agitated, my piano music or a few Gospel favorites can soon get her humming along.
  • Encourage independence as much as possible. At bathtime, a sitting bench and detachable and/or adjustable showerhead allows her to do much of her own personal care and preserves her modesty. I’ve also learned to give ample time for her to attempt to dress and undress herself. Just as when they were little, it would be much simpler and faster for me to do it for her … but faster is not always better.
  • Anticipate changes. Ten years ago, Mom could whip up a double batch of cookies faster than you could say “oatmeal chip with walnuts.” Now I do the mixing and oven work, and she scoops the dough onto the trays. Once I made the mistake of leaving her with my teenage daughter to finish the last few pans … and Mom burned herself badly. I would never have left a toddler alone near the stove. This incident taught me the hard way that I can’t leave her, either.
  • Bribes can be your friend. As every experienced parent knows, the occasional bribe is a useful tool in the parental tool belt. The same is true for caregiving. Mom will do almost anything for sweet potato pie. I have four of them in the freezer, just in case I need to hack off a slice to make the pills go down.
  • Beware diaper butt syndrome. It’s hard to take advice from someone whose butt you once diapered. Even with dementia, parents sometimes need to hear the tough messages from others (doctors, pastor, hired caregiver, friends) in order to let it really sink in. When Mom refused to take her meds because of her auditory hallucinations, I made an appointment with her doctor, who wrote a letter I could post on the refrigerator that reads: “Sandy, as your doctor I’m telling you to listen to your daughter. She is in charge. Take all your meds every day. Drink lots of water. Keep eating to keep up your meds. If you do these things, you will stay as healthy as possible, as long as possible.” From that moment, she has not missed a pill.

What tips would you add to the list?