The beginning of the end

Mom had a doctor's appointment yesterday. Not surprisingly she's in pretty good health for a 90-year-old. Which makes the decision we are about to make all the more difficult.

While at the doctor's office we learned there is a room available at one of the nicer nursing homes we picked out.The doctor will submit his evaluation and I have to take her for chest x-rays. The forms will be sent to the nursing home and they will make a decision as to whether or not they will accept her as a resident. Yippie. The day we were waiting for is here. Why do I feel like shit?

With Mom's dementia it is easy to talk about her while she is in the room, and we often do. It may not be right, or polite, but it happens. That doesn't mean she is totally oblivious to what is going on as she can be astute if she needs to be. For the past two years I have gone into the examination room with her as she is incapable of answering questions. If she is put on the spot she panics and simply shuts down. She trembles, stutters and gives up. She truly has no clue what medications she's on and in her mind she sleeps through the night, despite the fact I often find her sleeping in her recliner in the morning. Yesterday the doctor and I discussed the progression of her dementia and what I was doing for myself for respite care.

While Mom was in the examination room, the doctor called the nursing home and then asked me to talk to the director of the home as well. We left the door to the examination room open so Mom could still see me. I went across the hall to speak on the phone. But that didn't help Mom. She knew something was amiss. The look of horror on her face and the absolute terror in her eyes was more than my heart could take. It is something that will be etched in my mind forever.

She may not know exactly what is going on but she can guess.

"You are sending me somewhere, aren't you?"

"No Mom. You are going home with me today." It was the best I could do.

I held it together for most of the trip home. We got off the highway at the Fennville exit and took Lakeshore Drive to Glenn. Mom loves to drive along the lake. I might have been fine if not for the breathtaking view of Lake Michigan as we rounded the curve at Pier Cove.

The waves were rolling in, the water was a brilliant blue and the sun's reflection made the surface sparkle.  And I found myself longing to see Dad's sailboat on the horizon. The tears, which I had managed to keep in check, flowed.

I don't know if I can do this. All the exhaustion. All the frustrations. All the anger. It is still there, but can I really agree to this? Have I reached my limit? Has she really progressed to the point where we can no longer take care of her, or is this simply something that makes life easier?

There are no answers.

I find myself longing for a Hollywood ending. Dad would come to Mom in the night and say to her, "Come on Willy. Let's go sailing."