Visits are getting more difficult

Our granddaughter didn't have school today so she and I went to visit Mom.

Mom's dementia is progressing quickly now and it's always a sad thing to watch.

I don't know if she still knows who we are. But she does know we are family. Whether I'm her sister, her daughter, a cousin, niece or aunt. . .  I don't think it makes a lot of difference. She is always happy to see us, wraps her arms around our necks, cries for a minute and then asks, "Are we going somewhere?"

Oh how she loves her rides.

But I fear the days of comprehension are long gone.

Today we found her in the activity room. They were making some sort of door ornament. Mom's room is filled with them. We walked back to her room and she asked again if we were going somewhere. I told her we would go out for coffee. She didn't hear me. I wrote it on her erasable note pad. I think she understood. I asked if she needed to use the bathroom before we left. She didn't get it. I opened the door to her bathroom. She had no idea what I wanted. Clearly the woman did not need to use the facilities, but she had no idea how to tell me she didn't.

She tries, on occasions to talk. To ask questions. Her voice has gotten softer and it is difficult to understand her. When you ask her what she said she thinks you are answering her and she can't hear or can't comprehend or both. So what few conversations we might have are just talking in circles.

We would have better luck quoting Shakespeare to one another. I have been tempted, on occasion, to reply to her questions with: Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog.

I never do. Just on the off chance she might actually hear me and then there truly would be no comprehension.

So we settle for quite outings with Mom going along for the ride.

Today we went to McDonald's for a change of pace from our standard visit to Russ'. Mom didn't make it through her cheeseburger when she started asking me where I was going to take her.

"I will take you back to your home, Mom."

A blank stare.

I wrote it out for her on a napkin: I will take you back to your home and walk you to your room.

Another blank stare.

When we arrived back at the nursing home, she didn't know where she was. No wonder telling her I would walk her back to her room meant nothing to her.

"Do I get out of the car now?"

"Yes, Mom. You can get out of the car now."

I walked her back to her room. We sat for a while. She wanted to go for a walk. We walked around the inside of the facility.

"Will you stay with me?"

I told her I would stay until lunch time (even though she had already had a cheeseburger, which she would never remember anyway). I told her when she went to the dining room to eat, I would leave. I told her I needed to go home to fix lunch for my husband. (King makes toast. Nothing else). I showed her a photo of King. It was one of the two of them standing together on the farm. King had been cutting wood and his shirt was drenched in sweat.

"He must work hard outside. He does a lot of work outside."

She remembered. The fact he is a retired school administrator would be lost on her. We will take the small victories.

And then she slips into her own personal, hellish fog again.

"Will you stay with me?"

I explained again I needed to get home.

"When will you be back?"

Telling her my next day off is Saturday means nothing. Telling her I will be back on Saturday means nothing. But I wrote it out anyway: I will be back on Saturday. Today is Monday. 

"But I don't know what day it is."

So this is the creator's divine plan? To watch my mother slip away into a fog where there is no escape? Am I supposed to learn patience? I raised four children and am now raising my granddaughter. I work at a job that requires infinite patience. For Heaven's sake I've been married 38 years. That should be patience practice enough.

If it's patience I need to learn, why do I have to learn patience at my Mother's expense?