You did NOT just shush my mother

In the months and years before we fully understood the extent of Mom's dementia there were many signs we missed. Many of them we attributed to Mom's profound hearing loss.

I recall shortly after Dad died I took Mom to have her hearing aids cleaned. She and I sat in the examination room together and when the tech came and took her hearing aids, Mom looked at me and said, "I can't even hear myself talk now." Wow. That truly is a profound hearing loss.

It's difficult to know what part of Mom's changed behavior can be attributed to hearing loss and what can be attributed to dementia. Could she not hear us? Could she not comprehend what we were saying? It's one of those things we will never truly know. And after a while you decide it doesn't really matter. It was what it was.

Now Mom and Dad were of the Calvinistic Dutch Reformed persuasion. My sisters and I learned at a very young age you went into the sanctuary on Sunday, sat down and waited for the service to start while keeping wiggling and squirming to a minimum. Whispering was frowned upon so a few sparse words subtly whispered would be tolerated -- but no more than that. Mom could ignore our wiggling better than Dad. If he thought we were too squirmy he would nudge Mom and nod his head in our direction. Most of the time all she needed to do was give us a "look." Occasionally she would put her index finger to her lips, knit her brows together and purse her lips. You knew then you were in deep, deep trouble. At that point it didn't matter if you were sitting on a tack. You didn't move. Not a muscle. Not a twitch.

There was a Sunday morning, years before Dad died, that my younger sister went with Mom and Dad to their church in Grand Haven for the morning service. I'm not certain her reason for accompanying them. It could have been during the time when Dad was no longer allowed to drive. I truly don't remember the circumstances.

But on this particular Sunday my sister -- who was married with children of her own -- sat down with Mom and Dad in their "regular" pew. And Mom started whispering to her. Only it wasn't a whisper. Heaven forbid, Mom talked out loud.

And the woman at the other end of the pew leaned forward, pursed her lips, knit her brows together and put her index finger to her lips.

Lady, you did not just shush my Mother. You did not shush a woman who was old enough to be your mother. She has been a member of your congregation for years. It should be obvious she doesn't fully understand what is going on. You simply could not be that insensitive, could you?  Apparently the answer is yes.

Apparently she was so sanctimonious and self-righteous she felt it was her right, no, her duty to overstep her bounds and take over for my sister.

(And I, obviously,  have work to do in the forgiveness department). 

A few years later, when Mom was living with us we regularly attended the little country church in Glenn. It was the same little church Mom and Dad attended when they lived there.

Mom's dementia had fully set in by then. I don't think she could remember her friends from the years she and Dad were members. I don't know if she could hear the hymns. I have no doubt she could not follow the sermons. But she did remember the offering plate.

One particular Sunday Mom started obsessing early on during the service about the offering. Because she no longer had any concept of money we put away her bank cards and checkbook for safekeeping (mostly because she would lose them) and left about $25 in her purse for her.  This was simply so she could be comforted by the fact that she had some spending money. She never actually spent any of it, but it made her feel better to see money in her wallet. If, on occasion, she would buy lunch on one of our many outings, I would quietly replace the money she spent. Usually on Sundays I would slip and extra $20 in her wallet so she would have something to place in the offering plate. But on this particular Sunday I forgot. I tried handing it to her, but as far as Mom was concerned she no longer had any money and she was not about to take any money from her daughter.

"But I don't have ANY money," she kept saying, getting louder and louder each time she looked in her purse. I tried in vain to slip her money. I tried distracting her while our granddaughter tried to slip extra cash in her wallet. It didn't work. She was so incredibly upset by time the offering was taken I was not sure if we were going to make it out of church without a full-blown anxiety attack.

There is something to be said about her friends in that little country church. No one shushed her. No one put their finger to their lips and glared at her. Instead after the service people hugged her. They talked to her despite the fact she could not carry on a conversation.

In short, they cared.