Crappy day!

So I guess I'll follow up happy day with crappy day. My mom is losing ground again. She lost the weight she had gained and another nine pounds. She's on an IV. She doesn't want to eat or get out of bed. Since she's at a rehab center they will probably tell us, sooner than later, that she can't be there anymore. If you aren't making progress Medicare won't pay.

I look at my mom and wonder how old age creeps in so efficiently. Her hearing is worse. She can't see hardly at all. She can't get up by herself. I try to imagine what she is going through.

I remember coming home from a waterpark in Texas and having an ear infection for the next few days. Sounds were garbled, like I was underwater. I think of how things must sound like this to her now and how frustrating it is to be left out, to lose the clarity of mundane things like traffic and the sweetness of children's laughter. I have, in the past few years, had a few panic attacks -- mostly at night in the dark where I couldn't see. I anxiously looked for anything to bring light to my face - even the glowing dial of my watch. She stares at pictures or things on her plate and tries to make sense of it. I cry when I remember the joy she felt watching sunsets, looking at roses, or even watching Animal Planet. I wonder if, like my panic attacks, she grasps for something to come into focus to settle her fear. She keeps her eyes closed a lot now.

When I had my babies I remember trying to get out of bed the first time with wobbly legs, leaning on someone to help me to the bathroom. I didn't like being dependent on someone but I knew it was temporary. My mom trembles as she stands, fumbling for something to find to steady her. It's not temporary.

The way she is now fills my mind and my thoughts on a daily basis. I search the recesses of my heart to remember what she used to sound like when she'd call and say, "run to the window and look at the GORGEOUS sunset," always saying the word gorgeous in a exaggerated way. My kids even know how to do it. I'd call her, saying something like, "Maybelline Marblehammer?" She'd respond, "Gladys Pipsqueak?" and we'd laugh. Sometimes the first name was so silly we couldn't get to the second one, we'd be cracking up too much. I think of her pulling into her driveway in her car, grabbing bags to bring in and I'd fake hide as she came in the door, having just vacuumed her house. She'd seek me out and we'd laugh. We sat for hours at her kitchen table talking about everything important and unimportant - usually laughing about goofy things.

I get angry about this situation. I don't see how it can be fair for someone who gave and loved so freely for 79 years to now have to deal with pain, suffering and feebleness. Then I realize she had 79 good years, bumps and bruises here and there, but still, 79 years. If it were to truly be fair she would have had half a life of sweet joy and half a life of crap. That we've only had nine months of hardship is really a blessing. It's just hard to see it that way sometimes.