When my mom started getting ‘older’ and her health started to decline, we started having regular conversations about her wishes for her ‘end’ years. No child ever likes these conversations with their parent, but my mom has been persistent. She doesn’t know that she has dementia. She simply knows that her memory is bad and likens that to being sick and needing to get her things in order. We discuss her memory often and I have let her know that her ‘memory issue’ is the reason that some things are the way they are in her life. While she can definitely forget things, she has been very clear, consistently clear, that she wants to stay in her condo for the rest of her life. Prior to her moving next to me, I did mention that she had the option of moving into an assisted living facility where there would be people her age to socialize with. She considered it for a hot second but then swiftly shut it down. I told her that now was the time, if she was at all interested, because moving is a lot of work and I didn’t want to do it multiple times. To be perfectly sure that she was making a choice she wouldn’t regret, I actually set up some appointments at a couple of facilities so that she could make an informed decision but she wouldn’t go. She wanted to live next to me, with her dog, Gracie, so that I could continue to help her and see her every day and she could have her own place. She understood (and still does) that every option comes with positives and negatives and she has weighed those options. My mom was not someone that had a lot of close friends during her lifetime. She was the type of person that had a couple of friends and she invested in those friendships and greatly valued them. She also loved being around her family and spent as much time with us as possible. On the flip side, my mom was not afraid to be alone and she actually enjoyed her alone time. I remember when, years ago, as an adult, my mom and I had a discussion about being an introvert vs being an extrovert and she said that she was an introvert and it upset me because I am the opposite and couldn’t understand that she was admitting to being an introvert. It sounds so silly now but it was a personality trait that almost offended me. It took me a while of pondering her life with this new revelation and then, suddenly, everything started to make sense. All of the behaviors and attitudes that I saw over the years were explained.
Having my mom live so close to me is the biggest blessing I could ask for. I am able to be there every morning, every evening and most lunch times. I get to hug her every time I arrive at her condo and every time I leave her condo. How fortunate am I? The days that I commute to my office, I have a companion caregiver that stops in for a few hours to break up her day by playing games and visiting with her. We try to get out of the condo at least once a week by going for coffee or a meal or shopping. Yes, being my 2 mom’s primary caregiver has it’s challenges and it occupies most of my free time. It leaves me with what feels like, zero flexibility in my life. I have yet to figure out how I can manage to get back to working out with no time and if and when I go out of town, I need to get someone to take my place in assisting both mom and Gracie. It is also imperative that I be able to get in touch with her at all times and vice versa. It’s absolutely non-negotiable. There is great comfort for both of us, when we know we are just a video chat away from each other. One time this past year, I had an experience where I was going out of town for a couple of days and when I got there, I realized that they had no internet connection. Therefore, I had to turn around and come right back home. Was I mad? Nope! Frustrated? Sure…at myself for not researching and knowing that limitation ahead of time. Live and learn, right? I feel extremely fortunate that I get to walk with my mom on her dementia journey. I get to be her person and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. There are no do-overs in life; at least not many. I’ve got one shot at doing this the right way. The way that makes my mom feel happy and cared for and loved. So far…so good! 🙂