Time and tide wait for no man

"Time and tide wait for no man," Geoffrey Chaucer.

Saturday my mother asked me three times what day it was.

She is often confused about what day of the week and what month it is. We noticed this summer in the sweltering heat that she was asking if it was very cold outside. From my perspective, I see the ebb and flow of how she perceives time. It drifts in her mind like waves rushing in, then drawing back and rushing in and drawing back.

Staring at the wall calendar hanging on the refrigerator, she holds a small pocket calendar, trying to match up the dates. Six months ago when she could no longer tell me what she had for lunch, she started keeping a journal. I think it was out of spite at first--so she could prove to me that she was capable of completing everyday activities. Then I think it evolved into her attempting to prove that to herself. Soon after she started, time began to slip.

Changing medical appointments causes confusion for my mother. She attempts to keep multiple calendars. Photo taken Saturday, Sept. 13, 2014 inside her home in Diamond, Mo.

She often asks what day it is so that she can write the date in her journal. She loses track of the sequence and also forgets to write in her journal some days.

Today we made sure she knew what day it was. Today my mother turned 64 years old. When she saw the silly card with flowers that my six-year-old picked out, she cried tears of joy. Or were they sorrow? My heart broke a little more. Happy Birthday, Mom.

One of my favorite photos of my mother was taken inside a photo booth in Northpark Mall in Joplin, Mo., circa 1992. She looks so beautiful here, so full of joy.

My mother and I at a private family event inside Mother Road, a coffee shop in downtown Carthage, Mo., on Friday, Oct. 25, 2013. When viewing these two points in time simultaneously, it is especially difficult to see her declining physical state and functioning ability. She looked beautiful that evening.

Dog Food

When did the disease start? That’s one question we are asking ourselves repeatedly. It’s a question that has no real answer and ultimately it has no point. It would be like asking, “Why?”

As I started to hear about my mother’s unusual reactions in situations, I would hear stories of her upsetting friends, family and strangers alike. She would make unreasonable requests, overreact and snap. This pushed many people in her life away.

She has always loved dogs. She has had a dog her entire adult life. As relationships were severed and people drifted out of her life, her bond with her dog deepened. It is not only a bond of affection and companionship, but also I believe a sense of control. She has something to take care of, something that gives her life meaning and purpose.

I realized a year ago that she was cutting her dog’s food into tiny pieces. She used to stab the pieces with a knife, often cutting her fingers and hands, damaging the countertops. I was shocked and would insist on telling her she couldn’t do that—that she was hurting herself, that it was ridiculous to do this.

I bought smaller dog food. She still sneaks into the kitchen and cuts or breaks up the dog food when I’m not watching. She has also started picking out specific pieces for her dog to eat. She will bend over for hours at a time and sift through the 16-pound bag of dog food searching for specific pieces. She sorts the varieties into piles and throws the undesired ones back—all while her dog waits hungrily at her feet.

My mother sorting dog food pieces into piles.

It’s a perplexing thing to watch. It makes no logical sense to me. Yet, I’ve given up on explaining this to her. There is a phrase that my family is coming to understand, “You cannot make her understand, so stop explaining.” So, when I find myself getting frustrated trying to explain logical reasoning to her, I realize there is not always a point to trying to answer the “Why?” And ultimately, as long as she puts the knives away, there is little harm—as long as the rest of us are checking the dog’s dish.

Our family’s reassuring phrase is not too different from another useful reminder,

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

 courage to change the things I can

and the wisdom to know the difference…”

The A Word

I will never forget the feeling of my heart pounding in my chest as I heard the doctor say those terrible words. My brother and I had been trying for years to get some help for our mother; trying to figure out what is wrong; trying to find some answers.

Divorced for thirty years, our mother has lived alone since 1998. We started seeing the hint of some odd behavior and the decline of her functioning ability in 2005. She was always very independent. A single mother, she had to work hard to provide for us.

My brother and I sit with our mother as she picks us up from summer camp in 1987. Our mom worked hard as a single mother to provide for us.

By 2010, we knew something was wrong. She could not keep a job. She would not pay her bills. She was easily upset and had emotional outbursts. I took her to an ice cream shop once. They did not have her favorite flavor. She yelled at the clerk and stomped out of the store.

Her house was in shambles, she could not take care of her home any longer. We asked her, pleaded with her to sell her house and move to an apartment. But the more we asked, the angrier she got. "I will NEVER leave my home," she screamed.

Three years later, in July 2013, my mother was 62 years old. I sat with her in a neurologist's office. He had just given her a verbal cognitive test about dates, basic mathematical ability and simple memory exercises. She was flush with fury and embarrassment. She could not remember the President's name. She did not know what year it was. She stumbled over numbers as she tried to calculate 40 minus 7. It was too uncomfortable to watch. The tension was so thick I was nauseous.

"Alzheimer's disease," the doctor said. It was as if he stuck a knife in my stomach. My mother gasped and stammered. "What good did that do?!" she yelled.