Mom: Doing what we love to do together

My Mom, Betty Evans, was a painter before macular degeneration and alzheimers’ robbed her of her sight and her ability to translate her visions onto canvas. I miss her painting. Sometimes I find her moving her hand purposefully through the air, imaginary paintbrush in her hand. What, I wonder, is she painting? It would be amazing to know.

Most days what we do is eat together. Today, we’ll do that too. This will be a big day over at the home. It’s one of two or three days a year when everyone floods in to see their moms. Allergans run high as everyone totes in flowers.

My family never did a lot about holidays. Most went by fairly unremarked. There were presents at Christmas, but a fairly modest amount. Cards for birthdays, and that pretty much took care of it. And so today, I’ll be known as the daughter who doesn’t show up with flowers.

But I’ll show up. Twice. Once to feed her lunch and once to feed her dinner. Or is it dinner and supper? I still can’t remember. And she and I will smile and giggle. I’m incredibly lucky. Over at my house, every day is mother’s day. And I’d better take advantage. Because pretty soon in the not-to-distant future, no day will be.

So do something today with your mom(s). Lots of women have mothered you through the years. Remember them and do something fun with them. And don’t rule out doing something fun with them at some other point. That’s all they want. Flowers are nice. Time? It’s priceless and limited.

Ladies Who Lunch: My Mom

My mom Betty lives in a nursing home. She has dementia and at the age of 87 doesn’t have lots of conversation left – most of the time! Sometimes there are incredible breakthroughs and they usually arrive from left field. Her husband of almost 65 years died at the end of March. He had a great death but she misses him. She doesn’t talk about it a lot, but often she’s sad. As she said to me last week: “This is a horribly solitary life.” …Pause… “but I can bear it.”

It’s hard losing your mom like this. But if she can bear the loneliness, I can bear the loss. In the meantime we have a sweet and wonderful relationship. I sometimes feel it’s like having a child – in reverse. She certainly cuddles into my arms and takes love and nourishment confidently from me. But she’s disappearing not individuating. Thankfully the love isn’t going away. I don’t think it ever will. Before Daddy died, it was what he was most concerned about… that I would love and care for her. So, I do. For him and for me. Because I’m lucky enough to have been a well loved child. Loving back is my sweet reward!

Betty was a wonderful artist. From time to time you’ll see some of her artwork in the blog. She raised three children 2 daughters and a son in small town Pennsylvania. She was and she remains very social. She adored her Sammy, my dignified thoughtful daddy, Sam.

I am with Mommy almost every day, usually at a meal. She eats much better if I am there. As she eats, I am coming to know the other ladies (and the few men) who eat on the early shift. I want to tell you a bit about these wonderful women and the men, their quirks and personalities, the food and their families, and the caretakers who love and tend them.

I want you to get to know her compatriots and find out that life isn’t without its richness, even in places like this. Forget the horror stories, although there are certainly places that aren’t perfect. This is where your parents are being cared for. The more you know, the more you expect, the better care they’ll get.