I haven’t written an update on my mom in a while. Really there is nothing new other than the knowledge of what people have to go through when a loved one is in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. Mom is basically asleep. Part of this is due to her condition and part of it is due to pain medication. We are not sure if she is any pain or not, as she has no way of letting us know, but it doesn’t seem possible that she could be comfortable in the position in which her body has atrophied.
There is no more communication or responses. We can wake her up and she will open her eyes but it is hard to tell if she is looking at us or just through us. I believe recognition was gone a long time ago. Yet, we still go. We go through the rituals that we have carved out and continue to follow them. We go see her and talk to her and hold her hand but we know that it is very probable that she isn’t aware of us at all.
Sometimes Dad and I sort of take turns talking to her. We still try to get her attention and get into her line of vision but it is different now. I guess it is the hope. The hope of seeing that expression on her face or light in her eyes that let us know that she knew we were there. Of course, with that, was always the hope that she knew who we were. Now, I think we know the answer but we still go through the same rituals of talking to her and asking questions and telling her who we are and of course, that we love her. Hope is so necessary in life but it also requires faith and a hint of possibility. That is gone; we don’t discuss it really but we know it.
I’ve never really been that much of a fan of rituals. It makes me think of religions filled with manmade rites, that standing alone, don’t really have any kind of connection or meaning to me. I’ve never seen their purpose. Maybe it is my Protestant upbringing that makes me think like this. Maybe it is my lack of studying what these acts stand for and represent that makes me doubt them. My attitude toward them though, is changing.
I am learning and growing to understand that rituals can keep us grounded. They make us feel safe, remind us of what we are supposed to be doing, keep us focused and are a physical representation of memory and thought and maybe even give us a little bit of comfort. I tell myself that I have no artificial religious rituals but when I think it through, I have many. It’s really on Sunday that they begin. I get up at a set time reserved only for Sundays. I go through my normal, morning everyday rituals of two pieces of toast (an additional bowl of cereal during times that I have “a lot on my plate”). I turn on the iron before I eat and then after breakfast I am ready to iron my “church clothes”and get dressed. I drive to church and park on the same side of the building that I always park on and then go inside, get a bulletin and go to find a seat on the left, back side of the auditorium.
I watch the song leader and sing the songs displayed up on the wall. We pray and sing some more. I watch and listen to a sermon that is usually about the same length in time each week, then we sing and pray and take communion. When church is over I drive straight to where my father has been waiting every Sunday for several years and we go eat lunch and then go visit my mom. There we talk to mom and each other and we enter the ritual visit that keeps us grounded and lets us know mom is OK. It is where we used to look for a glimpse of mom recognizing us, a response, or a smile. Now we go there knowing we are only checking on her and getting to spend a little time with her. It is time; time that we will not have for much longer. It’s a ritual, a habit, an obligation, a desire; it’s a rut that we have carved out and traveled for several years now and are happy that we still get a chance to make that journey, though the destination is a shadow of what it used to be…but our love for the destination has never changed.
