Mom, Dementia, Daughters, and Dying

This post is the conclusion to my last post about Mom.

Our last Christmas with the remnants of our Mom was in 1997. We knew that it would be. We made our peace with that and tried to prepare for what was to come.

The years 1998 and 1999 are a blur for me. Mother’s mental capacity and physical health rapidly declined. Two years of visits with doctors to discuss her physical problems. The blankness of her stare with an unintelligible babble or sound comprised our visits. I was a single mom starting my teaching career, and my sister, blessedly, attended to many of those visits. Mother was already gone. There would be no more outings or visits to our homes. I wrote sporadically during that time and will share in part those thoughts throughout this post.

Others Say Good-bye

Sunday, Dec 13, 1998:

I saw Mother the Wed before Thanksgiving, and I believe she has entered another stage-which I didn’t realize, or want to, was possible. She looked at Catherine and called her by saying “here doggie” as she lay flat in her bed. She called out loudly, and her sentences had several nonsensical words. Mom fell 2 or 3 times in the last couple of weeks in addition to her erratic behavior and unwarranted actions toward others. I have forewarned my brother who is coming to see her as he will see a drastic change in her.

Sunday, January 3, 1999:

My brother did see my Mom, and it was very hard as I knew it would be, so that is why we tried to prep him ahead of time. However, I don’t think you can really prepare someone. Tears came as she spoke her giberish, and when I said, “Mother, look who is here to see you,” she looked right past him with no recognition at all. She was in good spirits which helped us some, but we could only stay 2-3 minutes, understandably. He said his final good-bye. She reached out with her hand and did a grabbing motion toward my face. As we all swatted or grabbed at fruit flies later that day, we joked about having the “signs”. My nephew chose not to go, and I am glad so that he could remember his Oma as she was – the person he knew.

I know joking seems a bad thing to do, but we had to break the sadness somehow. She was gone, there was nothing we could do anymore except wait and try to help her be as physically comfortable as possible. We made some extremely difficult decisions throughout the next several months.

Mom – Even Though We Know

Saturday, February 5, 2000 – 9:30 pm:

Mom will die within the next couple of months, or so we think. No matter how much you know it is coming, the actual reality of it is nothing for which you can really be prepared. Waves of sadness flood over me at all different hours of the day, but mostly at night when my head hits the pillow and I am alone, or when I’m driving alone. I haven’t been able to bring myself to see her. I need to – I need to just pick a day to go by and see her. Kate has gone a couple of times, has handled most, well, everything, the last week. We talked this week about how we want to make sure that we stop to reflect on her life and not let it go unnoticed. Not that we would consciously, but more because of the amount of time that has gone by since she was “Mom” – crazy or not, there was a person there at one point, and although we haven’t seen that person in a long time, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stop to reflect and remember. I’m going to pull out the photo albums and look back over her life. It is important to do that, to remember how she used to be.

Getting the News

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the call came from my sister. It was the Friday before spring break, after school was out, and I was with my girlfriend in my car. I pulled over, took the call, and we just sat there for a few minutes. Was it more the feeling of relief than sadness? Relief that she didn’t have to suffer anymore? Relief that if she was still in there somewhere trying to get out that she now finally could let go and move on?

Saturday, 18 March 2000 – 10:03 pm:

Mom passed away yesterday, March 17 at 4:20 pm. I was not with her but Kate was and has expressed that it was probably better that I wasn’t. A life is complete. The sadness that exists, rather that remains is over a life almost forgotten because of the failing conditions of the body and mind. The mother we had, that we knew, has long since gone from us, and it requires reaching back years to find the glimpse of the person who was Shirley Nadine Quick (Michael, Hill). It is not real to me yet. The waves of tears come at times, and I walk and function in the daily routine. My mother is dead. Her spirit left her long ago, and I believe she looks down on me from heaven. I don’t know yet how to describe how I’m feeling. Perhaps there is no way yet. I have grieved over her for a long time, from the day she looked at me and didn’t know who I was. That is what I think is really happening – the final stages of grief because of the mourning that has progressed already. I sound so clinical, but right now it is accurate. Yesterday was hard, to hear the words, the final stage, and I do not doubt that tears will come. I looked through the albums last night and realized how few pictures I really have of her. I dug out some old letters, but have not read them yet. Let me learn from you, Mother, to embrace and truly live each day. I am me, I have my beautiful children, and I want them to love life as they live it. My goal each day – hug them, kiss them, cherish each moment. Leave them with lasting memories. 10:23 pm

To Honor a Life

The journey to Colorado this time was for the purpose of spreading/releasing mother’s ashes in a place we knew she loved. Her vague stories (vague to me because I did not write them down nor did she) of living in Leadville prompted the decision to leave her there, or close by. We flew to Denver. Then we drove to Leadville, and at the Continental Divide, at the Tennessee Pass sign about 10 miles outside of Leadville on March 17, 2001 – the first anniversary of her death – at 3:20 pm (Mountain Time, 4:20 Central), we poured champagne, opened the caviar, and had a memorial to our mother. We read the poem I wrote. We remembered our Mother, drank a toast to her life, left her in the mountains she loved with caviar and carnations. This closure for me was important in order that her life did not pass without recognition or remembrance. My poem expresses her life, and it is my tribute to her. Her struggle ended March 17, 2000. (Original Writing: 19 March 2001 9:25 am Mountain Time, La Quinta Inn, Room 138, Colorado Springs, CO.)

The Person

In the last few days, I have re-read some of the letters that I still have from Mom. In one letter she addressed my oldest daughter as “lollipop” which I had completely forgotten was her pet name. She included a note to “lollipop” with that letter. As I read, I could hear her voice in my head. The voice reminded me of her “person,” of her personality, her wit, and her humor. Though she had her demons, she loved her family, and I hope had a fulfilling life.

She lived a life. She was a traffic clerk with the Colorado Springs Police Department. Mom had five children and eleven grandchildren when she died. She loved to travel and tell tall tales. She dreamed of having a cabin in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. Letters I read from 1983-84 recounted trips she had made with my Dad to various places in Germany many years prior when they were stationed in Augsburg (1960s). I think that was her favorite thing of all – to travel and see the world.

Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I do a double-take and say, “My gosh! I look like my mother!!” That, I suppose, is not a bad thing. Looking at pictures from before her decline, I see that it really isn’t so bad to look somewhat like her…