Bitter, Bitter, Bitter.
I seriously don’t know how my mom gets up each day.
The Alzheimer's infected mind of my crippled grandmother is confused, ornery, and unfair. She thinks she is saying one thing and it comes out completely differently. She calls my mom bastard when she can remember how to say it, other times, bauter, baser, bister. She says 'thank you for taking care of me' when she is lucid. Other times, she says in the most evil of voices, "I told you to leave me alone." She sometimes refers to herself as him and refers to me as them. She sees puddles of water on the ground when they are not there. She forgets how to go to the bathroom, but at least she knows when she has to go. She tries to pick up imaginary items from the floor. She fondles tissues and hides them up sweater's arms, underfoot. She's stashed a See's candy in her eyeglass case, along with her reading glasses and a travel sized box of plastic tooth picks. She says she's not hungry but will eat a full meal. She doesn't know what time it is half of the time. I told her that she is my friend and she replied, "no your not, you're a relative." She never can remember where my mom has gone - I've told her 7 times today, "Disneyland, with all her grandkids." She thinks she can get up and walk sometimes.
Her crippled body is bound to a wheel chair and is a decrepit 88 years old. She can never get warm. She cannot bath by herself, cannot go to the bathroom by herself. She is completely dependent and debilitated. Half her leg was amputated about 14 years ago, and that is when she moved in with my mom and moved into the reality that she would never walk again. Her body and mind are in the latest stages of life. Her 10 pills a day keep all the systems idle as her mind wilts and shrinks and plays tricks on all of us. And I don't think that it is getting any better any time soon. The worst may be yet to come.
My mom is the sole caretaker of my grandmother. My grandmother has stolen my mom's golden years. How do you do this? Mom, really, how? And what kills me is that I couldn't do it. I am not that strong, gracious, generous. I am stone cold compared to my mom. She is a saint, I am sure of it.
The Alzheimer's infected mind of my crippled grandmother is confused, ornery, and unfair. She thinks she is saying one thing and it comes out completely differently. She calls my mom bastard when she can remember how to say it, other times, bauter, baser, bister. She says 'thank you for taking care of me' when she is lucid. Other times, she says in the most evil of voices, "I told you to leave me alone." She sometimes refers to herself as him and refers to me as them. She sees puddles of water on the ground when they are not there. She forgets how to go to the bathroom, but at least she knows when she has to go. She tries to pick up imaginary items from the floor. She fondles tissues and hides them up sweater's arms, underfoot. She's stashed a See's candy in her eyeglass case, along with her reading glasses and a travel sized box of plastic tooth picks. She says she's not hungry but will eat a full meal. She doesn't know what time it is half of the time. I told her that she is my friend and she replied, "no your not, you're a relative." She never can remember where my mom has gone - I've told her 7 times today, "Disneyland, with all her grandkids." She thinks she can get up and walk sometimes.
Her crippled body is bound to a wheel chair and is a decrepit 88 years old. She can never get warm. She cannot bath by herself, cannot go to the bathroom by herself. She is completely dependent and debilitated. Half her leg was amputated about 14 years ago, and that is when she moved in with my mom and moved into the reality that she would never walk again. Her body and mind are in the latest stages of life. Her 10 pills a day keep all the systems idle as her mind wilts and shrinks and plays tricks on all of us. And I don't think that it is getting any better any time soon. The worst may be yet to come.
My mom is the sole caretaker of my grandmother. My grandmother has stolen my mom's golden years. How do you do this? Mom, really, how? And what kills me is that I couldn't do it. I am not that strong, gracious, generous. I am stone cold compared to my mom. She is a saint, I am sure of it.
yes, your mom is a saint ...and an angel and you my bff are such a warm loving beautiful huge hearted daughter and grandchild..i learn so much from you everytime you come home and tell me your " senior sitting" stories...you are such a loving soul, and an inspiration to me and i love you so much. i have surprises for you when you get home.
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