"Our Lady of the Rosary Church, Little Italy, San Diego, California" (For my mother Mary) (c) 2009 Stu Jenks
[Chapter who-knows-what from the book "Dementia Blues]
Jessica, the nurse, changes Mom’s diaper as I watch. Mary almost fell out of bed, just minutes before my visit.
“Oh, Stu. I don’t know what is going on!”
“I know, Mom. You almost fell out of bed.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did, Mary,” Jessica says, gently.
“Yes. You did, Mom. But it’s OK that you don’t remember,” I say.
Mary is suffering. Every old ache and pain is brand new, no matter that most are decades old. Her bedroom is forever unfamiliar, in spite of the old prints and needlepoints on the wall that she has owned for years. She often thinks she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what that something is. I tell her often that this is where she has lived for almost a year. She is surprised every time.
Later, I just talk about my day; her, laying in her hosital bed, me, sitting on a ancient wooden chair we brought from Virginia. Many days, my chatting about my life is plenty for her. She loves to hear me talk about this and that. She often responds with an “Oh, that’s good.” or “I know you miss your friend so” or “You know I love you.” Today was “You look so beautiful to me.” But that didn’t last. The light in her eye changes, replaced with the haunted stare of suffering, confusion, and fear of being in a world, a house, a room, a bed, that is perpetually strange to you. The only joy today is that she know me, knows her son loves her, knows that he is here with her, right here, right now.
I unhinge the gate and walk to my car: thinking, that if Mary lives more than six months to a year, I’m going to be pretty pissed off at God. I know the dementia isn’t God’s fault. That God doesn’t let suffering end, or let Mom die, just because I want it to be so. But God? Christ! Throw the old lady a bone! And guide me daily in what I need to do and not do with my mother. And if you can, take her. Please take her. In her sleep would be nice, but I don’t care how anymore. Just take her. Soon. Please.
