Saying Goodbye: The Beginning of the End

So.

The Queen Mother is not doing so well.

Really, really, not well.

As in, it's past time for me to just get a grip, and admit that she will be gone soon.

It's just that... sometimes I still can't believe the woman lying there in that bed is my mom.

My Mom.

My Mom was always so full of life and energy and spit and vinegar and ornery, ornery, ornery-ness.

And love.

Even today there was a glimmer. When I got ready to go and I leaned over to hug her – to hold those wispy, fragile, bony shoulders – and to kiss her cheek and press the side of my face to hers, and to tell her “I love you,” it was there.

Her eyes found mine for just a moment.

“I love.”

A breathy whisper.

My heart broke, even as it filled to overflowing.

I realize that I only knew a part of her, knew her only for one segment of time. I realize that other peoples' memories and interactions with her were different than mine. But she was... is... my Mom. We weren't “Gilmore Girls” crazy (although we had our moments), or BFF's. She's my Mom.

My hero.

My role model.

Sitting at her bedside, watching her breath, wondering what she's seeing that's just beyond my sight, my mind swirls with memories and my heart fills with emotion.

Even when she became “confused” she was still Mom.

“She's good at faking it, ” I told a friend, “You could stop in to visit her and ask 'Do you remember me?' and she'll smile and say 'Of course'.”

“She was a good Midwesterner,” he said, smiling.

What a wonderful description! She was! She is a good Midwesterner.

“She always had a smile and a kind word for everyone,” said a different friend years ago.  I'm sure there are those who would disagree with that assessment, but for the most part, it's true. This was even before Mom got confused, when it was just too hard to get her in and out of the car to take her all the places she would have loved to go, to see people she would have loved to see.

The staff at the nursing home said the same thing. She was always smiling, always teasing. Just today the Hospice nurse, who has only been visiting for a couple of weeks, said that when she asked Mom how she was feeling, Mom would say she was fine and then ask “How are you?”

Do I remember to do that? Do I listen to the answers?

She was always willing to help. She helped coach my little league softball team. She became our super-support speech mom/one-woman cheer squad when I was in high school. She became a 4-H leader for our neighbor kids – long after I had aged out of the group!

She was part of a core group of ladies who took care of dinners at the church. There is nothing as polarizing, as potentially explosive as the politics of church basement ladies. Forget everything the talking heads on TV tell you as we head into another election year. If any politician – ANY politician – ever says “I helped serve dinners in the church basement” forget about religious affiliation and elect that person. Immediately.

After all those years of (church) basement politics, serving on the city council was the next logical step for Mom. She pictured herself a champion for the city workers, and was so proud to become Mayor Pro-Tem. How many people shun taking this type of responsibility, shy away from getting involved (myself included)?

Of course there's a fine line between getting involved and being a busy body. I think she stayed on the straight and narrow. Although, again, everyone will have their own opinion.

And she knew that, too. She knew that sometimes people tried to do the right thing, or at least do what they thought was the right thing. Even if she didn't agree with them, she recognized that their heart was in the right place.

Her heart was in the right place.

I just hope mine is too.

Even though it's breaking right now.

I love you, Mom.

I spoke with the Queen Mother this morning, as I do every morning, and I answered the same questions I answer every morning. QM has a bit of a dementia thing going on, but most people probably wouldn't notice. It's only when she asks about things that she really should know, or that I know I've told her recently, that it catches me off guard.
For example, this morning she asked how old my children -- the little princess and prince -- are. For the record, they are 9 and 6, the same as they have been for the past five days when QM has asked. And there is three-years difference in their ages, just like there has been for the past week.
On the other hand, she told me she was looking forward to getting a perm today. She has had this on her schedule for about two weeks, and has reminded me of it nearly every day. I even verified it when I made a deposit to her personal account at the nursing home just to cover the cost. I suppose tomorrow, and every day for the next week, I can look forward to hearing that she has had her perm (and that they need to be more careful when they give her a shower).
The QM has been in and out of the nursing home for about four years now. She has lost strength in her legs and has fallen a couple times. For the last 10 months she has been pretty much confined to a wheelchair, walking only during physical therapy sessions or on supervised walks from her room to the dining room.
The last time she was "on parole" and living alone in her home, I happened to run into an acquaintance who worked at the nursing home. "It's so nice your mom was able to go home," the young woman said. "She really didn't belong at the nursing home. She's so with it."
I didn't know what to say. One of the last times I visited QM (that time), she was holding court, telling a group of aides (this one included) about a trip my brother was taking. It sounded great, it all made sense, it was completely plausible.
It was also about 90% inaccurate. The basics were correct, and most of what she said had happened at one time or another, or was going to happen. But somehow when she put it all together, well, she put it all together.
So, where does that leave us now? Well, the QM will probably be just fine for a couple of weeks. She will know exactly what's going on at the nursing home, she'll remember how old the kids are, maybe even remember they'll be starting fourth grade and first grade later this month. She won't remember it's my brother's birthday next week, but then, neither would I if I didn't have it on my calendar.
And I'll start thinking she's got it all together again, she's really with it this time. I may even think that if she didn't really need that wheelchair to get around, she probably wouldn't need to be in the nursing home.
Then -- BAM -- she'll ask me what my middle name is (the same as her first name), or ask me if I ever was a teacher (up until five years ago), or when her birthday is. All of these are questions she's asked me before. And I'll be speechless with surprised that she doesn't remember.
And part of the surprise will be that I've forgotten that she doesn't remember.
And I'll wonder, which one of us has the dementia?