This summer has been unusually dry, and hot. In early July, it looked like we were going to be temperate, and modestly wet, but it was not to be so. The sparrows have hung out in my yard thanks to a raised garden we put in this year. They quickly devoured any strawberries that we had, and pecked away at some of our other veggies as they were growing. I watched as younglings hatched and momma birds searched frantically for food to feed them. Then I watched the young birds begin to mature and lose their yellow beaks. Time marches on, and the cycle of life goes on. I've had to watch this cycle play out in my own life as I've become the caregiver for my 86 year old parents.
At the beginning of 2020 during the height of the Covid-19 virus, my primary goal was to keep them from going into town. This wasn't a problem for my mother, who's dementia kept her from driving. I had to keep stressing the importance of mask wearing to my father, who suffers from Congestive Heart Failure, diabetes, and a host of other conditions. He could still drive, and he began to take full advantage of the special shopping hours set aside for the elderly. Then came the vaccines!!
The vaccines gave my Dad, and my Mom the ability to get out once again. Sadly, the year of isolation took a heavy toll on my mother's mental state. Dementia began to steal memories of mid-life, and slowly erased memories of my early adulthood. Her amazing career as a computer programmer for the government eventually disappeared into a murky one line sentence that capsulized her experience as a one hour drive there and back. Losing those memories was like losing who she was. She was the brightest of us all! I was so proud of her for learning how to program with only a High School education.
As she turned 86 on May the 4th of this year she could sit up, walk with a walker, and carry on a conversation, even though you might have to answer the same question at least ten or twelve times in 30 minutes. At least she was still there. She made eye contact, smiled, and laughed at my teasing. At the same time, my Dad's health began to fail rapidly. The heart failure combined with A-fib forced him into a recliner. "I can't breathe," was almost a daily refrain. He got on a first name basis with the ER doctors and nurses at our local hospital.
As part of my daily routine, I would drive six miles to their house early in the morning to ensure that they were both alive and give mom her meds. At the end of July I came in and found my mother on the floor in front of the couch, covered up by quilts and comforters so that you didn't see her at first. Only a soft moan alerted me to where she was. My Dad and I tried to lift her, but she screamed in pain so we had to call the paramedics. (I'm no spring chicken myself.) Against her protestations, we had them take her to the hospital. She'd suffered severe Digoxin Toxicity due to her taking pills without us knowing. The hospital admitted her for two more days to hopefully cleanse her system. The digoxin poisoning led to a heart rate of 40bpm which in turn meant she was getting reduced blood to her brain. As she became physically better, it became apparent that the dementia was much worse. At the advice of the doctors, we put her in rehab for 21 days. During that time they got rid of the severe edema in her legs, and gave her back some mobility that she'd lost. What they couldn't give back was her mind. So, we brought her home.
I can only speak from a man's point of view, but I do know that most men hope to die "with their boots on," or at least pass away in their sleep suddenly. There is a great sadness in watching my delicate mother waste away. I've cried more in the last two weeks than I have in a long, long time. It doesn't take much to send me over the edge. My mother was a powerful woman of God, a spiritual powerhouse of prayer, empathy, and tenderness. My childhood friends adored her, and would often stay till all hours of the night sharing their deepest feelings to her. She was my refuge when my Dad was being a jerk, and when my peers were being jerks. Outside of my wife, no one knew me better than my mom. That person is gone.
Why did I write all of this? Today, as I was working on a drain line in their kitchen, I heard her call out for her mother. "Mom." she said softly, and then a louder call. I came in, and she said; "Mom, I don't feel good." I held her hand and asked her softly what she needed. "I don't need anything." she replied, "I'm just cold." So, I put another blanket on her.
I don't know of many animals that grieve their aging parents. It is nature's way to let the sick and frail fall prey to the ravages of predators or harsh weather. Yet, humans seem to anguish over their ailing parents till the day of their passing. I don't think any of us pass this vale without God taking notice. He cares for us. Glenda, my wife, asked me if those with dementia still have the anointing. As I watch my mother slowly depart this vale, I have to say, no. Her spirit has left the tent that is her body. The body, and mind are there, but the spirit has gone home. I am grieving as I watch her give way to the physical death we must all partake of, but I rejoice as I think of her spirit resting from its labors.
And with that, more tears, and a terrible sadness.
AS a sad side note, the need for home care providers has made it almost impossible to get her professional end of life care in our community. Covid, especially the delta variant has wreaked havoc on the health care community. My Dad can help her to some degree, but she needs more care than he can provide. I still have a business that I must attend to, or I will lose it. Many nursing homes are short staffed, and some won't even open their doors to allow family to visit. I can't help but wonder how many Momma Birds will pass this vale alone, and fearful.
