The Question is . . .

The Question Is . . .

                                                                             (Mom singing with the men at Wenarto's.)

Is it Saturday?

 

What are we doing today?

 

Can you take me to the bank?

 

Are we going on the road to Enumclaw?
 

These are the everyday questions mom has for us. Every time we pull the car out of the driveway mom asks what city we're in. As we drive through the light and head up the hill towards the market she looks to the left and asks. "What city is that?" Phil and I often make bets on exactly where she will ask the question. We have to find the humor.


You cannot imagine how annoying these questions can become. It bothers me that I feel so bothered by them, but the fact is the questions are nonstop. Nonstop. The exact same question comes within 30 seconds of her just asking. Sometimes I get so tired of answering her that I pretend to not hear her, but this only makes he ask more frequently, so I start making up answers. I figure it doesn't really matter that I say because in a few moments she will be asking again. She does. I can tell her we're in Paris, France and she isn't surprised nor does she ask how she got to France, mom simply believes that's were she is and that's good enough for her.


One thing about the media and their portrayal of the Sandwich Generation is how they romanticize it all. When the media, any media, are covering a story of an adult child taking on the care of an aging parent often times suffering from dementia and/or Alzheimer's Disease they make us, the care givers, out to be saints. Loving caring adult children, with or without children still in the home or college, dong the best for mom and dad by taking them into their home. It's as if they are reporting this while looking through rose-colored glasses, and the people they are interviewing are equally blinded by the glasses.


I am not a saint. If you've read much of my blog then you know I get frustrated. I love my mom with every ounce of my being, and I want her to live in the home with us, but this is not to say having her here is a joy all the time. It's not. I want my blog to reflect both the love I have for my mom and that it is this love that drives us to keep her home and not place her in a nursing home, but it is not without it's frustrations and pitfalls. They are there. I still wouldn't have it any other way.


Before mom's Alzheimer's got bad we were best friends. I have said often how much I miss my mom. I still try to do things with her that we enjoyed doing before her mind left. Now we take her days day-by-day. We never know if we'll be able to commit to plans due to her having a bad day. I've accepted this as the way it is now. We accept the good with the not so good. I wish the media would cover the story of care taking a parent with Alzheimer's as it really is for us doing the care taking. It's not a rosy story, but it's still a good story. An honest story of love and devotion to a much loved parent.

 Marileigh

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