Mom asked me this morning how to punch in 2 minutes on the microwave to cook her oatmeal. I looked at her thinking she was kidding, but she wasn't. Ok, so I told her what it was and moved on, but realizing that she really is getting dementia. I hate this and Alzheimer's disease. When my mom's mom, my Nana, got older, she came to live down in Florida near my mom. She had Alzheimer's disease when she moved down here and she went into a nursing home that specialized in that. Every time I came down to visit my parents, I would visit my Nana and every time she grew worse and worse. In the beginning, she would laugh and talk but wouldn't make much sense. After that, she would laugh but it was a nervous and misplaced laugh and you didn't know what she was laughing at and she didn't recognize me any longer. Next came her holding a doll and stroking it's fake hair, and not recognizing anyone, including my mom. Near the very end she would just stare past me, with no expression on her face at all. It was an obvious progression into oblivion, where only she knew where she was. I tried to talk to her every time I went to visit her, but I got nowhere, and I would end up leaving and crying on the way back to my parent's.
I remember it was my mother's birthday, August 14th several years ago, and she had just come back from visiting my Nana. I had bought her an outfit and I wanted her to try it on, which she did. She came out to show my dad and I what it looked like and then all of a sudden, she broke down in tears. She cried and said that her own mother doesn't know who she is and it was her birthday. I just sat there feeling very awkward, and my dad got angry - his usual response. I forced myself to get up and hug my mom and tell her everything would be all right, even though I knew it wouldn't be. She gathered herself together quickly, because my mom doesn't exhibit her emotions like that normally, and went to her room to take her new clothes off. I felt really sorry for my mom, as I thought it must be terrible for your own mother not to know who you are. And now this just might happen to me. I guess that means that we need to live our lives, holding our loved ones as close as we can, for as long as we have, because no one can predict the future.
My dad screamed out, twice, in his sleep again last night. It woke me up and I was confused and at first thought it was some guy in the street, then I realized it was too late at night for anyone in this neighborhood to be out in the street. I waited to see if I should go out and help him, but I didn't hear him so I assumed he went back to sleep and then I fell back asleep. He said this morning that he's never done this before, and now it's happened twice since I've been here. I ask him if he remembers what he's dreaming about and he says no. This is really bothering me, as it is like a howl, an agonizing howl coming from a man who never shows emotion except anger.
I hope my dad doesn't sleepwalk and go into the living room. That is where Kita has decided to do her duty as she refuses to go outside. So I put a big sheet down on the living room floor, but don't ya know, she poopoos right outside the edges of the sheet. I'm hoping the peepee is on the sheet, but I can't readily see that. No one ever goes in the living room, so if my dad were to unwittingly walk in there and step in her doodoo, he would be livid. My mom is my spy and tells me when Kita has done her duty, which kicks me into action of quietly disposing the evidence. Kita wags her tail as if to say, "Good mommy, good mommy," and I glare at her, as if that will do any good. After all is said and done, my parents are really enjoying her, as she jumps into their laps and gives them kisses, and they get to talk to her like she's a baby. Even my dad, with his strict, military demeanor melts when she jumps into his lap - unless of course he's sleeping. Then everyone gets to hear some choice words of disapproval.
Kita likes to take one morsel of food and bring it to another place, like under the dining room table or on a chair - you know, a more comfortable place to dine. Yesterday, she took her morsel to one of his chairs and he went a bit off. He said, "Sharon, you have to stop her from doing that," and I said, "How would I do that, dad? It's not hurting anything - she eats it all up." He just smirked and we continued eating, but sometimes I don't think my dad is happy unless he complains about something. Then it's, "Get down, get down, I said get down!" when she is jumping up on his legs at the dinner table. I told him, "She doesn't understand "get down," but will probably jump even more thinking you're playing with her." So dinnertime has become a circus with Kita jumping up and down, my dad yelling at her to get down, the tv is blasting about what the stock market did today or the loud monotone voices of PBS newscasters, me telling my dad to leave my dog alone and my mom sitting silently eating, seemingly oblivious to it all.
The thing about my family, though, is we can be really angry with one another one minute, then the next minute, we're just fine. It's a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, which I just made up. How else can you explain such nonsense? I love my parents, and I know they love me, but oy vay. We most defintely have a schizophrenic dynamic relationship, in the purest sense.
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