Gladys: Who was that woman?

[Guest guest]

Gladys,

Wow, that was wonderfully, lovingly written!! Your mom is blessed, and

it is obvious she is a very important part of who you are today. I pray for

each of you, and I pray that if I come to that point, I will be surrounded by

the type of love your mother has. It brought tears, of joy, of laughter, of

sadness.

Bye for now,

Lucille

Gladys Stefany wrote:

I closed out 2007 by arriving at my mother's house at around 10:00 PM. I've

been to that house almost daily for the past two years and yet, somehow, it

didn't seem like my mother's house. All of my adult life I have referred to

my Mom as " Mrs. Felix Unger " ( " Odd Couple " ). There has never been a speck

of dust to be found in her house and you could always, literally, eat off

her floors. In all my life (53 years) I've never seen anything out of place

and she has NEVER gone to bed without every dish washed and neatly put away.

So, perhaps it was the dirty TV dinner tray with the fork still in it on

the dining room table that made the house seem strange, or the large plastic

trash bag spilling onto the kitchen floor, or the shredded pieces of paper

towels on the dark green countertop, or the clothes haphazardly dumped on

her closet shelf? This couldn't be my mother's house.

I went into the living room to find this teeny tiny frail little " wiffet " of

a woman fully dressed (in the same clothes she had on for about 36 hours)

and sound asleep on her couch. The sound of her breathing filled the room

as she has a horrible cold and can't take anything for it due to the

interaction of cold medicines with all the other medications she is taking

for her LBD. Every light was on and the TV was blaring away. This woman

couldn't be my mother. My mother would never be able to sleep until

everything was in place, she'd have had a shower and put on a clean

nightgown, turned out the lights, locked all the doors, etc. I IM'd my

hubby to see if he thought I should just let this woman be or move her to

her bed. We decided to just let her be. I turned off the lights and the TV

and crawled onto the air mattress my sister, my daughter, and I sleep on

when we take turns sleeping at Mom's house.

I tossed and turned for about two hours and finally drifted off to sleep.

At around 2:00 in the morning, the first face I saw in 2008 turned out to be

that same little wiffet of a woman. She turned on the ceiling light and

called my name. She seemed to be very agitated. I asked what was wrong.

She was rather upset because she woke up and decided to move to her bed but

there was a man and a little boy in the bed and they refused to move! I got

up and went into her room and yelled at the man and the boy. I told them

that unless they were going to pay rent, they needed to move out. The tiny

lady laughed, smiled at me, and said " They are on the couch now. Thank you "

I helped her into her nightgown (she has trouble telling which is the neck

hole and which are the arm holes) and I literally tucked her into bed,

kissed her goodnight, and told her I was going to shut the door so that the

man and the boy would leave her alone and that I would be sure they didn't

bother her for the rest of the night. I returned to the air mattress for

another couple hours of tossing and turning. I was sure that it would only

be 2 or 3 hours before the teeny tiny woman returned. This woman couldn't

be my mother. My mother is not a frail teeny tiny woman who shuffles slowly

when she walks and frequently has to catch herself from falling. My mother

is athletic. She always has been. She has exercised faithfully and watched

her diet every day of her life. At 70, she still walked several miles a day

biked several miles a day, and swam for an hour every day. This women is

only 6 years older than my mother and she can't even make her bed because

the thin bedspread is too heavy for her to handle. This woman never walks

alone and even then, after only a short walk sleeps for hours. This woman

spends most of her day sleeping. This woman couldn't be my mother. My

mother would NEVER allow us to help her dress, handle her medications, or

help her make her bed. My mother is far too proud to do that. This woman

couldn't be my mother. This woman can't figure out how to enter anything in

her check book nor how to read a calendar. My mother kept the books for an

entire school system by hand before computers and calculators. This woman

couldn't be my mother.

Then, she came back to the door and called my name softly. She said " You're

breathing doesn't sound good. I'm worried about you. " (I have a sinus

infection.) Then I knew that this little woman is, indeed, my mother. She

is a much smaller, sweeter, funnier, warmer version of my mother, but she is

my mother. She still worries about her children (all three of them). She

is still the woman who gave birth to me, nursed me through the mumps, the

chicken pox, my hospitalization with the measles, changed my poopie diapers

with a smile, and cleaned up my vomit without complaint. She is still the

woman who taught me how to ride a bike, how to ice skate, how to spell, and

how to reach out to others in need. She is still the woman who bandaged

countless skinned knees, worked a full time job, drove my two sisters and I

to Brownie and Girl Scout meetings, and to music lessons (after fighting

with my father to get us those lessons). She is still the woman who worked

all day and stayed up late at night ironing our dresses (yes, we grew up in

the dark ages when you weren't allowed to wear pants to public school and no

" permapress " had not yet been invented), kept an immaculate house, and

helped us with our homework. She is still the same woman who went to more

elementary school band concerts than anyone should ever be subjected to.

She is the same woman who fought with our father so that we could go on

dates and so that we could go to college. She is still the woman who was

there the day I had surgery for what we thought was a tubal pregnancy and is

now my 25 year old daughter. She is still the same woman who took countless

days off from work to drive into New York City with me when my then two year

old needed chemotherapy. (Mom's routine was to smile at me and at Ruthie

all day long and then, when she was alone, give into the nausea and the

headache that came from the emotional days of treatment. ) She is still the

same woman who strove meticulously over the years to treat each and every

grandchild equally (it didn't matter to her if they were adopted or

biological). If one child got a dollar in a Halloween card, they all got a

dollar in a Halloween card. She is still the same woman who had brain

surgery without telling any of her children because she didn't want to worry

them. She is still the same woman who has maintained all of her adult life

that she never wanted to be a burden to any of us.

Though LBD has taken much of her away, I realized in the early hours of the

new year, that her last wish has come true. She is NOT a burden to any of

us. She is a blessing to us. Caring for her is not a burden. It is a

privilege. Was my mother the perfect mother? No There is no such thing.

Were there times in our past when we didn't get along and said or did things

that hurt each other? Are we human? However, when it comes to " keeping

score " (which some of my relatives seem to need to do) we have to be sure to

look at the whole tally. The things I've listed here are but a small

percentage of the many blessings my mother has brought into my life. I don

t feel burdened and I know my sister and my daughter do not feel burdened

either. This little woman is warm and affectionate, appreciative, loving,

and funny. This phase of her life is, in some ways, the one I cherish most

because one of the nice things about LBD is that the patients can't hide

their emotions anymore behind the walls of scars live builds in all of us.

They are who they are in their purest form. To be able to give back to her

just a portion of what she has given to me is truly a blessing. My father

died very suddenly and unexpectedly and I did not have the opportunity I am

having now to just be with my mother and enjoy each other's company. On

those days when she is with it, we have conversations that are very

meaningful and are unlike any we have ever had before. She still loves all

of her children and suffers with a terribly broken heart due to her

estrangement from one of them. Even in her delirium, she will sometimes

look up, mention her name, and say " I guess I'll never see her again..... "

and a sadness that I can only imagine washes over her face. She would still

do anything for her grandchildren and still finds her greatest joy in life

in the faces of her four GORGEOUS great-grandchildren (none are mine......

sigh....... but I enjoy them just the same!)

Burdened? NO! Blessed? YES! I feel sorry for those who have chosen to

keep score of only the negatives and are missing out on the opportunity to

enjoy my mother in this precious time of her life. I am so happy that my

score keeping is honest so that I can see how much the blessings have

outweighed the problems we have had. We must cherish these times because we

know the course this disease will take and how it will probably end.

I wish you all the happiest and healthiest of new years and I pray that God

will make clear the blessings in a life that can be very difficult at times.

I thank all the LBD patients on this list for all you have taught me and I

thank the caregivers on the list for all the great information and all the

support. I thank God for giving me the opportunity to spend this time with

my Mom. It is my prayer that all who know her will put their petty issues

aside and enjoy the blessings for they are fleeting all too quickly away.

She is my mother and I am VERY proud of the grace (no pun intended) and

dignity with which she is accepting and handing a disease which has always

been the biggest fear of her life.

Happy New Year!

Gladys Stefany VERY proud daughter of

Grace C (Lewy Bodies Dementia patient)