I have Families.com reader Skaytes, who left a comment on my article “Big Changes in a Little Marriage”, to thank for inspiring me during my daily caregiving duties.
She had been in a similar position with her mom that I now find myself in. She said it was the best thing she’d ever done. She also gave me the following advice:
Be sure to not only show your love but tell her how much you love her as often as you can. Enjoy the time you have with her as we never know how long the Good Lord will give us here on Earth and time passes so quickly…
I have been thinking of Skaytes every day the past couple of weeks when I do things for my mom that she never did for me when I was growing up.
See, when my mom first moved in I thought she’d be fairly independent as far as getting herself to bed and up again in the mornings. And she is, to some extent. She can dress and undress herself and all that, but the Old Timer’s (dementia) also complicates things some.
Bedtimes can be a source of panic for her. Mornings can be a time of depression.
At first I would let her go to bed (she turns in earlier than me) and I’d hit the office to work. Sometimes she’d fall asleep right away, but on the nights she didn’t she’d fret over not being in her house and worry herself into a pacing frenzy. (Many times accompanied by tears.)
Then in the mornings I had been waiting for her to come downstairs, but she wouldn’t. (Or she’d take until nine or ten.) Many times I’d go up to take a shower after tending to the pets and find her sitting in bed with her knees to her chest moping.
I heard Skaytes’s words echoing in my mind: Be sure to not only show your love but tell her how much you love her…. Trouble was, I couldn’t tell her I love her with words, because for some reason my whole life she’s never liked to hear that from anyone. (She doesn’t even sign cards “Love, Mom,” it’s always just “Mom.”)
What would the mom I wanted growing up do?
The kind of mom I longed for would sense any distress I ever had and assure me everything was going to be alright because she’d see to it. She’d be the kind of mom who woke me up with smiles and songs, and who tucked me in with smiles and kisses.
My mom was never that kind of mom. (My grandmother was. That’s probably where I got the ideal from.) But my mom was a no-nonsense busy working woman who hadn’t wanted children in the first place and who had no time to coo and coddle me. And heaven help me if I was distressed about something. Don’t tell it to her, it wasn’t her problem and she had no desire to make it so.
But I am not my mom. Nor am I my beloved grandmother. I am just a daughter watching the woman she knew as her mom devolve back into a childlike shell.
On the contrary, I am like my mom and grandma. Like my mom, I don’t like tolerating depression. Like my grandma, I have songs. (Though I can’t carry a tune at all, whereas she could.)
But instead of dismissing my mom’s depression as she would have with me, I try to buffer it.
In the mornings I now peek in on her to see if she’s awake. If she is, I sing “Good morning, good morning, good morning Mama Llama.” (My nickname for her.) Usually the pets are with me to greet her, and it’s hard for smiles to keep at bay with them in the room. Then I ask what morning beverage is calling to her, coffee or tea, and what kind of breakfast she’ll come eat with me. (Just like me, mealtimes have a way of making her put any problems on the back burner for a while.)
At night, even if I’m not going up to bed yet, I pretend I have something to do up there. Once I know she’s settled herself under the covers, I go in and thank her for a wonderful day and tell her how happy I am she’s here for me to spend time with.
It’s my version of “I love you” and it’s working to ease her distress and depression –-just as I’d always wanted my mom to do for me.
Courtney Mroch writes about animals great and small in Pets and the harmony and strife that encompasses married life in Marriage. For a full listing of her articles click here.
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