So here is another chapter:

Trying to serve my mother appropriately whilst I could not see her in person, was tricky. There were many phone calls in which I had to reassure her that she was where she lived, now, not at the ward house, a theater, shopping mall, or other place--all of which she believed at various times. She would call me to "take her home" or "pick her up, now." Once, she was embarrassed to report she had gone to Relief Society in her pj's and robe. 

Sometimes, she would talk about the other residents. Just days after she moved in, while I was visiting her, she told me that the facility was very nice. Everyone who worked there was kind and patient. "But, Linda," she confided, "the other people who live here are all nuts!" As time went on, and our only visits were by phone, she frequently talked about the people who behaved in odd ways. She was critical of them, and complained that they were arrogant or busy bodies. "They think they can go where they please and do whatever comes into their heads!" She was anxious about the way some of them liked to touch things, fuss with stuff. Fidgety. I could usually reassure her, saying the people had forgotten good manners. They just didn't know what to do with themselves.

She could only focus on what she could see. I often listened to her describe the current TV show, scene by scene. Or she would tell me about the room she was in, and the other people sitting or lounging there, the view from the window, the pictures on the walls...

But, I also witnessed her innate kindness. When she wasn't alarmed, she tried to serve. I could hear her trying to comfort someone, "This is your blanket, dear." Or, "Let me help you put on your slipper." Her innate need to be in charge and control things also demonstrated itself. One of the CNA's called me to ask that I assure Mother about the rules and routines. She was trying to "organize" the other residents and assign jobs. It sounded rather like a mutiny, to me. This rebellion lasted several days. Since her short term memory was usually zilch, this fixation was particularly curious. One of the girls described her as "sassy." That was probably an understatement.

Her fears didn't go away. She was especially vulnerable at night, of course. The requirement for the CNA's was to check on every resident at least every two hours. When someone came into Mom's room during the night, it scared her to pieces! I asked that the check be every four hours, at night. The likelihood of her falling or having other troubles wasn't as high as the fright giving her a heart attack. She couldn't remember that this was normal. She was inclined to attack the visitor, besides. I also insisted that any night checks be done by a female CNA. 

Most of the time she was mostly happy. She participated in the activities, and attended Church meetings, held there. She enjoyed her ministering brothers' and sisters' visits, until the COVID quarantine shut everything down. The isolation was hard; but not as hard as it could have been. After all, she didn't remember that she was isolated. She didn't remember when I had visited last, or when she had been to Church, or what activities she was missing. And it was a blessing to me, as I have said. I was forced to "let go" and trust the staff to take care of my momma. It was ok. Tender mercies still abounded. For example, once, when I was talking to Mom on the phone, someone brought her a little pink pill and asked her to swallow it. She described this pill to me, and asked me if I knew about it. Was she supposed to take it? I prepared all her daily vitamin supplements, and delivered them to the facility every month. There were no "little pink pills." I asked to speak to the CNA who gave her the pill. It turned out that a mistake had been made. The pill was not intended for Mom. It was an antidepressant. If I had not happened to be talking to her at the time, she would have taken a prescription intended for someone else: not good for either person. And the error needed to be corrected with the medical tech who had passed on the assignment inappropriately. As it was, I alerted the nurse who retrained her staff and all was better. Another example: Mom was given the COVID-19 vaccinations, when they became available, with very little reaction. Such a blessing!

Meanwhile, I was deep in the red tape of applying for Mom to receive the Veteran's Benefit, for which she qualified because of Dad's service during WWII. It helped with the financial side of things. Although it took months to be resolved, the benefit was retroactive to the time of the application. I made several trips to the bank to get that sorted out. Government agencies are a pain in the neck; and a blessing. 

And then, in February, 2021, Mom fell. That will be the next chapter.

I am still here. Mom is as well, which is the core of  this post. I would like to share this chapter of the journey with the understanding that whereas I have come to trust God's plan for me and Mother, I don't always understand it. And I frequently have questions that can only be answered with faith in His plan.

In December of 2019, I was at a crises. By Christmas, I was physically and emotionally broken. For months I had been struggling with frequent episodes with my blood sugar disorder that knocked me flat. These episodes lasted several days at a time, and included weakness, headache, dizziness and nausea. I was a mess. I cried a lot. I prayed a lot. I really had hoped I would be able to care for Mom until she died. Instead, I was afraid the person more likely to die was me. I was that low.

After an hour of intense prayer that opened my understanding, I admitted it was time to place Mom into a care center. Steve and I did a tour of Spring Gardens Mapleton, on December 31. There would be an opening in the memory care area, we were told, on January 9. I didn't believe I could make that happen that soon. I thought we would hope and plan for spring. I prayed for confirmation. Instead, I felt strongly I was to take Mom to see the facility. Not expecting that! She couldn't make decisions. She would resist the idea, I was sure. It was part of the misery I didn't want to take on. 

On January 1, I invited Mom to look at Spring Gardens. I tearfully approached her regarding the need for this change. To my surprise, she was very compassionate and willing to ease my burdens. She was happy to take the tour. We made the appointment. We took Mom. They fed us lunch. While sitting in the cute "ice-cream parlor," there, I asked Mom how she felt about the place. She said, "I don't feel any unfriendly spirits." 

Steve remarked, "it's peaceful, here, isn't it?"

She said, "yes, it is." And I had the confirmation, there and then, that we were to act promptly. It would be ok.

She moved in on January 20th. Somehow, I was strengthened, Steve wrought a miracle with help from our kids. The little house, where Mom had been living for four years, was emptied out. We sold and gave away all the furnishings. Some went to grandkids. I survived that, too, whilst visiting Mom every day, helping her and the staff to adjust to each other. It was difficult. There were battles as Mom dealt with the new place and changes beyond her control. But I no longer was alone. The burden didn't disappear, but it was made lighter.

And then, COVID 19 hit. In March, new guidelines restricted visits. I was forced to "let go," ready or not. I realized that the timing for this project had been designed and executed by a kind Heavenly Father. I could never have done the move during the quarantine. It leaves me breathless in gratitude. 

And that's how things stayed for almost a year. I talked to Mom on the phone a couple times a week. Sometimes, if she became confused or agitated to the point that the staff couldn't calm her down, they would have her call me. It wasn't easy to deal with those surprises; but oh, what a difference! It was much easier than what I had been doing. 

The story doesn't end here. I will add another chapter soon.

As one might have guessed, I haven't written here because I have been so occupied doing what I intended to write about: my experience as a caregiver for my mother.

This has been the hardest thing I have ever done...and I have done many hard things. First of all, it is devastating to watch someone I love and admire deteriorate into a temperamental creature incapable of ordinary reason or sound judgement. I am used to bringing Mom my troubles and receiving spiritual insight, encouragement and solutions. I can't do that, any more. She looks like my mom; she sounds like my mom; but, Mom is not available. My all-wise mother is hidden somewhere in this fuzzy, frail body that demands every bit of wisdom, patience and creative resource I can muster; and yet refuses to receive it, most of the time. She keeps apologizing for being a burden; then adds to it by some outrageous assertion of independence that just causes trouble.

She continues to decline, but also continues to deny her need for help. This puts me into an awkward, ongoing argument to keep her safe and comfortable. So, the challenge to avoid contention is my personal battle. I have learned to avoid raising my voice. Period. Yes, that took a great deal of practice. Most days, I can say I have conquered that. However, every once in awhile, she surprises me so dramatically, I am not as good at controlling my response as usual. Again, I cannot answer with reason. She doesn't get reason. I cannot answer with a show of authority. She will fight me. Sometimes I can answer with tears, which will get her attention, but not necessarily convince her of anything. I depend on God to help me. If I remember to silently offer up a prayer, He will help me stay calm, stay kind, and say or do the right thing. This takes a lot of energy.

Energy is the most noticeable of my personal needs: and it is usually spent pretty quickly. I don't have much, anyway. That's who I am. However, I testify that when I am prayerful, and doing my best, Heavenly Father compensates. Somehow, I get through another crises, another surprise, another day. I may not have anything left to give when I get home, again. But I am blessed with a saintly husband who does his best to understand, to listen, and to restore my depleted bucket. My children are also good listeners, and allow me to vent regularly. I don't know what I would do without them. Our daughter has taken on some of my tasks, such as cleaning Mom's house, and taking her out once a week so I can have a break. This literally "saves" me.

I can often see the humor in a situation, and that helps, too. Mother contradicts herself a lot. She forgets what she said, what she wanted, what she used to like. She tries to explain lapses that she simply can't deny, and sometimes makes up the most creative excuses. Once in awhile, if it doesn't matter much, I can quote her to herself and turn the situation into a giggle for us both.

It would help if I knew how long I would be required to do this. I don't. That is part of the challenge. I have to trust that God will know when I can't go on, any more. I am learning things I would never have learned in any other way. I am becoming more that I could possibly have become from any other experience. And, I have come to a peace with this that I didn't think was possible. I have felt the love and support of the Savior. He carries me. I am happy. And that makes this a good thing.

Been awhile since I recorded anything here. But it is time, now, to catalogue some of my current journey. I have become the caregiver for my elderly mother. It is a blessing, a privilege, and the hardest thing I have ever done; and I have done some hard things.

I noticed some mental deterioration a couple of years ago, and knew we would need to find a solution that would keep her safe and comfortable for the rest of her life. Prayerfully, we explored possibilities. I knew it would be very stressful for all of us to have her move in with Steven and me. So, when the little house next door went up for sale, we knew it was an inspired opportunity. We bought the house and, with her cooperation, moved Mom down in January of last year. She had misgivings, anxieties, of all kinds. But she also had her own spiritual witness that it was the Right Thing to do. Trouble was, she didn't remember that witness. Many, many times over the following months, I reminded her of the way God directed our decision, and how she had also been reassured by the Spirit. When we talked about it, she could reclaim some memory; but only temporarily. Then, in a few weeks, we would have the same doubts surface, causing distress and misery for her. She sometimes erupted in hostility, accusing me or Steve of "taking over" her life, or bullying her into the decision.

The deterioration of her mental acuity continued. I was so grateful we had acted when we did. Delaying only a few months would have made it so much more difficult, as she would have been even more fearful, forgetful, and frail. As it was, I could see that she was truly unsafe without monitoring. Once, she caused a disastrous toxic gas to flood the house, by pouring copious amounts of chlorine bleach down her toilets. She had used bleach as a cleanser for the toilets for many years. But this time, she forgot that it had already been done. Doing it again, and possibly again, in a few short hours, the reaction in the pipes was dangerously powerful. We had to remove all the bleach from the house and insist she use white vinegar, instead. She complied, reluctantly, because it is "our" house, after all, and we can decide how it is cared for. But she continued to complain, forgetting the problem she had caused herself. She nearly choked to death.

A few months later, Mom put a pork roast in the oven, fell asleep, and didn't wake to the timer. It created not only a scorched lump of charcoal, but a toxic smell that filled the house, causing "smoke" damage that had to be addressed by a professional disaster clean up crew. We were fortunate, blessed, that it didn't start a fire. Again, she downplayed the seriousness of the problem. She didn't smell it, partly because she had been in the house as it gradually developed, and partly because her older senses had already been damaged by the chlorine issue. We had to unplug the stove/oven to keep such a thing from happening, again. She just can't be trusted to remember. And nobody can help falling asleep. This was hard. Mom felt she was further frustrated in her need for independence.

In addition, when the disaster people returned all the clothing/linens from their professional laundering, Mom was sure there were missing items (yet I watched them catalog everything, and carefully label each item). Mostly, she couldn't remember where things had been or how to put them away. And being Mom, she had to do most of this herself. It was exhausting. And it further validated my understanding that my mother is OCD. I always knew she was a perfectionist, and a controller. I grew up with her, after all. I have known for many years that her fears were at paranoia levels. But the daily interaction this season has required, has given me better insight. Add to finish the list, Mom struggles with germaphobic issues. Although my daughter, Shannon, comes almost every week to do basic cleaning for her grandma, Shannon does some things differently than Mom would do. Mother appreciates the help. But she also sort of resents it. Many conversations have taken place, reassuring her that Shannon needs the opportunity to teach her children how to serve; and, Mom is giving them all that blessing. And frankly, there is no way Mom could keep up the level of clean she prefers, on her own, any more. She doesn't like to admit this. But it is true.

She doesn't like to admit a lot of things. Denial seems to be part of the illness. Her dementia is progressing. She has moments of good humor, even gratitude. She is learning to love the neighborhood, the neighbors, the Ward congregation, and the cute little house. But she still has depressions, anxieties, suspicions, and regrets. Her paranoia is her governing state. It makes me sad to see her so troubled, and I unable to fix it.

Which brings me to my personal journey. I will talk about that in another entry.

Well, I am in the middle of an Historical Event. Today is the inauguration of President Donald Trump.  The entire election process was more violent, divisive, controversial, and just plain ugly, than any previous election in this country. And, there he is: the center of all that, and now at the center of the American Stage, as the Chief Officer.

I am not entering into any debate. It has been nasty enough. What I would like to do is express my feelings about the State of Things. I am by nature optimistic. And we need optimism. I also have faith in God, and an absolute assurance that He is watching over this country and its people. And we need faith. I recognize that Divine help created the United States of America in the first place; and that the price for His continued support is to serve the God of this land. We need to live the Christian principles and values that will earn His blessing. Most of us are not evil. Most of us still try to do good and be good. That is why I have hope. And we need hope. We need goodness.

Even though this new chapter may be alarming, I refuse to be alarmed. I believe that I can find peace. Optimism, faith, goodness, and hope are stronger than fear. And we need not be overcome.

Well, it's been awhile since I posted anything here. So, you may assume this new bit is significant. There are some things Steven and share that keep us bonded beyond the ordinary--if anything that bond two people can be called ordinary. This one, however, is one that connected us from almost the moment we met: Books/Literature. We both are pretty passionate about reading. We always have been. It is why I would have been an English Teacher, if ever I had gone to work full time. It is why Steve was excited to teach first grade. It is something we both focused on in our family. We read to our children, took them to the library, and bought books and more books when almost nothing else was affordable. When we moved to Springville, we decided to name our house--BOOKEND. And that says it in a nutshell.

So, when we learned about The Little Free Library system, we were enthused and excited to create one. It took nearly a year, but here it is! Our good neighbor, Mark Johansen did the building. Another good neighbor, Russ Hatfield built the brick pedestal. Steve painted it, and Friday, October 3, 2014, we held the official Open House to introduce it to our neighborhood. We have rarely been so excited about anything. And this was something to be excited about. About 30 people came in response to our invitations. But now it is ready for business. Anyone, anytime can take a book, bring a book, trade a book. There are books for children and books for adults and everyone in between.  It was a fun party, but the real fun is just beginning.

Seasons...of the year, of life, of perspective...are on my mind today.  When Summer sheds its rhythms and changes color and flavors we call it Fall.  It is a fall of sorts.  That's what the leaves do.  And the days "fall short," as well.  But when I think of my life, now, I, too "fall" into some interesting parallels.  Yes, my body sags, my skin folds into wrinkles, my energy certainly falls short of my needs.  And I feel a general nostalgia, a gratitude for my personal harvest of relationships, accomplishments, and knowledge.  But this is all quite a mix.  Like Autumn, there are good days, sunny, colorful beautiful days with crisp, cool air that  makes me want to walk and think, and notice things.  But there are also gloomy days, gray with achy muscles, plodding through metaphorical puddles.   I can't make up my mind about it.  In fact, making decisions is rather harder than it used to be--about anything.  I am not exactly in a slump; but I have slowed down.  And it is harder not to whine about the issue.  This is all pretty pathetic, I know.  But just think what "winter" will do to me!