My Visit with Mom Today

Mom with her flowers and cookies

Mom and Dad holding hands

Dads eye is looking better

     I made an unplanned visit to see mom today.

      I was buried this morning in coffee, my Bible and prayer. I had spent some time with God in the last few days. Letting go of things I can't hold on to. I found the presence of Jesus comforting. He has a strong hand. He holds all the things that I can't.

So as I sat there, just thinking. I got this inspiration to run in and see mom before tomorrow, (Thanksgiving) I knew with having a houseful of visiting relatives I wouldn't make it in there anytime soon.

  I stopped in at Family Dollar and bought mom some Windmill cookies and then on to Wal mart for a Fall bouquet.

   Mom and I and Windmill cookies go way back. I remember having them one afternoon, one of my earliest memories. We were in her bedroom eating cookies then we were going to take a nap. Well she was a lot more tired then I was, so when she dropped off and started snoring, (sort of) I just kind of crept away.

Windmill cookies always make me think of the time I ran off on mom!

  Pop came in while I was there, so I took a picture of his eye so you can see how much better it looks.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Posted via Blogaway

Dad Has Surgery

   Pop has had a sore on the side of his face that just hasn't been healing. I'm not sure anymore when we first noticed it. He would try different ointments and some seemed to help but it just never went away.

  When he was in the hospital with that last bout of Pneumonia , I asked the Dr. about it and he said it's Cancer. Well actually he said it's a Basel Cell Carcinoma. Which spoken in English is interpreted to mean, It's skin cancer. The Dr. said it is no big deal but it should come off. He showed me some online images that looked just like it. For which, I have spent the last 15 minutes searching for so you could see how it looked, but to no avail. I saw every other image possible of skin cancer out there, but not that particular one. I am very sorry now that I didn't take a picture of it while he still had it so you can see what it looked like. But since I don't have one I shall now have to use a thousand words instead.

   When it first started it was sore looking, red and oozing. After time it evolved into a dime sized sore. Still crusty, flaky and oozy. The last time I looked at it, just days before his surgery it had thickened to depth of a dime.

  So here is a picture of how he looked the morning after surgery.
                                                                           

   I asked him if Mom noticed it when he went in to see her. He said no, it didn't affect her one way or another. She just didn't comprehend it.

How Does She Compare to a Year Ago?

  
    I decided to go back and see what I was writing about Mom a year ago and I found these words......

   "Dementia is really tough. You take care of the body of a person who is no longer there. I don't let myself dwell on it most of the time. But when I do it makes me incredibly sad. I don't believe Mom knows who I am. Maybe once in a great while she still gets a glimpse of reality. But I almost never get that Motherly affection anymore."

   Not much has changed really. I still say the very same thing. Although, these words are only more true now. When I wrote those words last year she was still knowing us a whole lot better than she does now. 

    It's hard to put into words. Does it make sense that when I walk in, her eyes widen a little but she is more interested in the tv than in me? She stares at the images darting in and out on the screen. Usually she has her hands tucked down on both sides of her and if I want to hold her hand I have to pull it out from being tucked in down beside her. She sits there like that all day. 

  My heart aches. Is there something we could do to keep her "here" mentally longer? I'm sure her body is slowing down because she definitely has lost function, i.e. toilet and walking skills. But it's obvious that her mind is leaving at a greater rate then what her body is.

 One of the biggest temptations I face is to distance myself. But I know I can't, staying away doesn't make it go away. I still have a mother that gets small comfort from holding my hand. I believe that, even though she doesn't show it. Staying away would only deaden the pain not heal it, and I know that when she is no longer here I will feel like I skipped out on her if I hide now.

                      Someone got her on a better day here. She looks more interested and alert.

                                                 A lounge room not far from Mom's room

                                               The kitchen

The new facility is still a source of encouragement to me. I feel very good about mom's new residence.