When did it start?

I keep wondering when Mom's mental decline really started?
A little over a year ago she called me at work, frazzled telling me she locked her house keys in the house. "No big deal," I said. "You have your car keys?"
"Yes, but I'm at the neighbor's calling you. I HAVE TO GET OFF THE PHONE."
"Yes, but Mom, you can drive over here to where I work and pick up my house keys. It will be fine." (I work very close to Mom's house.)
"How am I going to drive over to your work? I don'thavemykeysIhavetogoI'mattheneighbor's!"
"Mom, hold on. You just said you have your car keys."
"Oh. Yes. Ok. Bye."

When she got to my work I met her at the door, handed her my keys, and off she went.
I told my sisters about this and we all blew it off as a nervous reaction to an embarrassing moment. We've all locked our keys in the house. We've all been forgetful in a nervous moment, but this seemed like a bit more.

I stopped over at her house a few days later with a fake sprinkler head hide-a-key thing I've seen in a few geocaching hides. I told her to keep an extra set of house keys in the hide-a-key and maybe ask a neighbor if we could put it in their yard so as not to be too obvious to a potential thief.

Yesterday I found the hide-a-key in the back of the pantry, still in its packaging. She was too nervous to put it outside - convinced someone would figure out they were her keys. Oy.

Is this how it started? Was this an early sign of things to come?

I need to really up my yoga. I believe Mom's mental state has been worsened over the years by the stress she places on herself. One way I can keep this from happening to me is by doing yoga and remembering that there is barely anything in this world worth worrying over. This is easier said than done.

Things haven't always been easy for Mom. I get that. Her husband died when she was in her mid-50s. Her youngest daughter had just started college. She was suddenly grieving and on her own. She did alright with it for a while. As far as I know, she never dated, but she's always had friends until recently. Her closest friend, Betty, died about 3 years ago. I think this was a devastating loss for her even though she mostly complained about how nutty Betty was. (And she really was a spit-fire!)

So she's been alone for the most part for years. Her only social interaction was work. Ugh. That's the worst, right? I mean, my co-workers are pretty great, but I'm glad I have friends outside of work that I can relate to on a true personal level.

So here I am, alone in Mom's house. It's creaky and strangely quiet without her here. My parakeets have been pretty quiet lately. She would always sing to them and top off their food dish if it looked low. She always said they were too loud, too dirty, too whatever, but I think she really liked them.

Slow decline

The scariest thought hit me today: we've already experienced the highest point of Mom's mental state. From now until the end, it will only get worse.
It will only get worse.

Thank god I'm not an only child. I know I would be a different person if I had been, so it doesn't matter for the other "many worlds" theory's universes out there in which I am an only child or even more complex - I don't exist or (gasp!) I'm male. (Ha ha.) Anyway, what I'm trying to write is that I'm incredibly lucky and thankful for this luck.

My oldest sister got to experience the "broken record" thing Mom does lately for one night. She told me all about it the following morning after sleeping over at Mom's new home. I said, "yeah, I know. Welcome to the hell I've been living in. 24/7. It's been fun."

Despite the terrible sentence structure of my reply to her I think she really understood why I've been so stressed out. (Because dealing with an ex boyfriend who refuses to sell a house we own together [we broke up about a year ago] isn't enough to deal with on a daily basis. No, please. Here, have a side of "Dementia Mom.") I know, I know. "Wha, wha, whaaa..."


Today was Mom's third day in her new place. When I came over, she seemed a little frazzled, but everything is so new. It is hard for her to make new memories so little things like, "keep your keys in this basket by the door" is impossible to remember. We have to repeat these instructions to her over and over again. It's very frustrating, but I can't imagine how frustrating it is for her.

What strikes me is how vocal she is about things she's unsure of. When I moved in to my childhood home with her she would see one of my boxes in the dining room and ask, "what's that?" at least once a day. I couldn't understand what was going on. Even after I labelled it "Penny's Stuff" it took about a month for it to really sink in.

"What's that" has been her most frequently used statement. Any time she sees something that seems new to her, she says it. I think that I would keep that question to myself or investigate by, say, opening the box and looking inside it if I wasn't sure of what it was instead of just pointing and voicing my confusion. But I honestly have no idea how I would be if my brain was changing in the ways that Alzheimer's changes it. This must be part of the disease.

Dammit. I'm mad I have to add this stupid fucking disease to my family's medical history now when I go to a doctor. Goddammit all to hell. Fuck Cancer. Fuck Alzheimer's. Fuck Heart Disease.

Fuck Gingivitis while we're at it.


(Side note - I had no idea how to spell "dammit" until I ran spellcheck just now. I've been writing "damnit" my whole life, which is apparently wrong.)

All the feels

It's easy to get angry and let yourself get carried away with it.
I'm still just learning about Alzheimer's. So far, I hate it. I don't know how long it goes on for, I mean I know it's now til the end, but how long will that be?

And here I am again watching another parent die slowly over the next few years. It's torture. There is nothing I can do for her - I have to just watch it happen. Of course, I will try my best to make her feel safe and loved, but that's all I can do. And doing that is so very difficult. She doesn't seem to believe a word I say. How frustrating. It's like being a child again in that respect.

How is any of this fair?
Hasn't there been enough crap lately?

We're trying to make this move as easy as possible for her. I get frustrated easily and am having trouble when her thinking isn't straight. "Why isn't she more organized? Why does she keep running from room to room? Why doesn't she just pack up like we keep telling her she needs to do?"
I know this disease makes it impossible for her to concentrate. I know this, but it's still very confusing for me. It hasn't exactly sunk in yet, I think.

I am my fathers daughter, without a doubt. My patience is short, I'm becoming quick to anger. There is just so much pain.

The other day a driver changed lanes without using his blinker and I followed him into a parking lot and yelled at him out of my car window for it. "YOU DIDN'T USE YOUR BLINKER, JERK! YOU COULD KILL SOMEBODY!" I shouted. He shouted back, "I DID USE MY BLINKER. OPEN YOUR EYES!"
I drove away and pulled into a parking spot far way, out of view and bawled my eyes out. It was the day before my birthday.
I thought about the interaction and how I was taking out my anger and frustrations on some poor guy who didn't realize his tail light wasn't working. This isn't how I usually function. So I pulled myself together and drove back over to where he'd parked so I could apologize. I felt so terrible. His car was gone so I never got a chance to say, "I'm sorry." So then I felt even worse imagining how being yelled at by a stranger is negatively affecting the rest of his day.