Another lesson from my own Mumsie

I am an imperfect daughter,

with faults and impatience.

Yet I am a loving daughter who is

so amazed that I still have my very own Mumsie/Mommy

to love. If you are not dealing with an elderly parent

in your life then this post may sound so harsh to you

but those of us, my siblings and my whole family will

understand what I am trying to relay.

I visited my Mumsie/Mommy yesterday and as always,

she is so happy to see me and I, her.

She is having her lunch so I go into her apartment

to see what groceries she may need.

Things are the same as always,

it's hot and stuffy, her bed is made,

Her nightly commode needs to be cleaned 

because the room as the slight odor of urine.

I make sure to clean the pot and let it soak.

There is food on the counter from days gone by

and there is food in the refrigerator that needs to be thrown.

I often wonder why she does this, hoards food she won't eat

and I am brought back to times as a little girl that

we never went anywhere that my Mommy didn't ask to 

bring home leftovers or little  tokens of the day.

At the time it used to be so embarrassing and I believe

this is why she still does this. It is a thing of her past.

Something molded there that can't be changed.

After lunch she meets me in her apartment and

we begin to talk. The conversation goes about the

same each time, me reminding her I don't live

in Thibodaux anymore. She asks about "T-shoe, shoe"

the name she has given Bean because she can't remember if

she is a girl or a boy. She makes the comment that the baby

will be probably graduating by the time she gets to see her.

I remind her that I have brought her often and Baby Boy has

just brought her a few weeks ago and she answers with her 

same comment, "that is true"

sometimes inside of myself it frustrates me that she can't remember

these things, I want her to remember, badly.

Sunday, many of my siblings and their families went to visit

and brought her to lunch. I try and get her to tell me about it.

She says it was so lovely and I question her, trying to get

her mind to remember....

"Who was there, Mommy?"

Oh I don't know Lilly....

"Mom, was Tedi there? Was Tiffy there?"

"I think so, and I think C.J. was there, did C.J. come?"

I answer that I don't know because I wasn't there.

"You weren't? And why didn't you come?"

she asks me in her upset voice.

"Because I was sick and I didn't want to get you sick."

She agrees that was a good reason.

I see the beautiful crocheted quilt C made for her a few months ago

on her bed. On Sunday C called me in a panic because she 

could not find the blanket anywhere and knowing all the work

she had spent on it, she was frantic.

I give her a few places to check as Mommy is not sure where

it could be. 

I get a text in a few minutes that it's been found in the dirty towels.

I question Mommy about the blanket fiasco and she denies

it was ever lost. Again, thankfully I don't let her see

my frustration about her not remembering but inside 

I WANT HER TO REMEMBER...

She asks me, "So where was it?" I remind her.

She again laughingly says,

"Lilly, I just got off the lunch table and I don't know what I had for lunch."

Then she says again, quietly, "I really don't know what I just ate."

My heart goes to her now, and  I say,

"Mommy you don't challenge your mind, if you think about it all

I know you would remember."

She thinks for a  little while and she says I know,

and tells me what the dessert was. I laugh because

if she will remember anything it will be the dessert as it's her favorite.

She comes up with an idea, 

I need to get me a little book for people to sign when they come

so I can remember who was here so when you ask, you can look

in the book. I crack a smile and think this may be a good idea.

"I can't see anymore so it'll be for y'all to read."

I tell her we gonna make sure we sign big, big.

"Just like that mail there, I don't know what it says."

I take the stack and we begin to go through it and throw what isn't good.

In the stack is a handout and I begin to read it to her,

remembering the older days when if she saw a handout that she thought

I would like from church or one of her many volunteer programs she was in,

she would bring me a copy.

I begin to read this one to her, and I get choked up:

BLESSED IN AGING

BLESSED ARE THEY WHO UNDERSTAND

MY FALTERING STEP AND SHAKING HAND

BLESSED WHO KNOW MY EARS TODAY

MUST STRAIN TO HEAR THE THINGS THEY SAY.

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO SEEM TO KNOW

MY EYES ARE DIM AND MY MIND IS SLOW.

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO LOOK AWAY

WHEN I SPILLED MY TEA THAT WEARY DAY.

BLESSED ARE THEY WHO, WITH A CHEERY SMILE

STOPPED TO CHAT FOR A LITTLE WHILE.

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO KNOW THE WAY

TO BRING BACK MEMORIES OF YESTERDAY.

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO NEVER SAY

"YOU'VE TOLD THAT STORY TWICE TODAY"

BLESSED ARE THEY WHO MAKE IT KNOWN

THAT I AM LOVED AND NOT ALONE.

AND BLESSED ARE THEY WHO WILL EASE THE DAYS

OF MY JOURNEY HOME, IN LOVING WAYS.

-edith Mary Walker

Yes, this is to be our role as her children and her family.

Although outwardly she would never know my frustrations inside

and yet, I have held them.

I want to be blessed inwardly and outwardly to accept that this 

is not something she is doing, it is her wayward mind,

failing her when her body does not.

I tell her I will buy a guest book for everyone who visits

to sign, largely so she can remember.

that would be good she says.

WE walk to the front of the Manor

and everyone we pass, calls her by name,

they stop to talk, to remind her of things.

I go to the desk and sign her up for a mani/pedi on Saturday

to be done in her room and I remind her that she has 

money and needs to let them in as sometimes she gets afraid 

dealing with money so she shoos the manicurist away.

Stacy at the desk assures me that she will help Mommy on Saturday

to make sure it gets done. 

I realize that these people are those blessed people who are spoken 

of in this beautiful poem.

I realize that the reason she loves this place, the manor

is that here, she is not questioned and they "get her"

they understand the way of geriatrics and the process

of getting older without having the loving pull of the 

Mommy of yesteryear.

They have no old history with her so they can love her as is.

I wish every elderly person had a place like the Manor to 

spend the rest of their days in such a peaceful place.

My Mommy will be there until her journey home is here.

For that, I am sure of.

I took the poem home, just like the "old days" 

when she would have made sure I had a copy.

God, thanks you for the gift of a mother and let me always

remember that I am to be the blessed person to her in 

her elderly years. I am to just enjoy her as she is now and in 

the company of her. 

On my grocery list:

One guest book