It’s 9:00 AM and I’m at the bottom of the steps to the second floor in my mom’s apartment complex in Clarksville, TN. It’s a Friday, any Friday, since I’ve had Lisa block the calendar to keep this day open so I can check in on my mom.
Mom lives by herself as she has for the past eight years since my dad died, but things are different now.
Six months ago, mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. It wasn’t a surprise to me. I had suspected something was wrong for a while.
In 2014, my dad was diagnosed with ALS. He and my mom were living in Frederick, MD at the time. My parents refused to accept the diagnosis, but it was obvious my mom couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of him. She was still working full time at the age of 81 and he was home alone all day. Finally, he asked to move back home to California to stay with my brother and his wife.
In the years leading up to my dad’s diagnosis, I discovered my parents were in significant debt. My dad asked for help. We decided rather than give them fish, Barb and I would teach them to fish. Since Barb was a financial advisor, she put them on a serious financial diet. In two years, they went from 30K in credit card debt and no savings, to zero debt and 26K in savings.
My parents hated it. My mom couldn’t control her spending, and my dad commiserated that they saved all this money and couldn’t spend it. Then, ALS came for him.
My dad had been with my brother about six months when he went into cardiac arrest. The doctors discovered a UTI had turned into sepsis.
My mom called me early on a Sunday to tell me the news, then caught a flight to LAX. Barb and I followed a few days later.
When we arrived, my brother and his wife were really concerned about my mom’s erratic behavior. She brought a large suitcase but didn’t pack any clothes. It was full of books. They told me she was repeating herself and acting odd. I chalked it up to grief but started to notice the strange behaviors myself.
We returned home a few days later and my dad died shortly after that. My brother died about a year later from liver and kidney failure. He had a long history of alcoholism and having my dad move back in with him triggered a lot of things we experienced growing up. I was now alone.
Mom’s retired ID badge from McDonnell Douglas/Boeing. Her first retirement.
My mom returned to Maryland and summarily raided the bank accounts. Within a few months, she had spent through all the savings and was charging up credit cards again. With the help of my brother’s daughters she went on trips, bought extravagant clothes, and of course showered the girls with gifts. Mind you, they were 30 and 25 respectively at the time.
When COVID hit, my mom was forced to work remote. She hated it. I made a couple of trips to Maryland and was seeing the decline. She had no food in the house, instead eating nothing but protein bars. I suspected her work was affected but had no way of finding out.
In early 2021, mom was cut back to part time. She called me and was really upset. Her work and workmates had become her family. But her pride was wounded. At age 86 there was no way she’d be hired anywhere else, but she wanted to work.
I convinced her to move down to Tennessee in June of 2021. She was excited and spent several weeks downsizing. I flew up and helped her finish packing, then we drove her car on the 12-hour trip to my house in Tennessee.
I moved her into an apartment in Clarksville a few days later, specifically because it was next door to a big church. Once she had unpacked, I felt like we were in a good place. I fully expected her to get involved in her new church and make regular trips up to Louisville to see her friend Christie and down south to Huntsville to see her friends Ed and JJ.
But mom suddenly became reclusive. She drove a little, mainly to church next door and to get her nails done, but one day she called in a panic. Her Garmin GPS told her she crossed into Kentucky. I told her that was normal since Clarksville is right on the Kentucky border, but it spooked her. Now she wasn’t driving at all. Not even next door to church because she said, “I heard on the news the flu was going around so I’ll watch it on TV.” That was her excuse every week. For an entire year.
It was about that time I told Lisa to start marking off my Fridays so I could take my mom shopping and on errands. Meanwhile, her memory was getting worse. She was repeating herself about every 10 minutes.
At a Titans game in 2022. Mom loves football.
At her next doctor’s appointment, I mentioned my concerns to the doctor, and he gave her a few verbal cognitive tests about dates, locations, etc. and she failed miserably. I had to use non-verbal communication including eye rolls and blinks to supplement my mom’s answers to his questions. He recommended she get a full workup with a cognitive psychologist.
That’s where she got the official diagnosis. And with Alzheimer’s, there is really nothing you can do but watch the disease take its toll. And not just the patient. I’ve discovered that caring for someone with cognitive disease is physically and emotionally taxing.
Since mom gave me power of attorney before her move, I get busy taking over all her finances. It’s like forensic accounting. I find out that my brother’s daughters, my evil nieces have conned grandma into co-signing two car loans. Over the past two years, she has been making their car payments. When I finally get things straightened out, including having to file an extension to do her 2023 taxes, I find she has no savings, 18,000 in credit card debt, and little else.
I’m not a detail-oriented person and I hate numbers, but I’ll not bring Barb into this. My mom still resents her for putting them on the financial diet. Now I’m paying mom’s bills, taking her shopping, handling all of her medical treatments, refilling her pills, and doing my best to be an emotional support.
All while she criticizes me, accuses me of wanting to put her in the “rest home” (what her generation called nursing homes). She blames me for “forcing her to move down here,” thinking the move and her retirement is the reason for her Alzheimer’s. She thinks Barb helped me steal her car (which I drove to a conference in Alabama with her permission just to run the engine since the 2013 car has a whopping 35K miles on it). She tells her friend Christie these things, who thankfully communicates with me regularly. Christie understands the situation.
Which brings us back to me standing on the bottom step, heading up to see my mom.
I don’t want to do it. And I feel terrible. I would rather be anywhere else right now than spending time with my mom.
I trudge up the steps slowly, then face her front door. I raise up my fist to knock but can’t bring myself to do it. After about 30 seconds, I grit my teeth and knock.
Silence.
I wait a moment and knock again. Still nothing. Now I wonder if she’s ok. What if she doesn’t answer? I’m ready to use my key when I hear movement. Then she opens the door.
She looks at me curiously for a moment, then recognizes me. She said she woke up early and nodded off.
I give her a hug, but get nothing in return. It’s like hugging a fence post. She asks me if I can take her to get her nails done. Even though we just did it two weeks ago, I agree to take her. In a way, it’s easier. I can drop her off and have two hours to do her grocery shopping and run my errands. And I don’t have to spend any time with her. I find myself celebrating that.
Besides, shopping with mom is a colossal pain in the ass. If I let her do it herself, she will look for each item on her list one at a time so she crisscrosses the Publix 50 times to get her groceries. A few times it overwhelms her and I’ll find her paralyzed in an aisle as if lost. Not to mention she buys things she doesn’t need. Sometimes I remove items from her cart when she’s looking away.
It’s easier for me to do it. Plus I can control what she buys. If mom had her way, she’d eat nothing but Lindt chocolate balls and Hagen Daz ice cream bars. And forget drinking water. She has not touched the Fiji water (She’s got to have Fiji. “It’s the best!” she proclaims.) in her refrigerator in four weeks. I know because I keep count.
Finally, she texts me, ready to be picked up. I drive over to get her and she’s happy. When she gets what she wants, she’s happy. When something doesn’t go her way or I have to tell her no, she pouts.
I drop her home, quickly putting her groceries away. I want out of there badly. I tell her I need to go, even though I really don’t. I give her a hug and say, “love you mom.”
She replies, “Ok.”
I leave and she locks the door behind me.
I am pissed, frustrated, but elated I’m on my way home. Another Friday in the books. How long is it going to be like this?
For the most part, I keep my feelings to myself. I’m ashamed that I see taking care of my mom as a burden. After all, she gave birth to me. She sacrificed for me. Is it too much to ask for me to look after her?
Sadly, it has been and is. A part of me is angry because we did our best to get our kids raised, educated, and out of the house. We put in long hours to build careers and wealth. At age 60, after traveling 30+ weeks a year for many years working my ass off, I’m ready to start really living, and now I’ve become a parent to my parent.
About a week ago, I discovered an Alzheimer’s support group on Facebook. Curious, I requested to join, and the next day was approved. And that’s when things began to make sense.
I thought I was the only one going through this. I figured my situation was unique. I drove myself crazy with guilt resenting my own mom.
And then I found I wasn’t alone. The people in the forum were going through exactly what I was and worse. They sometimes resent their parents and spouses. They struggle financially, mentally, and emotionally. They feel alone, that is until they share their story.
I see a quote posted often on Facebook that goes “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.”
That’s comforting. And even among my INNER CIRCLE, I know I’m not alone.
The reason I choose to share this very personal story is so that if you’re experiencing something similar, you know you’re not alone.
That’s another reason for my INNER CIRCLE. Writing these stories is therapeutic for me and I hope useful for you. If you’ve followed me for a while, you probably know more about my childhood and growing up with an abusive parent than my own kids do. I need to put this stuff on paper. I need to get it out of my head and heart so there is room for healing. It’s how I finally made peace with my Navy career. That’s why I need you, my INNER CIRCLE.
But you really need an INNER CIRCLE of your own. People who you can be real, open, honest, and vulnerable with.
Life is too hard to tackle alone. Build your own INNER CIRCLE.
Thanks for listening.