Cheating

            Studying her acrostic puzzle, Mom asks, “How often do I cheat?”

            “I don’t know . . . as often as you want,” I answer. 

            A few seconds pass before her proclamation:  “I’m not even sure I know how to cheat.”

            Laughing, I say, “Well, that will keep you an honest woman!”

            Minutes later, she comments, “Oh.  That’s what I’m doing.  I’m working puzzles.”

            We are listening to classical music this evening.  Actually, Mom has been listening to classical music all day while I have been agonizing over care-giving decisions.   Predictably, the visit with Sue from Island Home Nursing did not a happy mother make.  I believe indignation best describes Mom’s reaction to the news that she will have the company of an in-home caregiver when I am away from the house.

            With that much-dreaded milestone reached, another looms almost immediately.  On Monday, when I stopped in to Island Home Nursing, I believed that a few visits a week would provide exactly the respite needed.  But today is Friday, and much has gone wrong since Monday.  Each day Mom gets noticeably weaker and more confused.  I worry about her falling when she inches her way down the hallway.  She eats, literally, a couple small bites at each meal—and that much only because my brother and I coax her to.  Yesterday I suddenly realized that she is too weak to bathe herself any more.  What was possible a week ago is no longer feasible.  Thus, my brothers and I decided today to take the next step in the process started almost exactly a year ago.

            In January 2011, I visited Home Place, a memory-care residential facility.  Very impressed with what I saw, I went ahead with the preliminary paperwork and made the refundable administrative fee deposit.  Today I contacted Wendy, the community relations director, who will set up an in-home evaluation.   Mom might be entering residential care in a couple weeks.

            Thirty minutes have passed, and Mom still sits, pen poised in hand, studying her puzzle.  A flute concerto plays in the background.  I am writing on my laptop in the living room, ready to jump to attention should she need me.  Soon I will help her get ready for bed.  Somehow, today’s decisions feel like cheating, but I still hope to remain an honest woman.