Parental Declines

My mom had a seizure last week. My niece Jackie heard a thud from her room upstairs and ran into the family room to find my mom on the floor convulsing. My brother Gregg was home luckily. The paramedics were called. Mom was choking on her saliva so my brother turned her on her side and that preserved her until the ambulance came. He was pretty shaken up and said that he felt like he was watching my mom die. Mom had a CT scan at the hospital and there are no brain tumors. They say they are not always sure why people have seizures it just has to do with increased brain activity. Ever since her seizure, my mom has lost control of her bladder functions so she is in diapers now.

Gregg called me last night and we talked about rest homes. It seems like a good idea for my mom to go since there would be more care and more activities available for her. At the same time it feels surreal to watch her decline. Only four years ago she was living on her own and writing intelligibly in her journal. She wasn't herself, but she was so far from the mumbling, staring, shuffler she has become.

Oddly, I feel removed from it all like I'm watching a movie about a woman with Alzheimer's instead of watching my mother. Maybe it's because I live in San Diego and she lives in Lindon. Accounts of a seizure over the phone are a lot easier to deal with than physically watching my mother have a seizure. Maybe I feel removed because I've been losing her by inches for years. I've already cried a million times. Am I supposed to cry at every decline milestone? It gets exhausting. People ask how I am and I have to admit I don't even cry I just feel numb.

Numbness doesn't seem like the right word either because I do have intense emotions about it sometimes. For example, I was at church on Sunday and the Bishop's daughter was visiting. It's obvious that the Bishop's wife and daughter have one of those ideal relationships that ever mother would wish for with her daughter. The Bishops wife is beautiful, friendly, alive, and available. Then it hits me that not everyone has to live like me and I feel that familiar pit in my stomach. Or, I'll be listening to a Relief Society lesson and I'll try to remember if I ever went to one of my mom's lessons. I'll try to think harder and really remember what she sounded like and what made her such a fabulous teacher. Everyone always loved and complimented her lessons. When I can't remember I feel like screaming and I hate my memory for not giving me access to my mother. I'm not feeling sorry for myself as I know that everyone lives with different empty places and lost dreams. I have friends that have moms that are alive and in good physical health but they aren't emotionally checked in with their daughters. I would imagine they feel the same as I do.

My dad has also been in the hospital. I feel pretty numb to that too. This will sound strange but it would be a blessing in many ways for both the parents to move on to greener pastures. Their bodies and minds have not been doing well for a long time. I feel like I've lost both of them so many times in so many different ways that the very final loss might feel like closure or a relief. I don't expect anyone to understand because I know these feelings sound odd.