I thought she was happy being back on her feet and exercising. But the middle finer on her left hand tells a different story.
Tag Archives: caregiving
Eight Glasses
Mom: You’re supposed to drink eight glasses of water a day. Mark: Where did you hear that? Mom: I don’t know. (she downs her glass) Mark: One down, seven more to go. Mom: No thanks.
Back to Work
I pass by her with another load of two by fours. Mom: Who’s paying for all those renovations? Mark: You are so cheer up. You may need to go back to work.
Sherbet
After her doctor cut off all food and medications, Mom prescribed her own remedy; sherbet. Eight bowls a day. Every day. She was 89 and getting stronger. How could I say “No”?
Three Bags of Crunchy Granola
Mom: I’m saying goodbye. Mark: Where are you going? Mom: Heaven, I hope. Mark: Why? Mom: Well, I’m not going to hell. Mark: Of course not, but why now? I just fixed up the house. Mom: The what? Mark: The house. Don’t you want to enjoy it? (no response) And I just bought three bags of crunchy granola. (She laughs and falls back asleep)
Just the Two of Us
’Twas the night before Christmas . . . no, ’twas the night of Christmas.
The first without Dad, or the second. Things got hazy after his passing. I’d
flown in from the Left Coast to spend the holidays in New Jersey where it was
bitter cold outside and warm and toasty inside, just as it should be during
this time of year. It’s quite often the opposite in Los Angeles, which makes it
tough to get into the spirit of things.
Meet the Author as He Explains the Title
My mother cherished her weekly trips to the beauty parlor for a shampoo & set. Occasionally, she’d spice things up with a perm and frosting that required a reintroduction to her family—even the dog needed a second sniff. However, those salon sojourns were but a distant memory. So, I launched the “Day of Beauty” to recreate at home that pampering she so loved, and I’m sure, so sorely missed.
“Day of Beauty” soon evolved into its own multitasking operation. While Mom did her business on the commode, and depending on how long she took, I performed many of the chores on the DoB menu. These tasks included a full sponge bath, soaking her feet in Epsom salts, shampooing, conditioning, and blow drying her long, now silvery, hair.
One day, hoping to make her adventures on the commode a tad more pleasant, I offered Mom a cup of her favorite beverage: hot tea with skim milk, no sugar. It was a hit. And from that day forward, A Cup of Tea on the Commode became a staple on the menu, and the clear choice for the title of my memoir.
You Don’t Have Alzheimer’s, Do You?
Doctor: I think your mother has Alzheimer’s disease. I turn to Mom and ask, “You don’t have Alzheimer’s, do you? Mom: I don’t remember. Priceless.
New Wardrobe
My first task after taking over Mom’s caregiving duties was buying her a new wardrobe. No more drab nightdresses. She got so excited, she decided to wear them all at once.
Just Checking
Early one morning, Mom calls out my name. I fly out of bed, down the freshly varnished steps, and by some small miracle remain on my feet. I staggered into her room, my heart racing. Mom: Oh, you are here. Mark: Of course I’m here. Where else am I going to be? Mom: Just anted to make sure. Mark: That’s it?