Daydreams of the Soul

A year ago today my phone rang at 8:10am. Sleepily, I reached for it, saw it was my sister and answered. “She’s gone.” “What?” “She’s gone. Mom’s gone.” My first thought was, where did she go? How did she get out? She’s in a locked dementia ward, how did she escape? Did they leave a door open? Have they put out a silver alert? And then it hit me. My sister wasn’t telling me that Mom had run away, she was telling me she had died. In a way, I guess she had run away. She had escaped in the most complete and final way.

Mom loved to travel, to take trips and explore. Summers, when we were children, my Dad worked long hard hours, from sun up to sun down, pouring concrete. He gave us a very good life, one that meant Mom could take those trips, could travel and explore. It meant he didn’t actually get to enjoy that life with us much, but he was happy if his Nancy was happy. It was nothing for Mom to load up the car with us four, plus how many other extra kids were around (and there were always extra kids) to take us on an adventure. Sometimes we would end up driving through endless forests, looking for unique places. Sometimes it seemed like we were driving in circles. My brother would ask if we were lost, and Mom’s response was always no. We were just exploring. I wonder what she’s exploring now?

The last couple of years of Mom’s life were not easy ones. It became evident about 4 years ago that she was having difficulties with her thought processes. Blank looks when something was explained. Poor financial decisions. Outbursts of anger. Paranoia. Meanness. Each getting progressively worse over the years. Slowly my sparkling, witty, charming momma was disappearing. Trips were on the well traveled roads to the doctor, not exploring what was around the next bend of a fire road. By the time Dad died in December of 2019, we could see that things were not going to get better. And so began a series of moves.

From the house they had lived in for 50 years to an apartment in a very nice assisted living setting. When Covid hit just months later, she couldn’t understand that the whole world was shut down. Everyone was being restricted, not just her. The assisted living no longer worked, she needed someone with her all the time, which the assisted living didn’t like. So we brought her to the cabin. My sister and her son were there, and my brother moved his family in as well. I live next door. There were plenty of us to take care of her.

From spring until the end of summer, she stayed at the cabin. By August, the world seemed like it might be getting back closer to normal. School was supposed to start again, people were going back to work and the decision was made to find a place for Mom back home. Back where she had friends, could have more of a social life, and closer to her regular doctors. Move number three was to a new living facility near our hometown. On the surface it looked ideal. Beautiful building, lots of activities, people that she knew. Unfortunately, with this move she was placed in the dementia part of the building. An admission of where things were with her mind. After a couple of months, it became apparent that she wasn’t being cared for properly. Covid had tightened restrictions again, they were understaffed. Her room wasn’t being cleaned thoroughly. We met with the staff, and were assured that changes were being made. They weren’t. December led to another move.

With this last move, she had constant supervision from family. Even though the facility was still in fairly strict Covid lockdown, we thankfully had family that worked there. They were able to check on her everyday, which she enjoyed immensely. She had several health challenges during this time, including several falls. And I think she got tired of it all. So she took her final trip and made her great escape. She got up that morning, needed some assistance in the bathroom. As the aide helped her stand, she died. Just like that. One minute she was here, the next she was off exploring.

I miss my momma, the momma I used to have. But I can’t help but be grateful that her last journey started the way it did. The end stages of dementia can be very ugly. I’m glad she didn’t have to go through that. I hope she is dancing through the clouds with Dad, twirling and laughing as they travel new roads together.