Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

You are here: Home / Archives for #dementia

#dementia

Mother at the Door

By

Mom at the door of the house in Wendell

Today would have been my mother’s 92nd birthday. She died in 2014, lost in dementia and crippled with physical and mental pain. As she was dying, I played Tennessee Ernie Ford singing about “Peace in the Valley,” and I wept for the loss.

Starting when I was in high school, she always stood at the front door whenever I left. She would wave until I was out of sight. This continued for several decades until she was confined to a wheelchair. Then she would roll her chair to the window and watch for me to come. After she was no longer mobile, she would hold onto my hand and beg me to stay longer. I should have stayed.


We had opposite personalities and aspirations. She was shy and insecure. I was noisy and confident. She was subservient to my father and assumed her status without complaint. I didn’t want to take that role, so I didn’t. She was so unsure of herself in public, she had trouble ordering from a menu and usually got what I ordered. After dad’s death, she gave money to her children and charities until there was nothing left to give. I have learned the hard way to say no to those who take and ask for more. I did continue her tradition of standing at the door for my children. I waved and flashed the lights until they were out of sight.

Even though Mom and I were not alike, we still loved and respected each other. She would attend my speeches and performances and sit near the front. I organized birthday parties for her and wrote her Christmas letters. In the final years of her life, I drove her to doctor’s appointments and wrangled her wheelchair, helped make her the guest of honor at family celebrations, and moved her several times after various stays in rehabilitation facilities. I wrote our names on family photographs as she began to forget us. At the end, as I sang to her, she slipped into a coma and stopped holding my hand.


No one stands at the door anymore, and I usually drive away and don’t look back. But I often have a fleeting image of my mother, smiling and walking in peace through a valley. She’s waving at me.

Mom loved Doris Day. Here’s an excerpt of me playing “Que Será, Será.” Happy Birthday, Mom.

Thanks, Mom! My Blog is a Winner

By

I’m going to New York as one of the winners in the BlogHer Voices of the Year Competition. Since 2005, BlogHer has presented the largest conference for (mostly) women online content creators on the planet. At the heart of the conference, presented this year in New York City from July 17-19, is the annual Voices of the Year ceremony.

Thousands of entries were submitted by both content creators themselves and their fans and were reviewed through a juried process, winnowing the list down to a mere 5% of submissions that will be honored.

The honor is bittersweet because my winning blog is titled “My Mother’s Body Got Lost.” She’s smiling at me, still.

 

Here is my winning blog: My Mother’s Body Got Lost

I’m trying to plan my mother’s funeral, but we have a problem. We can’t find her.

My mother passed away Saturday after a long illness. I had all the funeral arrangements planned months in advance, so I was prepared when the inevitable happened. After she died, I contacted the proper authorities to transport her body 100 miles to her hometown of Wendell, Idaho for the funeral and burial. Some things don’t always go as planned. Two days later, we know that the body is gone from her assisted living facility but it’s not in Wendell. This is a cause for concern.

During the past few years, my mother has been lost in dementia. Even after moving her to a secure nursing home in Boise, there were times when I visited and couldn’t find her. The staff and I would search the facility and find her in someone else’s room and the two residents would be talking about their old times that never happened. No harm was done, and we gently, lovingly participated in their storytelling. But, I always knew she was somewhere inside the building.

Today I called the funeral home in Wendell and they hadn’t received the body. How do you lose a casket? I thought I had completed all the necessary arrangements, but I wasn’t familiar with the procedures for this dilemma. I used my inside voice and calmly requested that somebody do something. I called back an hour later and needed to employ my outside, aggressive tone. This last resort has been known to get immediate results and leave people trembling. I’m not proud of this trait, but it works.

At last, I received a call from Wendell that they had found her body still in Boise and the transportation was being arranged. A few hours later, I received a call that said she was near Bliss, a tiny village along the route.

“Of course she is,” I responded.

I hope she had a nice weekend and enjoyed having the last word. But, Mom, now it’s time to go home. Please.

Planning a funeral is similar to planning a wedding. Family and friends come together, some cry, music plays, and people wave goodbye. Except, at a funeral, the goodbye lasts a long time. This last momentary interruption is my mother’s way of telling me I’m not always in charge of everything. Somewhere, my parents are laughing.

The Sad Mother’s Ring

By

leona mother's ring

After the funeral, the mortician handed me a small velvet pouch that contained my mother’s jewelry: her favorite poinsettia earrings, an pearl necklace, and two rings. The first ring was a wedding ring my father gave her after she lost the original while working on the potato harvester. The second ring was a Mother’s Ring she wore for 50 years. She often fingered it with tears in her eyes.

My brothers and I gave her the ring decades ago when we young, all lived at home, and still spoke to each other. Our mutual estrangement as adults caused my mother immense pain during the last 15 years of her life. I still have trouble breathing when I remember the lawsuits after my father died, the loud fights, and the sight of my mother crying on the witness stand in court. The judge ruled in her favor, but the damage was done. Our family was shattered beyond repair.

I haven’t seen or spoken to my older brother in 18 years. He’s never met my husband or my grandchildren. He never visited his mother after losing the lawsuit, and he didn’t attend her funeral. January, the first birthstone in the Mother’s Ring, is a cold month.

The velvet pouch sat on the buffet table in my kitchen for two months and remained there when 24 people came over for Christmas Eve dinner. No one moved it; not even the children. The bag held the last personal belongings of our mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, and it seems almost irreverent to examine the only tangible things of value that remained after 87 years of life.

My husband and I finally opened the velvet bag and placed the rings in a container of jewelry cleaner. We left the necklace and earrings inside, tied the pouch, and placed it in the donation box. I hope someone will be pleased to wear the items.

The two rings have been professionally cleaned and are stored in jewelry boxes. I’m saving her wedding ring for my daughter and her daughter. As for the Mother’s Ring, I hope to meet a woman who had babies in January, September, and October, and I’ll give it to her. This ring deserves and needs to be celebrated.

If My Mother Died Today

By

elaine leona 1951

I love my mother. But if she passed away today I would be thankful. That doesn’t make me a heartless, horrible daughter; I only want her to be free from earthly constraints and permanent disability.

She has lived in a nursing home for more than five years. After suffering from serious car wrecks, numerous falls that broke her back, hip, and knee, and injured her head, she is confined to a wheelchair. Dementia has robbed her of cognitive ability, and even though we wrote family names on all the photographs that line the walls of her tiny room, she can’t remember who we are. When I visit, she mutters incoherently but cries when I leave.

Mom would want to be remembered for her energetic, positive accomplishments, not for how she is existing now. Decades ago, she helped my father create and run several successful businesses in southern Idaho. She owned Farmhouse Restaurant near Wendell and the eatery beside the freeway was voted “Best Road Food in America” in a 1996 nationwide survey of truck stops. Major media carried the story and NBC news anchor Tom Brokaw vowed to stop by during an Idaho vacation. The media referred to Mom as “jolly.”

She also served on the local school board, organized the community blood drive, and volunteered at the polling place during political elections. She adored her grandchildren and made the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. She was widowed 25 years ago at age 61 and never considered dating so lived alone for twenty years. We moved her to an assisted living facility and then into a nursing home as her mind and body continued to deteriorate. This resilient child of the Great Depression who reluctantly spent any money on herself has now depleted her assets paying for the increasing costs of her high level of care.

I recently met with the medical staff at the nursing home. They wanted to increase Mom’s medications for diabetes and high blood pressure and I rejected the diagnosis. What’s the purpose? It’s not as if she will take some magic pills and suddenly stand up, dance, and laugh again. They have the professional obligation to prescribe medication, but I have the bloodline, empathy, and legal authority to say no more.

For the past 25 years, I have been her designated Power of Attorney. I carry the DNR File that contains the “Do Not Resuscitate” instructions. Last year she was hospitalized again, and the doctor told me she had 72 hours to live, so she was given morphine but not any water or food. I met with kind Hospice workers who advised me to make funeral arrangements, so I did. I sat by her bed and played her favorite Tennessee Ernie Ford spiritual music to accompany her on the transition. The next morning, she opened her eyes and said, “Hi!” Since then, she has endured three more ambulance trips and hospital stays.

People will judge and criticize me for wanting her to pass away. But I’m the one who has changed her adult diapers, wiped her tears, decorated her rooms, held her hand, organized medical bills, and made excuses for why her first-born son hasn’t visited in 15 years. In the nursing home, I see other adult children assisting their ailing parents. We pass in the hallways and nod to each other as colleagues in a role we didn’t choose but lovingly accept. Critics shouldn’t condemn us until they have walked down similar halls for several years.

Death without dignity diminishes the memories and light of an abundant life. When the sweet chariot finally swings low enough to carry her home, I’ll play Tennessee Ernie Ford singing about peace in the valley. Bless her peapickin’ heart.

Copied from my essay published on the Huffington Post.

When Love is Stronger than Disability

By

mom-mirabelI’d like to share a photograph of my invalid mother with dementia and my sweet 4-year-old granddaughter with Down syndrome. Today KTVB-TV, the largest station in Idaho, chose it as “Photo of the Day.” My caption: “There is no disability when communication is shared with love.”

The hands are compelling – one is young and healthy and the other is gnarled from a lifetime of work and prayer. The gentle scene suggests that labels and disabilities are less important when sincere affection is present. As the world is raging out of control and my vision is assaulted with images of hatred, destruction, and clenched fists, I prefer to focus on a brief but powerful act of love. Hugs can heal.