I didn't know what she meant. I asked for a clarification.
"I...er...I was counting the...place-ter."
"What?"
"The plates," she corrected.
"What plates?" I was looking around wondering what she meant.
"You know! For the people." (Okay, I was beginning to catch on. It was close to dinner time. Perhaps she thought that she would set the table. Who knows?)
I tried to get more from her and she provided some unintelligible words that meant nothing. There would be no understanding and I finally gave up trying to understand the 'coded' message.
Just then Skip walked in the room. He mentioned that his birthday was going to be the next day and Mom immediately brightened up. With a broad smile she told him, "Congratuburstans! And many more." I couldn't help it. I began to laugh. The word just tickled my funny bone. The more I laughed the more it repeated itself in my brain. 'Congratuburstans' . Ahhahahahahahaha. I had to get up and leave before Mom noticed that I was laughing. I didn't want to laugh at her but I couldn't help myself. There are moments of hilarity that make me feel guilty. However, I quickly recover reminding myself that laughing is helpful...laughing is therapeutic. These days I definitely seek anything that I consider therapeutic to help me through some of the rough patches. The rough patches are becoming more and more numerous though. While laughing over a funny word is something noteworthy, I often must seek the opinions and reactions of others to find the humor in a situation, action or incident.
An example occurred today when I discussed the events of Skip's birthday party with a fellow caregiver. I recounted the frustration I had felt over the bizarre behavior Mom exhibited during the party. I had worked hard to keep it a surprise and even fed Mom lunch ahead of time so I wouldn't give any indication that within 1 hour there would be food at the party. Skip was surprised when guests arrived with potluck dishes and abundant amounts of food and snacks. Unfortunately, so was Mom. She was thrilled to see every manner of snack, appetizers and tasty morsel present itself on the dining room table for her munching pleasure. I reminded her that she had eaten lunch earlier. I told her to 'go light' on the snacks because it would be easy to overeat and then become sick to her stomach (something she does with regularity). I immediately realized that this was a futile conversation. Mom was glued to the table. She waited until I turned my back. Then, her hands flew to the chips, the dips, the cookies, the sausage balls. She grabbed anything and everything her fingers could reach with the agility of a professional pilferer. Squirreling her delectable treasure away in her walker or within the folds of her shawl, she would exit to enjoy her 'booty' privately and without risk of detection. At one point I looked up from my seat in the living room where I was enjoying a conversation with our daughter in time to see her rushing out of the dining room into the foyer where she removed something from her mouth and threw it into a potted plant.
"What are you doing?" I yelled. She ignored me. Skip was right behind her though and looked into the planter to find a shrimp tail. Mom was still chewing the piece of shrimp while saying that she wasn't eating anything. My daughter got up and suggested that she make a small plate of food for my mother to keep her busy and out of the dining room where there were too many choices and certainly foods that she shouldn't eat. We sat Mom down at the kitchen table with her spread which she dispensed with quickly and efficiently. Before I turned around she was back in the dining room. I found shrimp tails deposited in various hiding places and became quite cross with her. While tempted to say that she didn't know any better, it was clear that she was a woman on a mission each time I told her that she had probably had enough to eat. She either ignored me or would circle around the other way to avoid me and then enter the dining room from the other side.
Our son, Bill finally closed the dining room door as Mom was headed in for her eighth or ninth visit to the table. I watched as she stopped for a moment, then rapidly turned her walker mowing down a couple of guests as she rushed to the other door before our son could get to that side. Who says that 97 year olds can't be agile?
Later, after the guests had left and the food had been put away, I noticed that Mom was eating something as she sat watching TV. "What did you find, Mom?" I called to her. She hastily hid the morsel inside her walker as I approached. "Mom? What is that?" I repeated.
"What?" she asked innocently. I began explaining how she couldn't sneak food into her walker, her shawl and myriad other hiding places. She gave a blank stare and in total exasperation I walked away deciding that it wasn't worth my energy to deal with it. I was tired and ready for the time when I could tuck Mom into her bed for the night. A little while later, as I was helping Mom into her nightgown I asked her to hand me her hearing aid. She reached up to her ear and gave me a confused look.
"ARGH", I thought. "Now she doesn't know how to remove her hearing aid!" Then I noticed that her hearing aid was not in her ear. "Where is it?" I asked her knowing full-well that she wouldn't be able to tell me. I shouted for Skip to look downstairs and I continued to help her into bed. When I returned to the family room Skip was holding the hearing aid and telling me that he found it. "Where was it?" I asked.
"In the trash." We both sighed
My friend listened sympathetically but also laughed loudly as I described the events that left me frustrated and exhausted. I began to realize how ridiculous and crazy everything sounded to the outsider. Thinking about it, I began to laugh as well. Soon my mood lightened as I considered the funny side...the jokes that could be made. Unwittingly my mother was providing lots and lots of material for our stories, our memories, our reminders of family gatherings, occasions, and times that we will recount in years to come not with anger, exhaustion and frustration but with smiles, laughter. and perhaps a few reminiscing tears.
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