Saturday, January 19, 2019

Manaleega

My mother has been driving me crazy saying non-sensical things that I can't understand and then getting angry at me when I don't respond.  The other day she yelled at me (just because I said, "Mom, I can't help you because I can't understand you."  Then I asked her to point at what she wanted and she got frustrated and threw her arms up in the air like I was an idiot.  She stormed off yelling that I was mean and mumbled something about "Just you wait...mumble, mumble...you're gonna get yours!" Implying that someone was going to rub me out or at least do some act of violence.)

Mom is always threatening violence these days.  If we gently take her hand to assist her getting up she yells, "Take your hands off me!" Then she yells "HELP, HELP!  Momma...they're killing me.  Help me Momma--M-O-M-M-A!!!!"  (Yup; THAT comes out loud and clear.)

I feel like I am living in a loony bin. (Have I said this before?)  So, when Mom walked into the kitchen and pointed at the counter saying "Manaleega," you can imagine my confusion.  I shrugged.  "What's manaleega?" I asked.  Mom looked at me with a blank expression.  "WHAT'S MANALEEGA?" I asked loudly thinking that she didn't hear me.  Still, she looked at me blankly.  Finally I screamed, "Manaleega...what is it?"

"Yes," she answered.

I could feel my veins popping out on my temples.  "NO...not 'yes'...I mean, I don't know what Manaleega is!"

Mom looked at me like I was speaking Latin. "Neither do I," she answered.

That's how our communication is these days.  There are moments, snippets of intelligible speech and then it lapses into gibberish.  One day, Mom sought me out and asked, "Can I sit here?" pointing at her usual perch next to me.

"Of course," I answered.

Then Mom started talking gibberish and when I answered 'yes' to something that evidently I wasn't supposed to answer 'yes' to, she got angry and stood up grabbed her walker
and stormed out of the room saying very clearly, "HRMPH!  Some companion you are!!!"

I'm getting used to this abuse, but still, every once in a while I react inappropriately.  I utter things under my breath.  Okay, I'll admit it.  I am not an angel.  When Mom told me "Go to Hell!" I uttered quietly, "I'm already there!"  It's childish but somehow satisfying.  Look, even if Mom didn't have Alzheimer's I would get angry every once in a while.  So, there is not any guilt about my reactions.  I'm okay with the fact that I find this person objectionable.  She screams and demands, shouts and insists.  She curses, and spews bile at us while we perform our caregiving duties trying to protect her, feed her, keep her clothed and clean.  I hope that somehow, somewhere inside that dying brain there is knowledge that we love the woman she was and made a commitment to care for her.

Sometimes...just sometimes though, we feel like pinning a note on her shirt saying 'Please take me,' and leaving her at a local fire station.


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