We followed her for a bit to see where she would go. I was curious about whether she was just taking a different route, or if she had gone down the wrong street. My gut told me she was lost, but I didn’t want to “rescue” her just yet.
I called my dad. “Did you know Mom isn’t home?”
He paused on the other end of the phone. “Well, no. I dozed off, I guess.”
“She is on a walk, by my house, but not close to my house. She is heading toward the children’s park near Boedeker and Purdue. She’s not even on my street.”
“She’s lost, then. She knows how to get to your house, but she took a wrong turn. Can you see her?”
I kept trailing her. “Yes, I’m following her, but she doesn’t know it. Do you want me to pick her up, or do you want to come and get her?”
“I’m getting in the car now. Stay with her. I’ll be right there. I think it’s best I tell her I’ve been driving around looking for her. Maybe that will scare her enough to stop wandering off.”
Hanging up the phone, I stared through the windshield, thinking about what Dad had said. If she doesn’t realize she’s wandering off, how can this be teaching her a lesson? And how do you teach someone a lesson if they are losing their short-term memory and can’t remember what they were taught?
Suddenly, I heard sniffling from the back seat. “Mommy, I’m scared for Beauty. Is she going to be okay? She’s lost!”
I was so caught up in following Mom and calling Dad, I’d forgotten my girls were in the car with me.
I turned around. Emery had two tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, Emery, honey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Beauty is going to be okay. I would pick her up, but I think it’s best if Pop gets her so he can explain to her what happened. Also, I need to get Frensley to soccer practice. Beauty is going to be okay, sweetie.”
Emery’s two tears were followed by more. “No, Mom. She’s not. She’s dying! Beauty is dying, Mommy!”
And with those words from a young child, I fell into a deep sadness for weeks afterward. No longer in the honeymoon phase, we were passing through the adjustment phase, and the reality of watching this disease take my mom’s brain day by day began to sink in. There was no “great escape” phase. The unforeseen struggles had erupted, and before long, it would be time for us to decide if the disease would win—or if our love for Beauty would triumph.
SIX
BRING MY MOM BACK
January 2016
MOM AND I WENT TO lunch at the country club. The staff knew us and about her disease. Their patience and understanding freed me from any anxiety of what she might say or do in front of them.
“Sarah, what are you going to have to drink?”
“Oh, just my usual. Water with no ice.”
Then Mom said, “I was kind of wanting that other drink we like.”
Other drink? She wants a glass of wine? She never orders wine at lunch. She can’t have alcohol this early . . . or can she? Lord, help me! What do I say?
“Oh, Mom, you don’t need a glass of wine right now! It’s only 11:30. Wine’s for happy hour or dinnertime.”
She quickly responded, “Who cares what time it is? You don’t want one?”
“No, thank you. I’m trying to stay healthy. Besides, I have kids to carpool.”
“So? You can still carpool, can’t you?”
What is she thinking?
“Mom, if I have a glass of wine, I still have to drive—and I don’t want to be driving under the influence with my children in the car.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I won’t have one if you’re not.”
Phew. Thank You, Lord.
• • •
DRINKING WAS A NEW THING. Mom and Dad never drank when I was a girl. They occasionally had wine when my older brother was young, but that changed the day David Jr. came to them and said, “You’re drinking wine? Doesn’t that have alcohol in it?” They never had a sip of wine again until my wedding.
Alcoholism and addictions run in Thad’s and my families. It was a sensitive subject, and one we did not realize would deeply affect our marriage. When Thad and I got married, we both drank. We had nights when we would go out with friends and drink socially, but there were also nights that Thad’s friend Jack Daniel would join in the fun and ruin everything. We did not know the first year of our marriage that years later, alcohol would nearly tear us apart.
Thad and I thought alcoholism meant someone needed a drink every day or got drunk every time he or she drank. Not in Thad’s case. Once every two months, he would drink, black out completely, and remember nothing from the night before. He was making choices and decisions that were dangerous to him, others around him, and our growing family.
After we underwent several years of counseling, God redeemed our marriage by tearing the layers off and breaking the barriers down. He completely took away Thad’s desire for alcohol. Thad gave up drinking on January 4, 2008, and I can honestly say that our love for each another, our ability to communicate, and our level of trust grew stronger every day after. The hidden benefit of his alcoholism and our counseling was that they prepared me for the even-more-difficult circumstances that came with Mom’s disease.
ONE DAY, MOM AND GINNY went out for lunch and a manicure. Whenever Mom left the house, Dad would call me to share the latest update. We couldn’t talk in detail with Mom around since she would know we were talking about her. We avoided conversations about her in her presence because she wouldn’t believe that what we were saying was true.
Dad called the moment Mom and Ginny drove away.
“Sarah, I don’t know what to do. Your mom wants a glass of wine at 10:00 in the morning sometimes. She doesn’t even know or care what time it is.”
I thought for a moment then said, “Dad, can’t you hide the wine or not keep it in the house?”
“Easier said than done. She will find her purse or some money and go to CVS and try to buy her own. If I push back, you know how she is. She throws a fit and gets mad, and it makes everything worse. I don’t know what to do.”
“Let me think,” I said. “There’s got to be some nonalcoholic wine, right? Let me Google it.”
Sure enough. I found nonalcoholic wine around the corner at a large liquor store and bought two bottles of white and two bottles of red. I just knew this would end Mom’s craving for alcohol.
Wrong.
A few weeks later, Dad sent a text that read, “Sarah, I need to talk to you. Are you busy?”
I texted back immediately. “I can talk. You okay?”
Within seconds, my cell phone rang. Dad sounded upset. I could tell he was down, and I was concerned for his health and Mom’s. Something had gone terribly wrong.
“It’s Mom,” he said. “She’s drinking all the time now, and she can become violent if I try to take it away, and I just don’t know what to do.”
“You have nonalcoholic wine at home, so I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well, that works at home, but it’s when we go out to lunch or dinner at a restaurant. She ordered a glass of wine today at Francisco’s. The waiter brought it out, and she drank half the glass, then flagged him over to fill it back up. She hadn’t even finished the first one. She’s never asked a waiter to come refill a glass of wine that’s half empty!”
“Oh my gosh, Daddy. What did you say?”
“Well, I tried to tell her she needed to finish the glass before she got another, and she said, ‘Stay out! This is my drink, and this guy here didn’t fill it all the way. It costs money. I want what I’m paying for!’”
“How embarrassing. She’s ordered wine at restaurants and knows wine is never full to the rim. When did she start thinking a wine glass should be filled to the top?”
“I guess since today, although I have noticed at home when I pour her a glass, she will go back and fill it up before she drinks it. I didn’t think it was because it didn’t look full. I thought she just wanted more.”
“So wh
at did you do? What did the waiter say?”
“Well, thankfully, I think he knows something is wrong with Mom because we have been there before. He was very nice and winked at me as if to say, ‘Don’t worry,’ and went and filled it up. But the problem is, Sarah, she asked him to refill it four times! There is no telling how much wine Mom had at lunch today. She’s turning into a drunk. She starts slurring her words, she can barely walk, and then when I try to say something, she gets angry. She tells me to be quiet, and she won’t let me help her get up from the table.”
“Dad, I can’t believe this. I think I need to call Francisco’s and see if I can take the nonalcoholic wine up there and leave it. Since you and Mom are regulars, let’s see if they will keep some of it on reserve for her. When she asks for a glass, they can just pour the nonalcoholic wine.”
“I guess. I don’t know. I just don’t know how long I can do this. I didn’t marry an alcoholic, and she wants to drink all of the time now. It’s not her. And now I don’t want to leave her with Ginny because Ginny drinks too, so the two of them together may make it worse.”
Ginny and Mom could be trouble if they started drinking together. Ginny was tall with red hair and the bluest eyes. When she walked into a room, every head turned. She had a voice that could boom for miles and an infectious laugh that could make Mom laugh just by hearing it. The two of them together were double trouble and so fun to observe.
The truth was, we all wanted Mom to be happy, so why would a little wine hurt when she was losing her memory anyway with this incurable disease? Dad, Ginny, and I had always agreed, “Well, why not? If it makes her happy!”
Only later did we realize “why not.” It was because she couldn’t remember what time it was, how much she’d had, or even if she had it the day before. We also knew it couldn’t be good for her brain with the medications she was on.
SOON AFTER MY FATHER TOLD me about the first incident at Francisco’s, he told me about something even more embarrassing that had happened after that, again at Francisco’s.
After my parents had finished eating, Dad said, “Beck, come on, let’s go,” his voice low. “I’ve already paid.”
“I’m not finished with this yet! What’s the rush?”
“Well, we are taking up a table, there are people waiting, and this is your fourth glass. Let’s just leave it and go.”
“Fourth glass? What are you talking about? This is my only glass!”
“Beck, it’s your fourth glass. You’ve had three already.”
“I have not had three. Stop trying to tell me what I can and can’t do. I am a grown woman!”
Mom was beginning to slur her words, and Dad was desperate to keep her from finishing this fourth glass. He didn’t want to be embarrassed at Francisco’s again. He’d also promised to preserve her dignity and not let her humiliate herself.
“Come on. Let’s go. There is someone waiting on our table. I’ll give you more wine at home.” In his mind, Dad finished his thought: the nonalcoholic wine. You’re drunk, and I’ve got to stop this now.
Mom gulped her glass like she was taking a shot of whiskey. She slammed the wine glass down so hard it fell over. Mom then turned to her right, looked down at the carpet, and spit. Mom spit on the floor in the restaurant.
Dad put his head in his hands, feeling the heat from the blood flowing to his head. Then he stood up and walked around to Mom’s chair.
“Come on, Beck. Let’s go.”
As Dad helped her pull her chair out, she immediately slapped his hand away.
“Leave me alone. I don’t need help.”
Suddenly, when she set her hands on the table and began to stand up, she gripped the tablecloth so hard, the silverware and glasses hit the floor. Barely able to stand, she was not going to let Dad touch her. I’m not even sure Mom noticed the things she’d knocked to the floor, the white ball of her spit, or the tablecloth hanging halfway over the table. Putting one foot in front of the other, she walked right out the front door. No shame. Nothing. She was utterly clueless.
Dad, on the other hand, walked out with his head down, apologizing to the staff, and swearing to himself he would never again step foot in Francisco’s with Mom.
Exiting the door and approaching some steps, Dad grabbed her arm. “Beck! Watch your step—you have some steps right there.”
“I see them! Leave me alone,” she snapped, pushing his hand away.
Mom stumbled and missed two steps but didn’t fall. She pretended like she was totally fine.
Dad couldn’t get her in the car soon enough.
ALCOHOL WAS NOW A HUGE problem. How could we keep Mom from drinking at a restaurant, especially if we couldn’t always plan ahead? If Mom had known what she looked like and that she was drinking this much, she would have flipped. But if you told her the next morning why she had a bruise on her leg, she wouldn’t believe you. Why? Because she couldn’t remember.
“Mom, that bruise is awful. I really wish you wouldn’t drink wine anymore.”
That was dumb of you to say, Sarah. She can’t remember or rationalize with you.
“What? I don’t drink wine. Maybe sometimes, but your father and I don’t really drink.” She poked at her bruise. “This thing doesn’t hurt, but it sure is ugly. Wonder how I got it?”
I want to see if she remembers anything at all. I hope I’m not making a mistake, but just this once I have to tell her what happened.
“Mom, you fell down last night. Hard. You were drinking wine with Ginny yesterday, and when you got home, you fell.”
“What? I didn’t even see Ginny! She never even calls me. I’m mad at her.”
“You spent several hours with Ginny yesterday. Y’all went to the mall and shopped, and then you had a long lunch at P.F. Chang’s.”
“We did?” For a moment she looked confused, then shook her head. “No, you’re wrong, Sarah. I haven’t seen her in weeks. I’m mad at her because I have called and called, and she won’t call me back.”
“Look, Beauty. Here is a picture from yesterday. She sent me a picture of y’all eating lunch. See, you are drinking a glass of wine.”
She squinted at the picture and then shook her head again. “Oh, yeah. That’s from another time—I’m telling you, Sarah, I have not seen Ginny in a long time.”
My stomach hurt. I got up, went to the restroom, and put my head in my hands to take a few breaths.
Oh, Lord. Help me. I just want Mom to remember. Thad used to black out, and now my mom blacks out. Why do I have to live with this all over again? If Mom knew the damage it was doing to her and the pain it was causing, she wouldn’t do this. Lord, please take this desire away from her just as You took it away from Thad. I don’t know if I can handle this. I know Alzheimer’s is an incurable disease, but I also know You can do anything. Mom taught me that. I trust You, God, and I trust that You can help us get through this stage. Please Lord, do something. Please tell us what to do and how to handle this. I want this all to go away. Bring my mom back, God! Why Mom? Why did You choose her? I just want her back!
“Sarah? Sarah?” Her voice was strained. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the restroom, Beauty. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m here. I’m still here. I’ll be right there.”
I’ll be right there, I thought, so I can sit and answer the same questions over and over again and tell you over and over again that Ginny does call you and that she does spend time with you. I’ll sit there and listen to how much you want to move back to Houston so you can be with your friends. And I’ll remind you over and over again that we just bought you new shoes, and then we’ll walk to your closet every ten minutes over the next hour when you say you need new shoes, and I’ll show you the new shoes you just purchased. I’m literally going crazy. Maybe I’m the one who needs a glass of wine. Lord, help. I need You to take this for me, and I need You to give me strength for today. Please God, take over today.
“Hey, Mom. I’m back. What do you want to do? You want to go get a Starbucks?”
“I’ve never had that before!”
“But the iced soy chai is your favorite! Come on, I’ll take you. You’ll recognize the taste. And Mom, have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Oh, Sarah, I love you, too. More than you know. Thank you for being with me.”
“I love being with you, Mom, and I love you more! Time is short and life goes by fast. Let’s go get our Starbucks.”
She hesitated. “Starbucks? What’s that?”
SEVEN
GOD, PLEASE RENEW MY MIND
February to April 2016
TYPICALLY, FEBRUARY IS ONE OF my favorite months of the year. It’s my birthday month, and I’m a firm believer in celebrating birthdays. In 2016, I spent it with Mom and my children while Dad and Thad were away. My heart was filled with joy and peace knowing my dad was doing one of his favorite things: golfing. He would be gone for six days, and I was prepared to take on anything and everything that came my way.
Beauty stayed with the kids and me at our house, in her in-law suite on the third floor, and for six days I gave up any me time. There were no workouts, and “flexibility” became my new favorite word.
It was Wednesday evening, Beauty’s first night to stay with us, and I had gotten her all settled in upstairs. She had her room-temperature bottled water and a bowl of salty chips. I drew a picture of her remote control on a sticky note, including the arrows to change the channel up or down, as well as the volume symbol to adjust the sound. I wrote down steps numbered 1 to 5 so she would be able to turn the television on and off and find Fox News, CNN, and Family Feud. I also placed a sticky note on her bathroom mirror so that when she woke up the next morning, she would be reminded I had to take the kids to school. Since her short-term memory was shot, she asked the same questions over and over and constantly needed reminders of the plan for the day.
Broken Beauty Page 6