I tucked myself into bed that night, feeling happy and grateful that Mom was safe and settled. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She knocked tentatively on my door.
“Sarah? Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course.”
She opened the door and wandered to the foot of my bed.
“Do you have any chips?”
More? I thought. “Yes, I do. Did you finish the ones I already gave you?”
She tilted her head with a puzzled look. “I haven’t had any chips.”
Yes, you did. I saw you eating them. Deep breath. It’s all about the response, Sarah.
“Sure, Beauty. I’ll take you down there and show you where they are.” She had a soft smile on her face like a child about to receive a treat. I knew she felt bad I was getting out of bed, but we both knew she didn’t know where to look for the chips.
In the kitchen downstairs, I pulled out some baked potato chips and poured them into another bowl.
“Here you go! Is that enough?”
“That’s plenty. Thanks, honey.”
We both walked back upstairs, Mom padding along in her furry white slippers as I led her back to the third floor. She sat down in her white barrel chair with the pale-blue painted legs and started crunching away.
As I left the room, she pretended to watch the news, but sadly, I knew she couldn’t follow anything they were saying.
I climbed back into bed and glanced over at the clock. It was 10:30 p.m.
I’m beat. Lord, please help Mom and the kids sleep well tonight. Thank You for a great day. I sank into my silk pillow, face mask over my eyes, the calming smell of lavender wafting into my nose as I dozed off.
Suddenly, I heard a knock. I thought maybe I was dreaming but wasn’t sure. Then I heard her voice again.
“Sarah? Can I come in?”
Are you kidding me? All I want to do is sleep! Be patient, Sarah, deep breath.
“Sure, Mom. What is it?”
She spoke softly through the cracked bedroom door. “I’m hungry. Do you have any chips or anything?”
My eyes rolled in my dark room. What? I just gave you a bowl of chips, and that was your second one! Is this really happening?
“I do, Mom, but we just went down and got a bowl about thirty minutes ago. What about a piece of turkey? Turkey supposedly can help you sleep.”
She hesitated and then firmly responded, “No, that doesn’t sound very good. Do you have some chips or anything?”
I rolled my eyes again under my face mask, pulled it on top of my head, reached over to turn on my lamp, and stepped into my slippers. You have got to be patient, Sarah. Just breathe.
“Sure, Mom. I have some chips.” She smiled with gratitude, once again, and I could see in her eyes a “Thank you, darling.”
We went downstairs, filled another bowl with chips, and went right back up to the third floor. As we walked through the door, I noticed two empty white bowls sitting on the dresser. Maybe if I show her the bowls, she will remember.
I pointed to them. “See, Mom, you’ve had chips already!”
She looked over at the bowls, thought for a minute, and confidently replied, “Well, I don’t know whose those are. They were there, you know, when I came.”
She’s tired. She can barely speak. She doesn’t remember.
I did not officially go to bed until 11:45 that night. I made three separate trips downstairs with Mom for chips. She was so unpredictable, and I knew she needed to be watched. I even told her she could sleep with me, but she preferred her in-law suite.
My alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., and as much as I wanted to stay in bed and hit snooze, I knew I could not get through my day without starting it with God. The early morning was my time to be alone, pray, and meditate and ask for His guidance and strength. I needed Him more than ever during this time, and I knew in the deepest part of my soul that I could not get through any of this without Him.
That morning, my Streams in the Desert (written by L .B. E. Cowman) devotional read:
We must learn to take God at His word and walk straight ahead in obedience, even when we can see no way to go forward. The reason we are so often sidetracked by difficulties is that we expect to see barriers removed before we even try to pass through them.
If we would only move straight ahead in faith, the path would be opened for us. But we stand still, waiting for the obstacle to be removed, when we ought to go forward as if there were no obstacles at all.
A few sentences later, it closed with these words:
Faith that goes forward triumphs.
Those words were exactly what I needed, not only because of the night before with Mom but also because of what was to come. I was feeling led to serve Mom and help Dad so that he could take some breaks, but I found myself either wanting to remove the obstacles myself or waiting around on God to move them before I stepped forward.
Mom’s disease was moment to moment, so I was learning how to walk by faith and not by sight. I felt blindfolded and in the dark, yet I knew I needed to trust Him to pave the way.
THURSDAY WAS A NEW DAY, and I had renewed my mind. Romans 12:2 says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (ESV). I never knew how much this verse would play a role in my life throughout the next year.
The mind is a battlefield, and the power of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease and its horrific side effects consistently challenged my mind and heart. No matter how hard I tried, there was always some point in the day when I felt like I had failed. I lost my temper, felt discouraged, and felt my confidence being destroyed. The constant battle in my mind began to eat away my heart’s desire to be around Mom. My attitude became “I have to” instead of “I get to” on some days. On one day in particular, I struggled to renew my mind.
“Mom, Emery, and Elijah!” I called out from the kitchen. “We need to leave in five minutes to get to Frensley’s game. There will be a lot of traffic, so we can’t leave late.”
Mom was sitting in our breakfast nook around the corner in one of the plush chairs, with her feet propped up on the round flax linen ottoman. “Sarah, I don’t think I’m going to go to the game. I’d like for you to take me home.”
Oh, shoot. Not now, please!
“Well, Mom, Frensley is really looking forward to you watching her championship game today. She’s expecting you to be there.”
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I want to be in my own house. I don’t feel like a game.”
Crap. This can’t be happening. Not right now.
“Mooommm!” Elijah called from the playroom upstairs. “I need you!”
“Okay, honey!” I yelled back. “Just one second!”
He yelled again, “No, Mom, I need you right now!”
I smiled. “Mom, hang on a minute. Let me see what he needs.”
I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding. She can’t go home! I can’t leave her at home for three hours by herself. She has to come with us.
“Elijah, where are you? What is it, honey? We really need to go.”
I was suddenly struck by the worst smell I’d smelled in a long time. It was like the smell of a child’s dirty diaper—one that you can’t bear to handle unless it’s your own child.
“Ummm, I’m in the bathroom, Mommy.”
Elijah was standing there with his pants to his ankles, poop on the toilet seat, and the toilet so full of toilet paper I couldn’t see the water.
“Can you help me?” he asked. “I can’t flush the toilet. It won’t go down, and now I have poop on the back of my leg.”
He started crying out of embarrassment and shame.
“Oh, honey. Don’t cry, buddy. It’s okay. Stay right there. Let me go see if I can find some wipes.”
I ran downstairs toward the pantry, right past my mom. “Hang on, Mom. I’m sorry, Elijah’s had an accident
.”
I was in the pantry, shuffling through emergency kits, a shelf of vitamins, and thermometers, when I heard, “No worries, honey! I can just walk home. No big deal.”
Wait, what?
“Excuse me, Mom, what did you say?”
She repeated herself, clear as day. “I can just walk home. No big deal.”
Please, no. Not now, please. Lord, please help me.
“Mom, please don’t walk home. Stay right there. Let me just help Elijah, and I want to talk about it some more with you.”
I blew past her again and ran up the stairs. As I did, I noticed a piece of the stair runner was worn down and found myself thinking we might need to replace it soon. As if you don’t have enough going on right now, Sarah. Forget about the dang runner!
I got Elijah cleaned up, and as I was shoving the plunger into the stuffed toilet, I heard Emery yell from her bedroom, “Mooommm! I can’t find my white Converse shoes. Where did you put them? I need them.”
I’m going to explode.
“Emery, I’m busy right now. Find a different pair of shoes, please. We need to go. I will not let you make us late because you can’t find one pair of shoes when you have five more to choose from!”
“But I want my Converse shoes!” she yelled back.
I’m going to take this plunger and throw it down the hallway if one more child yells at me. Breathe, Sarah. Breathe. Renew your mind. Renewal of the mind.
Back downstairs, I tried again with my mom. “Mom, I understand you want to go home. But please, for Frensley, please come with us to the game. This is her last game of the season. If they win this game, they win the big championship. Since Pop can’t be here, she was really looking forward to you coming to her game. Please do this for her?”
Please, Lord. Please, Lord.
“Okay, fine. I’ll go. But I want you to take me home after the game. I miss my home.”
Not happening, but just agree and I’ll figure it out later.
“Sounds good!”
We left ten minutes later than planned. We hopped on the Dallas North Tollway and headed north toward Carrollton. Traffic. So much traffic already. I unplugged my phone from the charger and stretched my arm to the back seat, handing it to Emery.
“Can you pull up my Google Maps and type in this address?” I gave her the address. “Is it red all the way down the tollway?”
As I waited for Emery’s reply, Mom chimed in. “Sarah, where are we going? This is so far away.”
We’ve been in the car for seven minutes.
“Well, the game is a little far, but it won’t take too long because I’ll take some shortcuts here in a minute. It’s only about fifteen miles away.” She gave me a look that said, “Fifteen miles? More like two hundred!”
“Oh, Mom, you used to drive me to gymnastics over an hour each way, morning and evening, Monday through Friday. That’s almost five hours of drive time a day. This is nothing.”
Again, her look said it all: “What the heck are you talking about? I would never do this.”
I had a flashback and spaced out as I thought about the special times Mom and I had in the car to and from gymnastics practice. We called into the radio station at least three days a week trying to win prizes as Mom drove me back to school from early morning practice. She reviewed me for tests as she drove the car with one knee on the steering wheel, one hand holding her Burger King coffee, and the other hand holding my review sheet. We drove through Burger King several mornings a week for my favorite sausage, egg, and cheese croissant sandwich. My breakfast of champions, I thought and smiled to myself. Wait—maybe it was my 9:30 p.m. dinners when we drove through Grandy’s for chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce on the side and an extra dinner roll.
“Uh, Mom?” Emery said from the back seat, causing me to snap out of my daydream. “It’s kind of red all over on Google Maps.”
She did not sound confident that there were any shortcuts to make our drive any shorter.
“Let me see that for a second. Oh here, right here. We’re going to exit here and take this road all the way to the school.”
So I exited, thinking all would be fine.
Mom pointed from the front passenger seat. “Sarah, I think you need to turn right here. I’ve been there before. You are going the wrong way.”
Huh? I’ve never even been to Prince of Peace School, so I know she hasn’t.
“Mom, it’s this way. I think you’re thinking of another school.”
“No, I’m not. I’m telling you. I’ve been there before, and it’s this way. Over here.”
Mom kept tapping my tinted window with her knuckle, and the more frustrated she became, the louder she tapped. She bent her finger and started hitting my window with her knuckle. “Over here, Sarah, turn here!”
My mind was racing. I gripped the steering wheel tighter with my sweaty palms. My heart pounded and my chest tightened. Stay calm. She thinks she’s been there before so play along. Tell her they moved it.
“Oh, Mom. You know what? I think you are right and are thinking of the other location. She plays at the location off of Midway.”
She looked at me like I was stupid. She was irritated, and I could see in her eyes that her anxiety level was rising and frustration was setting in. Her eyes locked onto mine with laser-like focus, convincing me to do exactly what she said. She needed to be right, or all hell might break loose.
“Sarah. Listen to me. We are too far away! This is too far!”
I looked in my rearview mirror to check on Emery and Elijah, and Emery’s brown eyes were huge. She was confused. She had never seen my mom get so indignant over something like this. Elijah just sat there in his car seat like nothing was going on.
“Beauty, I promise you I know where I am going. There’s a lot of traffic, so it seems much farther than it is because it’s taking longer to get there. Please calm down and trust me.”
And with the words “trust me,” all hell broke loose.
“Trust you! You want me to trust you? I’m sitting here driving two hours in the car with you, and you don’t even know what you are doing! You don’t know where you are going! If I had known it was this far away I would never have come. Take me home! I want to go home right now!”
As she was yelling, I heard my phone chirp in a funny British accent: “U-turn. U-turn.” Crap, I missed my freaking turn!
“What was that?” Mom shouted.
“That’s my directions talking. See, Mom, I even have the directions plugged into my phone, and it’s telling me to go the way I’m going, but now I’ve missed my turn because you are raising your voice at me to go in another direction.”
Mom turned bright red. “I told you that you missed your turn. You don’t need that stupid thing. I know where I am going!”
Yeah, Mom, except that your turn was the opposite direction of where I’m supposed to be going. Just shut up, please!
My legs trembled with stress, my stomach rumbled, and my face was beginning to sweat. I forced myself to inhale and breathe deeply. Breathe, Sarah. Breathe.
I looked at Emery in the back seat. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Emery, it’s okay, honey. All is good. We will be there soon.”
She started panting. “Mommy, I don’t feel good! I don’t feel good, Mommy!”
I tilted my rearview mirror down so I could see her better, then pulled my sunglasses off so she could see my eyes. “Honey, I know. I understand. Please take some deep breaths. Lie down if you need to. Don’t worry about Beauty and me. I will get us there soon.”
Mom turned around, looked at Emery, rolled her eyes, and said to me, “What’s wrong with her? Why is she crying?”
She turned around again. “Why are you crying? Quit that!”
She’s so mean right now. I’m going to lose my mind. I’m about to lose my mind.
“Mom, she’s crying because she’s getting carsick, and she doesn’t want to hear us griping at each other.” Mom looked at Emery again, s
mirked, and gave her another eye roll as if to say, “Don’t be such a wimp. Give me a break.”
She turned back around and continued to side-seat drive. “Sarah, I am shocked that you would drive this far for a game. This is absurd. No kid is worth driving this far.”
I looked back at Emery once again in the rearview mirror—I saw the tears in her eyes and her quivering lips, and I felt her broken heart.
Then it happened. No more nice daughter, no more playing the Just Agree With Everything She Says game, and no more telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.
“Mom. Enough. You are making me crazy! We are already late to her soccer game, and I don’t need you to tell me where to go. You haven’t even lived in Dallas two years, and you are trying to give me directions to a place you have never even seen. Just be quiet, please. You are upsetting Emery, and all I want to do is concentrate on finding this stupid place and watch my daughter’s game.” And you have freaking Alzheimer’s, so shut the hell up!
My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, and my eyes started to tear up behind my sunglasses. We still weren’t there, and I had taken several wrong turns because my GPS was taking me up and down the same street with no school in sight. Mom kept pounding the window for me to pull over and ask a bunch of kids on a soccer field, so I finally did.
“Excuse me, do you know where Prince of Peace School is?”
They looked at each other, dumbfounded. “No.”
I rolled the window up and sped off. “See, Mom? They don’t know where the dang school is.”
Mom began to yell, continuing to tell me where to turn and who to ask, and complaining that my kids weren’t worth the drive. She also kept turning around and rolling her eyes at Emery and shushing her. “Be quiet. Stop acting like a baby.”
I called at least five of the other team moms on their cell phones. None of them answered—they were outside, in the cold, watching a soccer game.
Sweet Elijah was as calm as could be most of the ride. Finally he said, “Mom. Did we miss the game? Is the game, like, over? Are we ever going to be there?”
Broken Beauty Page 7