Broken Beauty

by Sarah B. Smith

  Hold it together, Sarah. He has done nothing wrong.

  “Buddy, I don’t know. It might be over. Thanks for being so patient. I know we are very close.”

  As I finished my sentence my cell phone rang. It was Kate Meyer, a friend and one of the other soccer moms.

  Thank You, Jesus!

  “Kate, I’m so lost. I need help. Is the game over?” I think she could tell by the sound of my voice that I was distraught. She knew I had Mom, and she felt bad she had missed my calls.

  “I am so sorry. I just saw you called me. I got my phone out to call you because we all realized you weren’t here yet, and then about four of us noticed we’d missed calls from you. Game is still going, we are playing great, but we only have about eight minutes left. Where are you?”

  And with that miracle phone call, we made it to the stadium. I parked, mouth quivering, tears running uncontrollably down my face underneath my sunglasses. I had lost my composure, yelled at my mom, lost my patience, and basically missed my daughter’s last game of the season. All I could think about was what a disappointment I would be to Frensley and also what a terrible caretaker I was for running out of patience with my mom. I couldn’t hide my own heartache as I tried to console Emery, who jumped out of the car sobbing.

  I hugged her, and before my mom came around from the other side of the car, I said, “Emery, we can do this. I know you are upset, and so am I. I am so sorry, baby. Beauty doesn’t know what she’s saying, and she doesn’t mean anything she said to you. Please know that. It’s the disease talking, not your grandmother. She loves you very much. Let’s try to pull it together, okay? You and me. We can do this. Let’s choose to renew our minds and keep our heads up high, okay?”

  Her little body was shaking, tears flowing as she looked up at me. “Okay, Mommy. I’ll try.” We wiped our snotty noses, rubbed our red, swollen eyes, and walked hand in hand like nothing had happened.

  Mom came around the corner, smiled brightly, and said, “We’re here! Where do we go?” As if nothing had happened at all.

  I held Elijah’s hand with one hand and wrapped my other arm around Emery’s tiny waist. Mom looked at Emery and back at me. With genuine concern, she asked, “What’s wrong? Why is she crying?”

  I looked down at Emery, pulled my sunglasses down, and gave her a big wink. “Oh, nothing, Beauty. She just got a little carsick, that’s all.”

  We walked over to the bleachers, sat next to the other moms, and with two minutes to go, we watched Frensley and her team go into overtime and penalty kicks to win the championship game. I called it God’s grace. We missed most of the game, but He allowed it to go into double overtime.

  I will always believe the overtime was for us. It was God’s reminder that He is always present and He hears our cries. He allows us to witness His mercy if only we take the time to watch, listen, and trust.

  I thought of Romans 12:2 again. I may have lost the battle in my mind during that drive, but what I knew to be true was that He forgave. He quickly renewed my mind and reminded me that what I was doing for Mom and Dad was pleasing to Him. I was walking in His will by faith, not by sight. And He was teaching life lessons to our children along the way.

  • • •

  TWO DAYS LATER, SATURDAY MORNING, Mom and I were sipping our coffee in our pajamas and robes, our feet propped up on my round ottoman. It was a special day, yet it didn’t feel so special. Thad was out of town, and my own mom sitting next to me didn’t even know what day it was.

  As Frensley and Emery peeked around the kitchen corner and into the breakfast nook, I heard their soft, scratchy, tired voices say, “Happy birthday, Mommy.”

  I could see my mom out of the corner of my eye, staring at me, slowly processing what they had just said. As I hugged the girls tightly and told them thank you, I heard the words, “I didn’t know it was your birthday. Happy birthday! How old are you? What is today, anyway?”

  My heart sank. This is so depressing.

  Mom and I decided to get out of the house. I had arranged to have a sitter there for most of the day just in case my mom got anxious or irritable or needed a break from the kids. As we were driving around and running a few errands, I received several phone calls and messages from friends with birthday wishes. I must have answered, “Yes, Mom, it is my birthday today” at least twenty times. I never in my life imagined there would come a time when my mom didn’t remember it was my birthday. It was a hard and painful day. It was a day filled with mental exhaustion, and I felt like the life had been sucked out of me by bedtime.

  “Goodnight, Beauty,” I said softly as I helped get her ready for bed. “I love you. Daddy will be back tomorrow.”

  And, with her childlike personality and grin, she responded, “Oh, goody! What day is tomorrow again?”

  Happy birthday to me.

  God, help me. I am feeling so low and bitter and sad. I can’t even think anymore. Please renew my mind.

  EIGHT

  GOD, ARE YOU THERE?

  April to May 2016

  MOM’S DECLINE WAS SPEEDY. WE’D go days and weeks locked in the same patterns, and then suddenly a big plummet. Practically overnight she would enter a new phase, and it was always unexpected.

  Dad and I had heard about Friends Place in Richardson, an Alzheimer’s adult day-care center. Families could drop off their loved ones for a half or full day, knowing they would be well cared for and safe. Over the course of a day, they participated in activities such as exercise class, arts and crafts, musical games, outdoor planting, animal therapy, bingo, and more. The employees and caretakers were trained specifically for Alzheimer’s and dementia care.

  Ginny took Mom out for lunch one afternoon, so Daddy and I took advantage of our time together to go to lunch.

  I could tell Dad was relieved to have a break from Mom, and I could also tell something was on his mind. As we drove down the street toward the restaurant, not two minutes went by before he came out with it.

  “I met with someone at Friends Place.”

  “Really? What did they say? Are you going to try it? Do they think it would work?”

  “I think I’m going to give it a try. They said it sounds like Mom would be a perfect fit. She’s active, she could lead the others, and they said they can even delegate tasks for her to do—like setting the table, arranging flowers, and helping serve others food.”

  My brown eyes got big. “Wow, that sounds wonderful. That’s exactly what she needs, Dad. She’s always served others. That’s who she is. If she can feel like she’s helping people, and they are willing to let her take that on, then I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. The only thing is how you’re going to get her there. You’re going to have to have a good story.”

  He nodded and began telling me the story he’d been rehearsing for weeks.

  “I’ve been telling your mom that I’m thinking about going back to work. I know she doesn’t remember each time I tell her, but if I just keep saying the same thing I’m hoping that it will plant a seed in her mind and eventually stick. If I tell her I’m going back to work, maybe she’ll be more open to getting out and doing what she used to do—volunteer work.”

  “Volunteer work. That’s genius!”

  Mom had volunteered at church, for the women’s prison ministry, and in nurseries for years.

  He gave me a confident nod. “I think so, too, Sarah. Now, here’s the thing. The lady I met with, Susan, and I both agree it’s best for you take her the first week. If I try to take her, she will want me to stay every time. But if you take her, you could stay with her the first few days and then gradually step away and say things like, ‘Mom, I’ll be back. I need to grab the kids at school,’ or ‘Mom, I’ve got to meet with Thad, and Dad will pick you up in a little while.’ Eventually, our hope is that she will get used to both of us being away and not be so attached. What do you think about that? Do you think you could handle it and get her there?”

  This could work.

  “I definitely thin
k I can get her there. I’ll just tell her that I volunteer at this place and have some friends I want her to meet and that I’d love for her to do it with me. The only thing that concerns me is the reality of me leaving her there and her being okay with that. She is so attached to me. But I’m happy to try anything, and I think this would be very good for Mom. She’d be using her brain so much more than sitting at home, she would meet new people, and she’d be surrounded by others.”

  Dad sensed my hesitation and fear. “It may not be easy leaving her at first, but they do this all the time. Susan said one lady there thinks she’s helping with their financial books because she used to be a financial consultant, and so they give her all of these made-up numbers and let her ‘advise’ them on their financial planning and investments. There’s another guy who was a professor, so he thinks he’s coming to teach a class each day. The lying kills me, but this is what they have to do all of the time, and they are professionals, so I feel like this could be our huge break.”

  “So, when do we start?”

  Daddy put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a quick, loving squeeze.

  “Sarah, thank you. I couldn’t do this without you. You have done so much more than you will ever know. I don’t know how I would survive Beck’s disease without our precious daughter.”

  Those words penetrated and encouraged my heart. Spending time with Mom was emotionally exhausting, yet our time together was priceless. I loved her so much, but some days I felt conflicted when leaving her house after we’d spent hours together—I valued my time with her, yet I also wanted to complain to someone. I always held my head up high when Dad returned home, gave him a big hug and told him I loved him, but I would get in my car and start crying almost every time.

  While thankful for my parents living in Dallas and our time together, I was still mentally exhausted every time we parted. I felt alone, like I was the only one of my friends losing her mother minute by minute and watching her slowly die. Sensing my self-pity, I would then tell myself to “suck it up” and move on to the next thing, which was put on the mom hat and take care of my kids.

  Dad’s encouragement reminded me of Ephesians 4:29: “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen” (NIV). Dad and I constantly needed to be reminded of the good we were doing, and how much we were helping each other get through our most trying time. His words that day built me up, nourishing my heart, soul, and mind.

  As we pulled up to Francisco’s for tortilla soup, I thought of Ephesians 4:29 again, and I returned the encouragement to him.

  “We are in this together, Daddy. We can do it. We just have to support each other, and God will do the rest. He knows your heart. I know lying to Mom is very painful and new for you, but I do believe with all my heart that this is different. This isn’t ‘lying’ the way God sees it. He knows you pray to Him daily, meditate on His word, and that you want the very best for Mom.”

  I smiled and patted his arm.

  “He will open the doors that need to be opened in His perfect time. We just have to trust and rely on Him and on each other.”

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY MORNING, I called my mom.

  “Good morning, Mom! I have something for you to do with me today. How would you like to go volunteer with me at one of my favorite places?”

  She replied very slowly. “Well, what kind? I’ve done that already. I’ve done what you’re talking about.”

  This isn’t going the way I anticipated. And she can’t speak very well today.

  “Come on, Mom. It will be fun for us to be together. And besides, Dad has a meeting today, so you don’t have anything better to do, do you?”

  She laughed, and I could feel through the phone that she was looking over at Dad, rolling her eyes, convinced I had her up for something she didn’t really want to do.

  “Okay. I’ll get dressed. When? What time will you . . . uh . . . here?”

  “I’ll be there at 9:00.” Yes!

  “Okay, 9:00. Dave, did you hear that? She will be here at 9:00.”

  I heard Dad reply loudly enough so I could hear him. “Yes, 9:00. I’ll make sure she’s ready, Sarah!”

  As I pulled up to their house, I felt nervous. I felt like I was being deceitful and sneaky. I was taking her somewhere to “volunteer,” yet I wasn’t. Lord, this is so hard. Please know we don’t want to be lying to her. And God, please don’t let her notice the sign that says “Alzheimer’s Daycare.” I’m trusting You, God. I can’t plan or know what’s ahead, but You are in control. Please be with me today.

  As we headed out the front door of their house, Mom started picking up pecans along her sidewalk, as always. Their pecan tree was so messy it drove her crazy. She would pick up leaves and pecans, and a few minutes later, she’d look up at the tree and gripe, “I hate this thing!” As she bent over and grabbed a handful of pecans, I looked at Daddy with one eyebrow arched, as if to say, “We will see how this goes.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Mom walked back and handed him some pecans and said, “I’ll see you later, my love.”

  Poor Dad. I know he’s weeping inside. To hear those words and know he’s not telling her everything must kill him. God, please be with him today, give him Your peace and help him be patient with Your perfect plan for him and Mom.

  They kissed goodbye as they always did. Mom and Dad were smitten with each other. They’d been married forty-nine years, but they acted like it was their one-year anniversary every time they were together. It was beautiful to see them hugging and kissing each another and expressing their love, no matter where they were or who was watching.

  As Mom and I drove up the highway, I kept thinking of things to talk about to distract her from our destination and the time it took to get there. Since everything seemed so far away to her these days, I didn’t want to repeat the soccer game scenario.

  “Mom, tell me the story about you and Elvis again. I would love to hear it. It’s one of my favorites.”

  At the mention of Elvis’s name, she lit up. She stared straight ahead, her eyes half-closed in nostalgia. As she sat deeper into her seat, she giggled and looked at me with a relaxed smile.

  “Well, I got to meet him!” That was all she said.

  I’m going to need more than that to get to Richardson.

  “I know that, silly. But tell me again what he was doing. Wasn’t he sick or something? I can’t remember the whole story. I just remember you and Dad pulled up in his driveway at Graceland, and the next thing you knew you were sitting there talking to him.”

  Mom laughed again. “Yep, I sure did. I talked to Elvis!”

  She looked out the passenger window, then looked straight ahead as she told her story. I knew she wasn’t really looking at the highway—she was looking at the front door of Graceland. She was picturing herself sitting in the leather passenger seat of their 1965 burgundy Chevy Impala with the black vinyl top. She went on to tell me how Dad started talking to a guy standing outside, perhaps a security guard or caretaker, while she walked right up the sidewalk and knocked on the front door.

  As Mom told the story, I noticed how her speech was declining. She couldn’t speak clearly or verbalize her thoughts well, and her words were jumbled and not making much sense. But I still knew what she was saying.

  “I just knocked on the door,” she said, “and it answered. She asked who I am and told me to wait, you know, out there a minute. She left, came back, and said, ‘Come on in. He’s waiting for you.’”

  Mom said she just put one foot in front of the other and walked right in. She never even looked back at Dad. The woman told her that Elvis was sick in bed but that he wanted to see her. Mom knew he didn’t know who she was, but he told the lady working for him to let her in anyway. So in Mom’s mind, he did know who she was.

  “Well, he was lying there in his bed, and he didn’t look real, uh
hh, look real good. But, you know, he’s Elvis, and Elvis can’t look bad!”

  We both laughed.

  “Actually, Mom, I don’t know, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  She laughed again and went on. “I came in there, sat down by him, and he said, ‘Tell me your name again? Becky it was?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s Becky. I’m sorry you aren’t well. I didn’t mean to come here when you were sick.’ And so we talked for a time, I don’t remember about what, and then that was it. He said, ‘It was nice to meet you, Becky, and I’m glad you came by,’ and I said, ‘Thank you for having me come in here. Good luck to you.’ And he grabbed my hand, and that was it.”

  This is the funniest story ever. I wonder how much of it is true. I swear it gets embellished every time.

  “Oh, Mom. Only you would walk right in and meet Elvis! Meanwhile, Dad is outside chatting it up with some random guy, and you could have cared less where he was at that moment.”

  We pulled into the parking lot with no hiccups. It was a small onestory building with a porte cochere. The building was brick, painted pale pink with white columns out front. It looked a little run-down, so I was starting to second-guess this idea of Dad’s.

  The moment we walked in, the sweetest lady greeted us. She pretended like she knew me and even said, “Welcome back, Sarah! We’ve missed seeing you here.” I was shocked. She was committed to playing the game.

  “Thank you,” I said, regaining my composure. This must be Susan, the woman my dad had spoken to. “It’s great to be back. I have my mom with me today. She’s going to volunteer with me, so please let us know any way we can help.”

  Mom chimed in almost immediately, “Yes, please let me know how I can help. I’m just here with her, my daughter. This was her idea, so I’m just doing what I am told.”

  Of course she had to give a disclaimer: “I’m here with my daughter. This was her idea.” Because she’s been there, done that.

  Susan gave us a tour of the facility, and I acted as if I had been there before. I even said hi and patted a few of the adults on the shoulder to express my love and willingness to serve. I was hoping Mom would do the same. Then Susan took us to a small group where the other adults were sitting in chairs arranged in a horseshoe shape with an employee at the head, holding a binder with some laminated papers, leading the group. They were playing a game where they filled in the blanks to phrases or songs. As Mom and I joined the group, I watched her as she smiled at the other adults and mouthed “hello” to some of them and waved to a few. She was a natural.