Broken Beauty

by Sarah B. Smith

  I felt Daddy’s pain and confusion. He wanted to live in the moment, and he wanted to take care of her. But he also did not want to worry about things that were likely ahead, such as incontinence, or her not being able to dress or pull her pants up and down to use the restroom. After all, she could still shower and, for the most part, get dressed by herself.

  But he was also somewhat in denial about how much Mom had declined. He was living and breathing this disease with her every minute of every day, and in turn, he couldn’t see clearly what was happening to her. He would say, “Well, she’s okay for now. I’m keeping an eye on her.” Or, “I’ll let you know when I can’t manage it anymore.”

  The truth was that he couldn’t manage it anymore. But he didn’t want to give up or admit he couldn’t do it. “In sickness and in health” meant he would be the sole caretaker until the day she died—at least in his interpretation. And I was no longer sure that was the best thing for him or Mom.

  I BECAME BUSIER AND BUSIER with the kids’ schedules and activities. The last two weeks of school, I had class parties to attend and teacher gifts to purchase. The girls and I were also packing for two weeks of camp that would begin the first day of summer. Knowing I couldn’t help Dad as much, I felt heavy with guilt, especially in light of Mom’s worsening condition. Even though Dad was in denial, I couldn’t deny the truth any longer: She was a danger to herself.

  Stopping by the house one afternoon, I noticed Mom had an adhesive bandage just below her collarbone.

  I gently touched her chest. “What happened here, Beauty?”

  She waved me off. “Oh, that. Well, I don’t know. I can’t remember. David, why do I have this thing?”

  Dad blushed, and I knew he was a little embarrassed to tell me the story. “Your mother decided she didn’t like a mole on her chest, so she grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut it out.”

  He stared up at me to gauge my reaction. I think my jaw had dropped to the floor.

  “What? You tried to cut a mole out of your chest? Oh, Mama!”

  I hugged her so tight. She laughed as I hugged her, but tears filled my eyes. I tried to hide the tears from both of them, but my heart was so broken that my intelligent mom had put a pair of scissors to her chest—or anywhere near her body, for that matter.

  “Dad, how did you know? Did you see it happen?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. I could tell he was ashamed, and I knew he felt like a failure.

  “Yes. Thankfully, I walked in early enough to stop her from damaging her skin. I think she must have just picked up the scissors, because it wasn’t bad—just the top of her skin was scraped off, and there was no hole or gash or anything major. I was in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast, and she was getting dressed.”

  I didn’t ask any more questions. It wasn’t his fault, but I knew he blamed himself. There was no doubt in my mind he wondered why he hadn’t moved the knives, scissors, and other sharp items out of her sight. Mom just didn’t understand the danger.

  “I didn’t like that dark spot right there,” she said, pointing under her collarbone, “so I wanted it off.”

  I became fearful. I started to feel like I was not good enough or capable enough to take care of my own mother. What if something happened to her under my care? Would Dad be mad at me and never forgive me if something happened to her? Would I be able to forgive myself?

  So many thoughts flooded my mind, I couldn’t sleep for several weeks. The disease was progressing, and Dad was still her sole caretaker. What if something happened to him? Then what? Something needed to be done, but I couldn’t make that decision for him.

  I prayed every single morning for God to give Dad clarity. He knew she had gotten worse, but there were many moments when she would be present, lucid, and sharp. She would snuggle with him in the mornings and tell him how much she loved him. She would talk about their friends in Houston in vivid detail. Or she’d have Dad dial my number so she could talk to her grandchildren, and she would know each of them by name. Those moments overpowered the dangerous things that happened, such as the gas incident, getting lost on a walk, or nearly cutting off her finger with a knife while slicing an apple, and I could see he wanted to prove to himself and to her that he could be her one and only caretaker.

  In sickness and in health. The vows he said to her on September 10, 1966, played over and over in his mind, and he did not want to fail his beloved.

  TEN

  I’M A GROWN WOMAN

  June 10 to June 15, 2016

  THE WAVES WERE HUGE. RED flags billowed in the breeze, warning residents and tourists to stay out of the Pacific Ocean. The Sea of Cortez was much calmer, but we always stayed in Cabo San Lucas, on the Pacific side where swimming was limited. On this particular part of the beach, the water could be rough and the undertow strong.

  For years, my family and I had stayed in the same vacation home, and it was a place to relax and spend quality time with family and friends. This time we were embarking on an adult vacation with my brothers, their wives, and a few of Mom and Dad’s closest friends. It seemed like a miracle we were all there at the same time without our kids. This would be our last trip as a family with Mom—but we didn’t know that yet.

  June is beautiful in Cabo. The air is warm, and there is a brisk breeze in the evenings. The smell of the salty ocean water and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks brings serenity.

  I relaxed immediately as we walked into the vacation house. Seeing the linen couches and armchairs with their blue and white pillows and the cheerful seashells and starfish lining the glass shelves on the wall generated an instant peace in me. The furniture provided the perfect ambience and spa-like feel, and the large floor-to-ceiling sliding glass windows were open to the endless view of the ocean. As I watched the white waves crash over the beautiful rocks, I was flooded with gratitude for God’s creation.

  We made it to Mexico on this beautiful Sunday! Mom’s favorite day, Sunday, and here we were with her favorite people. I thanked God we had all made it safely and thought to myself, God is so good.

  “A slice of heaven” is what we called our favorite vacation spot—and for good reason. I breathed in the delicious smells as I took in the sumptuous spread: bowls of guacamole, homemade salsa, and ceviche were laid out with a big bowl of extra-salty tortilla chips. The chef, Lorenzo, always prepared the best meals for our family and kept his homemade dips sitting out for us at all times.

  Mom had the biggest grin on her face. I’d always loved the small gap between her two front teeth when she smiled. That gap was a gift because she would stick her tongue against the back of it and give an ear-splitting whistle to call us in from playtime when we were kids. It seemed we could hear it from miles away. She hated that gap, but we loved it. If it weren’t for that gap, we wouldn’t have that wonderful memory.

  “Gosh, Sarah,” she said. “I’m so happy to be here. This place is incredible. Check out that view!”

  Mom excitedly waved Dad over, as if he were missing out on something big.

  “David! Can you even believe this place? Get over here. It’s magni ficent.”

  “Well, yes, I can,” Dad said diplomatically. “We’ve been here plenty of times, and every time I’m here, it blows me away, too.”

  I could tell Dad was trying to protect Mom by agreeing with her, while also reminding her she had been there many times. He didn’t want to call her out on her memory lapse.

  One thing I’d always loved about the house in Cabo is I couldn’t tell where the swimming pool ended and the ocean began. The pool gave the visual effect of pouring itself into the sea. The far side of the pool deck stuck out about a foot on the other side of a glass wall that stood between the pool and an unobstructed view of the ocean. That glass wall allowed me to look down and realize the house was perched on a cliff, 150 feet above the ocean and jagged rocks, yet it was almost invisible and created a seamless portrait of the surroundings.

  Our family was ecstatic to
be together: This was a family getaway we hoped to cherish forever. Mom and Dad were snuggled up in each other’s arms like newlyweds, staring out into the ocean as if nobody else were around.

  “I don’t ever want to leave here, David. Look at them. Our children are all here with us. I’m so happy.”

  “I know, Beck. We are blessed.”

  “We are. Where are we again? What is this place called?”

  “We are in Cabo. One of our favorite places to visit.”

  Mom knew she had been there before but didn’t remember any details of the house or how high it was above the beach. Like a child seeing something incredible for the first time, she viewed it with awe.

  Unfortunately, she made childlike choices, too.

  THE NEXT MORNING BROUGHT ANOTHER sunny day in Cabo. Today is going to be a great day, I thought as I sat down to our buffet-style breakfast.

  “Sarah,” my dad said, “thanks for taking care of Mom today while I golf. I trust you, and she loves spending time with you. You know that.”

  “Yes, Daddy, don’t worry. Go enjoy your day. You’ve needed a break for a long time. I’ve got it under control, and she is in good hands. I love you—have fun!”

  Dad and most of the boys left after breakfast for a long day of golf. I was pumped to get outside and soak up the sun. Trish, my older brother’s wife, was with us. Always happy, she was intentional about getting the family together for times of reflection, singing, or reading Scripture.

  With her wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders from beneath her large sun hat, she was smartly dressed for the beach, and as usual, she wore bright lipstick but minimal makeup.

  Mom was dressed and ready for sunbathing.

  “Trish, would you mind watching Mom for a minute while I put on my swimsuit? I’ll be back in a minute,” I said.

  “Of course, sister,” Trish replied.

  Trish, the mother of three young ones, had a servant’s heart. She understood what watching a childlike individual like Mom meant.

  But while I was upstairs, a scream burst through the serenity.

  “Help! Need some help here!”

  It was Trish screaming. Panicked, I threw a towel around myself and rushed down. Mom was on the cliff side of the glass wall.

  Trish was standing at the glass wall around the pool deck, trying to hold my mom against it. No matter how hard Trish tried to keep Mom from stepping out farther along the ledge, Mom grew fiercer, pushing Trish away. Trish was all that was keeping Mom from falling 150 feet to her death.

  Paralyzed and barely dressed, I was too stunned to move. Reagan, one of Mom and Dad’s closest friends, ran out of the house. By God’s mercy, he had opted out of golf that day and was home.

  Walking up to Mom from behind, Reagan, with his trademark calm, attempted to pin her shoulders up against the glass wall.

  “Rebecca, I need you to hold onto me. It’s not safe for you to be standing here. Please calm down and be still.”

  “I’m fine! Just . . . just . . .”

  Mom couldn’t get her words out. Her anxiety swelled.

  “Rebecca, listen to me, please. Stop fighting us. We are trying to help you. This isn’t safe. You may fall.”

  For someone in his midseventies, Reagan was extremely fit. He had known Mom for years and was the best person to talk sense into her. But there is no talking sense into a person with Alzheimer’s disease; their logic has left them.

  Fighting with all her might, Mom was yelling, “Leave me alone! Get off me! Get off me!”

  I ran toward her while Fernancio, the house handyman, ran from the other side of the deck, jumping fully clothed into the pool to swim across and help Reagan. Lorenzo came quickly from the kitchen.

  “Rebecca, you have four of us trying to keep you from falling,” Reagan said. “Stop kicking, please!”

  It was taking a village, but Mom wasn’t surrendering easily. She kicked Fernancio away, hurting his knee. Trish, shaking, was yelling and begging Mom to stop fighting. “Let us help you!”

  I could tell Reagan and Lorenzo were in shock. It wasn’t just anyone they were trying to save from falling to death: It was Mom!

  After what seemed like an eternity, Reagan and Lorenzo lifted Mom up and over the glass wall. She was finally safe.

  Standing there in my blue bath towel, I realized she had nearly died.

  Mom was now circling around the pool deck, disoriented. She didn’t seem to know who or what she was looking for and neither could she comprehend what had just happened. It was as if her body and mind wouldn’t allow her to move or think clearly. Stuck in a moment of complete confusion, she seemed panicked and unable to speak.

  Her panic turned to fury.

  “I am a grown woman!” she shouted. “Everyone leave me alone! What is wrong with y’all? I was just trying to get something! That thing! Are y’all crazy?”

  Staring where she pointed, I saw a blue plastic water bottle. It seemed so insignificant, but this bottle had almost cost my mother her life. Eight feet away from Mom, it was floating in the overflow pool under the infinity pool. Because she could not perceive the distance of an object, she thought it was only a few inches away.

  I approached her slowly, trying to calm her, but she jerked away.

  “Get me out of here,” she yelled. “Get me out of this place! I am going home.”

  She stormed off into the house, her face bright red, with anger and fear gleaming in her dark brown eyes. Her hands were shaking crazily.

  The rest of us stared at one another, unsure of what to say or do. Trish, traumatized, went straight to her room and sobbed like a baby. It was all too much.

  Reagan was in a state of quiet shock, and Lorenzo shook his head, as if thinking, I can’t believe what just happened. He could barely speak.

  I took off to the bedroom to gather myself. I thought I might throw up. The pit in my stomach had never felt so hollow.

  Fernancio had gone to the garage to attend to his knee. Checking on him, I opened the garage door to find him sitting, rubbing and massaging the knee, tears rolling down his face.

  “Fernancio, are you okay?” I asked. “Are you injured? I am so sorry. What can I do?”

  I went away for not even five minutes, and Fernancio is in the garage crying, Lorenzo is traumatized, and Trish is upstairs weeping. I can’t believe I stepped away. This is all my fault. Fernancio is hurt because I left Mom with someone other than myself.

  “No, no, Sarah. I’m okay. Por favor. It’s okay. Only scared. Very. No problema. No problema, Sarah.”

  Fernancio didn’t speak much English, but he was able to say “scared,” which stuck in my mind the rest of the trip. Fernancio was pretending he was all right, but I could see the pain, fear, and sheer disbelief in his eyes.

  What if he had fallen off the cliff? He just risked his life for my mom. He has a family too. He didn’t even think about not helping! He just jumped in to save her.

  Every single person who helped save Mom was traumatized. They had never seen anyone try to stand on the opposite side of a glass wall and pool deck that was 150 feet high with one hand and the other hand trying to grab a plastic water bottle.

  I went to Reagan next. He had tears in his eyes. “She just kept saying, ‘Right there, right there! I’m just trying to get that thing. Get off of me!’ She didn’t even realize she was hanging off a cliff, Sarah. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know who is going to tell David—you, Trish, or me—but someone needs to let him know. She is dangerous, and she could have killed herself.”

  Reagan wiped his eyes. “My heart is broken for her, you, David, and your entire family. I’ve known Becky for forty years, and it’s tragic what is happening. Something needs to be done, and David needs full-time help. And I mean soon. Real soon.”

  I was speechless. I knew all of this, but how could I make that decision? It was Dad’s to make.

  Mom was fearless, but just like a child, she had no awareness of danger, and she certainly had no
concept of distance. She needed someone to protect her, and she needed someone to make decisions in her best interest. She needed to be safe, and she needed to listen and cooperate and understand why we were all trying to help her. But Mom’s brain wasn’t functioning properly. It wasn’t sending the signals necessary to help her comprehend what she was doing, nor was her brain able to make sense of it all.

  Not even five minutes had passed, and Mom couldn’t tell me what had happened. She sat quietly on the white linen sofa. I reached out and took her hand.

  “Are you all right, Mom?”

  “No,” she said, jerking back her hand. “I don’t like being watched. I don’t need babysitting—I’m a grown woman.”

  Mom was mad. But I wondered if she even knew why.

  “Do you know what just happened?” I prodded gently.

  “I’m a grown woman,” she fumed.

  “But what just happened on the pool deck, Mom? Do you remember?”

  She was frustrated and flustered, unable to tell me what took place. I realized then that my worst fear was true: Her Alzheimer’s had taken every bit of her short-term memory.

  You can’t teach someone or try to explain why something just happened when that person has no short-term memory. So I couldn’t tell Mom how much danger she’d been in, or why she shouldn’t do something like that again. It was like her words and thoughts had gone into a bubble and—pop!—they’d vanished, never to return.

  Walking into the house as he laughed with his golf buddies, Dad entered the kitchen where the rest of us stood, staring at one another in silence.

  He sensed something was wrong.

  “Daddy, there is something we need to tell you.”

  ELEVEN

  PICKING UP THE PIECES

  June and July 2016

  AS THE SEASON TURNED TO summer, the Dallas afternoon highs reached the nineties. Mom loved her walks, and no matter how much she perspired in the humid heat, she wanted to go several times a day. But Dad put his foot down and said they could go only in the mornings.