After dropping Thad and the kids off at the airport, I went straight to Mom and Dad’s house to pick Mom up for her hair appointment.
Okay, God. Here we go. You are my rock and refuge. You are my shepherd. Lead me, please.
“Good morning, Beauty! Are you ready to get all pretty today? Time to get those roots touched up.”
“Yes, let me grab my purse.”
Mom always carried a purse, and whether at a nail salon, hair salon, restaurant, or hotel, she always wanted to hand a few extra dollars or a $20 bill to those serving her.
“Oh, Mom, you don’t need a purse today. Dad’s already paid, and he’s given me some money so you can tip—no need for a purse.”
Mom looked so beautiful that morning. She was wearing a turquoise outfit that showed off her olive skin, and her nails were manicured from the day before. She was tan from walking around the block with Dad, and her makeup and bronzed cheeks enhanced that. She had managed to put on her metallic rose-and-bronze eye shadow perfectly; the corners of her eyes were even lit up with a smudge of shimmery soft pink. I could also smell the perfume I’d purchased for her years ago. Awed by her beauty and that she looked so put together, I struggled again with placing her. I doubted for a moment we were doing the right thing.
Dad, pale as a ghost, walked up behind Mom. Pain and heartbreak were written across his face. He was doing everything in his power to keep his game face on. The reality of all the brokenness engulfed Dad.
He knew when she walked out of the house it would be the last time he’d see her go out their front door. The night before was the last for them to sleep in the same bed in their home, and that morning had been the last time they would sit in their living room having toast, turkey bacon, and coffee together. It was also the last time he watched her pick up pecans from the sidewalk as she walked to the car.
His pain gave me chills. All I could think about was driving away and my dad falling to his knees in agony, crying out to God over the loss of living with his wife. Overnight, he would practically become a widower.
Sarah, you have got to be strong for him. No fear. Be strong.
“You ready to go, Mom? Give Dad a hug. We don’t want to be late.”
Barely able to watch them hug, I wanted to weep and go hug her with him.
“I love you, Beck. Don’t ever forget how much I love you.”
Mom kissed him on the lips.
Dad gently patted her on the back, then looked at me tearfully as Mom walked away. I just wanted it to end.
Barely able to lift his hand to wave, I knew he was thanking me, and I knew there was no way he could have placed her.
Mom threw a pecan out toward the street, turned around to Dad and waved, then said words burned forever in my mind.
“I’ll be back later! I love you!”
Oh, Mom. You won’t be back here. I’m so sorry for what we’re about to do.
All Dad could do was stand there with a fake smile. Then he shut the door and faced the cries of his pierced heart.
“GOOD MORNING, REBECCA,” TONA SAID as she bent down and gave Mom a tight hug. “I’m so happy to see you!”
Tona was beautiful. She had big blue eyes and long, blondish, wavy hair. Her body was lean from yoga and exercise. Having battled cancer and other health problems, she stuck to a healthy diet. Her zeal for life was incredible.
We couldn’t just leave Mom with anyone, but Tona had experience with Alzheimer’s disease after going through it with her grandmother. She knew how to speak to Mom, engage her in conversation, and redirect her when needed. Mom trusted Tona, so I could leave and come back for her.
I went back to Dad’s to wait for Little Ginny. He was somber, his eyes lifeless and full of tears. He could barely talk.
After sitting in silence awhile, I said to him, “Daddy, everything is going to be okay. God is in control, and He led you to this decision. So as painful as it is, you are doing the right thing.”
He looked down, wiping his eyes the entire time.
Leaning forward I said, “I know, and everyone else knows, that this is not the path you would have chosen for Mom. You are being obedient to God and trusting His ways and plan for Mom and you. You are following His way because it is the only way. You taught me that!”
Dad smiled and looked up at me as he wiped his eyes again. “I know all that you are saying is true. It’s just the guilt and sadness. The lies. The feeling of abandonment. She doesn’t deserve this, and I don’t want her to ever think I have neglected her.”
We sat silently a few more minutes. I couldn’t argue with those feelings or say anything to make them go away.
The doorbell rang. It was Little Ginny, which meant it was time to pick up Mom.
Opening the door, I mouthed to Little Ginny, “He’s not good.”
She came in and hugged him. “Hey, David. I’m really sorry for today. I know this is terribly painful, but I promise you this will be the best thing that could happen for Becky and you.”
“Thank you, Ginny. And thank you for doing this. I’m sorry that you are in this position, but I just couldn’t do it. I really appreciate you being here for Sarah. She couldn’t do this without you.”
“I would do absolutely anything for you two. You’re family!”
I hope it’s okay to leave him alone. Will he be okay by himself?
I had mentioned to him days ago that maybe he should call my brother Gabriel to stay with him, but Dad, always a private griever, turned that offer down.
We hugged for a long time. “Daddy, I love you. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I can call Gabriel or someone to be with you.”
“No, no. I’ll be fine.”
“Just pray for God to take over. That’s all we can ask. I am walking by faith and not by sight. I feel totally blind as to what the day will bring.”
As we parted, he said, “Just remember, Sarah. Moment to moment. Just like the disease. Just be in the moment. God will do the rest.”
LITTLE GINNY AND I, TOGETHER in her car, headed back to Tona’s salon.
“Ginny, I am so grateful you are here. I am so nervous, I’ll definitely be having a glass of wine at lunch!”
“A glass of wine?” she said. “How about two?” We both laughed. But I knew that drinking a glass of wine was not going to heal my broken heart. Only God could do that.
Little Ginny’s smile was so big. She had the high cheekbones and infectious laugh of her mother. She was so close to me that she knew when to laugh and when to be serious.
I had arranged for us to meet Lisa at P.F. Chang’s in the mall, where Mom had gone several times with Big Ginny. I didn’t want to take her to a restaurant in our neighborhood, but someplace where it was unlikely we’d run across friends who might disrupt the mission.
“Did you bring a Valium?” Little Ginny asked.
“I just hate the thought of drugging my mom. It’s so terrible,” I said.
“You aren’t drugging your mom, Sarah. Let’s be real. It’s a very low dose, just enough to take the edge off. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“You’re right. I may need you or Lisa to help me do it, though, if it comes to that.”
I looked out the window as we drove past the neighborhood houses, the Starbucks that Mom and I liked, and the girls’ school where we carpooled together.
Will I get to take her to Starbucks again? Can she ever carpool with me again? Can we go on walks outside again? Will she even be allowed to get in my car and go anywhere with me?
Ginny’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I felt her soft hand on top of mine. She gave me a gentle squeeze.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You just need to get through the next several hours, then you can cry and weep and do whatever the heck you want. But for now, you need to be strong and focus on your mom. Not the what-ifs or the weeks and months ahead. You need to take care of business today.”
“MOM! YOUR HAIR LOOKS SO good! Tona is the best.”
Litt
le Ginny chimed in, “It looks amazing. Your color is perfect.”
“Really? It does? I haven’t even seen it! Where’s a mirror? I want to see what you girls are talking about.”
Mom had seen it. She had been in front of the mirror for an hour and a half. But, as usual, she couldn’t remember things minutes later. Anytime we complimented her hair, she would tell us she hadn’t seen it yet and immediately look for a mirror. I always carried a mirror in my purse so she could inspect her hair, lipstick, or makeup.
After she’d admired Tona’s handiwork, we three climbed into Little Ginny’s car. “Where are we going to lunch?” Mom asked.
“We are going to one of yours and Mom’s favorite places—P.F. Chang’s!” Little Ginny said.
Mom paused. “P.F. Chang’s? I’m not sure I know that one. Where is your mom? Will she be with us?”
“No, she is out of town. But we will do it again. Besides, we have to do it again because she’s missing my birthday. This is a birthday lunch—we’re celebrating my birthday!”
“Oh, I love birthdays!” Mom said. “Well, we do need to celebrate!”
As we laughed and joked in the car, I felt disgusted with myself.
How can I be joking and laughing as I’m about to manipulate her into a memory-care facility? Possibly even about to drug her? This is sick. God, I’m so sorry I’m trying to have fun and pretend it’s okay when I’m basically lying to my mother. Help me, please!
Then I saw these words in my mind, and there is no doubt they were from God.
Stop thinking so much. I know what your mom needs. She loves to laugh. Let me give you this day to laugh together. She loves being with her daughter. Enjoy this time with her. I have a home for her. You are following My plan, so be joyful that I am your strength and will make all things good. I know your heart, Sarah.
I struggled to not burst into tears. He was speaking to me. He was driving the train. I had asked Him to take the wheel, and He had it. But feeling guilty in this gut-wrenching situation revealed to me my fear and lack of trust even as He led me.
He knows my heart, I kept telling myself. Crazily, I had told my own dad the same words, but I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear them spoken to me. And not just by anyone, but by God.
EIGHTEEN
ABANDONMENT DAY, PART 2
August 11, 2016
AS SOON AS WE ENTERED P.F. Chang’s, we saw Lisa waiting for us.
“Well, hello, Rebecca! I’m joining you ladies for lunch.”
Mom was happy to see Lisa. I just wished she had been as happy to see her five days a week for ten hours a day. So here we were.
Mom grabbed Lisa’s hand and hugged her.
“Good to see you. I didn’t know you were here. Do you know my daughter? And her friend, uh, uh, Ginny?”
“Well, yes, I sure do. I met your daughter a while ago when the three of us had lunch at Sarah’s country club.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about that.”
Mom was so good at pretending she remembered anything, but of course she had forgotten.
At our table for four, Little Ginny was quick to make friends with the waitress, asking her for the wine and cocktail list for the “birthday” celebration.
“Oh, yeah, girl,” Lisa added. “We will take that drink list. We are here to celebrate!”
Usually I told restaurants in advance about Mom’s Alzheimer’s, but I had forgotten to make that call today. I wanted the wait staff to understand why she might get snappy or confused about what she ordered.
“Excuse me, ladies. I am going to run to the restroom.” Looking at Lisa, I winked, grabbed my phone, and left the table.
I spotted the manager and asked him to let our waitress know about Mom’s condition. I also told him that we would be ordering a few drinks and that it was okay for Mom to have alcohol.
In the restroom, I took three deep yoga breaths. I prayed over and over for God to be with me. My hands, feet, and knees were shaking. In my anxiety, I could feel my chest heating up and breaking into hives. I felt like I might pass out.
As I sat back down at the table, Little Ginny looked at me and said, “I’m ordering a pinot grigio. What are you having?”
I quickly scanned the wine list. “I’ll take the chardonnay.”
Then Mom said to the waitress, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Yes, she would like the chardonnay, also. We are all celebrating today!”
Celebrating what? Celebrating locking your mom up on the fourth floor of memory care? Taking her away from her home?
Needing to change the focus of my thoughts, I turned to Lisa and said, “I’m so glad you’re with us today. Now tell me about you. How have you been?”
HALFWAY THROUGH LUNCH, MOM HAD barely sipped her wine. Ginny noticed, tapping my leg under the table and nodding toward Mom’s glass.
Quickly, I took my glass of wine and said, “Let’s make another toast. To Ginny, my soul sister whom I love so much. Happy birthday!”
Mom grabbed her glass, and we all clinked ours together and took a drink. Mom slowly put the glass to her lips for a small sip, if that. I was starting to think that Mom might need that Valium after all.
Lisa raised her glass not even two minutes later. “Let’s make a toast! To Ginny! Happy birthday, Ginny.” We clinked our glasses together again and took sips. Mom took the tiniest sip, her glass still half full.
Under her breath, Little Ginny said to me, “She’s never going to drink that glass, is she?” We laughed, nervously.
I had to laugh because nothing was going as planned. We had already toasted Little Ginny’s birthday at least five times.
The waitress came over. “Is everything okay over here? Would you ladies like another drink?”
Lisa ordered another, and when hers arrived she lifted her glass again.
“Ladies! Another toast. Happy birthday, Ginny. I’m so happy to be here with you gals. Cheers!”
Mom took another small sip. Under the table, I texted Little Ginny and Lisa. “We need to give Mom the Valium. I’m going to hand it to one of you under the table. Please crush it up in her wine when I take her to the bathroom.”
Their phones vibrated on the table. Lisa read hers, glanced at Mom and then looked over at me. She nodded at me and put her hand under the table. I felt like a drug dealer.
My hands were shaking under the table as I handed her the pill.
“Hey, Mom, would you mind coming to the bathroom with me? I need some help.”
While in the ladies’ room, I noticed the label on Mom’s shirt was hanging out the back of her collar. Reaching over to tuck it in, I realized her shirt was on inside out. We laughed hysterically, which helped relieve the anxiety over her drink being spiked. I fixed up her shirt, and we walked back to the table.
I eyed the chardonnay to see if I could detect the crushed Valium. There were granules at the bottom of the glass and a small white cloud just above them. I stared at the wine, which was once perfectly clear and now clouded with medicine—a glimpse into Mom’s once-clear mind now clouded by plaques and tangles and medicine. As we made one more toast, I tearfully watched Mom swallow her chalky wine without knowing what was in it.
Oh, God. Please forgive me. This doesn’t feel right at all. It’s so deceptive. It feels terribly wrong. I’m really sorry.
Little Ginny saw my sadness and reached over. “Hey, it’s all good. Okay?”
I shook my head yes. I smiled at Mom; she smiled back and seemed so happy.
The guilt was eating me alive.
OUR BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION FINISHED, IT was time to pay the bill and head to Mom’s new home.
Mom had finished her glass of wine. Noticing a little powder left at the bottom of her glass, I wondered if she’d had enough Valium.
She seemed normal as we left the restaurant. She walked the same and didn’t seem the least bit tipsy.
Oh great. We can’t go yet. There is no way.
As we got in the c
ar, I panicked. Little Ginny was driving. Our plan was to ride together to the memory-care facility to meet some of Lisa’s “friends.”
I texted Lisa from the back seat. “Lisa, we can’t go there yet. Mom is totally sober. We need to stop somewhere and have another drink! Please tell Ginny there is a Central Market with a bar, and we can get a glass of wine there.”
Lisa read the text. “Ginny, let’s stop at Central Market,” she said. “We should get a birthday treat! We forgot to do that at the restaurant. A slice of cake or a macaron. What do you think?” She turned to me in the back seat. “What do you think, Sarah?”
Before I could answer, Mom piped up, “It’s your birthday, Ginny? Well, let’s celebrate!”
My jaw dropped. Mom’s forgetfulness still left me surprised.
“Sure, let’s do it,” I said. “Ginny, we can get dessert and a glass of wine to celebrate your birthday!”
Looking at me in her rearview mirror, Little Ginny raised an eyebrow, “Well, okay! Let’s do it.”
When we arrived at Central Market, Mom said she wanted a glass of red wine.
Red. Oh my gosh, that’s it. Red wine, not white!
Ordering us both a glass of red wine, I just couldn’t drink. Mom was the only one drinking. The rest of us toasted and faked a sip, but Mom gulped hers down.
“Wouldn’t you know it,” Little Ginny whispered to me. “Red wine is the ticket.”
I noticed Mom’s hands as she held her wine. The beautiful red from her manicure the previous day matched the red of the wine perfectly. The two colors were so gorgeous together that I felt compelled to snap a picture of her fingers touching her wine glass.
Taking Mom’s hand in mine, I told her I loved her. I needed her to know how beautiful she was.
After several gulps of wine, Mom slurred her words ever so slightly. “It’s time to go,” I mouthed to Lisa.
“Well, ladies, are y’all ready to leave?” Lisa asked. “Since I work right next door, I thought it would be fun to stop by. I’d love for you to meet my friends.”
Broken Beauty Page 17