Abby partially listened as Caroline continued to talk about her parents and their dysfunctional relationship. But another part of her was thinking about what she needed from her husband. As Caroline rambled on in a way that Abby hoped was therapeutic, Abby was mentally listing what she needed from Paul. So far they were just one-word needs, but it was a start. She could work out the specifics later: (1) respect; (2) love; (3) communication; (4) encouragement; (5) trust.
As Abby drove home that afternoon, she questioned why she’d placed respect in the number-one position. She suspected it had to do with what Caroline had been saying about her parents—how her dad had been so hard on her mom, and how her mom suffered for it her whole life. To be fair, Paul was nothing like Caroline’s father. Most people who knew Paul considered him a great guy, a good old boy, a stand-up kind of fellow. But in some ways, he wasn’t always quite what people thought.
Oh, he rarely if ever did anything wrong publicly, because he did so enjoy his good-guy image. He was a successful businessman, member of Kiwanis, participant in the chamber, and faithful contributor to United Way. People often went to Paul Franklin for counsel, and he was happy to disburse his wisdom.
No, for the most part, Paul kept his hands and reputation clean. Well, besides getting slightly involved with that other woman last month, which he’d tried to keep under wraps. Even now he claimed that he and Bonnie never had more than a friendly business relationship, although Abby felt fairly certain he’d considered crossing the line. Maybe he even had crossed it.
If and when Paul broke the rules, he did so in a quiet, almost subversive way. The reason Abby listed respect as her number one need had to do with those times when it felt as if he was trying to undermine her. Like he knew she was going to fail at something anyway, so why not just help the old girl get it over with by pointing out her shortcomings right from the start?
His comments zeroed in on her intelligence (or lack of it), or her hobbies (how much time and money they wasted), or her friends (who were just as nutty as she was)—and in more recent years her appearance (she was getting fat and old). As much as she tried to pretend they were okay or even humorous, those subtle putdowns not only stung, they made her question herself on every level. In a quiet yet destructive way, Paul’s undermining remarks made her feel she wasn’t good enough … would never be good enough. That hurt deeply and more than words could say.
Chapter 5
Caroline
Caroline had never been close to her mom. Oh, they’d never had any big fallouts or even gone through that usual teenage-girl-hates-her-mom sort of thing. Their relationship, Caroline felt, was atypical and probably her father’s fault. Caroline used to blame herself for her family’s dysfunction, thinking that she’d alienated her father’s affections from her mother by playing her role of Little Miss Sunshine, but many sessions of counseling combined with years of life experience had convinced her otherwise. As her counselor used to tell her, Caroline’s dad was supposed to be the parent. It was his choice, and a bad one, to place his pretty daughter over his browbeaten wife.
Caroline knew this was all water under the bridge now, not to mention hopeless, but she still longed for a good relationship with her mother. As she swept the kitchen, wiped down the cluttered countertops, and scrubbed the sink, she wished she could say the magic words and have her mother appear fully dressed and in her right mind. Then the two of them could sit down for coffee and discuss this fine little mess that they seemed to have gotten themselves into. Maybe they would even laugh over it. Her mother would make light of the fact that she’d gone streaking through the sleepy town of Clifden. Caroline could joke over the way she and her friends had carted the wiggling cocoon off the dock. And then her mother could tell Caroline the sensible thing to do in this situation.
Caroline was just closing the dishwasher when the phone jangled loudly. Not her cell phone, but the landline, which could only mean one of two things—telemarketers or social services—and Caroline bet it was the second. She braced herself and answered in the same way her father had taught her decades ago. “McCann residence.”
“This is Beverly Miller of senior social services,” a pleasant voice chirped in an automated way. “Is this Caroline McCann?”
“Yes.” Caroline forced cheer into her voice. “How are you doing, Beverly?”
“Very well, thank you. But my question is, how are you doing?”
Caroline could tell by Beverly’s voice that she had heard the whole story, which didn’t matter. Caroline had nothing to hide. Beverly had already been out to the house. She knew what Caroline was up against. “To be honest, I’m feeling pretty frustrated.”
“I can imagine.”
“And I know what you’re going to tell me.”
“You do?”
“That my mother needs round-the-clock care … that she should be locked up … that she’ll probably hurt herself if I keep her here.”
“Actually I was going to ask you if you’d gone to that support group I told you about last time we talked.”
“Oh.” Caroline stood in front of the kitchen sink. “Actually, I have a pretty good support group of old friends.”
“Oh, well, that’s good. But do any of them understand Alzheimer’s?”
“Not specifically, but they understand me.”
“Yes, well, that’s fortunate. Now let’s discuss your mother.”
Caroline sighed. “Feel free.”
“Did you file for guardianship, and did you get her on any of the nursing home waiting lists that I gave you?”
“I did file for guardianship, and I rearranged her banking as you suggested, but no, I don’t want to place her in a nursing home. Not yet. I decided to relocate back here in Clifden. I want to care for Mom myself.”
There was a long pause.
“I know you disapprove. But this house—even though it seems like a wreck—is like Mom’s security blanket. She feels safe here.” Caroline pushed back a shabby curtain, peering out the window over the sink. She doubted that Beverly had even seen how bad the backyard looked. What would she say if she could see all the junk and debris that Caroline’s mother had heaped back there over the years?
“I understand that’s been the case in the past, Caroline, but your mother may be reaching a stage where no place feels safe and everything will soon become unfamiliar, even her own home.”
“But she’s not there yet.”
“Then why did she leave the house and remove her clothes and hide out on a fishing boat and threaten to jump into the bay, Caroline?”
Caroline was stumped. Why would anyone do that?
“Because she is in the final stages of this illness. She is not going to get better. And this is the stage where she needs constant care and supervision—I’m talking twenty-four/seven, Caroline. It’s too much for just one person to do. I admire your dedication and energy, but you are setting yourself up to fail.”
Well, if there was one thing Caroline did not like to hear, it was someone predicting she would fail. That was an invitation to simply try harder. “I respect your opinion,” Caroline said firmly. “But I must also respect my mother’s wishes. And she does not want to be removed from her home.”
Beverly let out what sounded like an exasperated sigh. “Then will you at least go to the support group?”
“If I need to be with Mom twenty-four/seven, I don’t see how.”
“We can arrange for some respite care.”
“Respite care?”
“I can schedule someone to come over and relieve you from time to time. Would you like that?”
“Sure.” Caroline brightened. “That’d be great.”
“I have a volunteer available on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at ten for two hours. I will assign her to you on the condition that you attend a support group
on Friday mornings at ten thirty. Are you agreeable to that?”
Caroline could think of things she’d rather do, but the idea of having some help with her mom was appealing. “Okay.”
“And we’ll look into getting a nurse’s aide to visit once a week just to check on her and perform simple health and hygiene tasks, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind a bit.” Caroline just hoped her mom wouldn’t mind. She knew how much she hated strangers. But a lot of the time she thought Caroline was a stranger too, so what difference would it make? “Will a nurse’s aide be expensive?”
“Some of it will be covered by your mother’s Medicare. But eventually we’ll need to decide about hospice, and at that point, a nurse’s aide and other kinds of medical assistance will be completely covered.”
“Hospice?” Caroline’s understanding was that hospice was for terminal cases. “Do you think she’s dying?”
“It’s hard to say. A final-stage Alzheimer’s patient can last for years … or be gone within months. It just depends.”
Depends.… That reminded Caroline she’d run out of her mother’s adult diapers and had forgotten to grab some when she went to the store this morning. “Uh, Beverly, you say my mom needs constant supervision, but isn’t it okay for me to slip out to the store or whatnot while she’s asleep or watching TV? I mean, it’s not like I’m supposed to sit in this house and just watch her round the clock, right?”
“Isn’t that what happened this morning? You slipped out to do something, thinking your mother was safe, and when you returned she was gone.”
Caroline sighed. She wasn’t about to admit that it hadn’t been the first time, either.
“Caring for a stage-seven Alzheimer’s patient is demanding work for a trained staff in a professional care facility, but it’s nearly impossible for a relative in the home, and I suspect it won’t be long until you figure that out.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. In the meantime I’ll just muddle along.”
“Darlene will be by tomorrow at ten to relieve you.”
“Thanks.”
“Hang in there.”
“I’ll try.” Caroline hung up with a mixed feeling of relief and fear. On one hand, she was thrilled with the idea of having some respite care. On the other hand, she was fairly sure that Beverly was right. Caroline was navigating an impossible course. And yet she knew she had to give it her best shot.
She peeked in on her mother, relieved to see that she was still sleeping. This morning’s activity had really worn her out. So much so that Caroline wished she could set up some kind of physical exercise program on a daily basis. Not that her mom would cooperate. Her favorite pastime was to sit in her recliner and stare blankly at the TV, yet even that seemed to be losing its appeal of late.
Caroline had already tried various activities to engage her mother’s mind—simple card games, coloring books, picture books. She’d even brought Play-Doh home from the store once. It seemed to work until her mom tried to eat some and got so angry that she wouldn’t even touch it after that. Food was a challenge too. Often Caroline would discover something her mom enjoyed, like applesauce, flavored yogurt, or even Ritz crackers. Caroline would stock up on this item, but the next thing she knew, her mom would change the rules and refuse to even look at it. Caroline had never had children, but this seemed to her a bit like what parenting a toddler must feel like. Except that you could count on a toddler outgrowing tantrums and potty training.
Caroline paced back and forth in the kitchen. She felt trapped. Seriously trapped. Until her conversation with Beverly, Caroline had believed she could come and go as needed. Oh, sure, her mom might make a mess while she was gone. Or go outside and yell obscenities at the neighbors. Or even wander down the street. But Caroline hadn’t been terribly worried. After all, her mother had been living on her own and doing these things for some time already.
But now Caroline felt as if everything and anything her mother did was Caroline’s personal responsibility. If her mother ran off or fell down or robbed a convenience store, Caroline would be held accountable. After all, Caroline did have guardianship now. That meant full responsibility. Maybe Beverly was right … it was too much to expect of one person. For the second time today, Caroline prayed for help, asking God to please lead her through this messy maze of her mother’s mental illness.
Just as she murmured, “Amen,” Caroline heard a whimpering sound coming from her mom’s room. She hurried down the hallway in time to find her mother standing next to her bed with her pink nightgown pulled up to her waist and her last pair of Depends hanging down around her ankles in an ugly mess.
Caroline let out an involuntary groan. Of all parts of caring for her mother, the toileting challenge was by far the worst. It had only been the last couple of weeks that her mom seemed to give up using the toilet altogether. Before that, Caroline faced only the occasional accident. Now it seemed to be an accident if Ruby made it to the bathroom on time.
“Oh-oh-oh,” her mom was saying in a childish voice. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and she was sobbing.
“It’s okay,” Caroline said soothingly. “Just stay there while I get something to clean this up.”
“Hurts,” her mom whined loudly. “It hurts.”
Caroline frowned. “Just don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.” Now she made a dash for the kitchen, grabbing the lifesaving “cleanup kit” she’d put together a few days ago: moist baby wipes, toilet paper, paper towels, disinfectant spray, and plastic bags all tucked into a reusable Safeway shopping bag. The only thing missing was a fresh Depends, and she hoped her mom wouldn’t need it right away.
Caroline dashed back to the bedroom to find that her mom had sat back down on the bed, which meant Caroline would now need to change and wash the sheets—for the second time today.
“Oh, Mom,” she said in disappointment. “I asked you not to move. Couldn’t you have just waited a—”
Her mom let out a loud howl. “Quiet, Mom,” Caroline said sternly. She bent down to begin attacking the horrid mess, which stank so badly Caroline felt her gag reflex kicking in.
Her mom let out another howl, even louder this time. “Hurts! Hurts!”
Caroline had the diaper and floor nearly cleaned up and was about to lose her patience or her lunch … or maybe both. “Mom!” she snapped. “Be quiet. A dirty diaper never hurt anyone.” Caroline sprayed some disinfectant on the soiled floor, wiping it clean and depositing the gross items into the plastic bag, then setting it aside.
Her mom was still crying. But now she was pointing at her feet. “Hurts! Hurts!” she cried like a little child who had stubbed her toe. Then Caroline remembered her mom’s bare feet and how bad they had looked on the boat earlier today.
“Oh, your feet? Do they hurt?”
Ruby nodded with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Hurts! Hurts!”
Caroline gently examined one of her mom’s feet and cringed. “Oh, Mom,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. Your feet must really hurt.”
Her mother nodded again but seemed slightly relieved that Caroline understood.
“Stay here,” Caroline said. “I’ll get something to help your feet, okay?”
“Okay,” she muttered.
Leaving her mom still sitting in a stinky nightgown and soiled bed, Caroline went off in search of something to soak her mom’s feet in. She quickly gathered a tub of warm soapy water, a couple of towels, and a kitchen chair, and before long her mother was settled on the chair next to her bed with a makeshift towel diaper folded beneath her bottom. After some coaxing from Caroline, her mother had consented to soak her feet in the tub. Caroline opened the window to let some fresh air into the room, stripped the dirty sheets from the bed and rushed them directly to the washing machine, then returned with a fresh can of grapefruit-scented aerosol and clean sh
eets.
It was close to five by the time Caroline had her mom’s feet cleaned up and bandaged. Despite her mom’s complaints, she carefully slipped a pair of bed socks over the bandages to hold them in place; then, because her mom couldn’t bear to walk, Caroline helped her back into the fresh-smelling bed. Judging by her mom’s expression, she appreciated it. And that was something. Caroline’s only problem now was that a bath towel could not take the place of an adult diaper, and Caroline did not want to change the sheets one more time today.
She gave her mom a kiddie-sized box of Cranapple juice, her drink of choice this week (although that could change at any moment), then got her phone out. She already knew the drugstore wouldn’t deliver and the grocery store would only if she placed her order hours ahead. Tempted as she was, she was not going to ask her young friend and errand boy, Jacob, to go fetch a big green box of Depends and risk being seen by friends. That was above and beyond what any twelve-year-old boy should be expected to do. So that left her own friends. Because Janie lived closest, Caroline called her first.
“Oh, Caroline, I’d be happy to do a favor for you,” Janie said pleasantly. “Except that right now I’m in the middle of the bay.”
“The middle of the bay?” Caroline imagined Janie having plunged over the side of a fishing boat. “What on earth happened?”
Janie laughed. “Sorry to be unclear. I’m out on the bay with Victor. He just got the sweetest little sailboat this morning, and he invited me to try it out. I haven’t sailed in years, but it’s all coming back to me. Victor says to tell you hello.”
“Tell him hi for me too.”
“Is it something I can help you with when we’re done? We’ll probably only be out a couple more hours. Sunset’s around seven thirty.”
Caroline imagined sunset on a sailboat on the bay and controlled the urge to howl like her mom had been doing earlier. “Thanks anyway, Janie. I’ll take care of it before that.”
Hometown Ties Page 5