It’s six o’clock on Sunday. My mother went to bed around midnight last night, and she’s still sleeping. That’s 18 hours.
We tried to wake her up, but she only mumbled something about her whole body aching. We check her periodically to see if she’s still breathing, the way new parents do with their new baby.
I take a shower and wash my hair and make sure I have all her medical information is ready. In case.
What if she sleeps through tonight. Do we take her to the hospital. Do we just keep an eye on her and wait until she wakes up by herself. If she does. What if she doesn’t.
These are questions, but I write them as statements because no one has the answers. It’s one day, one hour at a time.
I spent hours this morning, while she slept, shredding old bill statements, throwing out things I’ll never use and probably no one else will, packing up more books to take to the library, and filling bags of odds and ends for the Salvation Army.
I am letting go.
Is she, also?
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She woke up at 8 pm, weak and disoriented. I got her to take her meds, and then I fed her some Jello. And then some homemade turkey soup with pastina. A cup of her fake coffee and a couple of cookies later, she felt better. It’s now after midnight, and she’s still up and weepy again. My brother is watching tv with her. I need to sleep, because I’m sure that, when she’s finally ready for bed, I’m going to have to lie down with her.
What do they do with dementia patients in nursing homes who won’t go to sleep and want to go home?? That’s not a rhetorical question.