Now, it’s mom’s turn.  My mom told the caregiver to take the holiday weekend off, so she could have some privacy and the house to herself.  I can’t blame her.  The house is small and it’s been crowded since they had the extra person.

My sister and I called all day on Saturday to see how she was but she didn’t answer the phone.  She did that often and blamed the phone but she wasn’t in the house alone, either.  Finally, after hours of no communication, my sister sent the police to check on her.  Mom was fine.  She was in her room with the TV blaring.

When the cops knocked on her bedroom window, mom shouted, “Go away or I’ll call the cops!”

“Ma’am, we are the cops.  Your daughter called.”

They chatted it up in the living room and not through the bedroom window. I think she welcomed the company.

So, you can see why we didn’t call the cops immediately when she didn’t answer, again.  Finally, Tuesday morning, the caregiver called and said she was going to the rehab center to be with my dad.  My sister and I told her to go to Mom’s house right away and make sure she’s okay.  Thank goodness, the caregiver and the ambulance got there in time.

My mother would never return home, again.

Both parents are either in a rehab or hospital.  I’m exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally.  My poor parents.

I’m lying in my hotel room in Bethesda, MD., watching the clouds change shape through my 9th floor window.  The clouds never stay the same and neither does life.  They are not stagnant and if a person is stagnant, they can’t grow or change.  So, I suppose then, life is like a group of beautiful clouds in the sky, forever changed, forever moving.

Even through the storms, the clouds always seem to find their way back to beautiful, no matter how the dark sky tried to suck the life out of them.  And, to me, that emulates life.  No matter how bad things get or how dark the sky is, sooner or later, everything will be okay.  God, I hope so.

I’m not making any sense, am I?

I flew back home to see my folks at the nursing home and I was told my dad was non-responsive and he hasn’t talked to anyone.  Arrogantly and with confidence, I said “leave it to me.  I’ll get him to talk.”

When I walked into his room, he was being fed by a nurse.  He took one look at me and his eyes got wide.  He didn’t smile or show any facial expressions, but his eyes said it all.  I just started talking and in a high child-like voice, I said  “Hi, Daddy!  Hi Daddy, it’s me.”  Initially, I think he might “seen” my mother again, but eventually, he knew it was me.

That afternoon, I got my dad to talk.  I kept telling him to say he loved me and he finally did.  The aid that was caring for him left the room and quickly returned with two nurses.  No one believed what they saw and happily welcomed my dad back.  He just smiled at everyone.

During my few hours with my dad, we did the “blink once for yes and twice for no” game.  When I asked him if he wanted me to call mom, he smiled and quietly breathed the word “please.”  Because, he suffered a serious fall, his head and brain hurt.  He held the phone away from his ear and every so often, he would space out and look around, aimlessly.  He could’d help it.  That was due to the injury, but then he’d “come back.”

My dad made silly faces and winked at me a few times, while my mom was nagging him, but when he could get a word in, and even when he couldn’t, he would whisper into the mouthpiece, “Yes, dear.”  He said that for 42 years, so why should this day be any different?  She was the love of his life and the one that made his heart beat.

Later, during the visit, our eyes locked and for some reason, I couldn’t turn away.  Remember in the “Lion King” when Simba’s father looks down at him, closes his eyes and nods slowly in agreement?  Well, that was exactly what my father did, only he wasn’t standing above me.

I needed to know what was happening inside his head.  He was a genius.  Dementia had to leave some of his smarts, right?  So, I said, “You know what happening and how much I love you, don’t you?”  He slowly closed his eyes and slowly nodded, one time.  That was all it took.

I wish I took a picture that day of his expression, when I walked into the room. I’m a photographer and images are what I see in my head before I shoot.

 

But, this is one image that has left a special print in my heart.