How Can I Mend...

...this broken heart?

Bread pudding? It's one of her favorite things, but her appetite, suppressed by the unhappy feeling she would "die in this place". The process she finds herself in felt unbearable and she expressed it. I respect that a lot. She stated firmly, "I don't want to die here, I have to go home now". Sigh. It reminded me of how proud I was of her at the hospital the other night when she said, "that's my life you're talking about" when she could tell we were talking to the nurse and assumed it was about her. I think we were explaining to the nurse the bed fiasco, but regardless, I was proud of her for speaking up if it made her feel uncomfortable.

People at age 92 can still negotiate, can still weigh the pros and cons and can still change. They may test the waters first, but we just don't give them enough credit. Mother Comfort has been processing the loss of her room mate. The bed her room mate was in is an air bed and it now sits deflated and hollow. It is obvious that Mother Comfort has made her way over to take a look, because she described it's shape and has decided that they were fully immersing her lost mate and bathing her three times a day in the bed. We tried to explain it had been inflated, but decided to let her work it out in her own mind. Well, she was trying, and she was also trying to reconcile all the events of her life that related to this one. The memory of her mother announcing she was going to die, then doing it soon after, inspired her (once again) to announce she was going to die. I explained to her that we really couldn't take her to her home at this time and that we really do believe she will get through this and that, yes, she had announced she was going to die before.

She knew it was true. She wanted to be really sure we wouldn't change our minds and just take her back to her home as is. We would love to, but can't. She also knew it was true that she had announced her imminent death on several occasions when she was feeling blue. She regrouped and prepared to get through to another day.

Paul left to run an errand for her, leaving us girls to chat. After we sat for a bit, she talked about the pros and cons of every situation, stating she realized the benefits of being where she was, but really did have a fear she wouldn't make it out. I asked her if she remembered the other night when Paul had tried to adjust her bed. She didn't remember, so I proceeded to share the story with her. Pretty soon we were both engaged in abandoned laughter. As I finished the story, she said, "I DO remember the pudding!" (see the full story here if you missed it)

She then began chatting about the friend who came by for a visit today and they both had been china painters, so they had enjoyed a good chat about that and she suggested that Paul may be willing to take her to her friend's house to do some china painting. She also filled me in on her nice visit with my mom and sister earlier today. By the time Paul returned, she was relaxed and had decided to eat one of the cookies my mom had baked her for Christmas. Paul returned with another treat which she ate joyfully. Finally, she said, "maybe I just needed sugar!"

The most difficult thing to do, sometimes, is to sit patiently while someone...even a 92 year old someone...vents the frustrations of their current situation while they attempt to adjust to change and fight off the fears of life. Everyone has them, or at least is tempted to have them, those nagging thoughts that something bad will happen before we get to experience something good happening. Too often, we let our feeling turn to guilt and defend ourselves when an elderly parent or relative gets dissatisfied and accusatory. Yet, they are no different than any of us (as long as dementia isn't the driving force) and can still navigate those difficult feelings, but need to feel heard and cared for. Most importantly, to feel that they aren't alone.

Sugar doesn't solve everything...but sugar and laughter have to be high on the list of how to mend a broken heart. Patience and an attentive ear aren't far behind.