Photo on the left: the entrance to mom's casita is on the right and the windows on the left are Stacy's bedroom. There was a cement slab and nothing but dirt when we moved in. Seven car trunk fulls of brick later mom now has a private sitting area. Two privets are planted in front of the AC unit and hopefully there will soon be a climbing rose on the brick wall.On Sunday I finished the brick work near the front door and planted ornamental grasses in the small patches of soil between 3 pots of bamboo. The entrance finally looks welcoming. I brought the bamboo with me from Pacific Grove.
Mom had a day of confusion and anger yesterday that left me exhausted and in tears. I can't even imagine what it must be like to not know what day it is or how to do things she used to do without even thinking about them, but after spending the entire weekend being very attentive to her only to be told that I ignore her like she doesn't matter . . .
Today's topic was the fact that her driver's license is still good for 3 more years so why wasn't I allowing her to drive. She thought it had expired. Her abilities to make quick decisions no longer exist but that's something she's not aware of. Touchy situation. Mom was always an excellent driver and is proud of that fact. Must be hard to suddenly not drive. I've gone through months at a time when I didn't drive. Fibromyalgia has forced me to stay home and not get behind the wheel of a car for long periods of time. Brain fog is an FM symptom. Mom thought nothing of driving me everywhere when I couldn't, so when I said that it was her turn to be taken care of . . . well, it didn't go over very well just like it hasn't the couple of dozen times she's already broached the driving topic.
Mom's hair grows like it's been fertilized so today we made our monthly trip to get it cut. Then to the used book store; she had informed me yesterday that I no longer take her there. Then to the water district office to pick up a book on how to garden in the desert. Once back home a migraine struck me down! Must be something in the air or stress, whatever, the pain is bad enough to keep from working on postcards I need to get done.
It's occurred to me that Alzheimer's is like replaying the same script over and over. Mom asks the same questions over and over and I supply the same answers I've given before. I wouldn't make a good actress, I don't have the patience to repeat something over and over. A couple of times is enough.
