Our Adventure called Life

A diagnosis didn't help, it just sort-of explained things. But an explanation doesn't take away the heartache. I thought I'd clean up her cookbook today. It was an item I had asked dad for a year or so ago. Mom was no longer cooking and there were so many things she used to make that I wanted to make for my family. Her cookbook must have been something she looked through frequently even as her brain was no longer working the way it should. The recipes were no longer in order based on appitizers and meats, but haphazardly strewn throughout the book. There were multiple handwritten recipes, but with items omitted or duplicated (I only realized this when trying to bake one of her pies and the ingrediants were not correct. I wanted this book to be in order, and toss the recipe cards out that were incorrect. As I opened the book and saw dinners and desserts that she frequently made, the realization of what my children and I have lost, hit me like a freight train. I mis

My father wasn't released the following day as I had hoped. He wasn't released the day after that either. We ended up keeping my mother from Saturday to Saturday. At first I had taken a couple days off work to stay with her. I was concerned what would happen if I left her alone. By the third day, I had to return to my job. I covered the house in notes saying "Don't Leave, Dad is coming to get you." I taped "Stay Here" notes on the doors and put granola bars out on the counter in the event she became hungry. We relocated some of our security cameras inside the house so I could view her while I was at work 4 minutes away. I had learned over the weekend that something as simple as making a peanut butter sandwich was more than she could process. As I greeted her and told her I was there to make her lunch, she told me she was starving and hadn't eaten all day. I knew she had but must have forgotten, because I had fed her breakfast that mornin

It was two years ago this past weekend. Our town was gearing up for the annual Autumnfest and the library board I sit on was working on a parade float at our house that Saturday. The morning was busy as Paisley had a football game and Lila had softball. We cheered on our children and their teams and headed home in anticipation of the float crew showing up. As I was picking up laundry and dishes, my dad called. During this time, we had a strained relationship due to years of mental health issues. I hadn't seen him or my mother in quite some time, and seeing his name show up on my screen caused a sickening feeling I couldn't explain. I answered and he asked if I could come pick up mom. He had been admitted to the hospital and mom was sitting alone in the emergency room. I was in my car driving east before I could even ask him if he was ok. As I drove to the hospital, I silently prayed that I could handle whatever I was walking in to. How did I get to the point that m

There's so many little moments I look back on now and wonder if it was the disease. Years ago my husband started commenting on how bad my mom was at making coffee. I just added more creamer and drank it down, not giving the stale tasting coffee a second thought. She had been making me coffee for years, maybe her pot just needed to be de-calcified or maybe she was cutting back on the amount of beans used? Eventually, it just became easier for me to always take her a Starbucks than have her brew us a pot. There was a strawberry pie incident that left the first (and only) bite of pie sizzling on our tongues. She had been making this pie my entire life, but surely it was a simple ingredient mistake, nothing that I should to be alarmed about. As my grandparents aged and required moving from the town of Santa Claus to the same town as my mother, she became the caregiver for their daily needs. Besides working at the library, she was now taking my grandparents to every doctors ap