Home Isn't Always Easy

Sharing my thoughts today for One Word Wednesday over at my website My Sweet Peanut.  This week's word is HOME.

I hear the word HOME and I immediately think "Home is Where the Heart Is".  It's an old-fashioned saying that has stood the test of time.  I have lived a lot of places in my 52 years and I have always felt 'at home'.  I don't long for my childhood home or the town where I grew up.  I feel at home wherever my family is.  They are my heart, so that makes it home.

I cherish home.  I consider myself a homebody.  And I don't think that is a bad thing.  I love to be home.  Even when I was young and my life was more interesting than it is today - I had to find time to be home. 

One year ago, we had a home invasion.  Not the kind you read about on the news where someone gets physically hurt and items are stolen.  Our home invasion was voluntary.  Mom moved in. 

I have never had any doubts that it was the right thing to do.  I completely understand how vulnerable she is.  And how alone she is.  And how financially fragile she is.  Some day I will tell you about how she was robbed blind of all her investments at the time of her second husband's death, but that is for another day.

Today, I want to talk about HOME.  Because in 2 days.  51 hours from now.  Mom is coming home.  And she is in worse shape than she was last summer.  Her short term memory is no longer a 2 minute thing...it is immediate.  She is physically weaker.  She can no longer walk any distance without stopping.  A full cup of coffee is like weight lifting to her now.  She is at a greater risk of falling.  And she is on a new regimen of medications to reduce her risk of stroke, but keep her blood thick enough that she doesn't bleed internally.

As with a lot of Alzheimer's patients, she has lost more of her 'filters'.  She has abandoned manners and modesty.  All logic is gone.  She can look at her legs and ask why we keep her feet there and be 100% serious.  And it's tough to take.

And she is bringing all of that home. 

My home is my home because my husband and my children and my dog are here.  What I mean to say, is this is their home too.  And mom no longer knows them.  She doesn't know me either, not as her daughter, but she knows the essence of me and she trusts me and will listen to me.  She has no idea who my kids are and even less an idea who my husband is.  Couple that with her loss of filter and you end up with some pretty uncomfortable situations.  She says things that are rude.  She asks questions and shouts out demands.  She insults people and swears.  And I know it's not her fault.  I know, but that doesn't keep me from dreading it. 

Insults and swearing and shouting and moaning and talk of bowel movements and anxiety and fear are all coming into our home.  And diapers.  Adult diapers.  And forcing her to eat and drink - because dehydrated mom is terrifying.  And did I mention diapers?

It is peaceful right now.  My son is at football camp.  My daughter is asleep.  My MIL is reading a magazine on the couch.  My husband is getting up and ready.  And Sophie is at my feet, ready to guard our castle if she needs to.  I am writing - my therapy, my joy, my journaling. 

We made it work before.  We will make it work again.  And home will still be home.  My family will still be here.  I feel badly that I can't include mom in my definition of family, but she is no longer my mom.  This woman trapped inside the Alzheimer's isn't anyone I know most of the time.  All the things she taught me are gone.  The manners.  The drive.  The never-quit attitude.  The interest in the world and politics and community.  It's all gone. 

But she is defenseless and she used to be my mom.  And she raised me.  And she nursed me through the measles and chicken pox and 8th grade.  She taught me to work and be honest and stand up for what I believe in.  She made me tough.  She gave me my foundation.  She didn't teach me how to be a good mom, but she taught me how to be a loyal friend.  And she's coming home....