Looking For The Lights

A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, my mother was admitted to the hospital because of a stroke. While in the hospital, she had two more strokes, and a blood clot went through her heart.  Her strong little heart broke up the clot sending multiple clots into her lungs and, although the clot didn’t get into the brain, her heart sustained damage.  One month ago my mother was this feisty little woman who was somewhat independent in spite of the fact that she has Alzheimer Disease.  For the last two years she thought that this is 1982. She was physically strong but she needed people to remind her not to wear a winter coat in July and to help her understand what time of day it is.  Today, she can’t lift her arms, has limited use of her hands, and is bedridden.  However, her stubborn streak survived and she refuses food or therapy unless I am present.  This means that each day after work I need to be physically present for her unless my sister can come into town to relieve me.   Of course, the additional challenge is the Alzheimer Disease.  She doesn’t understand why she is bedridden, she doesn’t remember the two week hospital stay, and she doesn’t remember that she has spent the last two years in the assisted living. Every time I see her she asks me what happened.  Her doctor told us that unless she can invest in her own recovery she may not get better.  As her guardians, the decisions fall on my sister and I to make decisions for her care but my sister says “Whatever you think is best.”

I have spent the last month splitting my time between my mother’s hospital bed and work.   The time between these two activities leaves me just enough to eat, sleep, and shower.  A few days ago I was sitting next to my mother’s bed listening to the rhythm of the oxygen machine when I felt a feeling of complete defeat overwhelm me.  At that moment, I was grateful for the solitude of that room because I could just close my mind and insulate myself from everything.  I didn’t know if it was the emotional exhaustion, the physical exhaustion, or something more but all I wanted to do was to sit and think of ………..nothing. So, that is exactly what I did.  I sat and refused to think of my list of tasks that exceed the time available to accomplish them. I cleared my head of the hurt, the worry, and the things that I just can’t fix. For an entire hour, all I did was sit and stare out the window watching the city lights.  By the time I was ready to go home I felt better.  As I was preparing to leave, my mother’s caregiver asked me how I am doing.  I responded ‘As good as I can be I guess. There are just some things I can’t fix and this is one of them.’ 

I took a detour on the way home so I could re-energize by just enjoying the night sky and the Christmas lights.  This is the second time in three months that I have been forced to sit helplessly and watch someone who is failing. I have always held firm to the belief that everything happens for a reason but I struggle to find logic in this.   In spite of my own struggle, I know that everything has a purpose even if I don’t understand it.  These events have created too many opportunities for me to sink into a dark place but, like my mother, I am stubborn and refuse to go there. I am investing in my own emotional health by looking for those rays of happiness and I see them everywhere.  The staff that cares for my mother are absolutely wonderful.  They have their own sense of community and I have found friends there.  I have been reminded of how much I appreciate my friends and family plus I have met a few new friends because of this.  I look around me and see many blessings that I had previously taken for granted.  Although I am sad, I am also grateful.

 

We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if that drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something.

Mother Teresa

I had a day to myself recently and decided to paint my living room to occupy my mind. As it turns out, I traded the rhythm of the oxygen machine for the rhythm of a paint roller.  As the paint covered my walls, I decided that everyone has a choice when things look bleak. We can surrender to that dark place or we can look for those small beams of happiness.  These small moments of joy may not seem like much at first, but they are like the Christmas lights on a dark tree.  One light, then another, then another is added until the light turns a dark tree into something magical.   It occurred to me that, whether I accept the darkness or seek the light, whatever is meant to happen will happen anyway regardless of my choice.   So I do the best I can for my mother as I look for those small moments of joy. At the end of each day I make it a point to reflect back on the good moments and I always see more good moments than bad ones.  Just as Christmas lights make a dark tree appear to be something magical, these special moments turn my dark days into something spectacular.  I have a choice between remaining in the darkness and seeking the light.  My choice is to look for the light.