Guilt trip

Recently I returned to Atlanta to visit my wife. I felt like dirt the entire drive home.

I’ve been in Savannah, helping my mother (in her late 70s) care for my 99-year-old grandmother.

Grandmother has had a wonderful life, but now struggles to adapt to home hospice care.

After she fell and broke her hip about two years ago, grandmother suffered a stroke. She almost recovered completely, but dementia robbed her of the remaining quality in her life.

Conversations with her remind me of the movie Memento.

But she does enjoy her Klondike ice cream bar at lunch every day.

Grandmother must use a walker or wheelchair to get around, else she risks falling.

If she breaks her hip or leg again, it will permanently incapacitate her. Almost certainly she would be confined to bed for her few remaining mortal days.

She fell again last Saturday night and cracked her head on the hard ceramic tile of her bathroom.

I’ve mounted safety handrails around most of the bathroom, but she still managed to slip and fall anyway, almost blocking the door so we couldn’t get inside to help.

Fortunately, she broke no bones nor suffered a concussion. The wonderful people from Hospice Savannah came and checked on her condition that same night. We decided against taking her to the emergency room to confirm there was no concussion.

Because of her dementia, grandmother has become restless.

She struggles to stay in bed but still manages to sleep most of the day.

It’s virtually impossible to monitor her whereabouts 24/7, even with two people doing their best to keep an eye on her at all times.

It seems that if you blink twice, she’s wandering around out of bed.

Because of her dementia, grandmother constantly roams the house without assistance, although she’s not strong enough or stable enough physically to walk without help.

I caught her (once again) going to the front door without using her walker, in the middle of the living room. There was no furniture in the vicinity for her to lean on for support.

When I asked where she was going, grandmother got somewhat belligerent. I suspect it was because she couldn’t remember. She’s bored and frustrated, and responded out of character.

I’ve also become frustrated at being unable to keep her from taking unnecessary risks. I lost my temper, raising my voice.

To my grandmother.

I grabbed her walker and rattled it a little before I pushed it in front of her.

I snapped, “If you don’t use the walker, I’m….telling your mother!”

Her reaction was swift. Immediately, she cowed.

I had uttered the magic words.

Of course, my great grandmother has been dead 50+ years.

But grandmother doesn’t remember anymore.

She just remembers how much respect she had for her mother.

I felt like dirt. I had bullied my grandmother to make her obey me, not unlike I’d done with my children as toddlers.

But at least she did use her walker for the rest of that day.

Grandmother, in better days