Another Shift

With Alzheimer's there is what feels like a cataclysmic shift at each progression of the disease.  Then, a sort of rhythm of coping becomes an uneasy routine that settles into something that can be managed (as undesirable as the managing might be).  Poised between changes is the place I can simulate coping -- it's sort of a "better the devil you know than the one you don't".  And that seems an appropriate comparison since there certainly are devilish fingerprints all over this disease.

Two and a half weeks after receiving notification of my mother's impending expulsion from A.L., "for her own safety and care", I must have lulled myself into thinking it wouldn't really happen, because the call came like a proverbial thunderbolt yesterday.  Two different facilities were recommended and I meticulously copied down the name of each, mechanically thanked the social worker for the information and interrupted her goodbye with a hasty appeal for my mother to be moved into their long term sister facility.  Expressing skepticism, she promised to do so at the next meeting -- which is today.  Meanwhile, I researched her leads -- reading online reviews and scouring the internet for photos.  One is geographically closer, but in a run-down part of town, while the other is a half-hour further for me but closer to my sister.   I will go visit the closest today, but I know what I will see, and I dread it.  She has had four months in a beautiful, clean, private space with compassionate caregivers.  Long-term care is the next big shift, and I don't want it.

This morning I left the gym before I began my workout.  I'm overwhelmed.  My stomach feels uneasy and heavy.  "I'm a little bit depressed," I admitted to myself -- to God -- as I returned from the cold early-morning darkness to the warm house.  

But there is no hiding from the day, just an extra hour now available, and I use it to catch my balance by preparing note cards stuffed with jokes for those dear little girls who just danced to the "Nutcracker".  I order icicle lights to crisscross over the ceiling, an indoor celestial canopy for our reading nook, and now I am pouring out these details -- expelling the words so I can leave some part of this behind me.