One Moment at a Time

I had an aunt with Alzheimer's. My uncle cared for her until her death. He would tell us how she would wander, looking to escape the man "holding her hostage"; she would try to attack him, believing him to be an intruder in her home. I have often thanked God that this has not been the case with my mother; but as she was ranting and raving the other day, my practical German began to attempt to formulate a plan. How am I going to keep her safe? How am I going to be able to go to work? How bad is this going to get? Do we need to call someone?

Well, praise God, Mom's ranting and raving was just that. She was agitated, but not violent; she was restless, but not looking to make a break for it. The entire episode left me with three things, however:

1. We got a heads-up. God gave us a glimpse at what could, in time, become a new normal. We have ample opportunity to put a plan in place -- a way to keep her secure and safe; maybe even a plan to curtail further meltdowns; some time to consult professionals and others who have experienced this, and learn from them.

2. Mom is alive! Winter months can be particularly difficult: reduced daylight, regulating the temperature in the house without suffocating those of us under the age of 80, the challenge of getting outside and getting around on icy territory. But even through Mom's temper tantrum I was praising God -- she's not just sitting in front of the TV like some vegetable; she has opinions, likes and dislikes, and she was making them clearly known to us; she still has within her the desire to be an adult, to choose what she wants!

3. We walk this out one moment at a time. This was new for us -- all of us. And, with Mom's condition, there is no way of predicting when, where, or if. Which, if you think about it, is a blessing. It's usually when we become self-assured we tend to cast off the Lord, or our quiet time, or our prayer closet, in favor of doing it ourselves. So, we walk with Him. Each moment. Each step.

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Fast forward to the following day. Mom and I get off to a rocky start. Her room is trashed because she hasn't slept all night. It appears she has tried on everything she owns, and investigated every nook and cranny. There are papers and tissues strewn about, and she is, once again demanding to wear what she wants. I would have had no problem with her choices had they not been short sleeves and dirty pajama pants from the hamper. So. There we were.

"You're getting a shower," I said. I grabbed a fresh set of clothing; and into the bathroom we went.

Mom needs minimal help in the shower, but this day... She needing coaxing to get any part of her under the water; she needed help maneuvering about; she needed constant prompts as to what to do next.

How can I help her? "One moment at a time," was the answer.

I had some quick errands to run, but, in light of our first few hours of the day, was tempted to put them off. "You wanna take a ride?" I asked. I think she was our the door before I was!

Maybe it was the new regiment of vitamins. Maybe it was the brief break in the weather. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or something in the air, or a full moon, or the smell of ribs cooking, or MLK Day -- but it was definitely something. (Or some One!) Less than twenty-four hours after Mom's meltdown, she was regaling me with stories of her youth, reading everything her eyes fell upon as we drove along, and making mental notes about needing toothpaste and a comb. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Her verbal skills were better; the corners of her mouth were drawn up in an almost-smile, rather than the tight, defensive line that is her norm; she engaged easily and laughed with her whole body. Thank You, Father! Thank You, God!

As the day wore on, I tentatively made us something to eat. And brought out some old photos. And discussed some of the things we did to celebrate Christmas over the last few weeks. And brewed some tea. Slowly. Intentionally. I didn't want to do anything that was going to break this gracious gift. I didn't want to disturb the wonderfulness of this blessing.

And I praised God for each minute that passed. One precious moment at a time.