The Ugly Quilt

I admit.  The quilt is ugly.  But then again, it wasn't planned to be pretty.  It was planned to help. 

The reason for the ugly quilt, is an ugly reason.  If you follow my younger sister, you've probably seen her posts about my mom.  My mom has Alzheimer's, and it sucks.  I've watched her slowly descend from a woman who had a sharp wit and sense of humor to one who only speaks in pronouns because she can't remember the names of some things.  I have to say that I haven't seen everything.  My older sister has.  She's the one who went to doctor's appointments early on to try and figure out why my mom was getting more and more confused.  She's seen the decline first hand, while I have seen it in spurts. 

I learned a long time ago that how you perceive something depends on how you handle situations.  One of the hardest aspects of this disease is that no matter what my mom says, I have to go with it.  She once asked Jack how Jason was enjoying being a principal.  Jack, the good sport, said that Jason loved it and was doing well (even though he's been gone for 8 years).  That's one of the silver lining in all of this is that she's forgotten Jason died.  She was devastated for everyone when that happened, and never really ever seemed to get to point of not being devastated.  However, now, she thinks he's just busy and that's why he can't come visit.    She still has memories, they're just mixed up.  It's always fun to talk about those.  Like the Thanksgiving we ended up having at home because an ice storm kept us from traveling.  We made it to the store and bought a ham and some other items.  We stayed snug at home and watched the Sandlot.  She remembers that, so that's something.

Don't get me wrong.  There have been times when I've broken down in tears with Kevin because my mom is slowly disappearing.  But then, it's important to not react when she says something so outlandish that you just want to laugh about it.  I've come to the conclusion that one aspect of the disease is that it wipes out every filter we are taught to heed when dealing with people.  Sure we can think it, but saying it would be in bad form.  That filter is taken away, and she often will speak her opinion of something and it's funny.  You can't laugh at any of the outrageous things she says either.  Caroline once mentioned that the soup my mom was eating looked good.  Serious as can be, my mom said, "Oh.  Would you like some shoved up you ****hole?"  Not batting an eye, Caroline said, "No thanks.  Probably wouldn't taste as good."

I choose to cherish those moments.  Or the ones when she says, "Will you do it? That way I'll know you're still here."  She remembers the kids' names.  Sometimes when she gets upset at something, Jack or Caroline will start doing something they used to do when they'd spend time with Nana.  That calms her down or distracts her to the point that she calms down.

The part I hate about all of this is it's hard on EVERYONE.  When Jason died, he was the only who wasn't affected for long.  I know that sounds weird, but all of his loved ones were left to mourn.  It used to overwhelm me with sadness to think that Caroline would be without her dad for 94 years if she lived to be 100, or Jack would live 91 years without Jason.  Or that his parents would have to be without him for 30 years if they lived to be 100.   But Jason is in heaven, and is no longer hurting.  With Alzheimer's everyone suffers.  The loved ones who must watch their parent, sibling, wife/husband, etc slowly disappear.  But it's also difficult for the person with Alzheimer's.  There's a long period where they know what's going on and can do nothing to stop it.  That has to be scary and frustrating.

So I've chosen to enjoy all of the time I have left with her.  Hence the Ugly Quilt.  During one of my visits, I noticed that she always is moving her fingers. My older sister mentioned that Alzheimer's patients like to touch things.  There's this really creepy wedding dress and wig on the floor at her new place that is strictly for touching.  It's creepy, I mean really creepy.  But it helps them. 

So I decided to help my mom.  I went to Joann's fabrics here in town and told one of the sales ladies what I was trying to do.  She enlisted the help of another person and they helped me find fabrics that had different textures and were inexpensive.  They were so happy to help, which made me feel good about what I was doing.  As I cut the pieces and pieced them together, I looked for inspiration in Pandora.  I listened to Rick Nelson, The Everly Brothers, and Paul Anka (some of my mom's favorite artists).  It only took me four days to make it, but it'll help her.  She can touch it and find comfort in it.  It'll also keep her warm (she's always complaining she's cold). 

This gift won't be understood as one.  It won't be "oo" and "awed" over.  But it will bring comfort.  And when she's gone, I'll get it back and be comforted.  Just knowing that I can help her in some way makes me fell less helpless and useless. 

 So here's to my Ugly Quilt.  The best thing I've ever made.