Moma: Hey Lady! How do I get in touch with Thelma?
Me: Aunt Thelma?
Moma: my sister, Thelma!
Me: You will have to go to Heaven to talk with her
Moma: Thelma's dead?
Me: (I nod)
Moma: I can't believe it
Me: Believe it
She turned and left the room, and said, "I got some thinking to do".

As I stand over Little Precious on her bedside commode, grunting and wiping herself, I look all over the room at the family pictures....and I begin to talk to them. Yes, I will admit, crazy as it sounds, it is my new behavior. I cannot stand the total stupidity of the things I have been reduced to doing, so I have a conversation with all the deceased relatives' pictures. As she drags the toilet paper from back to front (gag), I look at my beautiful mother and say, "Mother, COME GET HER!" While she is peeing on her hand as she continues to wipe (with no knowledge of it), I look at my father...."Daddy, look at your mother! This is so disgusting. Please come and get her." I call on Aunt Thelma, Grandma Payne, and Popaw. "Seriously, y'all....(I begin), this is no longer cute. She is nasty and she has no clue what she is doing......HELP ME!" She is busy wiping herself and tossing the soiled tissue in the floor. She grunts and sighs......I am looking around the room for advocates in Heaven to go to the Father on my behalf. It is no longer for selfish reasons (See, I have grown a little through this). I know that my prissy little Moma would absolutely DIE if she were in her right mind and could see herself. I hate that she calls me "Lady" and tonight it was "Womern". I hate that she doesn't know where she lives or who she lives with. I do not enjoy her refusing to eat or take medicine. I think even in her muddled state, she is giving up. I hate it! I want to sit on her porch, count doodlebugs, drink Dr. Pepper, and laugh and laugh.......I miss her.
This morning, the Lord and I had a serious discussion about her. He knows my heart. He knows her heart. He promised it won't be long. (Of course His time table is not like mine, so I'm now asking for a date.....He is shaking his head and sighing.....) She told me at supper tonight that she was dying. I asked her when (it couldn't hurt). She said, "Tonight". We'll see........

Woes

You know, I have to remind myself that I started this blog so that it can be a help to someone who might be just beginning this journey or facing the potential of it. I get caught up in the funny things and totally forget the "ughs" and the "sighs..." and the frustrations of being a daily caregiver. I was faced with one of the woes this morning. I was so proud that I was out of bed and busy by 6am. I was actually going to be ON TIME for work. But, the phone rang......and my sitter shared with me that she was not feeling up to par and could I call the sub sitter.....and blah blah blah. GRRRRRRR.....................not mad at her, just that pent up frustration of "I will never be on time for work, much less early!" and "I cannot win for freaking losing!" Needless to say, I called and woke up the sub sitter who graciously agreed to come. She, of course, could not be there by 7am when I need to leave, so I had to call the assistant principal (who is also gracious about my tardies) and report that once again, I would be late. So, I am saying all this to say......you cannot plan on anything ever working to your advantage....EVER.

Barely existing

Moma is just barely in existence. She hardly eats a morsel. She refuses to take her medicine. She lays her head on the table. She wants to sleep 98% of the time. It just makes you question why in the world God is leaving her here. She is lost most of the time; calls me "Lady". She asks for her momma daily..... DAILY! So sad! But tonight......little precious called Mr. Payne "Pretty Boy" at the supper table. It was priceless.

Short post

I only have one thought at present. Poopy diapers are becoming the norm.....that is all. Oh and how much stupider can my life become?

Saturday Morning Circus

Woke up at 7ish because I knew I'd have to have Moma fed before I left 12 year old Erin in charge. Had plans to be at "clean up day" at the museum. We made arrangements for women prisoners to come help us clean up after the renovations. Decided to get myself ready first. Then got her breakfast going, and went to wake her. I told her that we needed to change her diaper first. She argued, I won. Diaper was full of #2.....gag......gag....gag. Okay, I didn't mind this when it was my children, but they were my children! This was just going to be nasty. I gloved up, then proceeded to clean her up. Surprise surprise, she had doodoo on her gown too. Oh! and her bed? it was soaked. YES! This was what I wanted to wake up to. Seriously, not sure how much more I can handle. Since then, we have changed her bed 2 more times, her clothes 2 more times, and she is still a high risk of doing it again.....it's only 6:36. Sigh....................................................

The Grumpy Dwarf

Moma is feeling a little bit better. This crud has just about killed all of us (a great big thanks to my sister Sherry). Dr. Robinson did send Moma out an antibiotic Friday, so she feels just enough better to be a serious grouch. She sits at the table and whines, "God help me! Help me Lord". I try to encourage her by saying that she will feel better if she eats, takes her medicine, etc. But her favorite part of being sick is the performance. She will cough cough cough (never covering her mouth), and then whine and say, "I feel so bad". (Yes, I feel your pain, I have the same thing you do) She will just sit and holler out, and moan, and whine.....when I have heard all I can take, I scoop her up and send her to bed. Between us being sick, the washer going out and the laundry piling up, I HAVE HAD IT! I feel like Snow White did when she entered that nasty little cottage. I want it all cleaned up, but unlike Snow White, I haven't the energy!