Month: September 2017

I began this journey with an absolute: mom will never move to a care home. As months turn to years and mild dementia transforms into moderate stages, I learn there are no absolutes with Alzheimer’s.

Mom is a “tween” – in stage, not age.

She’s in limbo, and I live it with her every day. I stay with her in the home of my childhood, for long periods at a time: cooking, entertaining, watching and waiting. This summer I visited dementia care homes. Mom’s name is on five waiting lists now. Guilt mingles with relief.

When I go home to recharge my batteries, our paid caregiver takes over, a transition as anxiety-ridden for mom as a simple change from orange to apple juice. The caregiver comes every day; this time I’ve added one overnight a week.

Rule #1: Never say never.

Watching the snowball of daily changes roll into an Alzheimer’s avalanche has rocketed me into depression, a place I never wanted to visit.

Although I didn’t need a quiz to confirm it, I took the depression assessment recently released by Google/National Alliance on Mental Illness. I passed with flying colors, like the alcoholism questionnaire I nervously took twenty years ago. Today, I face the same emotions: able to admit, difficult to accept.

Joining the ranks of Prozac Nation terrifies me almost more than the rapid-fire progression of Alzheimer’s and Mom’s upcoming move to a dementia care home.

I’ve chosen a different solution: counseling. My counselor runs a holistic dementia care home, based on the Eden Alternative. She’s energetic and compassionate. Outdoorsy and nurturing. She helps heal my soul.

Depression continues. Yet joy — often more elusive than accessible – returns, if only for an hour.