Never Say Never

Never say never. That is one thing I know for sure. Surely the word never is a lesson waiting to be taught, for me at least. Things I knew would never happen to me... well, you know what comes next- have. It is as though it is girl’s night out on a nearby cloud and those assembled there sip their glasses of wine as they sit watching life's players down below. They look at me. “Okay girls, here is another Chick who thinks it will never happen to her. Looks like it’s time to teach her a thing or two.” They toast to their brilliance as I, on earth, begin to eat humble pie or to experience the very thing I knew I never would. No, not me. It seems that it’s been a repetitive occurrence these past few years. Is this adulthood? I must wonder, hoping not.

For most of my married life I have been all too aware that as my husband and I are growing older, our parents are too. Over and over I proclaimed my willingness to care for those I loved: my mother and father, Jeff’s father, even my step mother and step father. I always stopped my allusions of grandeur with Jeff’s mother, Susan. It wasn’t as though I didn’t love or respect her. I did. I suppose it was more her overpowering persona as she ruled the roost that blew away any of my own confidence that any sort of assistance offered on her behalf would in any way be accepted, let alone appreciated. With that clear, I was able to easily say “never”. I could care for all the rest, but never for Susan. Even if I were one day inclined to do so, surely her controlling dominance would make it impossible.

Ironically, that is where I am right now, lost in my own Never Never Land. That’s right. My days are now spent mostly caring for Susan. She has Alzheimer’s. Life these days seems to resemble a roller coaster neatly seated with a variety of emotions as it whips it's way up and down the valleys and peaks of each day. The lashings of emotions are not just mine, but are Susan’s as well. Honestly, I am not sure where to draw the line as to where Alzheimer's stops and where it is simply just her being Susan. No matter the cause, each day is bound to reveal emotion driven behavior from every realm of the emotional spectrum. Today for example, was touched by confusion, happiness, excitement,nervousness and anger; which incidentally, is usually the case.

We began with Susan’s morning cheer interjected into my self willed grumpiness. I was already impatient at the barrage of questions and answers we were about to go through. A daily re-orienting, if you will. “Did you see Jeff? Where’s Phillip? Can we go to the bank? Is my new car ready for me to pick up? If the nurse calls tell her I can’t shower today because I don’t feel well. Can I be in charge of my own medicine?” I politely answer the same questions the first two times they are asked each day. “Jeff lives here. This is his house. You see him every day. Phillip lives in Florida. You don’t have a driver’s license and there is no new car. We use mine. I drive. You will shower tomorrow. No nurse comes today.” Eventually I don’t want to explain this anymore.

Later, at the garden center we cheerfully oohed and aahed over flowers and pots as we planned and plotted our spring garden. It has to be Susan’s green thumb and her love of flowering plants that put her in her element in a plant nursery. There she had a mission and seemed to be excited by all the blooms and colors that abound. She seemed like her old self and our conversations were nearly normal.

Our next stop, the department store, produced no new pants for Susan as I had hoped, but was overflowing with giggles and laughter because of Susan’s gassy butt noises and her silly reaction to them. She had me laughing so hard that I nearly wet my pants. There we stood with legs crossed and bending over trying to contain our silliness as we searched the accessory department for just the right scarf for Susan. After trying on many pinks and blues she finally settled on a green scarf with soft fabric that she hoped would keep her neck warm as the spring breeze was in the air. With Susan’s neck now draped in pretty green and miniature pink roses at her side we headed for home.

Home is where Susan became slightly confused and fidgety as the evening dimness rolled into an already overcast sky. Susan doesn't do well with nights and darkness. The threat of evening automatically flips on Susan’s shut down-turn off-lock up mode as though she is head security guard over a top secret building. Our unusually lovely day ended with Susan nervously pacing between windows and doors like a dog waiting to be let out. Only Susan doesn’t want out. She doesn’t want to see out and she doesn’t even seem to want to know that the outside exists. Not tonight; not any night. But I do. I need to know the rest of the world is out there. I need to know that I am not sentenced to life in doors with Susan. I want to know that this home will again see the sunshine in its windows. That I will run freely through life’s meadows without Susan pulling me back and locking me in. I won’t say that I would never want a day like today again. It was one of the better ones; besides I know better than to say never.