A Stitch In Time

Have I ever mentioned that Susan crochets? No, I don’t suppose I have since in fact she really hasn’t crocheted in perhaps a decade or more, although reminders of her hobby were always everywhere in her home (when there was a home). I might even suggest that the crocheted handiwork of Susan ostentatiously enveloped the family house creating a sort of constant reminder of Susan’s matriarchal reign. She was Queen and this was her castle, no doubt. Susan’s grandiose style was evidenced in every aspect of her decorating attempts. The intense red carpet met red velvet curtains in a way no other home could have pulled off. Peering gregariously from beneath each panel of velvet hung the crocheted window liners. They hung in half-guarded fashion as they attempted to camouflaged each and every view of the out-of-doors. Meanwhile, beautifully crocheted tablecloths and bed covers merged alongside hand crochet doilies of every sort and color and spanned from one end of the house to the other. Those were the days when Susan was in charge and in an odd way, I’ve missed them.

So, this past year and a half, in our desire to help Susan rediscover her old self, it was natural to find ourselves half-joking about the prospect of her crocheting again. Several times we discussed going to our local hobby store and purchasing the supplies. The thought disinterested her. I suppose she secretly felt as I did: suppose she couldn’t do it? Not knowing for sure that that part of her was lost seemed better then knowing it was. But something inside kept nagging me. I had observed that Susan’s “old memories” seemed natural to her, like when her unsure hands began moving confidently upon finding themselves in familiar territory, like her garden. Digging weeds, watering and feeding plants, cropping dead growth and replanting starts all brought out the once familiar confident Susan. She revisited her old self there in the garden; so I wondered if perhaps the same might be true with her crochet.

Realizing the risk was rather small we eventually just went for it. At the store we contemplated needles and threads for half an hour until finally agreeing on four spools of bright thread and several needles to help her find her way. She seemed a bit unsure of her needle size, but giving her choices to hold and mess with seemed the best way to kick-start her brain. Displayed in a pretty basket, I put them beside her chair again and again the following days as she pushed them away repeatedly. Day after day I watched and hoped that she might just pick them up and find her groove. She didn’t. Days past with no attempts to crochet.

No attempts, that is, until tonight when Kiara came to spend the afternoon with us. I think it was Kiara’s desire to connect with her grandmother, mixed with her admiration for the incredible gift Susan once had to create such beautiful things, that peaked her desire to get Grandma crocheting. I believe these skills and know-how’s should not be lost with any generation who possesses them, rather they should be passed down from generation to generation in every family. Every generation of boys in this family knows how to fish with a cast net. Now lets work on the girls.

And so they began with Kiara encouraging Grandma Susan to teach. It seems the role gave her a sense of importance and purpose; it was obvious that she was comfortable with the whole 'being in charge' thing. For about the next half hour Susan was busy with her hands, but sadly her brain seemed to be struggling. All the while Kiara sat beside her looking on with concern, but continued encouraging and questioning her grandmother. Susan kept on and soon her hands began to catch on and her mouth began to chatter. She was passing on instructions and crochet hints to Kiara. Eventually Kiara and Susan sat side-by-side crocheting while Victoria looked on. Each time I passed by, Susan seemed more confident and Kiara seemed more enthralled. Two threads began to form two circles, Susan’s and Kiara’s, as they crocheted side by side.

In the same way that the thread in her hand was becoming something identifiable, so Susan was transforming into something- stitch by stitch. She was crocheting life force into her very being, causing her to talk faster and more confidently about the next move the needles would make and the patterns that would eventually follow. Suddenly she was telling Kiara a story about crocheting as a young girl in the Philippines and how she would crochet to keep herself from thinking about how hungry she was. Wow! We never knew that.


And when restless Victoria began to wiggle and romp about the crochet circle, Susan was all business, “ Get out of here! We’re crocheting here!” she scolded with importance. She had something to do! Finally- something important to do! Something that others need to look out for and be careful of! Something of her own! Something she knows! She is in charge of her needle and the thread is knotting and moving as she directs it to. Once again, she is the designer and the needle and thread she is holding are her subjects. Kiara and Victoria are her students and her enthralled audience. She sees me snapping pictures of this awe-inspiring moment in her life. This is important stuff! The energy in this room is suddenly light and relieved as Susan breaks through with her hands and her brain. It is obvious that she is as relieved as the rest of us that she can do it! Yes, Susan is crocheting!

Silver Alert!

Another Silver Alert has been issued here in Oklahoma City. In the same way that an Amber Alert is issued for a missing child, so a Silver Alert can be issued for a senior citizen who goes missing. The recent decision to enable this type of alert locally, serves as a reminder to me that we are not alone in caring for a confused senior citizen. In fact, with the increase in the number of people suffering with Alzheimer’s, I am afraid we will only become more familiar with these alerts.

James, the eighty year old gentleman who is missing today is said to be having problems with his memory. His 1995 silver Mercury Marquis is gone as well. My prayers go up for this man and his family this morning. I hope that maybe by the time the sun rises he can be found and returned back to those who care about him. He looks like such a sweet kind man (his picture keeps flashing across my television); the kind of guy I’d like to have for a neighbor.

That’s who they are, you know- these Alzheimer’s people. They are our mothers and fathers, our grandparents, and our kind neighbors. Yes, if statistics hold, they are us- you and me! They are people who are loved (or not loved) and folks with careers, hobbies or ministries that they have believed in and worked hard at. They are Presidents' and actors, housewives and sisters. They are anyone. They are Susan.

They, like Susan, were just busy living life. Probably there were small bouts of confusion or small moments of mixed up words or names. No real reason to be concerned; all of us do that. Next there were likely some missed appointments or getting lost going to familiar places. Finally the symptoms became harder to overlook and ignore and probably caused concern in those close by. Eventually, (as is Susan’s case) if family members are not nearby, they are made aware of the changes through concerned neighbors or co-workers.

For Susan it was her landlord and neighbors who became concerned. She was living alone in an apartment and still drove a car and seemed fairly normal (at a distance). She hid things well. When we would call her to check on her, she generally mentioned that she had been to church and watered her plants, she always asked when we could visit and usually said she was in her bedroom watching television. We really had no idea exactly how bad things had gotten.

Eventually the family agreed to do an intervention on her behalf. Family members traveled from across the U.S. to accompany Susan to several doctors’ appointments and to make some decisions regarding her living situation. Susan was happy that she was getting so much attention and had no idea what was really going on. Much coaxing was necessary to get her to agree to go to her children’s homes in other states. She even participated in making decisions regarding her possessions that were packed into a U-Haul to accompany her on the journey. But by morning, she woke up to a house with things rearranged and moved about and was sure that she had been robbed. The only thing she had been robbed of that night was her memory.

Looking back, I am not sure how she lived so long by herself when her comprehension level was so sadly diminished. But she did. There was no way to grasp the depravity of her reality until we entered her apartment the day of her departure and began the big clean out. Although certain things weaken my stomach, I started with the refrigerator to allow her own children the freedom to sort the more important items and paperwork. Let me just say this: stench, rot, bugs, and many loads of unidentifiable packaged stuff (for lack of a more suitable word) later, and several hours until I could turn my attention to the old canned food and saved plastic containers and jars crammed in every spare inch of this small kitchen. As I yanked oddities from their uneasy places in the kitchen I could hear the other family members discussing their findings in the rest of the house. Things like overdue bills, urine on floors, and unexplainable loads of junk. We all held back tears. The thought of her living under these conditions was practically unbearable. There was no question that we were doing the right thing, even if Susan found it hard to understand.

The truth is that everything about Alzheimer’s is hard to understand, but it is not all bad. Susan now lives in a safe clean home where she is loved, eats good healthy food, and takes her medicines on time. Her medicines probably have gone a long way helping her retain a portion of her memory and keeping her from becoming too angry, aggressive or depressed. It is not ideal for any of us, but you learn to do the best you can with what you have. We have a mother with Alzheimer’s.


(Note: The pictures on this blog were taken last year when the family gathered for the intervention with Susan.)



P.S. Just as the sun was rising in the morning sky, they announced that Mr. James was found and is safely home with his family. Thank you God.

Jury Duty

So here I am sitting in the Oklahoma County Court House this Monday morning. This is my call to duty as a juror. I find myself in a large courtroom situated on the fifth floor of this historic down town building. All four hundred of us packed side by side as we listen to courtroom roll calls summoning us to another room for service. Each roll call thins the population in this room where I find myself seated in the far back left side. At the front right a television is playing, The Price is Right, while just in front of the judges stand a table is situated and set up with the game of dominos. Four jurors are passing their time there as if this were some sort of a game room. Seriously. But then again, why not? It may be a better way of passing the time than the books I have stashed in my bag in hopes of finally catching up on them. The unexpected sound of the dotted blocks clanging from the player’s hands to the table beneath them and an occasional ding of one dropping to the floor, breaks the low murmur of whispers. The muffled voices of jurors making small talk with one another and the slightly louder voices of an occasional question asked to a court clerk envelops the room in an almost hum.

My summons to jury duty arrived in the mail about a week before Katrina’s wedding. After glancing at it I set it aside to be forgotten until one day last week. I figured getting out of my duty might be easy due to Susan's dependence on me for her care and safety! But my son encouraged me to sit on a jury and be the one who really looks at both sides. I wanted to. The thought of finding some justice for someone out there in my community appealed to me. That is, until my caretaker substitutes fell through after it was too late to be properly withdrawn. Consequently, my attempt to do the right thing has put the entire family on the spot. Going to serve has forced someone else to come and serve. Everybody has better things they’d like to be doing. So do I.

So, I left the house before daylight this morning, leaving Susan soundly asleep and secured behind the grotto doors on her side of the house. After cancelling today’s shower, I left her prepared oatmeal in the microwave and the coffee in her pot ready for someone to flip the switch on. Kiara will head over later this morning to be with Susan. Caring for an Alzheimer’s person really does take teamwork if it is going to work out without totally robbing one person of their life and energy. Problem is, it is looking like this jury duty deal might go on for days.

The price may be right here in the court today. I hope so. But more often than not these days I find myself wondering if the price ever really is right. Is the price really right for my family? What about for Susan? And what about for so many walking these halls and sitting in these court hearings on this day- or the next?

Wine and Whine

Here I lie crumpled in a corner of my bedroom with a glass of red wine in one hand and the other hand pounding on the keys of my computer. Who else wants to hear me wine- I mean whine. I’m not sitting here hoping to relax and wind down as I might on another evening, no- not so fast! My hope is solely to calm my nerves and chill- just chill! Am I asking too much? If I can achieve that goal then perhaps I can proceed to the other. I’m guessing you want to know why I’m shaking and why I am having a glass of wine on a Tuesday evening at barely six-thirty PM. And if I am wrong, that is, if you aren’t wondering or perhaps don’t care-oops.

Susan. Need I say more?

Jeff is on a business trip (lucky him) and I am here, Susan and me. She woke up confused. She had lost her keys between going to bed and waking up. And of course, it wasn’t her fault- it was someone else’s. But there is no one else, I explained in vain. I attempted a normal day, in spite of Susan’s key crisis. We went to get groceries, prepared meals, and had the usual visit from the nurse. Lawanda, Susan’s nurse, was amused by Susan’s feisty spirit. The language she heard today was certainly not what she was expecting on her routine visit, I am sure. She documented Susan’s attempts to ‘go home’ and her restlessness. Upon leaving she bid me good luck and expressed her concerns about the rest of my day.

But I was optimistic. We would go ahead with our plans to accompany Kiara to look at fabric for curtains for my new guest room. Something to look forward to- yes! Susan, on the other hand, thought our outing was about getting her a new key made- for her red vehicle. Getting to Kiara’s and getting to the store with Kiara was all but peaceful; with Susan in the back directing us to the dealership and complaining when we didn’t obey her orders.



Obviously, if I had the ability to forsee the future I wouldn’t have attempted the trip. Trust me on this one. If I had known that Susan would scream and yell and abuse and accuse both Kiara and I all over the store in an aggressive psychotic manner like I have never before witnessed, yup, believe me- the trip would have been cancelled. But, I didn’t have that foresight and therefore was caught awkwardly defending Kiara and myself in public before a rather concerned audience.

Oh no, don’t get me wrong- they were not sympathetic for the plight of Kiara or myself. No, they eyeballed Kiara and I with judgment and suspicion while sweet little victimized Susan yelled about how we had stolen her car that she had just bought! I begged her to quiet down and told her she was creating a spectacle. All the while she screamed back, so sure she was right, “Come on now, let’s go! Give me my car back! I will not be quiet! You are just ashamed because you are hiding my car from me. What kind of a human being are you? Stealing my car and my keys right after I bought it?….”

If you listen closely, surely you can hear me begging , “Lower your voice, Susan! Stop it! You are imagining all of this!” And when she kept coming at me like a rabid bulldog, I resorted to, “You are seventy- three years old, Susan! You don’t have a driver’s license! There is no red car! You must stop!” My attempt at firmness only made her firmer- delusionally firmer!

Lest I dare forget, let me give a 'shout out' to all our on-lookers who circled and hovered and eyeballed Kiara and I, as they seemed to be trying to decipher if and when to intervene on Susan’s behalf. I mean, seriously, her frail little self was accusing us of stealing her car in the parking lot. What were they supposed to think? If it were myself in their shopping shoes, I too would want to ensure the protection of this vulnerable upset elderly woman. So kudos to the strangers!

But hey! What about Kiara and myself!?! Who would protect us? And by the way, in case you are wondering, the answer is YES. Yes, security was called before it was all over with. Kiara was forced to escort Susan to the car while I attempted an explanation of Susan’s condition to skeptical store employees.

In the parking lot, I found Kiara attempting to coax Susan into my suburban and an equally upset Susan refusing to budge. After all, she knew she had driven her new red car there and that is what she(damn sure!!) was going to leave in! I wanted her to leave in her own vehicle too- trust me on this one.

After a long fight, we drove home with Susan kicking up a fuss in the back seat. After dropping Kiara back off at her home, Susan and I continued the conflicted trip on to our own home. That is where I fed her again while attempting to ignore her continued accusations about me stealing her purse and keys along with other such verbal abuses involving my character and integrity. Finally it was more then enough and Susan found herself deposited into her area of the house. As for me- well, you know where I am now.

Moving Day

All night long I could hear Susan moving about in her side of the house. In fact, Jeff even had a conversation with her through the grotto doors at four AM. She insisted he let her out so she could ready the bottles for the two babies. Again, she would hear none of the truth. How silly of Jeff to say she was seventy-three; she knew she was early forties, besides, she had two babies to prove it.

In fact, she had been sent to her room the night before to protect her from herself and the incessant attempts at finding the hungry babies. She wouldn’t quit asking for milk and trying to find the stairs ‘up’ to where the babies were (in Susan’s world.) Our house doesn’t have an upstairs- the rest of us know that. She spent the entire rest of the night busy with whatever her life needed to be busy about in the middle of the night. “Probably those babies, the potty, or her television.” I told myself, as I waivered in and out of sleep between the crashes and plops and plunks that echoed down the hallway.


In the morning I made our usual healthy warm oatmeal, whole grain toast and two pots of coffee. Eventually I went, key in hand, to entice Susan out of her warm bed and to the breakfast table. I was surprised when she passed me in the hall with an armload of her personal belongings and a large smile across her face. “Uh, where are you going with that stuff?” I couldn’t imagine. “Right down here.” She said in a voice that thought I should already know the answer, but hinted that I probably didn’t want to know. “Right down where?” I dreaded the reply, whatever it was. That is when I spotted the ray of light streaming the morning sun down the hallway. Other than Susan’s door, which is the first one to the left, all other doors are on lockdown since Susan moved it. We all know why.

I followed the stream of light to the room at the end of the hall where I was welcomed with a wide open door. Susan was explaining something about moving into the vacant apartment when I got a load of the room. This 'guest' room has been inhibited on and off by my son and his wife for the past year or two. What caught my eye was not Kyle's personal effects, not the furniture belonging to this room, rather Susan's belongings intwined and intermixed, like an out of control ivy vine spreading out and taking over. All across the headboard was a line of
statues, crosses, flowers and so on, plus sitting about the room were shoe boxes, baskets of personal care items, pillows, blankets, jewelry boxes and everything else Susan felt were important enough to move to her new location! I was shocked and don’t even remember what I said to her next, although I do remember hurrying down the hall to see what was going on in her real room. Other than the large furniture items and her television still hanging on the wall, the room was mostly empty!

How to handle most situations that Susan presents around here, generally comes to me instinctively, but not this time. Indeed, I must have even wondered out loud what I was supposed to do. Yup, this one stumped me! I think I just walked around shaking my head in disbelief at all the time and energy she had put into this “big move.”
And the thought of her actually picking the door lock worried me.

Eventually I remember quizzing her about what in the world she was thinking, moving her stuff into a room that wasn’t hers -and what did she want me to do with this room since she wasn’t going to be allowed to occupy both. She suddenly decided it was my mother’s fault! After all, it was all because my mother wanted to move in to her room that caused her to move out!

She acted as though it was the only respectable thing to do. Sorry Susan, this one won’t work on me, but I admit, it is getting to me. You see, I know that my mother already has a mansion in heaven and she doesn’t need this earthly room. I hope for you too Susan, a mansion up there one day. For now though- your own room will have to do, girl.