My prayers are never about reversing or even improving my mother’s condition because it is simply too late.She is entering the latter stages of dementia and has already lost so much cognitive ability.
When she is walking the halls, Mummy often appears to have a purpose and a destination in mind. Up close, it is immediately apparent Mummy is locked into a prison from which there is no parole.
While Mummy may not have major physical ailments, there is no doubt that she is suffering terrible mental anguish.
How often I screwed that up with bickering and manipulating.
I wanted a perfect husband who acted how I wanted, and if that didn’t happen, well, butthole wife was in full effect.
Oh, it was still a good marriage and we deeply loved each other, but it was not what it could have been. Days after his funeral, I stared at our dirty clothes basket that sat atop our dryer, knowing his clothes were inside. Before me was the last load of laundry I would ever wash for that sweet man. My heart ached for dirty socks to once more be a part of my days.
There would be no more dirty socks to pick up around the house. A week before I would have rolled my eyes at that basket. Those messes dotted around the house are reminders of God’s gifts to us.
He has allowed me to love again, to wear a second wedding dress, and to be a better wife. I am still a butthole wife, but I am working on edifying the man who provides for my sons and me. My goal is to make him feel respected, important, valued. Recently, I walked into the master bedroom and I stopped, nearly bursting into tears. I get to live with a wonderful man who ditches laundry for people.
I saw a pile of dirty clothes that my new husband had abandoned on the floor. I knew he had hurried to change out of work clothes into comfy clothes so he could spend time with his new family. I happily scooped the treasures into my arms and carried them to the washing machine. “Let us not become weary in doing good.” Galatians 6:9 Read more from Debbie on her blogs at: may also like: Debbie is a mom to 4 boys (Paul, Brad, Andrew, and Joshua, or “PBAnd J” for short).
Even with all the research and focus on Alzheimer’s, there is no cure and not even effective treatment or drugs that will slow the progression of this elusive disease.
Instead of a magical cure, I pray for an end to my mother’s life. Ironically, Mummy, as her family often calls her, is in remarkable physical health.
There was no one to fuss at, negotiate with, or play possum at bedtime (you know, when you pretend you’re asleep to bypass sex).