Driving the Matriarch

Can we go get my perfume?

My mother-in-law wears Nina Ricci "Eau du Temps" perfume; one of my husband's cousins gave the matriarch a bottle over twenty years ago and she has worn the perfume ever since. Her friend used to take her to "a place" to get refills periodically; the friendship has since ended because the lady in question died shortly after she moved away but we never told the matriarch. I am not being facetious about "the place"--neither one of us had a clue what the store was called. However, Sears also sells the perfume but we don't shop there--principles to uphold and all that. My mother-in-law has asked me to take her to "the place" to pick up another bottle of perfume.

Navigating to a "place" to get the perfume.

Well, we used to go this way, then that way and it was beside the post office.

I forgot to mention my girlfriend also emailed to let me know there was a fire-sale on large sized tissues. Hence, we also had to get to the place and from there to Zehrs because, heaven forbid, we miss a sale on large sized tissues. The motto of my life should be "No good deed goes unpunished." Why would I even mention to the matriarch her tissues were once again available? Why would my friend even tell me knowing the probable result? Why? Because we strive to be good and decent people and will one day rot for our efforts.

I drove to the matriarch's old home.

I think we went this way and then that way. Is that the post office over there?

No. Back to the house and the new occupant watching the return of a van that never empties out. Try again.

Okay, go this way and then that way on the next street.

No.

I decide to pull into the nearest convenience store and find out where the post office is located. There are 2, a big one in town and a satellite one in the next neighbourhood. Chances are there is a store beside the big one in town but we go to the satellite one first because the matriarch thinks I am probably wrong about the location of the nearest store. We have to drive to the town.

The matriarch tells me she doesn't shop at Sears either because it is too expensive; I begin to tell her about the labour issues at their Depot south of here and realize I should keep my mouth shut. The only store beside the post office is a drug store.

This is it. This is it.

The matriarch practically jumps out of the car in the way only a 99 year old woman can and we go into the store and buy her perfume. My mother-in-law is absolutely delighted. Now, we can go to Zehrs and buy her tissues.

There are 18 boxes left when we arrive at the grocery store and we put all of them into the cart. Then, my mother-in-law wants to pick up some fruit. I am following her around on an oxymoronic quest when she decides she wants to buy nectarines.

Those are potatoes.

I guide her to the fruit and the matriarch picks 6 nectarines and we wander over to the cash register to pay.

I like eating Canadian fruit. Those peaches weren't that nice.

The nectarines are American and the peaches were Canadian, but it is early in the season yet.

We still buy them and I think as we meander to the car there is no good deed that goes unpunished and people look at my tissue boxes stacked in the cart and I wish someone would just shoot me.

The Other

A morally questionable act was committed against me this week and I have been caught in the whole revenge-vendetta nightmare--not the acts, just the daydreams. It sounds so stupid as I write it down but the matriarch has been lost in the shuffle. I have still taken her for the daily drive and the blood tests and my husband still did lunch but my worry has overwhelmed everything and I have not chatted with the matriarch, made the pleasant and unimportant conversation of the daily drives. She has sat silent as I made the moves but not put the thought into my actions. The thought of my distraction hadn't even crossed my mind until I went grocery shopping today and watched a store clerk be oblivious towards an old woman. She wanted some frozen ice cream cones on sale and he barely acknowledged her presence let alone her request. I think people should always look people in the eye when they speak to one another. It is hard to always acknowledge another person's humanity but the effort must always be made. I helped the old lady because no one else would. When I went to the car with my groceries, I sat there for a bit trying not to cry because I had forgotten the old lady in my house.

She's Usually With Me

It's a given my husband and I have no privacy, our family has no holidays away, everything we do, we must do here and with the matriarch.

She comes with me when I volunteer to help with soccer: delivering pictures, doing errands for the club, taking my children to practice. The matriarch can no longer see the games but will often sit in the car to wait for the children. She enjoys the drive.

She will listen to the children practice piano or guitar--sometimes, she will even sit in the family room and actually be in the room.

She prefers to be with me when I shop but cannot walk for the duration of the trip and I hate to leave her sitting in the car while I do the weekly groceries. So, usually, I do two trips. The first is to take the matriarch to get her potato chips and never ending want of bananas, the second is to do my shopping.

She usually accompanies me on short trips to the library, the video store and the book store. We love Chapters and the matriarch is as familiar to the staff there as we are--which is saying something.

She has been known to help with the costumes for dance recitals and she has listened to my husband and me bicker about politics. I don't think she likes Stephen Harper.

She cannot always eat my children's cooking, especially when they make steak, but she gets that dessert down her, sometimes with the help of additional sugar.

She has been to dance recitals, gymnastic performances, piano recitals, soccer games and 1 basketball game; she could not handle the cold when the children were skiing and only tried once and she couldn't see them on the lake when they took sailing lessons. But she did make an effort.

Sometimes, I gripe (okay, I complain a lot); but, there are times when the matriarch does make an effort. And, it amazes me at 99, she sometimes still does make the effort. But, sometimes, it drives me crazy to no end to always have her here, always around, always present. There is never a break and it can be like having a toddler again, that person always clinging, always there, always needy and me never exactly sure what the matriarch wants. But, at moments like this right now, when the house is quiet and everyone asleep, I think I wouldn't have it any other way.

Family Dynamics in the Chili Sauce Wars

My husband is wondering where to scout out an industrial sized grinder with which to make chili sauce.

I beg your pardon? Who's making chili sauce?

My mother is going to teach your mother how to do it. Here in our kitchen.

I don't think so....Even your mother doesn't eat her own chili sauce.

It'll be good for the children. This way we will know what the chili sauce tastes like.

Why? No one eats it. No one eats it at all. I don't even think the kids want to have the recipe. I don't want it made in my kitchen.

Well, my mother won't go to your mother's house and we need a big grinder anyhow.

For what? I am not making chili sauce after your mother passes and salsa vegetables do not need to be ground up. We don't need it.

It gives my mother something to look forward to...and it won't hurt anyone.

This from the man who won't even take his mother for a drive?

(Scene: 1995, setting: a dark green jeep absent automated windows, characters: my husband and his mother, aged 83. "Do you want the window rolled down?" "Yes." Momentary wait. He gets out of the car, walks to her door, opens it and rolls the window down. They drive for a little bit. "It's too breezy, roll it back up." Stops the car, gets out, goes to her car door again and rolls the window up. Drives. "It's still too stuffy." Procedure repeated again with the window rolled partway down. Short drive occurs. Upon return, my husband vows never to take his mother for a drive again.)

Obviously, I am not going to get into a huge disagreement with my husband about this chili sauce; he wants a grinder, he can go find one. He wants the children to experience making chili sauce they don't eat with their grandmother who can't see and their other grandmother who can't hear--he can be the one to try to make it happen. I'll go to the city for the day, or the bookstore, or the library or the park or anywhere but here. I am not going to eat chili sauce; I am not going to make chili sauce; and I am not going to clean the chili sauce mess up. I have made it clear.

Disadvantages of Aging

Here is an interesting article from the New York Times on the funding of home care for the aged and the disabled:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/21/us/21aging.html?_r=1

I know the information is American but here are some thoughts I had on the issue:

1) My husband and I don't get paid or reimbursed for anything we do for the matriarch, that's okay she's family, but it also means the state does not have to pay for ANY care for her beyond minor medical.

2) It is humiliating for an individual to have to beg for help. Sometimes just knowing a helper has been assigned to do a particular chore makes life, in general, a little bit easier.

3) If this is how the old and infirm are treated at the end of their lives, what does it say about our society? It is how the old, infirm and very young are treated that defines our culture--but I could be wrong...

It seems to me not many people actively care for the old and disabled; I am also of the mindset not many care about the young. It doesn't matter. I can only do what I can and listen to others pontificate about what they would do if they were in the same situation. It saddens me to think people think they are somehow removed from their neighbours and obligations of care. I imagine a future of shining clean houses, with adult toys in the driveway, and children, who've been packed away in institutions for many years, failing to visit and people not knowing their next-door neighbours. I think this article from the Times is very sad; not just its content is sad but the uncomfortable acceptance of its truth as if this is somehow the way it MUST be...

Anything for Sugar

So, I wrote the matriarch was giving up on solid foods; boy, was I wrong. Last night, I made her colcannon for supper, an Irish dish of mashed potato, spinach and raw onion, all mixed together and she loved it. And, she ate apple pie for dessert, and she ate more, with sugar on top, and she ate the pastry, too. Sometimes, I just watch the woman gum the food down and think, "Unbelievable!"

The matriarch must get as depressed as I do, watching her body no longer be the body it once was. There is nothing to say when I take her for drives; she doesn't ask about the children anymore and, for some, reason seems to think my mother is the last of her surviving siblings and is as sad as the matriarch is. My mother is the second oldest of 10, 8 of whom are still alive; the matriarch is the youngest of 14 and the only one still alive. But, at 99, that is hardly surprising. I don't know why the matriarch would think they have death in common. But, she seems to get funny thoughts lately. My mother-in-law is after my 13 year old to get a job at Tim Hortons; it doesn't seem to matter the child is 13 and not the oldest, they should be working. And, my mother-in-law wants to go to the Mandarin for lunch. And, as I write this, my hand periodically dips into the chipits because there is nothing like not being able to do anything to help someone to make things just generally depressing. I don't know how I want to grow old but I certainly don't want to sit around waiting to die.

Age is Relative

If the matriarch could see this guy, I think she would ask him out:

Alone

The matriarch knows her nieces call me to see how she is doing and wonders why they don't call her. I am not a blood relative; I am a family newcomer, relatively speaking; I hardly know them. I think her feelings have been hurt by their silence. And, there is not a thing I can do--I have asked them to call her, I have said she would love to chat. They don't phone. To be fair to my mother-in-law, she doesn't call them either but still...It becomes worse when they do call me and my husband tells his mother and she waits for a call. I have told him not to tell the matriarch her nieces have called but they do so infrequently that I think he forgets or he thinks he is making her day.

It must be terribly hard on the matriarch to be so old and fragile and know what she is missing, to feel the absences. I feel so sorry for her today. Last night, she was unable to eat her dinner; she asked me to make her a salad. My husband long ago suggested I no longer make fresh salads because his mother cannot chew them; so, we have been eating them in secret. My family and I love fresh food but we do not eat it around the matriarch. My mother-in-law asked for a lettuce salad with cucumbers, onions, and grated carrot. The woman has no teeth. I diced it all really, really small and thought she could manage it. I think the matriarch did, too. But she couldn't. And, she got angry and my husband and I got sad. It was terrible to watch her struggle and, then, finally, give up and say she could not eat. I gave her some mashed potatoes with jus from the meat to act as a gravy but she was not happy. The matriarch said she imagined she could not longer eat salads anymore.

Then, she began to pick on the house's lack of air conditioning and my parents' choice not to have central air in their house and how her room was hot. All I could think was I would have to make her soupy meals from now on, for real, and no longer ask the matriarch what she would like. She doesn't like the stairs and wishes her nieces would phone and the sun is too bright in her room in the morning. The woman can no longer make choices about her meals because she is going to have to survive on stews, soups and cereals with an egg, now and again. The matriarch hates eggs. She doesn't want the children to get a dog or a boat and wonders why we don't go on a holiday; she has pointedly told my husband that "we" never go away. I don't even take the children camping anymore.

She is so angry and reminisces about how great her life was in her old house and how she wishes she could go back to her old life. I know she is furious at being so old and still alive. I imagine all kinds of things but have told her we are going to pick raspberries today and will bring her fresh ones for her lunch. The matriarch has gone back to bed mumbling about the sunny weather and I think maybe I should begin to purchase "Ensure" or some other liquid nutrient to make sure she gets enough iron. The matriarch stopped eating meat last month; her June birthday meal caused her some discomfort and the fish this week didn't go down properly. I wish she didn't know these things were happening.

The Cost of Alzheimers

My friend's mother-in-law has Alzheimers; she has been put in a home because the care she requires is too much for my friend's family to manage. Like me, the husband is an only child. Like me, my friend would be the one to do most of the work. Unlike our situation, the husband was quite close to his parents and he is devastated by the illness that has taken his mother. And, she was young; I know age changes as we age but for someone not seventy to be completely taken by Alzheimers, I cannot help but feel the woman was too young.

I saw my friend's husband in a photo quite recently and he looks terrible; the stress of the situation seems to be aging him. There is quite an age difference between my husband and myself and this fellow is 7 years younger than me, but he looks, really looks, older than my husband. As an aside, the longer I am married the more I think I am matching my husband for looks age-wise; if anything, marriage seems to have taken years off him and added them to me..what is it they say about married men being the happiest? Anyhow, stress is a dreadful thing and there is a cost to it; I know in some of my posts the stress of taking care of the matriarch has been quite evident. Reading some of them I have illustrated classic signs of depression, but I don't think it shows in my face. Generally, I still think I am a mostly happy person.

My husband, in our discussion, about this friend's husband made a point about me being responsible for his mother's longevity. If I didn't take care of his mother, she likely would have died by now. It kind of sucks to know I am responsible for my own hell--but, then, there are days when the matriarch is a lot of fun or unintentionally funny and I should write about them more often. I don't know if Alzheimers is ever amusing--and I don't know if institutionalizing people who are, in a sense, already dead helpful. The Inuit used to have a tradition of the old walking off into the dark to be on their own when they knew they could no longer contribute. But I don't think our culture ever admits its age and the old spend an awful lot of time still thinking they are young. Mick Jagger is older than my father, for example--I think that is kind of creepy. But I still don't think institutionalizing people who are, mentally, psychically, spiritually dead beneficial to the family. But I don't know if euthanasia is any better or more fair.

My friend's husband is not yet forty and looks almost seventy. So, there is something wrong somewhere for the cost of care to be so high; it shows in his very being. But then, I look in the mirror and wonder if the situation shows in my face? There is a great deal of sympathy drawn from the moral good; I know, in my heart, my family is doing the right thing by the matriarch. I wonder if my friend's husband will ever feel that way.

Curry and Apple Turnovers

All it takes for the matriarch to be inspired is food. Today, she had for the first time in her long life lamb curry. Four of us sat there and watched her eat it; it was mild, it was very good and the whole situation seemed slightly unbelievable. I had made her a vegetable puree sort of thing to go on mashed potatoes and my middle child had made the curry. The matriarch asked why we were eating something different; I told her I didn't think she would eat lamb or curry or the two combined. Apparently, she will. And, my mother-in-law will also eat apple turnovers made fresh with homemade puff pastry; in fact, she will eat two of them.

The Question of Chili Sauce verses Cuba

My mother took the matriarch out for lunch yesterday and my mother-in-law returned home inspired with the news my mother wants to learn how to make chili sauce. With the matriarch's recipe.

Now, I know my mother and I am sure she is willing to make chili sauce with the matriarch; I am sure they even discussed the opportunity. Even my husband thinks it would be a great idea for the two of them to make a batch of the stuff. He has always loved his mother's chili sauce. Of course, I am about to become the bad guy. Anyone else who has thrown out 50 (FIFTY) jars of anything made by someone who can't see helped along by someone else who really cannot follow directions is welcome to comment.

My mother-in-law's recipe is for 72 jars; she doesn't like to alter it because then you don't get the same taste. My mother will try to follow the mother-in-law's directions and she will get them wrong because, in the twenty years I have known my mother-in-law, she has never got the recipe to taste the way it did when my husband was young. My husband, inspired though he may be, doesn't eat the stuff. He says he will and he plans to and, when push comes to shove, really prefers my oldest child's homemade salsa. I will be stuck throwing it out. I don't like it and neither do my two younger children. You are being such a hard case about this, my dear reader is thinking, she is ninety-nine, where is the harm?

1) We are on septic. I guess I could throw it down the toilet but I don't think it would be a good idea.

2) We pay for additional garbage bags after a 1 bag limit; how much extra garbage could there be? Last time, there were four additional bags because sauce is heavy, not really big, but heavy.

3) Personally, I don't like buying bushels of tomatoes, onions, celery, and corn to throw away. It is food, for one. Secondly, I have to purchase it because my garden produce is already claimed by salsa-making child above who is completely supported by siblings. Did I mention no one in my family actually eats the stuff?

I want to let everyone think it is going to happen; the matriarch can happily anticipate making chili sauce in August. She could die before it actually happens. She is not dead yet I need only say and make the argument it is better to say no now than to disappoint her in the late summer. Despite predictions to the contrary, the matriarch is still alive and well and will make that chili sauce unless I put my foot down.

Whereupon, my family comes to the latest debate about Cuba. Before I begin, two facts must be accepted: we cannot afford to go to Cuba and insurance will not cover the matriarch's trip to Cuba. Yes, I know chances are the matriarch would be fine but, as our luck could have it, it would be a lovely place in which a ninety-nine year old could pass away. An old neighbour of the matriarch's called to discuss someone else's holiday to Cuba; they had a lovely time; the matriarch should go...Why is it people who do not visit feel free to make holiday suggestions to the very old? It is almost sadistic. The matriarch is pondering the suggestion.

My mother-in-law has mild senility. My husband says to treat her like a child and take nothing personally. The woman is still responsible for her own finances; she can still make her own decisions; she is, despite her age, a fully functional adult. Sometimes, the matriarch is like that bad roommate one cannot get rid of and is stuck cleaning up after. I can be the bad guy with chili sauce but someone (her son) is going to have to be clear about Cuba. It is not going to be me.

Disappointment

The matriarch thought she had an appointment with the eye specialist this week, she doesn't. She doesn't have an appointment with her family doctor either. I am taking her to the salon to have her nails done and my husband and I will do lunch with her but there is nothing else on the schedule. The matriarch is disappointed about this. Oh, to be healthy and with no worries and nothing to do...the matriarch is beginning to wonder about the meaning of life. No, that's me. I cannot help but wonder why the matriarch seems so affected; she is still alive and the medical establishment needs to do nothing for a healthy ninety nine year old...she just keeps on living. Like the Energizer Bunny.

On Friday, my husband took me to dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant in a small town south of here; no good deed goes unpunished and he ended up with stomach 'flu. And, the matriarch, in a bit of confusion, thought his absence from the table meant he was at work. "No, he's on holiday and he's in the bedroom in the basement because he is ill."

"Who's going to look after me?"

Do you ever get that "take me for granted" feeling? Not one thing changed in the matriarch's routine. Not one thing. My husband was dying in the basement and the children were staying outside and the matriarch had to do nothing yet seemed to feel the world was ending. Sometimes, it is just so exhausting.

Recipe for Longevity

Sugar.

Sacrifice

Okay, this may be a little controversial but I think it may be something important to write, and it will be awkward: I don't like having the matriarch here but it is the right thing to do.

My home is a prison with her here; we cannot travel, we cannot go out, someone must always be accountable to her presence and her need. For what it is worth, the matriarch has abdicated some of the responsibility for her self and that has made the burden harder but it still must be carried. It is a sacrifice the family is making for a moral good; if my husband and I do not do the hard stuff, how will my children? And, people can observe and pretend we do it with joy in our hearts, but it is hard and difficult and, at times the children resent it, and it would be easier to put her in a home and visit on weekends and not worry about her diet, her feelings and her laundry. Sometimes I think our society has a habit of putting problems away and not thinking about them; hidden, they do not go away.

I am a great follower of Ivan Illych, an American thinker who used to be a priest. He had a tumour he refused to have removed and died with it painfully still on his face. For the longest time, I couldn't see the point of his suffering and, as I cope with the matriarch, it occurs to me I understand now. There is a value to a burden and if we fail to acknowledge the importance of the effort to carry one, we diminish everything. It is a parallel feeling to hard work, that sense of accomplishment that comes when a hard day's work is done. I don't know if many understand the feeling anymore; truly and completely understand what it is do something truly hard and difficult.

There are parallels to the situation of the matriarch and the role of parenting; of course, children are not the burden the matriarch is. However, their roles in our lives have similar responsibilities. At least, they do in my life. It is not enough to feed and clothe these little people; they must be encouraged to grow as responsible adults, to become creative people and to learn the value of hard work, effort, even of practice. Parenting is a different type of prison but it is a subversion of one's individual rights for someone else; a parent must do what is right for the child at the cost of what may be wanted by the adult. I guess that is why I harbour no excuses for people who may choose to drink or smoke or do drugs; there is no excuse for the endangerment of child. Do what you want outside of their presence, but once a child is present, their needs and desires come first. Anyhow, the longer I think about these things, I realize I live in a world where the idea of being imprisoned, of sacrificing my rights as a person, is seen as wrong.

There is a tendency to expect more out of institutions than the effort we put in; I could leave the matriarch in a home to live by the bell and the routines needed by the control of the many. It is just easier to feed a group en masse than to deal with individual wants and desires. Yes, I hate the constant request by the matriarch for more bananas but I still get them for her. Her wants, needs and desires would not change if she was in a home; they would just be silenced. And, I couldn't live with myself if she had to live like that. So, if I must choose to sacrifice myself for her to live more comfortably, so be it. There are worse things to bear...