Third Year, Week Two - Lost.....

"Where are the cats?"

I spent much of the last month helping my mom pack up her things so she could move into the apartment next door.  We spent all of yesterday carefully loading all of her things into cars, pickups, and a U-Haul truck.

"Make sure you don't put any weight on the front legs of the piano or they'll break!"

The Mission Team from our church accepted the challenge of helping with this move in exchange for a donation.  And while they all understood why I needed to move my mom, they got front row seats on The Dementia Show.

"Where are the cats?"

I was surprised by how much stuff still WASN'T packed.  Mom's best friend had been steadily loading boxes for me to pre-move for weeks.  Load after load of beloved knickknacks, photographs, and history had already made their way over to mom's new place. 

"Make sure you don't put any weight on the front legs of the piano - they'll break!"

I had planned on simply grabbing my mom and taking her to my place so she wouldn't have to see the moving.  But there was still too much to do, so she sat through the majority of the load-up while I kept packing.  And packing.  And packing.

"Where are the cats?"

I got her home, settled her in, and started prepping lunch for twelve while the Team finished up the last of the loading.  I must say that playing Tetris apparently translates into some substantial real-world skills.  There was no wasted space at ALL. 

"Did you tell them to not put any weight on the front legs of the piano?  They'll break if they do."

The Team arrived, lunch was served, and the off-loading began.  It always takes less time to do this part, but it's still so MUCH work.  Thank God for people young enough to lift and haul and repetitively climb stairs!

"Where are the cats?"

The hardest thing about dementia is being so lost.  And the hardest thing so far about dealing with Mom's dementia is doing my best to not point out her 'lostness' to her.  Answering the same question over and over and over again as if it is the first time I've heard the question becomes a struggle after about the third time.  Hoping the poor souls moving the damned piano don't get offended by the implication that they are incapable of remembering to protected the legs of  said instrument. 

And watching my mom, lost and frightened, and not being able to help her find her way home.

DeeDee