Many of you know that my mother lives with me and my daughter, Amanda, at The Vicarage. We are her primary caregivers as she walks this phase of her life’s journey through dementia. 

Mom often says to us, “Don’t get old. It ain’t for sissys.” That and “I should just be dead.”

Last week we thought we were entering a whole new phase. Mom was becoming increasingly hard to wake up and even harder to keep awake. She pretty much stopped eating and complained of just feeling like “crap”. She used stronger language, but you get the idea.

At first I thought it was residual effects from her bout with COVID.

The issue I had with that first thought is that Mom had no symptoms of COVID even though she tested positive. As I was praying for her one night I heard in my spirit, “Her medications.”

Just before mom got COVID, the doctor had doubled one of the meds she takes for dementia, in hopes that it would help a growing anxiety. It turns out the new dosage was too high and so we have weaned her back and Mom has woken up. Yesterday she was awake for most of the day and even ate two whole meals and a piece of another. 

While I was in church yesterday I got a text from my cousin saying that my Aunt Gloria, my mother’s oldest sister, had passed away. 

My mother is now the oldest surviving child. Just she and her sister Carol are left out of eight children.

One of the things I have learned about caregiving is that it is not a solo endeavor. It takes a village to do this. While Amanda and I carry the weight of the caregiving, our extended family all helps in different ways. My daughter Melanie comes to help us out when Amanda and I both have to be away for an extended time. We have also had volunteer help from the church come and sit with Mom during times of need. We have hired a longtime friend of the family to come and sit with Mom during church services. And my sister is Mom’s telephone buddy. Brenda calls Mom twice a week at least from The Netherlands and will talk for an hour or better each time.

Yesterday as I was considering whether or not to tell Mom about her sister I called Brenda to get her advice.

You may think there is only one right decision . Of course I should tell my mother her sister died. But that revelation could spark hours of cyclical dialogue spiraling down into an increasing depression. The struggle is real.

As I was talking with Brenda it was decided we should tell her, but first Brenda and she would have a conversation to try and center her a bit before I brought the hard news. She and Brenda bantered for about forty five minutes. It was nice to see mom awake enough to actually use her sharp wit. Then my phone gave the “Low Battery” signal. It often happens when they talk. They go on so long the computer or the phone just run out of juice. But Mom never remembers what the signal means and always comes out with some panicked question about what she did.

This time, though, Mom did not have her glasses on and exclaimed “Wait a minute, I am getting a message from Lake Pottery. I wonder what they want.”

We all got a good laugh out of that one. A few hours after the call I sat down with Mom and shared the news about her sister. She had a lot of questions. She was sad. But aside from some deep nostalgia about her family she doesn’t seem to be able to hold the information about Aunt Gloria, or maybe she just cannot express what is in her heart. 

I GUES THE REAL POINT IS THAT THE DECISION AND EVEN THE PROCESS OF TELLING MY MOTHER BAD NEWS WAS NOT SOMETHING I DID ALONE. IT TOOK COOPERATION.

I think in this season of life I am slowly learning the importance of teamwork and interdependence. I have a feeling that I will need to understand this much better before this season of my life is done.

WHAT ISSUE IN YOUR LIFE HAS TAUGHT YOU THE VALUE OF TEAMWORK?