Dispatches From Hellpeckersville- Riders On The Crazy Train

(8 PM – promoted by TMC)

Several years back, when Mom was first diagnosed with senile dementia, we knew that things would change here at chez triv, but it was a gradual thing, at first it was mostly a case of CRS (can’t remember shit)–a lot of repeating herself and just asking the same question over and over again. Monday, Mom, it’s Monday. She liked to tell the same stories over too, like the time when she was young and my Uncle Frankie spun her but good on the dance floor and she twirled right into catastrophe and needed stitches, but was so drunk she wanted to go back to the dance…ah good times~

Over the next couple of years we struggled to find ways to keep her connected as she lost her ability to enjoy reading, Mom was always a big reader, and to play games, it never mattered what game we were playing, Mom was in, or to even sit around and have a good bull session, Mom always knew who had skeletons in their closet and if they weren’t in that closet, she knew where they were buried, and now all of these things were gone. So, more and more, Mom took to her room, watching The Golden Girls and simple things she could follow, no more police procedurals for her, where once she knew whodunit before the second act was half-way through, she couldn’t even follow them now.  

All of this, we knew to expect, gut wrenching, heartbreaking, unbelievably sad, but like the tap on my door at two AM (I knocked the teevee off again, I don’t know what’s wrong with this damn remote!) we knew to expect it. Then a couple of months ago, Mom got booked passage on the Crazy Train, and us along with her. Now, nobody can prepare for that, because you don’t know when it’s pulling into the station, or what it’s going to look like.

Now, she hasn’t said my name or known what I am to her for quite some time, but she does know I am something to her, she still comes to me, talks to me, will take her pills for me if for nobody else, but for some reason, she has decided that all bald men are the very embodiment of evil. This is kind of a problem, as my husband is bald and we um, live here. She has also decided that she has to get out of here, making the problem a bit more difficult, as my Dad works the overnight shift and Cleetus and I have been the ones who’ve been taking care of her then.

My Mom could always get pissed off, I mean, sure, and you really didn’t want to be the target of that, but at least she had a reason. This? Ho-lee shit! Is all I can say. because she’ll be sitting at the dining room table and suddenly she just bangs on the table and yells: THIS IS OUR HOUSE! GET HIM OUT! She means my husband. Or we’ll hear her bedroom door slam and hear her coming, then Cleetus hightails it out the backdoor and waits for her to settle into her chair in the dining room so he can sneak back in the front door and run upstairs and hide in our room. One time she seemed fine, and Cleetus was in the kitchen cooking. Before we knew it, she had her shoe off and was going after him with it, he had to put a chair between them. I told her if she didn’t keep that shoe on her foot I would take it from her, she didn’t care for that on damn bit, let me tell you.

We have a rummage box full of pictures for her to sort through, that usually calms her down, but not always. I paint her nails, but she can’t always hold still long enough for them to dry. And we talk…

I like that…that..what is it? Pink.



Yeah, Mom it looks pretty, let me hold your hand while it dries.

Yeah, I like that, Tell you what I don’t like…HIM.



Who?

That guy…that one around here, that bald guy.

Mom, that’s my husband.

No it is not. Is he even Catholic?

What?

He’s bald isn’t he? I know that much, he can get the hell out of MY HOUSE!!!

Mom, Uncle Curt was bald, you loved him, nicest man in the world, you used to say, come on, you don’t hate bald men.

Who? Get him out! He’s going to hell!

You keep being so damned nasty you won’t be far behind, Polly. Simmer down.

I’ll hit him with my shoe! Right on that bald …bald head!

You want to keep those shoes you’ll keep them on your feet.

What? WHAT??? Is that a Christmas tree? Oh, is that the May procession?



Yeah, there’s a lot of pictures there, what else have we got?

I keep calm, I keep my voice pleasant, no matter what. Cleetus runs when he has to, no use riling her up by his very presence. The kids roll with it as best they can. Me and my sister try to hold steady. Dad? Well, this isn’t easy…not at all easy for him and some days he’s no damn help at all, and some days a hindrance if you want to know the truth, but I don’t know what to say about that. He’s lost, and this is the worst thing that could happen to the love of your life.

We have an appointment with a specialist to try to get her some better meds, but that’s weeks and weeks away. We’re on the cancellation list to get bumped up if at all possible, but until then we settle in to our accommodations on the Crazy Train. I know I shouldn’t use it, but thank God there’s a smoking car.