Driving home tonight, my youngest son spotted the Planters Peanutmobile in a parking lot. He was thrilled and it reminded us, of course, of the picture of Mitzi in front of the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile last year. That picture of her was the best text message I ever received from Gary…That day had been a tough one with Mitzi because it was the day after she had “graduated” from her Neurologist’s care (when he had recommended that we talk to Hospice due to her sharp and continuing decline). For me, it was so difficult because I showed up to get her that next morning and I knew what a major life change was now on the horizon…the gravity of what all it meant for her to have graduated. That weight was heavy on my heart. But I had no idea what all, if anything, Mitzi remembered from the day before. It’s a delicate tightrope to walk in the world of dementia…when major life events happen like an illness or the death of a family member or friend. A job loss. A beloved pet that has run away. It’s hard to know whether you should ever bring it up again or if that would just upset the person all over again. It’s tricky, especially because you’re not sure if they remember and they’re just not saying anything. I don’t know that there is any surefire best way to handle it because it depends so much on personality and situation, what their emotional state is, etc.I know for us, we just listened to a lot of our favorite songs as we drove around that day because she was having very hard time. After running into some of her family and having an impromptu brunch (she barely touched), followed by a more-than-adequate number of hugs from them to her, I felt outnumbered by the tears that would still erupt unexpectedly, and ultimately took her to their family’s condo on the ocean. She generally loved to go there, so it was becoming a more frequent remedy. Sometimes sitting on the balcony watching the ocean was a good distraction or reset for her (or perhaps it was the chocolate covered ice cream bars Gary kept stocked in the freezer for emergencies!). The day had been full of tears and I assumed she would be worn out and ready for a nap. Naps, by this point were almost a must in the afternoon and were starting to creep into the mid morning hours. It was startlingly amazing how her body’s sleep needs had begun to mimic those of my boys when they were toddlers and babies.I would generally take her shoes off of her and help her up onto the bed (which was higher and requiring more dexterity than she was beginning to have). I’d cover her with a blanket and then have to lay down next to her or she wouldn’t relax enough to even close her eyes. I was grateful for this blog during those times because I’d quietly type a post on my phone while she would sleep. If it took her a long time to drift off, I didn’t dare move for fear of waking her! Again, the parallels with my kids. And frankly, though I never treated her like one, our relationship at this point felt very much like that of a mother and child, only the 58-year-old was not the mother.The nap was a wash that day, if I recall. Gary ended up coming from their house to take over for me. I felt bad because I used to try so hard to make sure she was as content as possible and in good spirits when I’d bring her home or to meet Gary. This day, I hadn’t been able to make that happen. Driving home after leaving the two of them gave me more time than I should have had to mull over the sobering reality of where we now were on her journey. So when I got the text from Gary a while later that they had gone for a walk near the beach and happened upon the Weinermobile…with that great grin and her arms stretched out wide, it totally rained on my face. Not just because it was a cute picture. Or even because of the fact that I was so thrilled that Gary took it and sent it. What really got to me was the poignant reminder that this disease, (and all of life, really), is not made up of good days and not-so-good days. But moments. Good moments and not-so-good moments. Looking at the days can be hard and overwhelming. But looking at the moments means you can almost instantly erase the tears from the hardest word you’ve ever heard the doctor say with the simple, delightful discovery of the Weinermobile during a walk.I needed that tonight as we were driving home from dropping one car at the shop for somepricey repairs (the other one needs a lot of work done as well, so my husband and I were not happy campers, admittedly). But there was that silly Peanutmobile, spotted by my son as it was strategically parked under a light, creating the perfect photo op for my boys. Of course we stopped. It completely changed everyone’s mood! As I snapped the picture of the boys, the wave of lessons Mitzi’s life taught me washed over the shores of my own mind’s memories. And in that moment, I was so grateful for the post-it note reminder that floated down from Heaven tonight in the form of a sweet moment in front of a giant vehicular peanut…
