Amy Newmark - Chicken Soup for the Soul: Navigating Eldercare & Dementia: 101 Stories for Family Caregivers

Chicken Soup for the Soul

Navigating Eldercare & Dementia

101 Stories for Family Caregivers

Amy Newmark

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Navigating Eldercare & Dementia

101 Stories for Family Caregivers

Amy Newmark

Published by Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC www.chickensoup.com

Copyright 2021 by Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

CSS, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and its Logo and Marks are trademarks of Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the many publishers and individuals who granted Chicken Soup for the Soul permission to reprint the cited material.

Front cover photo courtesy of iStockphoto.com/RelaxFoto.de (RelaxFoto.de)

Back cover and interior photo courtesy of iStockphoto.com/Lisay

(Lisay)

Photo of Amy Newmark courtesy of Susan Morrow at SwickPix

Cover and Interior by Daniel Zaccari

Distributed to the booktrade by Simon & Schuster. SAN: 200-2442

Publishers Cataloging-In-Publication Data

(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

Names: Newmark, Amy, compiler.

Title: Chicken soup for the soul : navigating eldercare & dementia : 101 stories for family caregivers / [compiled by] Amy Newmark.

Other Titles: Navigating eldercare & dementia : 101 stories for family caregivers | Navigating eldercare and dementia : 101 stories for family caregivers

Description: [Cos Cob, Connecticut] : Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC, [2021]

Identifiers: ISBN 9781611590821 (paperback) | ISBN 9781611593228 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Older people--Care--Literary collections. | Older people--Care--Anecdotes. | Adult children of aging parents--Family relationships--Literary collections. | Adult children of aging parents--Family relationships--Anecdotes. | Dementia--Patients--Care--Literary collections. | Dementia--Patients--Care--Anecdotes. | LCGFT: Anecdotes.

Classification: LCC HV1451 .C45 2021 (print) | LCC HV1451 (ebook) | DDC 362.6/02--dc23

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021934475

Changing your world one story at a time

www.chickensoup.com

Accepting a New Reality

Mother Nature Mother Nurture

The leaves of memory seemed to make

A mournful rustling in the dark.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am losing my mother in pieces. She is like an autumn tree: beautiful, colorful, and dying. The breeze of Alzheimers whispers through the branches while her memory drops off with the leaves.

One day, when her tree is finally bare, I will hold a memory of her blooming strength. She weathered the storms and provided me with shelter. I will be strong and remain hopeful because of her. For now, I will hope for spring to come, so together we may see the blossoms and green growth of love.

On a September drive through the Oregon wine country, Mom asked me, What will we see once the leaves have all fallen? She answered her own question. Skeleton trees.

I gather what is falling: her stories, her looks, her insights, and her love. Natures beauty is my rake. I rake these moments we share, embracing them as simple gifts.

Another day, she smiles and says, Oh, the little fast birds are here. I look out the window to the hanging fuchsia and see the swift messengers of love and joy. Hummingbirds never seem to stop, never glide. I will them to linger. I will life to linger, to be savored, so that we can slow down and drink the nectar. Hummingbirds symbolize immortality, bravery, joy, and perseverance. I wish their flight of infinity could journey into our house and allow me to have my mom a little longer. These tiny creatures delight her with their fleeting visits and provide me with a sense of peace, knowing that I will never stop savoring the nectar of my moms sweetness.

We rest on her bed with eyes wide and focused outward on the sky. The clouds drift. Mom comments that the sun is warm and melting the clouds. She asks what I see. I say, I see a cloud passing as a caterpillar.

No, she says. It is God reaching out to us.

We are quiet as the view changes. She pities the person without imagination. On the skys stage, an ensemble of characters parades. Herds of wild animals stampede across the horizon; musical instruments silently blow to the west; stout kings float east, followed by soaring, chubby cherubs.

The clouds are heavy, she remarks. It will rain, and they will be lighter.

I feel her love and the slow motion of the moment. The clouds are dark and threatening. Mom dozes while I keep my eye on the clouds, waiting for one to pass and offer me a silver lining. I will be patient.

How many sunsets have we watched together? Mom asks me. Before I can respond, she muses, The sky is a Monet painting, only more beautiful. She holds my hand while we wait and watch colors transform the sky into impressionistic images. It is sunset, a days end, bringing breathtaking moments of change, entwined with nature.

The sun is setting on my mother. The hues and tones of her life dim quietly as the dusk of the disease settles on her memories. I cling to the colors of our time now. I embrace the brush strokes of the afterglow and realize that twilight approaches. Then, darkness will come.

Magically, the clouds part for the moon. The fuzziness of the veiled moon has cleared, and a bright glow streams down upon us as our nightlight. We watch the moon rise while the stars decorate the sky. We talk as if we are young girls on a sleepover.

Mom wonders if Ireland has a moon. She never saw it when we were last there. I assure her Ireland has a moon, and it is the same one we are viewing this night. We tease about shooting for the moon and that, if we miss, we will hit a star. Together, we count, wish and wonder.

One day, I will look at the world for both of us: capturing the beauty; wishing on the giggling stars; watching the sun playing sneak and peek. My heart is broken as I lose my mother in pieces and watch the woman who was my mom disappear leaf by leaf. I smile, stirring up memories of the joys we share over seeing the birds, sunsets and night skies together, embracing Mother Nature. I smile for the many joys we have had together.

Grief changes us forever. There is never normal again. But my sorrowful and changed spirit will remember that I carry within me the beauty of my mother. She will be with me always, and the ordinary and extraordinary moments we shared with nature will heal me. My mom will always nurture me. The moon will trade places with the sun. In my darkness, I know morning will come.