Granny and her dear sister got me thinking... Time with loved ones is often put off until it's too late and then the "I wish I'd spent more time with..." begins.

My darling Mom had Alzheimer's. With Alzheimer's, you forget the newest memories first and the oldest memories stick around the longest. That doesn't include the *false* memories of things that she thought happened, but never did. Or the imaginary people with whom she conversed more and more. Let's be blunt. It sucked rancid donkey balls. First stage is usually diagnosed in hindsight because the forgetfulness is attributed to old age. I remember, at age 16 (Mom was 51), Mom forgetting things or another adult saying "E, that didn't happen that way...??" Mom was finally diagnosed when I was 30. Naturally, the forgetfulness over the years was The Sign.

Doing things with Mom took more patience. We'd go to the store to buy pants. In the dressing room, Mom would pull down her pants, sit (to remove her shoes), then stand and pull the same pants back up.

Dad had to do more of the cooking or keep a close eye on Mom because she'd forget a burner was on (boiled over some taters!) or couldn't remember ingredients.

She would start a book, read a few pages, put it down, come back to it a short time later, and start all over again. She never got past the first chapter of that damn book. Dad, bless his heart, continued to buy her any book that she wanted. There must have been 200 unread novels he donated after she passed.

As the youngest of 5, Mom forgot me first. I will say in all honesty that it ripped a huge tear in my heart. My siblings thought it was funny. I thought they were insensitive assholes. It wasn't funny to ME. It was heartbreaking.

Mom forgot that the house she'd lived in for 40+ years was home and was forever trying to "leave and go home". Dad had to install new locks on the doors so they could be locked from the inside. This was after he took a shower and came out to find her gone. I lived closest and he called me in a panic. I broke every traffic rule in the book heading to their house. Dad had caught up with her, but she "didn't know" him. Thankfully, I was able to convince her to get in my truck and took her home. I Mom-sat while Dad went to the store for new locks to keep her safe.

My brothers were both in denial. Didn't help that they rarely saw our parents, so their knowledge of the severity of Mom's memory loss was sadly lacking. My oldest brother actually accused Dad of "keeping Mom prisoner". I lost my temper. "You fucking MORON! If you'd spend more time around Mom, you'd know he's doing it to keep her SAFE. She doesn't think this is HOME any more. She's RUNNING AWAY to GO HOME!!!" He stood there with his mouth hanging open for a few minutes, then stammered out that he or his wife would Mom-sit on Sundays so Dad could go to church. I wanted to kick him and hug him at the same time. Later that night, at his house, while his wife was out with friends, he and I got totally bombed on SEVERAL bottles of wine. Sibling bonding.

Mom's memory loss continually worsened. Her mind *regressed* and she thought she was a little girl, sometimes calling Dad "Daddy". She sang childhood songs, talked to imaginary friends, and paced constantly. Even though she had a good appetite, the constant pacing burned calories. She went from a size 22 to a size 10/12, which became a blessing in the long run.

The night she tried to use a breadstick as a fork, Dad decided he would need to feed her. We were terrified she would forget how to chew/swallow, but she never did. One day, Mom could no longer walk. The doctor sent over physical therapists to help. Mom still had the muscle tone, but she apparently forgot how to walk. She was now in a wheelchair and Dad, with his bad back, was lifting her constantly. Out of bed into the wheelchair. Feed her breakfast. Out of the wheelchair into the recliner. Out of the recliner onto the mobile potty. Remove the potty and roll her into the shower. Out of the shower and into the wheelchair. Feed her lunch. Out of the wheelchair and into the recliner. Out of the recliner and into the wheelchair. Feed her dinner. Out of the wheelchair and into the recliner. Watch tv for awhile (Dad usually catnapped). Out of the recliner and into bed. Clean her up (change her) and get her settled. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. He never asked for help. I never gave him the option. I was there, every night, to help him lift her into bed until he finally broke down and bought her a hospital bed and put it in the living room (moved the couch to the den).

I felt like I was watching him kill himself caring for her and, shamefully, begged for God to take her home. Begged for God to give Dad a time of peace, of rest. Where he didn't feel like he had to RACE to the store and RACE home because he was inconveniencing my sister or me by our Mom-sitting.

We took one last trip to our vacation home: Dad, Mom, and me. When Dad carried his toolbox out to the van, limping from the weight, I cried inside. The trip took much longer because we had to change Mom at stops and could not eat on the road - Dad had to feed her. When we finally reached the house, I helped Dad get Mom inside and told him I'd start unloading the van. I must have looked like a crazy woman - flying down the steps, flinging open all of the doors, grabbing as much as I could carry, and RUNNING back inside. In. Out. In. Out. By the time Mom was changed, I had every damn thing unloaded - Dad's toolbox included. We built a railing for the wheelchair ramp he'd put in the previous year. It was NOT an ideal vacation, but I never let on. I just knew it would be the last time they would be at this house together. When we returned home, Dad took Mom inside to change her. I repeated my crazy woman unloading system, this time pulling chest muscles in the process. I never let on.

That Fall, my husband and I took a week to go to the vacation home to close it up for Winter. The 3rd day, we were out of cell phone range for several hours. When we got back in range, my phone started beeping like crazy. I had 7 voicemails, texts from both brothers asking where I was, were we okay... the first voicemail was my sister sobbing that Mom was gone. God took her home. Ironically, we had stopped at a church so I could listen to the messages. I collapsed, sobbing. DH KNEW what had happened. He sat on the ground beside me, on wet grass in a sopping drizzle, and rocked me for a solid hour. We closed up the house and went home.

I was in a fog for days. I went through all of the motions, but felt nothing, reacted to nothing. The day of the funeral, I felt like I was frozen in Hell. DH HAD to work. His work refused to give him time off as he had just been on vacation. He was more upset than I was. I felt nothing. I don't remember driving to the church or even walking inside. My oldest brother took my arm and guided me to the front pew. I was a block of ice. I could hear 2 of my aunts (behind us) asking him if I was going to faint - I was absolutely white. My fingers were stiff. I kept dropping things. My purse, a card for Mom (it was her birthday), my shawl. Each time, my brother picked up what I'd dropped. The only things I remember from the service are my sisters sobbing loudly and my brother-in-law breaking down while singing. I was like frozen wood. My brother had to help me up from the pew. He was so terrified I'd faint, that he told my other brother to take one arm while he put an arm around my waist, held my other arm, and guided me to the hall for the wake. He seated me in a chair and brought me a plate of food. I pushed it around on my plate after someone told me to eat. It was 3 weeks before I could cry again. Before I could feel. I was so numb. My Mom, the love and light of my Dad's life, was gone. Heaven had a new angel.

It's been almost 6 years since Mom went home to God. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. I miss her. I talk to her. She visits me in my dreams and she's Mom before the Alzheimer's - plump, baking, tending house, laughing; not that frail, helpless childlike creature she was at the end.

4 years ago, she saved my life. I was driving (55) and it was dark. I FELT her presence in the car, in the passenger seat.
She said, "Honey, you need to slow down."
"Mom???" (my foot came off the gas a little)
"Honey, slow down the car."
"Momma?!?!" (my foot came up a little more)
"Ani, you need to STOP this car NOW!"
At this point, my speed was down to 25mph. Suddenly, 3 deer bounded into the middle of the road and STOPPED. I slammed on my brakes.
Had I been going 55, I would be dead.
"You're safe now. I love you."
"Momma, don't go!"
"I love you, Ani."
I sat there, in the middle of the road, with those 3 deer still motionless and staring at me, and sobbed for half an hour.

Be Thankful for the time you have with loved ones. Do not take it for granted. When they're sick or hurting or helpless or simply need a phone call reminding them they are loved, DO IT. You will regret it if you don't. My brothers certainly do.