Three Months at the Lodge

I haven’t had a phone call from mom for a few days now. I don’t jump when the phone rings. Last week was a different week. There were daily calls to me at work and sometimes up to five in a day. They were all similar. She wanted out. She wanted out of there now. She wanted her own apartment. She wanted to go to her reserve to live. She was going to escape and go into the bush. She was going to kill herself. She was angry. I was no longer her daughter. I was mean for locking her up in there.

I wondered if the record would ever change or if the needle was stuck and would just keep repeating that for awhile until it got bumped and jumped to a new song. Just never know with dementia. So this week is quiet and we’ll have to see what tomorrow will bring.

I time my visits to mom for when I know she will be in her best moods; just before dinner and then leaving before dinner is over or on a weekend when I can take her out to the restaurant or to church. It is a constant guessing game. My stomach is tense as I approach the doors to the Lodge and step inside each time.

There is comfort in knowing that she is socializing with other residents now, and has visitors and friends. I am focusing on the good visits that we have when she is happy and laughing and I can kiss her good-bye and tell her I love her. And she tells me she loves me.


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