When I was in middle school, my bedtime was 9:30 on school nights. I often petitioned to stay up late, but it was denied. Weekend curfew was later, but curfew on dates was only 11:00. Mom would have no problem waiting up for me to return home, but Dad really struggled since his bedtime has been 9:30 most of his life!
In those days, Mom was a night owl. She rarely went to bed before the 11:00 news was over. Occasionally she would have a migraine headache and stay in bed all day, but if she was feeling good, 11:30 or later was her bedtime.
I fight bedtime. I’m sometimes tired all day, but if I make it past 10:00 pm, I’m wide awake. My second wind can keep me going for hours. Even if I lay down to sleep, I will think of a million things to do before I finally succumb.
Mom now sleeps a lot. These past three days, she’s probably slept 20 out of 24 hours. Many times she’ll keep her eyes closed even if she’s awake. Recently she’s begun to eat with her eyes closed, opening her mouth like a baby bird to be fed. It’s kind of funny to watch, but I miss engaging with her.
She also doesn’t talk much now. She’ll fuss while being moved or dressed, but when she’s just sitting in her chair, she won’t say much. Some Mondays are so quiet, especially if Dad isn’t here. She will engage more with him than she does with me so sometimes he can get her to laugh. Her chatter is gone though.
I’m okay with quiet. I can easily sit at the table beside her and write these articles or do homework for church or Mountain Voices. However I miss her voice and her stories. She has always been such a delightful, joyful woman who could light up a room. The only time she was subdued or quiet was when she was not feeling well or studying her Bible and preparing for her Sunday school lesson.
She does still light up for Matthew, her nurse, and she’ll speak a warm greeting to everyone who comes in to visit. Then it’s bedtime again for her and she’ll close her eyes and drift away.
Dementia is a terrible thing as is physical impairment. Those two things together have robbed this vibrant, vivacious woman of her determination and her voice. I know our hours together are numbered and I already miss her. Perhaps that is why I’m pulling stories from our history together to mingle with current events for these articles.
Those of you who have gone down this path know all too well the quiet of these days. You know that bedtime is any time Mom gets tired, and conversations and engagements get fewer and fewer. You also know, as I do, that Mom’s sweet spirit is still in there. It’s just she’s more on heaven time than human time and her home there is more real to her than her home on earth.
There’s a wonderful sculpture that I have seen called “Come Unto Me,” It was sculpted in bronze by Jerry Anderson. It portrays a frail woman with a cane walking to a door. On the other side of the door, she has burst through and has become young and strong and beautiful and is reaching out to grasp Jesus. I love that image and you can see it for yourself here.
On the day after Easter, my precious friend Loyeta Cook burst through that door. I firmly believe she is completely healed and free of pain and rejoicing in the arms of Jesus. What a joyous hope for all of us!
