One day I received a text from Dad. “Sarah, I hate to bother you, but do you think you can take Mom to carpool with you today?”
I couldn’t text back fast enough. “Yes, of course! I would love that. Are you okay? Is she still going nuts over there?”
He texted back several minutes later. “Yes. I’m sorry to ask you to take her. You have helped me so much already. But yes, I need a break. She is wearing me out. She doesn’t stop. I don’t know how I can do this. I may need to figure out how I can get some help around here or a housekeeper who can watch her.”
As I held my phone, thumbs poised, I thought about my response. Thankfully, a possible solution struck me.
“Dad, I’ll take her with me several days a week for carpool. Those can be my days with her! Some of those days I’ll grab her earlier—we can go eat lunch or get Starbucks—and it will easily be a three-hour window for you. You could even go hit golf balls.”
I saw three dots pop up on my screen, indicating that Dad was writing his reply. The message read, “Wow. That would be great, if you think you have time to do all of that with her. I don’t want to burden you. Golf balls! That sure sounds nice right about now.”
Done! Dad golfs, Mom and I shop and do lunch, and she gets to see her grandkids all in one day. Perfection.
FIVE
THE HONEYMOON PHASE
August 2015 to January 2016
AFTER MOM AND DAD MOVED to Dallas, I felt like I was in a honeymoon phase with my mom in which we finally had unlimited time together. We moved things around her house, decorated, and grew even closer. Being together in the same city at last was a nurturing experience for us both.
Our time was special. Daddy would turn on the gas fireplace every morning for Mom. She would wake up, walk into the kitchen in her white terry cloth robe and slippers, make herself a fresh cup of coffee, walk straight to her chair in the living room, and just be. Dad would give her turkey bacon and two pieces of toast on her favorite Texas-themed paper plate, which she’d wash off and put right back in the pantry.
Mom and I had tender moments, eating bacon and having coffee by the fire. I savored those times when she first moved to Dallas. It brought us closer; sometimes we would even sit in the same chair and snuggle. We went everywhere together. For a while, I felt like she was okay, and at times, I thought she was actually improving.
One day, we were sitting in the carpool line and I popped a bubble with my chewing gum. “How did you do that?” she asked. “That was so cool!”
A bubble? Pop a bubble?
“What do you mean, Mom? How’d I pop my gum?”
“Yes!” she cried, with no shame and much enthusiasm. “That! Teach me! I want to learn.”
I thought you were better, but clearly not if you can’t remember how to pop your gum.
“Of course, Beauty. I’ll teach you. Here, take a piece of gum first.”
“Yum!” she exclaimed, putting the stick of gum into her mouth.
I was stunned. It was as if she were chewing gum for the very first time.
“This is weird,” she said. “Do I swallow it? Or just keep chewing?”
Oh my gosh.
“No, don’t swallow your gum. That’s a big no-no. Just keep chewing it for a bit and get all of that yummy juice out.”
Her eyes were huge for the first minute or two. She looked over at me, blinked, smiled, and nodded her head, as if to say, “Oh yes. I remember this now.”
For the next twenty minutes, we laughed and laughed as we practiced blowing and popping the biggest bubbles possible. My heart ached that she failed to remember something so simple, yet I loved teaching her something.
But that day in the carpool line, I realized Mom’s disease had progressed much more than I had thought. I wanted to hold her hand, put my head on her shoulder, and cry.
As I watched her attempting to blow bubbles, I prayed. Oh God, please help me to cherish these moments with Beauty. I love her so much. Look at her. She’s beautiful. She’s fun. Her personality hasn’t changed. God, give me more moments like these to laugh with her and enjoy her, rather than let the disease steal the joy of who she really is and always has been. Please, Lord. Don’t let it steal our time together.
ONE OF THE BIGGEST BLESSINGS resulting from my parents moving to Dallas was Mom being able to spend time with a favorite college roommate, Ginny Bond. Ginny and Mom were Kilgore Rangerettes together at Kilgore College in East Texas; Ginny was the captain and Mom a lieutenant. Through their love of dancing, and rooming together for two years, they became friends for life.
After college, they each married and went their separate ways.
As Mom and Dad raised children in Houston, the Lord began to change Mom’s heart and life through Bible studies, new friends, and church. Ginny, now divorced and in New York City, was living the fastpaced life of a single mom doing all she could to get by.
They stayed friends and traveled back and forth over the years, but their relationship changed. Mom ached for Ginny because Mom knew Ginny was finding “happiness” in material possessions, career advancements, and social standing and not in the worth and identity God gives. Mom prayed for Ginny continually through the years, expressing her concern to Daddy and eventually to me.
One weekend when I was home from college, we were sitting around the dinner table. Mom had just returned from a trip to New York City.
“All Ginny wants to do is shop, go out and party, or hang out with her daughter and her daughter’s friends,” she told Dad and me. “Her voice gets loud, and I would prefer to have more quality time with just her and talk about life. It’s like she hasn’t grown up since college.” We all laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, she is fun and we had a blast—I’m in a different season of life, I guess.”
Dad and I listened patiently. “Just keep praying for her, Beck,” he said. “God will change her. I know you worry about her, but she’s doing the best she knows how to do. Being left by an adulterous husband with a new baby in your arms is crushing and taxing. She went from getting all the attention in the world, any material thing she could ask for, and knowing every wealthy person there was to know in Dallas, to being, in her mind, a nobody. She just doesn’t know any different.”
Mom understood what he was saying and was sad because she wanted Ginny to have all that she had. Mom and Dad had a great marriage and were financially comfortable, but more important, they had Jesus.
I also knew Ginny’s daughter, also named Ginny—or Little Ginny, as I called her. We didn’t know each other well because we were three and a half years apart in age and lived in different cities. However, our moms wanted nothing more than for our friendship to be like theirs, like sisters.
“Sarah, why don’t you call Ginny and Little Ginny when you go to New York for New Year’s Eve?” my mom asked. “Maybe see if you can stay with Little Ginny for a night. She’s such a sweetheart, and I know y’all would get along so well.”
I nodded in agreement. “I was actually thinking about going up a few days early to see another friend, so maybe the three of us can grab lunch and shop or whatever. I’ll call her.”
Mom smiled with delight. “Thank you. You and Little Ginny will be dear friends, also. I feel it.”
I took a bite of Mom’s crispy okra. “I know you do. You are a great friend and very patient with her. Just keep doing what you are doing, like Dad said. You never know how God will use you one day.”
I didn’t know at the time how powerful those words would be: “How God will use you one day.”
IT WAS A SUNNY FALL day in Dallas. Mom, Dad, and I were enjoying the warmth of the fire Dad had made and the crackling sound of the burning wood. In their living room, I was snuggled up in my warm-up pants in my favorite big round chair, my hands cupping my coffee mug. The mug had a picture of our girls with Pop holding a big bass from their first fishing trip together. As I sipped my steaming coffee with a splash of French vanilla, the phone rang in their kitchen.
Dad ans
wered then gave a big smile. “Hey there, Ginny! Well, she is sitting right here.”
Mom’s face lit up. She jumped out of her chair and met Dad halfway, grabbing the cordless phone out of his hands. “Give me that!”
She crowed into the phone, “Hey, hey! What’re you doing today? Tell me we are going somewhere together. I’m bored.”
Bored? I thought we were enjoying our peaceful morning together.
Dad sat by me while Mom chatted. We could hear her laughing and giggling, saying things like “Oh, Ginny, you are crazy. I’m not going there,” and “You what? Oh my gosh!”
Dad and I were thinking the same thing.
“What a blessing,” I said. “Can you believe she and Ginny are finally in the same city? This is God’s gift to both of them.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “It sure is. Did you know your mom still prays for her, Sarah? I hear her pray for Ginny almost every night. She loves her so much.”
My heart melted. “That’s a true friendship right there. Some people might have walked away in that kind of situation—being in different cities, with different upbringings, living different lifestyles, but Mom has loved her well, Daddy. It’s wonderful that Ginny still wants to be around her, too. It’s like they were never separated. I think God is still at work.”
“I do, too. Ginny is seeking. I can tell. She’s drawn to Mom.”
I smiled. “She’s drawn to the Holy Spirit, you mean.”
“That’s exactly right. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s being drawn to Him through Mom, and I can’t wait to see what comes of it. I’m so happy Mom has a close friend out here.”
“Me, too. Their friendship is beyond special.”
THE HONEYMOON STAGE CONTINUED TO be glorious. Mom and I had time together, Ginny and Mom had time together, and Dad had more freedom in knowing he was close to family—he had help and support surrounding him. He could go hit golf balls without worrying about leaving Mom alone, and he could even take a short weekend trip knowing she could stay with me. They were surrounded by most of their grandkids, and they could attend soccer, flag football, basketball games, and a few track meets.
Some part of Mom seemed to like living in Dallas. The city’s restaurants amazed her. She loved walking to a nearby shopping center; she would walk to the local CVS Pharmacy or Tom Thumb, grab a Starbucks, and walk back home. The two of us would stroll through the beautiful Southern Methodist University campus and talk about the churches she wanted to visit.
But soon an adjustment phase began. Mom began to get irritable and anxious, seeing the “big picture” of her permanent home no longer being in Houston. Being in a smaller home in a somewhat unfamiliar place, she hardly had any friends, with the exception of Ginny.
One morning, Mom pleaded with Dad to drive her to Houston. Because she persisted for several straight hours, he finally caved and packed an overnight bag and left town with Mom. He called some friends, and he and Mom met them for dinner. After dinner, my parents went back to their friends’ house to stay the night. A quick overnight trip, or so he thought.
Around 8:00 that evening, Mom discreetly began nudging Dad’s arm, expressing her desire to leave. After several under-the-table kicks and a few elbow taps to his arm, he told their friends they would get a hotel room instead of staying in their home. He knew she was getting anxious, so he chose to prevent a possibly embarrassing situation.
Dad pulled up to a Hampton Inn, and as he parked, Mom said, “I’m not staying here.”
Dad questioned her. “Why not? It’s fine for a night.”
She shot back, “I’m not staying here.”
Dad thought perhaps it wasn’t nice enough, so he drove to a brand-new Embassy Suites. As he pulled up to the valet and began to get out of the car, Mom gave him a look of “absolutely not” and nodded her head left to right.
“What’s the problem, Beck?” Dad asked.
“I don’t want to stay at this hotel, either. I don’t like it.”
“You what? And where is it, exactly, that you want me to take you, Beck?” Dad asked sarcastically.
“I don’t know,” she responded, “but it isn’t this place.”
Dad got back in the car, turned to her with a no-nonsense expression and said, “Then I’m heading back to Dallas. I’m not doing this all night. We are going home.”
They drove two hours and came upon Huntsville, Texas. Mom turned to Dad and said, “Huntsville? Why are we in Huntsville? I thought we were going to Houston.”
MOM BEGAN MOVING FURNITURE AROUND the house again and scratching up the floors. Dad would find that the glass coffee table from the upstairs playroom had been dragged down the stairs to the living room. A leather couch had been moved to the den.
One morning, I walked in with my coffee, expecting to sit by the fireplace for bacon and toast, and heard the words, “Becky! What in the world are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself !”
I saw Mom, but she hadn’t yet spotted me.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted at my dad. “I’m not scratching anything! Just go back to what you were doing. If I need you, I’ll call for you.”
“Becky!” he cried. “You can’t just move furniture around by yourself. Are you nuts? You can’t bring a coffee table down the stairs by yourself !”
She looked him right in the eye, and with a calm yet stern voice said, “I just did, didn’t I? Now go on. I don’t need you.”
I was frozen. I looked at Dad, pointed to the door, and mouthed the words, “Should I leave?”
He shook his head no and waved me back in. I threw my keys on the table to announce myself. “Hey, Mom! What are you doing? Need some help?”
She turned around with her white terry cloth robe on, hair pointing in every direction and no makeup on her red, sweaty face. “Hey, honey. No, I think I got it now. Actually, yes, will you help me slide this thing over just a few inches this way?”
A few inches this way? If we do that, it will be totally off center.
“Do you mean a few inches that way, Mom?” I pointed in the opposite direction.
“No, Sarah. This way. It needs to be moved this way.”
You can’t see that this is way off?
I calmed myself down. Okay. Whatever you say. Just keep the peace, Sarah. Just keep the peace.
“You sure are busy this morning, Mom. It’s early to be breaking a sweat. If you’re going to break a sweat, at least go put your workout clothes on, and we’ll go for a walk.”
She stared at me as if playing those words back in her head, then softly smiled. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
I looked over at Dad as he was standing behind her. He nodded his head up and down, mouthing a big, “Thank you.”
Dad and I knew we had ten to fifteen minutes alone, as it took Mom longer to get dressed these days.
“She is exhausting me,” he confided. “She can’t sit still. It’s like all of a sudden she has to go, go, go. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“When you say ‘go, go, go,’ what do you mean exactly?”
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I take her on a walk, then we come home and she asks where she is going next. I take her somewhere else, and we get home, and she asks where we are going next. Then she tells me I’m boring and that I never do anything with her. She says things like, ‘I don’t know why I married you.’”
My heart ached. “Oh, Daddy. I’m so sorry. You know it’s the disease talking, right?”
“Yes, I know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier sometimes. You still hear the words. I haven’t told you yet what happened the other day.”
My heart skipped a beat because I knew I was about to hear something I didn’t want to hear.
“She went for her usual walk. She knows her way around here, Sarah. You know she goes on the same route every day. And she doesn’t go very far. She is usually home in twenty-five minutes or so. Anyway, the doorbell rang, and the SMU police had her. The officer said she was w
andering around campus. She asked him which way to go to get back to her house, but she couldn’t tell him the address and didn’t know her own home number or my cell number. So he put her in his golf cart and drove her around until she recognized a street and found her way here.”
My mouth fell open in disbelief. “What? Dad, this is a big deal. She’s disoriented. Maybe she is in a new stage. We need to find an ID tag she’ll be willing to wear and not remove, a pretty necklace or bracelet perhaps. She doesn’t know any phone numbers to call for help. You can’t let her go on walks without you anymore.”
“I know, and that’s the problem. She can’t sit still for even twenty minutes. And if I don’t take her walking, then she’s dragging furniture around!”
I looked at my watch, tracking the time to talk before Mom walked in. “Do you think she needs her dosage changed or a different med? You can’t live like this. It may help her be more at peace like she was when she first got here.”
I could tell by the look on his face he didn’t want to talk about medication. “I hate medicating her. You know that. I am afraid if they give her more it will take away her personality, the Becky I know. I don’t want it to bring her down. But I certainly know what’s going on now is not my Becky, so I don’t know what to do.”
I could hear Mom’s footsteps. “Let’s talk about this later. But I think you must make an appointment with her doctor. It could get a lot worse, Dad.”
It did get worse. There were more scratches on the floor, more dents and marks on the walls, and much more stress for Dad.
THE GIRLS AND I WERE headed to a soccer practice when I remembered I had to grab something from a store before it closed. We bought the item, rushed back to the house to put it in the fridge, then were off to practice.
I think that delay was divine intervention, because when we left the house and turned the corner, we saw Mom walking down a street in the opposite direction from our house—and hers.
Broken Beauty Page 5
