Broken Beauty

by Sarah B. Smith

  “Do you think when she looks at me, she’ll be angry? What if she remembers? Or what if she’s so angry that she slaps me? That phone call—she said if I didn’t pick her up, she would no longer call me daughter. What if—”

  “Sarah! Stop it with the what-ifs. Your mother is not going to remember how she got there. She doesn’t even know how long she has been there or what day of the week it is. She isn’t going to remember what happened six weeks ago. Especially since you’d given her two glasses of wine and a Valium!”

  I let out a long breath. “Okay, okay. I will try to relax. Deep breaths.”

  Ginny smiled. “I brought her a little gift. I thought it would be fun to walk in there with a big ol’ box of doughnuts!”

  “That would be hilarious! Yes, break the ice with some doughnuts. You can come in with that loud voice of yours and give her a doughnut—she would love that.”

  Ginny and I drove through a Dunkin’ Donuts, ordering enough to feed the caregivers and residents.

  Macy met me in the lobby to walk me up. She told me that she’d reminded Mom only an hour before that I was coming, but that she’d most likely forgotten. Macy also warned me, as Dad had, that Mom had declined. She explained that it was a combination of the disease’s progression and the medicines she was taking.

  “What do you mean, the medications?” I asked.

  “Well, we had to up her dosage for anxiety, and the medications can affect her cognitively. However, at this point, they are necessary. We will begin to lower her doses as she becomes more used to her surroundings. I know it’s hard to understand. Remember, Sarah, your mom has early-onset Alzheimer’s, and it progresses more rapidly than if she’d been diagnosed later in life.”

  “I understand,” I said gently.

  I asked her to take photos of Mom and me when we saw each other for the first time in weeks.

  “Of course. I’ll take them with my phone and text them to you.”

  “Thank you so much. I just want to document as much as I can through these next few years,” I said.

  The elevator dinged and, looking up, I saw the number four in red lights again: déjà vu of that horrible August day. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out.

  “It’s going to be okay, Sarah. She will be so happy to see you. Just be yourself,” Macy said.

  I was short for words. God, please be with me. Please let this be peaceful and beautiful. I have missed her so much. Please, God, bless this time with Mom and me.

  Macy grabbed the handle on Mom’s door and turned it. “Knock, knock. Becky? I have a visitor here to see you!”

  Through the bathroom door I heard her say, “Huh?” Then, as I walked toward her standing in the bathroom, our eyes locked.

  “Mommy!”

  “Sarah! Oh, Sarah!”

  I hugged her tightly. Being taller, my whole body leaned into her as I held her like never before.

  She could barely speak. “Sarah, oh, Sarah. Where, where have you, Sarah?” She started to cry. I knew she was asking me where I had been.

  I put her face in the palms of my hands as if she were a small child. “Oh, Mommy, I have missed you. I love you so much, Mommy.”

  Mom could barely open her eyes through the tears. She held my hands as I held her face, and I kissed her on the cheeks, nose, and forehead. I didn’t want to let go. We stood in her bathroom for what felt like five or ten minutes, just holding each other.

  “Mom, I love you! Oh, Beauty, don’t cry. I am here now, and everything is going to be okay.”

  I grabbed her hands and led her to the chairs in her room.

  I noticed her right hand was shaking, and she tried to talk but couldn’t. Her emotions had overtaken her. I grabbed a box of tissue and wiped her nose.

  She looked at me as I held her shaking right hand. “Sarah, where have you, where, Sarah?”

  The look she gave me with her squinty eyes was one of confusion. She wanted to know how, when, why, and where, but she couldn’t say the words.

  “Mom, you are safe. I love this place. Look at your room! It is beautiful!”

  “You do? You like?”

  “Yes, Mom. I really do! You did a great job decorating it.”

  It’s all I could think to say. I wanted to see whether she would agree that she had decorated it or knew I was making that up.

  “Well, I tried. It’s small, but . . .”

  Thank You, God. She thinks she did it!

  “I mean, Beauty, it’s really lovely in here. I love what you have done. You and Pop really picked a winner!”

  Please let her agree, God. Please don’t let her know it was me who brought her here. Please, God.

  “Well, he likes, uh, likes. But, where is? Where is he?”

  “Dad is in Houston right now. He is going back and forth for work. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Oh, okay, yeah, okay. Sarah, where have you? I have missed you. Much.”

  “Oh, Mommy. I have missed you, too. I am back in Dallas now. We’ve been in Colorado most of the summer, and school just started for the kids, so I am finally back and can see you more.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, Colorado. How are? How are they?”

  I knew she was asking about the kids. Through her eyes, I could see her heart melting when I talked about them.

  “They are great, Mom. They can’t wait to see Beauty and Pop’s new place. They are going to love it here!”

  She rolled her eyes and gave a small sarcastic laugh. “Well, it’s not big. Not much, you know, not much for them.”

  “Oh, Mom, there is plenty for them to do. You have cards and board games and puzzles out there, and Elijah can throw a football anywhere. He doesn’t care!”

  Macy was still in the room. I hadn’t even been aware that she was snapping pictures. She tapped me on the shoulder and said she would let us visit privately for a few minutes. Then she gave me a wink to let me know she would bring Ginny up.

  Mom looked different. Her face was a little swollen, and her eyelids were droopier; she had aged in those six weeks. She wore a beautiful cobalt-blue-and-white top with splashes of turquoise, along with matching pants. Her hair was straight and not styled, but it was clean. I’d helped Dad line up appointments for manicures and pedicures every two weeks, to maintain her dignity, and her nails were freshly painted. I wanted to fix her makeup, though, and brighten her eyes.

  I told her about my summer, what grades the kids were in, and Emery turning eleven. We talked about how she and Dad had been married for fifty years, and how I prayed Thad and I would have the blessing of being married that long.

  Our time together was incredibly meaningful. It was emotional, but the depth of our love for each other had not changed. We had lost weeks together, but it seemed like we gained them back in those few minutes. I missed hugging her, and I missed brushing her hair and putting on her mascara and lipstick. I wanted to never forget that moment.

  Hearing Ginny’s voice from around the corner, I said, “Mom, someone’s here to see you. Shhh, listen.”

  Mom lowered her eyebrows and tilted her head like a puppy.

  “I think I hear Ginny!”

  Mom’s eyes got big. “Ginny? Let’s hide!”

  Within seconds, Mom had jumped out of her chair and hopped over to the wall on the other side of the bathroom door. She knelt with her hands on her knees. When I came over to whisper something to her, she put her finger over her mouth and said, “Shhh! Let’s surprise!”

  I can’t explain the joy it brought me to see my mom so giddy over her best friend. I felt like I was playing hide-and-go-seek with Elijah! I turned my phone on video—I had to document this moment.

  We heard a knock on the door and the words, “Doughnuts! Hello? I brought some doughnuts!”

  Ginny turned the corner with a chocolate doughnut hanging out of her mouth and chocolate icing smudged all over her lips. Mom squealed with such excitement that I thought she might wet her pants. She tried to jump up and down but couldn’t because her knees
were turned inward. And she didn’t know what to do with her hands to let Ginny know she had a chocolate mess on her face—wave, clap, or point.

  But Ginny just planted a giant kiss on Mom’s lips with the chocolate icing all over her mouth. It was the most special moment between two friends, reunited as if nothing had changed. On that day, not even a brain disease could diminish their love for each other.

  AS WE SAT DOWN WITH Mom to eat lunch, I was in shock over her decline. Her hands continued to shake, and she struggled to get the soup spoon to her mouth. She had a hard time cutting her chicken because she was holding her fork upside down, and knives weren’t allowed for safety reasons. Thankfully, Ginny kept the conversation going so I wouldn’t have to talk much.

  I wanted to help Mom eat, but I thought my offer might offend her. What Ginny did next was priceless.

  “Here,” she said. “I’m going to put my straw in my soup and just drink it through the straw. I don’t want the noodles anyway! I just want the broth. Who needs a spoon when you have a straw? It’s definitely less messy.”

  Mom looked over at Ginny’s soup with the clear straw sticking out of it.

  “You should try it, Becky.”

  Mom grabbed the straw out of her cranberry juice, stuck it in her cup of soup, and slurped down the entire cup of chicken broth. I couldn’t believe it. Genius, Ginny!

  It took Mom an hour to eat soup, chicken, green beans, and dessert. Her fine motor skills just weren’t the same.

  When it was time to say goodbye, I gave her a hug and told her I had to leave for carpool. I realized when I said this she might want to go with me, so I added, “Then I need to take a group of girls to soccer practice.”

  The lies. The constant lies. That’s one thing I did not miss for six weeks: having to look my mom in the eyes and lie.

  Macy redirected Mom as we left. She told her she needed help with something, and as Mom waved at me and walked away, I headed quickly to the memory-care door. Suddenly, as I looked at the keypad, it was déjà vu, that moment of turning my back on Mom and not looking back.

  As Ginny and I stepped into the elevator, I started to cry again.

  “Oh, Ginny. I miss her so much. Why does she have to have this disease?”

  Again, the emotions poured out. I went into the same restroom I’d gone into the day we placed Mom. Just like then, I shut the door and wept. Only this time, I had Big Ginny instead of Little Ginny taking care of me. As I cried, I could hear my mom’s words from the past: “Sarah, I really wish you would call Little Ginny when you visit New York and get to know her. You girls would love each other so much.”

  God, thank You. I love our Ginnys. What would I do without them?

  WHEN GINNY DROPPED ME OFF, I was numb. My spirit exhausted, I went to my room, got in bed, and curled into a fetal position. I cried so hard, feeling terribly alone. There were so many emotions running through my brain, my thoughts were cluttered. Memories with Mom began to take over, especially the hours we spent together driving to and from gymnastics. And the conversations we had and her guidance and mentoring through those hormonal teen years.

  That night, I realized she couldn’t console me anymore. I could no longer talk to her about things that bothered me or get her advice. It wasn’t the same anymore and never would be. Although we laughed and smiled and hugged and had fun that afternoon, it was like a piece of me died when I left Mom. Part of my soul was still at the lunch table on the fourth floor, never to return.

  My insides were screaming, “Save me!” I shook and cried, blood rushing to my face, and the pressure felt like it was going to burst through the top of my head. I couldn’t stand it. This dark spirit of anger and self-pity was stalking me and wouldn’t go away.

  After my meltdown, as I began to doze off, I heard the words, “I love you, Daughter.”

  Those were the words Mom said to me often, and God used them then to speak through her to remind me how much He loved me.

  Faith is not about making God do what I want, but rather it is about me knowing that what God does is good. As I lay there in a fetal position, I reminded myself that God is love. I fell asleep, knowing that He would equip me to stand on my two feet again and run this race with courage. It wouldn’t be easy, but I would lean on Him, not on my own understanding.

  TWENTY - THREE

  FRIENDS ARE THE BEST

  September 21 to September 30, 2016

  THE DAY AFTER SEEING MOM, I awoke to my phone exploding with text messages from friends and family members. I could barely get out of bed that morning, but never had I experienced such an outpouring of love from friends in my entire life. Fresh flowers were delivered to my porch, along with cards filled with scripture. Their messages gave me the courage to stand on my feet again.

  Jennifer stopped by late in the morning. She was elated I was able to see Mom, and there I was—depressed, complaining, and sad. I couldn’t express any excitement because the negative had overtaken the positive. That dark spirit was stalking me again.

  Before Jennifer left, she urged me, “Focus on what is good. You finally got to see your mom, and you are acting like you have no faith. You are forgetting what Jesus did on that cross. Jesus begged for it to be over on the cross, but He did what He had to do. I love you, but you can’t let Satan win this pity party. Focus on the good and not the bad.”

  I was so angry. How could Jennifer say something like that? She’d said it so boldly that it caught me off guard and hurt my feelings. What kind of friend says something like that after I wait seven weeks to see my mom?

  But hours later, as I typed an update to friends and family, I realized her words rang true.

  Yesterday was so emotional, and I had a massive breakdown when I got home. I literally cried out to God that He would breathe life into me because I am feeling so down and sad. I can’t handle watching this disease take my mom in such a slow and cruel way. I feel weak, and I feel like I can’t do anything. I slept from 8:30 p.m. to 6:30 a.m. last night, and I feel like I could sleep for days. I’m tired of everyday stuff and just want to grieve, but as a mom and a wife, you have to go on, right? I almost feel bitter and resentful. So many emotions that I can’t express in words. I don’t want sympathy. It’s just how I feel, and I want to be raw and honest with you all and not mask anything! But this is not a pity party. I’ve had one already with Him, and then a friend had to slap me around a few times to make me come out of it. She said, “Focus on what’s good, Sarah. Jesus begged for it to be over on the cross, but He did what He had to do.”

  I read something today:

  “He is the great generator of the power plant at the center of my threefold being, working in the midst of my physical being, including my brain and other parts of my nervous system.”

  That is my prayer for today. That He would be my power plant. I need Him to walk in me and for me, because I simply can’t today.

  This journey is my own. And many of you are going through your own journey. It is my prayer that Jesus will shine through everyone’s personal journey. How can people see His grace, goodness, and light if we can’t be authentic and real, if we hide behind our struggles? I am not hiding. This is real-life stuff, and I am in deep pain. I won’t compare anymore and think mine isn’t as bad as hers or his, or think to myself, “I can’t ask them to pray for me again.” If I had not asked for prayers, then I would not have experienced the incredible blessing of my phone exploding yesterday with so many scriptures, prayers, and words of encouragement!

  Thank you for sharing this journey with me and for praying with me and for my family. I can’t allow myself to be ashamed of asking for prayers anymore because I and we desperately need them. Thank you for your encouragement and reminders that you want to pray. Thank you for your amazing messages and love you pour out. I am so overwhelmed with gratitude, it has brought me to my knees.

  So I leave you with my “update.” It was painful, emotional, and joyful. It was tons of tears and lots of laughter. It was worry and
concern, yet peace about where she is. It was delightful. It was special. It was a moment I will never ever forget. It was love. She is loved, and she loves on them: The staff absolutely love her there. Love was in the air everywhere, even in the hymns played over the speaker during lunch. I watched her inability to hold her fork or poke her food, and I saw her wilting before my eyes, but what I am clinging to is the pure love of the Holy Spirit that was there during our time together. He never left! He was present every second. He spoke words through me, and He brought her peace. I’m in awe of His goodness even during such pain. Thank you to the friend who reminded me last night that this could help people and that she wants to be a part of this journey with me, and thank you to the friend today who got in my face and told me to focus on what was good and not bad. I needed y’all, and He knew it. His timing is always perfect.

  Love, Sarah

  God became my source of strength the day after I saw Mom. The responses I received from that update were overwhelming. People were inspired, encouraged, and blessed by His goodness toward our family. He wasn’t only drawing me closer to Him but was drawing others to Him. There really is purpose through pain.

  My friend Tavia, one of the strongest women I know, called me later that day. Tavia has a faith deeply rooted in Him and the most generous heart. She spoke the truth with love, and she spoke about her love for God boldly and unashamedly.

  “Sarah, I have something I want to run by you, and I hope you will say yes. I want to set up meal deliveries for you and Thad over the next several weeks. So many people want to help but don’t know how, and I know meals would serve you during this time.”

  I hesitated. “That is so sweet, Tavia. Thank you, but I’m okay. I’m not sick, and I can drive and get out and run my errands. Thank you for offering, but we are fine.”

  “But, Sarah, here’s the thing. You don’t want to have to even think about what to cook for your family, much less go to the store. I could email a small group of friends and have meals delivered for a week or two—however long it blesses you.”