How Are We Going To Do This?

(Time Period: Two days after moving my parents to Arizona, in a relative early phase of Mom’s progression with Alzheimer’s.)

Bedtime

It was 10:00 p.m. Dad was downstairs watching TV and Jess and I had just gotten into bed. Light from the guest bathroom down the hall was streaming through the small window above our bedroom door. Mom was getting ready for bed but it had been a while and Jess suggested that I check on her.

The bathroom door was open and as I entered, Mom had a look of anguish on her face. She wore a pale pink nightgown and was sitting on the closed toilet seat. In one hand she held a compact of powder makeup, a rose-colored blush for cheekbones. With the other hand, she was applying the rouge – up and down, up and down, feverishly – to the shin of her crossed leg. With panic in her voice and on the verge of tears, she looked at me and said, “I can’t get this to rub in.”

The scene startled me, along with the level of her emotion. With a washcloth in my hand, I knelt down, “That’s okay. Let me help you.”

Calming Down

I got her into bed and with the lights still on, we lay down on top of the covers on our sides, facing each other. I told her about a prayer that I had learned from Father Bill Faiella at my church: taking a slow deep breath to the sound of Jesus’ name. On the inhale saying “Je” and on the exhale “sus.” It only took a few times doing this together for both of us to calm. (1)

“I’ll always be here for you.” Those are the words that formed to reassure and comfort her. I wanted Mom to know I would be with her, by her side, whatever was ahead. I couldn’t take Alzheimer’s away. The promise I’d be able to keep was to be with her. There was nothing else to say but this. She smiled exactly the way she always had and reciprocated: I’ll always be here for you.

The Question That Lingered

Dad was on his way upstairs to join Mom. As I returned to bed and still frazzled by the bathroom scene, I asked Jess: “How are we going to do this?”

How many times as a coach had I assisted someone to temporarily let go of “the how?” This meant to release having to know the exact answer and instead focus on the next small step.

That night, however, I needed to say the words out loud: How are we going to do this? I don’t remember what Jess said in response. Maybe it was: Let’s just get some sleep tonight. We’ll figure it out. I only recall the weight of the question and I’m sure he felt it as well.

We needed to express our helplessness and overwhelm. We knew it was beyond us and, in an odd way, acknowledging that took the pressure off. The question lingered in the air as we turned out the light. Perhaps it floated up as our unfinished prayer that night.

The next morning my parents came downstairs in their robes and Jess made breakfast. We were happy to have them with us. In the afternoon we just ran some necessary errands.

That was the only “how” we could get our arms around that Sunday.

Reflection:

• When have you had to temporarily release solving the entire problem? How did the next step become clear?
• For a challenge you are currently facing, what is one step – even if preliminary – that seems right for today?

Read. Be Inspired. Share. I welcome your comments below.

Note:

(1) About the occasional prayer references that are within the With Grace story: The faith language contained in today’s post is an integral part of my mother’s story and that is the context in which I share it. If it differs from your faith tradition or spirituality, I invite you to adapt it to your own. While cherishing my faith, I respect the richness of different faiths and marvel at the intersections where we can meet. For more of my thoughts on this, please see About Faith.