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“Grace” will blog weekly about her experiences of loving, supporting and relating to her mother. She will also discuss her own thoughts on her 'ageing' as a 'Baby Boomer'. This is a true story.
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There's been a lot of wondering going on around our house over the past 20 months. Mostly about housing. Wondering if our house will be repaired or rebuilt, if we will be able to stay here or if we will have to move on. Wondering if we will stay in the Christchurch area or if we will go somewhere else. Wondering if we are too old to make the change to living in a new place. Wondering what would happen to Mum if we leave. Wondering if we will need to increase our mortgage to be able to stay here. Wondering what impact this might have on income and lifestyle. Wondering what retirement might look like for us, indeed if there will be any retirement. We also wonder if we need to consider including Mum in our future housing plans.
Last week we had house assessment #5. Our house broke in the first quake, September 4, 2010. It was not so bad that anything needed to be done urgently, but some day it will need to be done. The carpet conceals the hills, hollows and fractures that are our floor. The walls still stand, but with interesting new cracks and lines. The ceilings ripple across the rooms making patterns when the lights are on.
She's an old girl. I only got to know her when she was past her best. I'm not attached to her. She came with the husband. I love him. Her, not so much.
I suspect that they'll suggest repair. Patching her up is a bit like giving a dying person a hip replacement. It won't save her, just give her a bit more quality of life in her last days. It would have been better for us if she were broken beyond repair. She'd be put out of her misery. We'd have a new life.
I can't help thinking that this must be a little like the limbo that families of people with dementia find themselves in. They must wonder too. Wonder and wait to know what will come next. The person is there, but not there. I've heard so many stories of family visiting and hoping that this will be the day that their mother recognises them. Most days it's not.
I'm lucky, most of my grandparents went suddenly. Answering the phone to hear that someone has died suddenly might be a shock, but rather that than having a parent linger on so long that the family feels guilty for wishing that it will end, knowing that the only end is death. Even my father's emphysema cut him down reasonably quickly, when compared to people who linger for years with dementia. I feel for those whose parents are alive but not present.
Life and houses don't last forever. We live with a broken house that is not so broken that she will collapse. They live with absent parents who are not so absent that they can begin the next phase of their lives. The death of our house will not upset me, unattached as I am. Knowing that the only way out for those with dementia is death must be such a challenge for their families.