My mother is in worse shape than ever.

She shuffles past, clinging to my father's hands - 

this is maybe her 4th or 5th trip past me.

Hi mom, I say. Going to sleep?

No, she replies, I'm going to go where I'll be sane.

Earlier - when I tried, fruitlessly, to get her to settle into bed - 

she informed me that she was a skillet. 

It's funny, in a tragic way. 

We have finally learned that she has a urinary tract infection,

which for whatever reason none of her doctors have spotted till now

(despite the fact that it was the first thing my osteopath asked about,

months ago)

and we have been unable to get the antibiotics that the doctor's office

was supposed phone in to the pharmacy before the doctor

left on vacation.

They never called them in. Their office is closed.

So my mother has been roaming almost non-stop all weekend,

hallucinating day and night,

shedding so much weight over the weekend that this afternoon

I was able to scoop her up in my arms to set her into her bed.

It hadn't occurred to me till just now that we should have gone straight to the

ER, and had the doctor there give her antibiotics.

When people talk about the broken healthcare system,

Where do we figure in plain old incompetence on the part of the provider?

How much more does she - do we all- have to suffer through?

Years of this, apparently.

I wish for her doctors to have this same experience, up close and personal.

Well, I feel it must be said.

When someone loses a loved pet,

the tendency is to cutify, beyond anthropomorphization -

"that damned" dog becomes the "dear darling puppy",

and instead of "Get him out of here!" or 

"Look at what your (damned) dog did!"

you find yourself taking an extra step to avoid tripping on him

but he's not there.

You miss it then,

the constant presence,

the shadow dogging your footsteps,

stepping barefoot on the soggy chew toys.

My dog would wake me up at 3 a.m.

pacing in the hallway, nails clicking -

back and forth, back and forth.

In the rush of dinner preparations and cleanup

frequently I forgot to feed him

and he would come and stand in front of me,

and look

and sigh

until I finally put it together and got his dinner.

On walks he had to sniff and pee. Every vertical object.

Including, on one memorable occasion, another dog.

In his later days he started to lick everything he sniffed.

Eww.

Having a pet can be damned annoying.

But I do have to say, even so,

that this was a very, very nice guy. 

Stout-hearted, gallant, and courageous to the point of idiocy,

His was a dear and gentle soul.

Letting him go when he needed to 

was one of the most difficult things to do.

I miss him. It hurts.

But I'm grateful for the years he shared with us,

and I hope with all my heart that there really is a doggy heaven

with treats and things to sniff and lots of tall objects to pee on.

Rest in peace, Jackson.

You were loved.

For Jackson, August 26, 2009

As soon as the heart ceases to beat

the blood to circulate

the life energy to flow

the body seems unexpectedly light

insubstantial

which prompts the question

how much does a soul weigh?

Lawnmower blues

I got blisters, at my sister's,
helping to mow her grass.
I couldn't turn over
her old lawn mower
that thing is a pain in the ass.
I helped the girls bake
a chocolate cake
They helped me to sweep and to trim.
For her broken rib
I'm a considerate sib-
Now I'll leave her to sink or to swim!!

Some wee beastie

There is a mouse in the room.
I can hear it, nibbling,
teeth click clicking
rustling.
Damn.
This means I have to pull out
everything
until I find the mouse.
There are a shitload of books
in that bookcase.
I'm not looking forward to this.

My dad and I did some research.
It looks a lot like my mom has Lewy Body dementia,
which is different than Alzheimer's.
Either way, there's not much left of her.
I had no idea she could lose so much weight.
Tendons, muscle - what's left of it - veins,
Starkly visible underneath
the skin loosely draped over the bones.
I am conscious of being grateful for my own roundness,
My firm flesh, my strength and coordination.
At least the spectre of inherited Alzheimer's disease
can pass me by, since Lewy's appears to be random,
A hit-and-run disease, likely to spare me degeneration
but leaving pain and chaos in its wake
as my mother dies slowly, cell by cell by cell.

Aroma

My toeses smell like roses,
Because of the soap I use.
If my toeses smell like roses,
Will it fix the smell in my shoes?

My mother has been in a manic hallucinatory state all day,

since at least 4 a.m.

I have been up with her the whole time, pretty much,

eventually giving up on the idea of sleep

and just sitting in a chair in her room 

when I'm not shadowing her around the house.

The one phone call I got this morning was cut short when I checked on her

and found her lying on the floor of her room.

She can't sleep, can't wake, can't be still, 

lying in her bed talking and talking,

walking around aimlessly, not knowing 

what she's looking for or where she's going

her knees buckling sometimes every few steps.

I catch her, guide her to her bed -

"Keep walking, Mom, you're not there yet-

Walk, walk, walk -"

I lift her into her bed, her hands clutching my clothes,

pulling my shirt down over my breasts,

eyes already closed.

I can hear her still talk, ceaselessly, in her bed.

I'm getting tired.

Good karma

My friend makes me happy.

When I see him, I have to smile -

His name says itself, in multiples -

He opens his arms for a hug, every time.

True, he hugs everyone!

This is not a romantic thing, 

what I have with my friend.

We talk, sometimes we work together,

He's just that kind of a person.

He makes the world a better place

for being in it, and those of us around him

all feel the benefit of him. 

Such a deal.

I never really understood the phrase "empty-eyed" before.

How could someone's eyes reflect something, or nothing?

They're just eyes.

But now I look at my mother's eyes, and I understand.

Occasionally my mother still looks out at me through those eyes,

but more often than not they are vacant,

like a derelict building half boarded up,

completely empty. 

Sartorial disarray

What the hell is on my shirt? 

I had a clean white shirt earlier today,

and now it's got something purple -

something yellow -

ewwww, what is this here?!

And here I am, going out in public,

to the store, in this shirt,

because it's late,

and I'm going to come home and take it off anyway -

Oy, what has happened to my standards?!