Mom & Me Four Archive

    It happens, occasionally, very occasionally, but it's not condoned or tolerated. That's what I was moved to tell my mother last night just before she retired.
    Weird what happened. It was 0100 (this morning, actually). Mom was lively but thought she might be ready for bed. We'd had an interesting evening, watching episodes of Roseanne, 2nd Season and pausing the DVD frequently to discuss what was, last night, Mom's well remembered version of our family life (the family she and my father created).
    I helped Mom out of her chair, supported and directed her through wiggling her hips to gain her balance and alleviate stiffness then guided her around the rocker. I noticed that the cuff of my pants was coming undone so we stopped, I placed her hand securely on the chair (the rocking action of which has been stopped with wooden breakers under the front and back; she never rocked in it, anyway, and the breakers make it easier for her to sit and rise), backed off about a foot and bent from the hips to fix my cuff. When I attempted to rise I noticed my mother's free hand on my head. I thought she might be using my head for further standing security, even though we've discussed many times that she is not to do this as, if she falls we both fall and become likely candidates for injury. I also thought that as I rose she'd lift her hand. She didn't. She pushed on my head harder (surprisingly hard, in fact), preventing me from rising...and, she giggled.
    Oops! Not a recommended joke. When I realized what she was doing I reached up, grabbed her hand pulled it off my head, held it securely so that she wouldn't lose her balance, rose, faced her with a fury to which she is completely unaccustomed from me and lit into her.
    "That, Mom, is not funny. Let me explain to you how not funny it is. This little idea of a joke has the potential for serious injury to me and you."
    Her eyes widened and she stared at me with consternation. Her expression clearly read, "Jesus! Can't you take a fucking joke!?!"
    "I see you don't get it. Okay, we're going to stand here and I'm going to scold you until you do."
    Her face slackened a little.
    I launched into a detailed explanation of what the consequences of injury due to jokes of physical cruelty could be for her and me, including the possibility of a nursing home stay for her unmoderated by me because I could be hospitalized. I gave her no quarter. At all. I scolded her for even considering that such an action might be funny. Then, I launched into a short, sharp sermon recounting for her recent episodes of her purposely stepping on our cat's tail or catching and pulling it, which have resulted in an angry, scratching cat and minor legs wounds to my mother to which I have not been sympathetic. I told her that I know that in such close quarters as we live both of us have bad days and I'm not immune to occasionally (very occasionally) cruelly lashing out at her, either. But those are not to be tolerated, either, they cause me as much pain as they cause her and, at any rate, I do not use cruelty for my pleasure as she does.
    I stopped and scrutinized her reaction. I could tell that she was not only offended at being scolded but she wasn't convinced.
    As I paused she said, "It didn't hurt you. It doesn't hurt the cat."
    I narrowed my eyes. "Mom," I said, "let me remind you. You've always had a penchant for cruelty to beings in the service of fun when they're vulnerable. Remember the boots-on-cats stunts you used to pull? Remember how many times over the last seven years (the age of our cat, The Little Girl) you've been scratched because some form of teasing you thought would be funny wasn't funny to The Little Girl? You even believe that countering a cruel child's antics on the playground with the same applied cruelty is an adequate lesson in how to act. 'If a child bites another child, you bite the child to show the child how it feels.' You need to stop and take a long look at your little ventures into cruelty, especially now that you're thinking they're fun to pull on me. Believe me, they aren't fun for me, and I'm going to make sure that you learn, tonight, that they carry the risk of not being fun for you, either. I know you would never consider yourself cruel at heart. You generally aren't. But let me tell you, you may be 88, you may be mentally hazy, but you are not too old or demented to expand your ability to be compassionate and merciful."
    I stopped. Mom was no longer meeting my gaze with defiance. She wasn't cowed but she was clearly shocked. I could see the wheels turning as she considered what I'd said. I think the part that got to her was me telling her that she was aware enough to recognize the cruelty of some of her habitual "fun" behaviors and change them.
    "Do you understand me?"
    "Yes." Very quiet.
    "Are you sure?"
    "Yes."
    "Do you agree with me?"
    "Yes." It wasn't automatic, which was a relief. I could see she was beginning to view these behaviors of hers in a new light.
    "You need to apologize to me, now, just as I make you apologize to The Little Girl every time you bedevil her."
    "I'm sorry."
    "What are you sorry for?" I considered this very important. If she was beyond remembering that for which she needed to apologize, I needed to readjust my reaction and the apology would need to come from me.
    "I'm sorry for trying to keep you from getting up. I'm sorry I thought it was funny. I'm sorry I victimized you for my pleasure."
    Whoa! That last admission was a surprise. I realized, from that statement, that she did, indeed, know what she was doing, that she wasn't doing it from a demented depth.
    "O.K. Apology accepted. I'm still simmering, though. If you feel the need to get back up after you go to bed because you can't sleep, I advise you not to. I need some time to settle down and think my way out of this. You need to give me that time. Do you understand?"
    "Yes."
    "O.K. Into the bathroom. Let's get you ready for bed."
    For the first time in several nights I didn't have a Night Visitor during my Cooldown from Caregiving period.

    If my mother didn't have this slight but glittering streak of cruelty in her I would be tempted to wonder whether we might be entering a new Experience in Dementia. I considered it last night but I'm sure, after reviewing all the incidents I can remember directed at our cat over the last several years and all her assertions of Cruelty as A Lesson in Compassion, that this was not a new episode in Dimensions of Dementia (hmmm..."dimensions" and "dementia"; I wonder if they're etymologically related...must look them up; even if they aren't, the similarity is provocative). I did, at any rate, consider whether I'd be able to handle her if she began journeying into the stage of Demented Rage and Cruelty which seems to be a hallmark of specifically Alzheimer's related dementia. I'm satisfied, today, that I would be able to handle it, but I don't think I'll have to.
    The point, now, for me, is one I've had to consider a few times before: Is it possible for An Ancient One with Dementia-Lite to continue becoming aware of and reforming her questionable behaviors as she did in the past? I can think of only one other time when I scolded her for something: Eating directly out of condiment jars. Although I continue to keep an eye on her and work to keep her from foraging food on her own in the kitchen, there have been two times I can remember when I wasn't successful since The Condiment Incident. Both times she was careful to tell me, of her own accord, that she "didn't eat out of jars". The evidence confirmed this. As well, she didn't eat condiments either time. Both these incidents suggest to me that she remains capable of modifying offensive and/or dangerous behaviors and will probably think twice before she again attempts to entertain herself with cruelty to other beings.
    I will, I know, from now on, be wary of stumbling into situations in which she might decide it would be funny to be cruel to me, even though my best guess is that she probably won't do this again.
    We'll see how it goes.
    My mother is, overall, a credit to her species, has been publicly lauded as such more than once and very deservedly so. She, though, like all of us, has her rough edges: Fewer than in the past, of course, but still jarring when confronted. When someone is old as my mother is old (and, specifically as she is old, as there are, I realize, Stages of Old in which bewildering behavior is intractable to anything but chemicals and/or restraint, if those) it's tempting to overlook flaws, assuming that nothing can or should be done about them. "She's old, after all." I think we rob dignity from the person in question when we take this tack. The Ancient are not always The Intractable. In many cases they are not only able but willing to modify their behavior to better effect, especially if they still recognize the entire world as their stage. I think the important point to remember is that regardless of how old we are or whether we've entered the lighter realms of Dementia, if we retain essential awareness of ourselves in society, as my mother does, it is never too late to sand yet another rough edge away.
    I'd like to assume that it is needless to write the following, but I think I should anyway: These incidents in which my mother displays behavior that cries out to be modified are very rare. I expect them to remain rare for the rest of her life. Her fundamental character is well-developed and delightful. It is not, however, finished. It won't be finished until she's finished. She believes she has a long way to go. I think I honor her in assuming the same and treating her as though, along the way, she continues to not only have lessons to learn but has the ability to learn them. I think I'll know if we reach a point where assuming this no longer honors but hampers her. With a little luck and the influence of her extraordinary genes, though, I suspect that even her death will be, for her, yet another adventure in learning. I hope so. We should all be so lucky and blessed.