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2/6/11

Sunday, Sunday

Super Bowl today. I care not.

Last Thursday CB was extra depressing for some reason. Maybe because I walked in with a woman whose 92 year old husband was in there. She had to be in her eighties. She was tired from doing nine things since lunch, (it was around 4 PM), including the grocery shopping so she didn't have to go out on Friday when it was supposed to be raining. We parted ways once inside and went to look for our respective family members.

I found Mom down the hall by her room, She smiled and held her hands out, "Hey, it's you!"
Yes it is.

On the way to DSW she started to ask several questions or make comments, but the thoughts don't even make it past the first few words.

Anyway, I don't know what possessed me to take Mom shoe shopping before dinner, or any shopping any time really. It's too exhausting and frustrating for both of us.

After remarking on how big it was, she headed right for the most inappropriate shoes - the sky high stilettos.
Then she rearranged the display shoes, moving them from one shoe podium to another.
Good thing I am an expert cat herder.

We aimed for the clearance section in the back and in about five minutes reached our goal. Then the real fun began. Getting her to stay sitting down while I brought shoes to her was a challenge. Then she'd put her shoes in the box and carry the trying on pair around. She picked up one pair of black patent leather 5" heels about ten times. Several pair were tried on, but I couldn't get a clear answer if they were comfortable or not. So we left empty handed (footed) and went over to Bob Evans. We're becoming regulars. Sigh.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to know what to order. She says yes to whatever you ask (or point to) and then when it comes, she says that wasn't what she wanted. Or maybe she means it is, because it is often opposite. At any rate, my translating skills are not holding up.
I find myself getting angry because she doesn't remember what it means to blow on her food/tea to cool it off or how to use a fork or put a napkin on her lap. She blows her nose and after a commentary, (which I in no way ever want to hear), meticulously folds the Kleenex and wants to give it to me.
Okay, say it with me...EWWWWWWW.

She called me a "snerd".  Which would normally be funny, but it wasn't by then.
Her back was bothering her, (Another reason I didn't want her getting up and down at DSW.); when I'm around people in pain - my worry comes off as mad. But if I'm mad at anyone, it's myself.
We shouldn't have sat in a booth, I should have insisted she wear her brace, I can't do anything to stop the pain, she can't really tell me how bad it is. Crap.

According to Strength Finder 2.0, I'm Restorative; "People who are especially talented in the Restorative theme are adept at dealing with problems. They are good at figuring out what is wrong and resolving it."
But I can't fix this.

We decided we were finished, mostly because I could take no more of her wincing in pain, and headed home. She has become pretty good at recognizing where we're going; she always remembers Nantucket Grill and her former "home".

I was so tired and depressed I handed her off at the door.

That's just how us snerds are.

2 comments:

  1. Dear Snerd, I'm taking it upon myself to thank you for those who cannot say thanks.

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  2. At least you are trying to do for her even though it is a pain at times. My Aunt Katie who is 102 and still living by herself is getting to the point that we may need to start spending some weekends with her to help out.

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