My Mother's Last Days

I thought my mom had a mini stroke. The nurse wouldn’t say what it was, but I was sure. Apparently she was tired and didn’t eat much at lunch. When I picked her up for supper, she was lethargic and had a little trouble talking clearly. She was very cold and her tongue was not working properly.

At the restaurant she chewed and chewed her salad without swallowing it except when taking a sip of her coffee. I knew something was wrong, so I took her home as soon as possible. I thought she had bitten her tongue, as it was a bit of blood came out on a napkin.

I sat with her for a while, gave her water and held her hand until she fell asleep on her bed with extra coverings. The next day Uncle Connie (who was a doctor) visited her to check her over. She was still mobile and able to do everything. He noticed that she was a little vacant.

The day after that, nurse Danielle called me at work and told me about her episode, sudden fatigue on the way to her hair appointment and she faded - with a faint pulse and vitals. The nurse had called the paramedics.

I met up with mom at the St. Boniface Hospital, with a suspected heart problem. I will never forget her face when I arrived - sitting up in emergency, hair everywhere, hooked up to everything and looking scared.

She was moved up to the CCU, and was compliant, but quite out of it, mentally. I would look at her, and she’d say, “What?”
Judy and Bernie Friesen visited, along with my children, but when Darrell arrived, she lit up like a Christmas tree. It was like she saw Jesus walking in. Soon she was moved up to a regular room, housed with another patient.

She was scared about the change. I managed to get her up for a huge bowel movement on the portable commode. She couldn’t swallow pills and was irritated by the IV, so I asked if it could be removed. After conferring with the doctor, it was agreed to remove it.. They wanted her to be able to go home, but needed to make sure that she could get up and walk a bit.

The nurse tried to remove the tape and the IV, but it hurt mom, so she screamed and hit at her. Another nurse helped as mom screamed and thrashed, thinking that the nurses wanted to hurt her.

Later, paramedics came to pick her up. Sitting up, she panicked and was literally kicking and screaming, almost jumping off the gurney. She was afraid that the paramedics were there to kill her. I blocked her kicks with my body and came in close to her to reassure her, speaking softly and sternly that she needed to cooperate, and that no one wanted to hurt her. Gradually she calmed, and the paramedics were able to transfer her to the stretcher and take her back to the care home.

I was mentally and physically exhausted. I signed an agreement for no more hospital visits. It was too traumatic for her. Next time an episode happens, she would be kept at her home and made comfortable in her room.

I wanted to be with her when “the time comes”, but knew that I can’t do everything. She was in God’s hands.

April 26th, 2012, she was able to get around and have meals. She was once more cheerful and talkative. I went about my business that day and went grocery shopping. When I got home, the power went on and off at about 6 pm.

After supper, I got a call from the care home. the nurse told me that mom had been found in her room after supper and was gone.

Darrell and I went directly to see my mother’s body. She was laying on her bed as if she was sleeping (with her mouth open), but all colour was gone, and she was cold. It felt like she and my daddy were present in the room with me, so I told them that I loved them, and asked them to introduce themselves to Darrell’s parents in heaven.

The next day we cleaned out her room and gave away her remaining clothes. We visited the funeral home and picked out a light coloured casket and a pink and red spray of flowers. 

The day before the funeral, my family and my sister’s family were in my home for lunch after church. My daughter Cherie gave me a card, and a few seconds later I burst out crying hysterically, “I’m going to be a gramma!!!!!”  I cried so loudly and long that Cherie commented, “I think I broke my mom.”

It was mostly a relief of stress, but it was wonderful. I am so ready to be a gramma. I thought of my late husband Wern, and Granny, and Cherie said, “they already know.”

Love and Life Changes

While my mother was on a trip to see my sister in Portland, I went to her apartment to sort through her kitchen and take some unnecessary things away. When she came home, I showed her a new telephone and a tidy apartment. She insisted that "they" had followed her to Portland, and that they knew about her trip by listening to her phone calls. On her last day there, they apparently stole two dollars and a pair of her panties. My sister said that the two dollars was found in her purse, but Mom insisted that it wasn't true.

So negotiations with her doctor about the possibility of a care home began. Gradually we convinced her to consider a care home, and I began taking her on tours of various options. I began to get discouraged, as she gave all kinds of reasons to refuse the choices.

I met my second husband in 2006, thanks to a blind date situation set up by my favourite cousin, Judy. To her, Darrell seemed a lot like my own father, a quiet, steady man who loved fixing cars. Darrell was a master Volvo technician. I agreed with Judy, and Darrell and I quickly fell in love.

I introduced my mother to Darrell at an ice cream shop, one summer afternoon. She loved him immediately and was very happy for me. I even invited him along to a family gathering at Rossmere Golf Club, to celebrate her eightieth birthday.

Things went fairly smoothly, and we were married on July 20th, 2007. The next month, when I went to my mother's apartment, I found her in bed, unable to get up, go to the washroom or feed herself. It was fixed in her mind that now Faye was married, I would no longer help her, take her shopping or visit her. 

None of it was true of course, but that is what she believed. I now had someone who would help both of us, but couldn't convince her. She was dehydrated, and physically, I couldn't help her get to the washroom, so I resorted to putting towels under her so that she could relieve herself.

At wit's end, I called an ambulance and they took her to the hospital. However, they couldn't find anything physically wrong with her, so they sent her home again. I had to stay with her, since she couldn't do anything for herself. 

The next morning I called her doctor for advice. Dr. Heather told me to call the ambulance again. This time I refused to allow her to be taken home, since I couldn't be full time with her and change diapers. It was a ridiculous situation.

In the end, she was transferred temporarily to a convalescent home. She was very frightened there at first, being in a crowded room with three other people. She thought she had been sent to hell. Gradually as she was beginning to eat again and to walk about, she got to know others around her. She was doing so much better in the end that she said, "They treat me like a queen! I don't want to be a queen. I want to be a normal person." I laughed at that, glad that she didn't hate me.

She actually fell in love with one of her fellow patients. Apparently he sat with her a lot, and she felt wanted. But by March of that year, she was finally transferred to her favourite care home. She then didn't want to leave her new boyfriend! 

Concordia Place was a lot closer to my home, and she had privacy in her own room with her own telephone and she was close to the dining area and amenities. My sister was able to call her whenever she wanted to.

What a load off of my shoulders. Mom then became consumed with affection for the local chaplain, a handsome younger man. She doted on him, and if he glanced her way while he preached at services, she was so happy. Darrell and I were once again able to take her on Sundays to our church and out to restaurants whenever we could.  

Life was very good for a long time.

Patience Was My Ally

Patience needed to be my strongest ally, dealing with the changes and my mother's complaints about the thieves in her new home, who even took her chequebook apparently just for the cookie recipe written on a cheque. 

I hoped the new location might assist in diminishing Mom's perceived thefts, but after a while it got worse. She thought that "they" were climbing to her third floor balcony with a rope pulley. The same people were the culprits, and had apparently followed her there from her old apartment. 

She called me at home and at work, complaining about things missing or putting me on guilt trips for not paying enough attention to her. One day her ID was gone, and I worried that I'd have to apply for duplicate ID for her, but later found the packet in her purse which was hidden in the oven. Another time her glasses were smudged with fingerprints when she woke in the morning, and she blamed the thieves who brought along a little boy to smudge her glasses.

I asked her doctor if there was any medications that we could try, and we did, but Mom found that they made her drowsy or dizzy. Thank goodness that I was at least on depression medication. It got to a point that I felt like running away, or wishing I was dead. I was close to a nervous breakdown.

She made me laugh one day. She was sympathetic to my office staff, since she saw what we did when she volunteered on Fridays for many years. She said, "You should ask for a raise." I told her that I had already asked and been turned down. She then said, "But the church is supposed to help widows and orphans! You are the widow and I am the orphan!" When she asked who had turned me down, she said, "Cause I want to punch him in the face!"

A thoughtful thing she said was that she couldn't figure out why God had allowed my husband Wern to die so young. But she said that God must have something pretty special planned for me. :)

The emotion and imagination side of her were gradually taking control of the reasoning side. I have often had an irrational fear that the same thing would happen to me, but I thank God that I have Him to cast my fears on, and let Him look after the details. He always has.

Here are some things that I learned to help me deal with dementia:

1) Keep in mind that while the personality may change, the person is still the one that you love.

2) Help the person to feel needed and useful.

3) Any aggressive behaviour may be linked with a bad experience in the past. Eg. She grew up poor, hence the paranoia about people stealing things from her.

4) Negative behaviour or correction from the caregiver is not good. It is much better to offer alternative explanations or change the subject to something more pleasant.

5) Self esteem is important to the person. Help them to save face. Do not scold or embarrass them.

My Nine-Eleven

In 2002, the last time I remember seeing my husband Wern was when he made his nightly peanut butter sandwich and he passed me in the kitchen doorway smiling at me with the usual glint in his eye.

That night I woke up to Wern making "snoring" sounds, but it wasn't snoring and I ended up doing CPR at the instruction of the 911 operator. He stopped breathing and the paramedics took over on arrival and revived him enough to take him to the hospital. He died shortly after. He had had an enlarged heart.

My mother was of course devastated at first, but it wasn't long before she seemed to entirely forget that he had existed. In her dementia, her focus was on herself and how I looked after her.

Mom depended on me way too much. She kept telling me that I am her reason for living. I had my own life and responsibilities after losing my husband. Of course I would look after her until she dies, but it became a problem for my mental health.

I went away on a trip for some relief, and when I returned, she felt sorry for herself that I didn't look after her needs. I was using medication for depression, and I sometimes felt like giving up or wishing I was dead. My boss, Pastor Claude Pratte became my confidante, who prayed for me and encouraged me daily. 

I gave up expecting any empathy about my loss until one day out of the blue when she asked me if it was okay if she prayed for another husband for me. I was touched, and said "yes."

It was a stressful year in 2003 when I cleared out all of our unneeded "stuff" and sold our beautiful house on Glenwood Crescent, which had been on the river. I bought another house nearby, and hired my cousin's husband as contractor to renovate. My brother-in-law Marvin and his team looked after painting all of the rooms to my colourful imagination.

The Lord is my comforter, I shall not be in want

He makes me to lie down in my green bedroom

He leads me to soak in my new hot tub

He guides me safely on the streets of Winnipeg for his names sake

Even though I’ve walked through the funeral home

on the death of my Wern

I will fear no evil, for your church and church staff are with me

Your  spirit and son, they comfort me.

You prepare a bountiful life for me

in the presence of my anxieties

You anoint my head with oil,

my coffee cup overflows

surely goodness and love will follow me 

all the days of my life

And I will dwell at 44 Cobourg Ave for many happy years to come

It was that same year that I moved my mother to her new apartment which was a rented condo very close to our church. Once the move was complete, I thought that maybe I would have a short break from her thief stories.

The year ended well with a family trip to Hawaii. I took my mother and my children, and my sister and her husband met us there. Balm for the soul. It had been a dream of my mother's to travel to an exotic location for the very first time.

The painting featured is from a photo I took of my mother immediately after she asked me if her own mother was still alive, and I answered her with a "no."

A Reason for it All

I no longer have a CD player at home that works, so when my boss Steve Bell gave me a preview copy of his new album "The Glad Surprise," I waited to play it until I was in my car on the way to work.

Steve sang at my husband Darrell's funeral in 2023. For the recessional, at my request, his manager Dave played the song "A Reason for it All," written by Steve's dear friend Byron O'Donnell, who passed away the same year.

Steve decided to add a cover of that song on his new album, which will be out in October, 2024 called "The Glad Surprise".  I had only heard snippets of songs during the period of recording when I was at the office, so hearing it all in one shot brought me to tears.

Steve's version of "A Reason for it All" is a more upbeat rendering of Byron's beautiful words and melody, and his version is added as a bonus at the end of the album. This song alone is a great reason to purchase this album. "A Reason for it All" doesn't just comfort those who are bereaved, but encourages all who are suffering in different ways.

In my seventeen years of working at Steve's office, every new album has been a joy and a wonder, but this latest one is one heck of a glad surprise. The album focuses on the fact that every human being is different, and that Jesus loves every single one of us. Steve has a huge heart of love for everyone, including the marginalized.

I don't listen to music much anymore, since it was something I loved to do with my late husband when we would play pool together on the weekends. We would have lights twinkling and music blaring as we played. I miss those times. But this new album makes me want to listen to it over and over when I drive my car. 

Steve's music has given me back music. Now I have to buy a new CD player...

The album is now available at Stevebell.com.

Finding the Lost

My Mom was constantly losing things. I was beginning to tire of searching her apartment for lost small items, like toothpaste, laundry detergent (lost in scoopfuls), and other daily necessities. I thought that she was merely forgetful of using items, or putting them away in other places.

It was all very gradual. A lost Santa hat was one that she made quite a fuss about. She began to accuse people in her apartment building. The building supervisor was an elderly lady named Sally (name changed for privacy reasons). She had a son and daughter who lived in the same building.

Mom began to accuse Sally and her children of coming into her apartment, taking small things including food and rearranging other items so that she couldn't find them. I reasoned with her, I searched the apartment, and listened to her complain. It didn't make sense to me that someone would enter her apartment for such small incidental items.

Several of Mom's friends lived in the same building, and they were aware of the changes in my mother's thinking and attitude. They worried about her, and occasionally they would let me know of things that they noticed.

In public and at church, she seemed very normal. She volunteered to help fold and stuff bulletins for me on Fridays at church, went to quilting sessions at MCC, and was active in Bible classes and outings with her friends. She was generally happy. Especially happy of course, when she saw Dan at church. She was positive that he wanted to marry her. I was convinced by her when he and his mother passed down the exit aisle after the service, and he smiled in our direction. 

I encouraged her to write him a letter and enquire about any interest. Eventually she did this, and she received a response letter, very strongly indicating that he had no intentions toward her. At first she was disappointed, but then convinced herself that he would change his mind, and that he was still sitting in his car on the street in the evenings with his headlights on, to let her know that he was watching.

The "thefts" in her apartment gradually increased. I did all that I could to help, but nothing worked. Her accusations of the building supervisor and her family increased and became more public to the point that Sally was becoming very annoyed with my mother. Mom's friends assured Sally that it wasn't personal, and that my mother was beginning to change mentally.

Thankfully, Mom and I shared the same doctor. Heather Domke was updated by me when I attended appointments with Mom. It came to a point when the doctor recommended that Mom be tested for dementia or alzheimers.

It wasn't easy to convince Mom to be tested. I told her that it was just a memory test, and she often became agitated that I would accuse her of forgetting things. She reminded me that she had been a nurse, and still had a perfect memory. She even accused me of being more forgetful than her.

She hesitantly took the test, insisting to me as she answered the questions, that she was perfectly normal. The person testing her was very kind and helpful. As a result, Dr. Heather told me that Mom had early signs of dementia. It was a medical confirmation for me, as I had been sure that this was the direction we were taking.

Telling her siblings was another matter. Her brother Cornelius Derksen was a doctor, and when Mom was at family gatherings, he saw that she was perfectly normal and happy. I had a long meeting with him and Aunt Margaret to explain the details. It took some convincing, but they finally believed me. Mom could not remember individual names at gatherings, and she mostly smiled and sat with people.

Every year Mom took an airplane ride to see my sister June in Vancouver Washington. June noticed things about her on visits as well. Mom even thought that the people who stole things from her followed her to Washington to continue harrassing her.

Things took a bad turn after one visit to Washington that resulted in an ulcer on her ankle. Things turned badly for myself also, as my husband Wern Kliewer suddenly died. I will continue with those stories in the next blog.

The drawing shown is one page of a Salvation Army year end newsletter, where I used my Mom's image for the artwork.

Loss of My Daddy

My dear Daddy suffered his first heart attack at age 40. It resulted in a surgery for a double bypass, and I recommitted my faith in God as I prayed for his recovery. The doctors were happy with the surgery and told us it should allow him at least ten more years. Well, they were wrong. He had twenty-five! :)

His extra years weren't trouble free, however. He suffered chest pain and many migraine headaches, which severely limited his ability to work and do strenuous things. The cold Winnipeg winters were especially hard on him. For relief from the migraines, he created a pulley contraption where he put a neck brace on, and then stretched his head upwards with the pulley to help with the pain. 

When my mother retired from nursing at age sixty-five (they were both the same age), they discussed possibilities of moving to Arizona during the winters for relief from our cold winters. Sadly, it was not so happen. His condition worsened and he was scheduled immediately for a quadruple bypass surgery.

The night before the surgery, I wasn't allowed to see him, as it would upset him to say good-bye to me. My mother gave him our love. Following the surgery, Dad never came out of the anaesthetic. His blood failed to coagulate, and he "drowned" internally.

My sister June had flown in to Winnipeg to be there when he woke up, but instead we ended up planning a funeral.

Helen Goertzen lost the love of her life, just as she had retired. She and John had never been able to afford to buy a house in Winnipeg. June and I set to work with garage sales to clear out her rented home and help her to move to an apartment. Luckily, we found one that was just a couple of blocks from our church, so that she could walk there on Sundays.

John had always been her driver, and she never needed to learn to drive. After her move, I became her driver for weekly grocery trips, doctors appointments and lunches at restaurants. For the first year I called her on the phone every day to make sure she was alright.

The devastating loss of my father and her new isolation in her own apartment was the beginning of the end for my mom. Her dementia happened so very gradually, things changed and my mother was never the same.

The first hint came when she fell in love again. There was a single man in our church named Dan. He had never married, and my mother focussed all of her attention on him when she went to church. Her third floor apartment was on the corner of the building overlooking the street, and she had a view of the cars that parked in front of the new homes being built there. She would watch particularly for one car that parked regularly on the street with the headlights on. She was positive that it was Dan, sitting in the car and watching her window.

She talked a lot about him sitting in his car watching her, and I found it difficult to believe, but she insisted.

The second hint was her belief that someone was stealing things from her apartment, which I will talk about in the next blog.