Xmas

Mom: And do you know why [the neighbor] is an imbecile?
A.: [For the fourth time] Could we do without 'imbeciles' over dinner, please?
Mom: Fine! I won't talk to you at all. Don't talk to me at all.
Dad: Huh; you usually get to that faster, like, in the car.

He actually missed the first instance, which was maybe a little bit my fault (or at least my diversion from the high road).

I arrived at my parents' house at 5:20pm, exactly three hours after I left my own house--later than planned, but earlier than I would have, had I remembered that JetBlue had moved to the main terminal at National. As it were, I went all the way to the old one, only to have to walk all the way back, dodging families and strollers much of the way. I don't, for the life of me, understand why parents don't take the opportunity for a teachable moment and teach their kids (and themselves) to not take up any entire walkway. But I digress.


Stroller rage aside--and don't get me started about getting stuck behind a family in a security line--I wouldn't say I was cranky when I got to my parents', But I was definitely stressed and frazzled. I'd spent the entire day cleaning and making sure I had everything, and I wasn't quite sure. Because of the terminal debacle--and because JetBlue was good about getting us on our way--I boarded as soon as I got to the gate, and we took off shortly thereafter. My little backpack was overstuffed with what didn't fit in the big one (some of which I'll leave with my parents), and I was afraid if I opened it to entertain this uncharacteristic bout of compulsiveness, things would fall out. I felt a special responsibility, as I was carrying three people's passports together with expensive visas. And I'd been scrambling all day, and I couldn't help but wonder throughout the trip whether I'd forgotten something.

So the first order of business upon arrival was to go through my stuff and make sure everything was in place. I was also determined, as always, to take the high road with mom, and to just be as nice to her as I could be. As I've said, one of the challenges is that a lot of her Alzheimer's-driven behaviors are merely more intense manifestations of her pre-Alzheimer's behaviors, against which I'd deliberately developed defenses. I'd spend years enforcing my boundaries on purpose--for example, by insisting on "not now" when mom demanded instant attention regardless of what I was doing. So now that there's a good reason to let things go, doing so goes against my training and determination.

I listened to mom as she showed me these reflector-bats that she'd stuck into certain plants. She starting explaining where she got them, not quite realizing that they were Halloween decorations. I took my backpacks upstairs to the guest room. Mom went upstairs as well, for the bathroom, but instead decided to continue with the origin story of the bats. She seemed to think they were artisan crafts. She spoke of a woman who makes things, in a store.

I started sorting through my stuff. Passports and visas: check. Swimwear and travel towels: check.

Mom started telling me about the plant in the guest room, which was lovely, but I wasn't yet in a position to appreciate it.

Chargers and adapters/converters: check...

I thought I could let mom talk, but then she started insisting that I look at the plant. And I guess I could have just done that, and I should have--even though that wouldn't have resolved anything, she would have kept talking about something else--but she's ill, she can't help it. But all I wanted was to get through my inventory. Then I could look at plants.

Mom: Its branches reach for the sun--look at them.
A.: I see them.
Mom: Look at them,
A.: In a minute; I'm not up for them right now.

What I actually said was, "Мнe сейчас нe до этовo." Which literally means, "This isn't for me right now," but it does have, or can have, a slightly dismissive connotation. I guess idiomatically it could translate as, "I don't have time for this right now" or "this is the least of my concerns,"

I felt bad about even as I was saying it, but it came out nonetheless.

Mom: до этовo!

Or, yes you do have time for this right now. This does concern you now. Then,

Mom: Fine. I'll stop talking to you altogether!

This is the standard mom response to anything that challenges her in any way (eg., "just a minute," "please don't call other people imbeciles").

I finished my inventory and calmed down, and changed the subject with mom. She was placated until the next time I asked her not to name-call at dinner. Yeah I know I'm tone-policing my own mother in her own house, but I just don't understand--and I'm no saint; I get stroller rage--how someone can live with herself when all she does is slam other people, nonstop. But that exchange was repeated several times over dinner, and I imagine it'll be a recurring theme over the next almost-week. It also devolved into this, unsurprisingly:

Mom: I don't even look forward to your visits. I don't even think about whether you'll visit or not. Wait, what's that on your face? What's wrong with your skin? I used to look forward to seeing you, but now I don't.
Dad: You really could have started this a lot earlier.