Growing Up

I recently watched my 86-year-old Mother-in-law trying to change the sheets on her bed. She had just chewed us out for doing things for her that she can do herself. "I'm still a human being," she snapped.

She stripped the bed and then kept walking back and forth between two piles of linens and lifting them up, looking for something. Finally I cautiously asked, "How's it going?"

She looked up at me. "Well, I've been debating in my mind. Did you and Keith sleep in my bed this week?"

My heart sinks.  It's really hard to watch someone you love decline.  Her memory is slowly deteriorating and it makes me sad to see this dear woman confused. She gave my husband a wonderful childhood, loved her husband, kids, and grandkids, and makes the best lemon meringue pie I've ever eaten. If you look up the word responsible in the dictionary, the definition would be Marie Vik.

1984

Swallowing my dismay, I gently tell her, "No, we slept downstairs in the basement. You slept in your bed." I'm not sure what's worse. That she didn't remember where we slept or that she didn't remember where she slept.

"Then where is Neil sleeping tonight?" Neil, being Keith's older brother and his wife who were in town for the weekend to attend Neil's class reunion. Which was why she was changing sheets in the first place.

1998

Numerous thoughts flash through my mind. Decades of her doing laundry on the same day of the week, hanging sheets on the clothesline, ironing her husband's pajamas, insisting on tablecloths for family meals, keeping an immaculate house, baking chocolate chip cookies, Christmas goodies, birthday cakes, and cinnamon rolls. But not any more. Not if something as simple as making a bed throws her off.

"You wanted Neil to sleep in your bed and you offered to sleep on the couch."

She picks up the top half of one linen pile again. "Oh, that's right." She sets the pile down and picks up the other one. Then repeats the process a few more times.

Afraid of being chewed out again, I ask, "Would you like some help? I always like to have two people to make my bed. It's lots easier with two people."


She lifts up the linens again. "That's fine, but I can't find my sheets."

I don't know how to handle this. She doesn't want to be babied, I know she likes things to be clean, but she's already spent 10 minutes lifting piles of linens and I don't know exactly what she's looking for. I suspect she doesn't either. I love and respect this woman and the last thing I want to do is upset her. I quietly tell her, "You know, you washed the sheets you just took off two days ago. You're a very clean person, maybe we could just put them back on."

She looked at me with a mischievous grin, "I bet they'll never know. You just keep this to yourself." (good thing she doesn't use a computer so she'll never see this post). We put the sheets back on and made up the bed and I put the unused linens back in the linen closet, grieving because up until a year ago she would never dream of putting anything but fresh, clean sheets on a bed for guests.

2004

We're thankful that for the most part she's in good health. That though she doesn't go anywhere besides church, the bank, post office, and grocery store, she can still drive. That if she keeps to her routine, and Keith's sister checks on her every day, she can still live in her own home. That she agreed to use LifeLine. That she still writes us a letter every week, like she has for the last 30 years.

But she's not the same and we're selfish enough to hope that she'd always be there for us. Faithful, loyal, kind, considerate, pleasant, stable, and steady. It's not easy to see your parents get old. We don't like it one bit and know that we have to grow up and ask God to supply the patience and maturity we need to handle this with grace.

2009

Keith's sister lives in the same town as his Mom so bears the brunt of the responsibility for her care. I feel guilty that Karen has to do so much and wish we were closer so we could do our part. His Mom has cared for so many people over the years and now it's our turn to care for her.

And someday it will be our children's turn to care for us. We'll be old and I suspect they won't like it. Not one bit.