Humor in the Horror



It is futile to wish for good days with mom any more. At this point we just wish for her to sleep so that she doesn’t have to sit with the blank stare on her face, begging us to help her go…confused…calling for her sisters who do not live here.  Her feet are swelling…her fingers are icy cold…she struggles to open her eyes.  But in the midst of her suffering there have been moments this week that she’s brought smiles to our faces.

There was the time a couple of nights when she belched.  Not a burp, mind you…a full grown belch.  Still polite to the very end, she said, “Excuse me,” and David immediately responded, “You’re excused.”  Only ten seconds later she belched even louder, startling herself.  But she still remembered to say, “Excuse me,” and David was quick to respond, “It’s okay, Mom.  You’re excused.”

The third belch was another good one and quickly followed by a third, “Excuse me.”  But David, ever the tease, said, “Mom, I excused the first and the second one, but I can’t excuse the third one.”   And her eyes popped open as she glared at him and said, “How’d you like a Boost (her nutritional drink) upside your head?”  It made all of us smile.

Today, as I laid her back in her bed to rest, I turned off the “fartball game” (her newest phrase that made us laugh because proper gentlewomen don’t talk about or use the word “fart”).  I turned on some of the beautiful music she likes to listen to…and that I love to listen to also.  I pulled up her sheets, adjusted her bed so that her back was comfortable and as I turned to go sit down she said, “The music is twisted.” 

I said, “Mom, did you say your sheets are twisted?” as I tried to straighten them out and she said again, “No, the music is twisted.”  I asked her if it sounded okay twisted or if she wanted me to turn it off  and she let me know that it was okay.  I smiled as I sat down to enjoy our twisted music.  (P.S.  I had finished writing this blog when David put her back to bed and she immediately started complaining, “Something’s twisted.”  We’ve tried straightening out the sheets…straightening out her nightgown… and still she’s trying to find something that’s twisted.  She’s suggested that her gown straps our twisted…that her air mattress on her bed is twisted…and now she’s suggesting that maybe the air mattress was never meant to be twisted.  It appears “twisted” is our word for the day.)

Another sad but funny story happened yesterday.  She sat on the side of bed and got quite concerned about the bed rails.  Because they are solid, the end at the head of the bed rises and falls when the bed is adjusted.  To allow her to sit on the side of the bed, we have to lower the head of the bed all the way to keep the rails from pressing too hard into the back of her thighs…thighs that are now bony and fleshy with no fat to cushion them.  She spent several minutes “scooching” her way down the bed and worrying the sheets along the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how to solve the arm rail problem.  In desperation I finally said, “Let me go get David and we’ll see if he has any ideas.”  Then, in a weak moment, I ran away.  I told them I needed to go to WalMart (which wasn’t a lie, but it could have waited).  When I returned David met me at the car to tell me of his half hour with mom.  He shared that she said, “Laurie said you could fix it.  She said you can do anything!”  He said that she made this statement at least a half dozen times and he asked me to please stop telling her that he can fix anything.  I, of course, had not told mom this statement…I had just told her we’d see if David could help.  After several minutes of silence he said that she spoke up.  “The bed needs to be shorter,” she demanded.

“Mom, I can’t make the bed shorter,” David replied.  A few minutes went by and again she insisted that the bed be shortened.  Again David explained that he didn’t think the bed could be shorter.  Five minutes later she became rather forceful, commanding that David make the bed shorter.  So he moved to the head of the bed, pounded his fists against it a couple of times, moved in front of mom and announced, “I did it, Mom!  I was able to make it shorter.  Can I help you lie down now so you can see if it’s more comfortable?”  She smiled and said, “Yes.”

She hadn’t been in bed for two minutes when she spoke regretfully saying, “David, I’m sorry.  But I think the bed may be too short now.”  David said, “It’s okay, Mom.  I know how to fix it now.”  He moved to the head of the bed and pounded on the headboard again.  He then smiled at her and said, “Is that better now?” and she responded, “I’m so sorry I insisted you make it smaller.  Thank you.  This is much better.”

David is the king of improvising to help mom feel that her wishes are being met.  I continue to be amazed at how charming he is in his gentle care for her.

But the best story came last night.  David was telling me a story about Mardi Gras beads and how the television station he worked for used to record the Mardi Gras parades for the news.  He had a special collection of beads that dated through the years…beads that he kept in a baggie and pulled out once a year to wear while filming the parade.  He went looking for the beads a few years ago and could not find them.  At about this point in the story, Mom spoke up and said, “I wish you two would stop whispering around me.”  He’d been talking low because we thought she was resting.  So he spoke a little louder and told the rest of the story about the beads and how his sweet wife Kim had thrown them out during spring cleaning.  Because mom picked up in the middle of the story, she asked, “What beads?”  David explained, “They were my Mardi Gras beads, Mom.  My special beads that I’d collected.  And I like MY stuff.  When I have stuff that’s mine I like to keep it.  It’s special to me.  Kim says I have underwear that’s older than her.”  I laughed at his comment and things grew quiet for a moment.  Then mom said, “I hope it’s men’s underwear.”  (I’m still laughing just thinking about it.)  This was such a startling statement that we both started laughing out loud.  David said, “Well, Mom, I don’t wear women’s underwear!”  Now all David and I have to do is mention underwear and we both start laughing.  Maybe this year for Christmas I’ll help him start a collection of women’s underwear in honor and memory of Mom.

So you see, despite the horror of watching mom constantly suffering…not in pain but in her inability to go home to Dad fast enough…we are finding moments that make us smile.  Moments that we’ll remember.  Moments that showed us she still had her wits about her.  It is these precious moments that will be our treasure in the future.  And we’re grateful for the gift of humor that takes us through the days we’d rather forget.