Update: My father continues to improve.
He has become more and more coherent - evidenced to both my sister and myself. He is remembering more things and his conversations are becoming more focused. He still has difficulty with the fact that my mother is not dead, and it appears he does not remember the last month, as if it was expunged from his mind. I am no psychiatrist nor a neurologist, but I wonder perhaps if this was the way his mind decided to help relieve him of any guilt or sadness by placing my mom in a memory care facility - that combined with stress, poor nutrition, and a lack of sleep anyway.
I was able to speak with his case manager today as well. Per their commentary, they are attempting to get him physically better - "functional mobility", yet another new term - and hope to release him at the end of this week or next week to the facility he was living in - conveniently (and literally) across the parking lot. Interestingly there was no comment on any cognitive issues whatsoever.
No update on my mother's appeal. My sister will call again tomorrow.
Finally, thank you all so much for your continued thoughts and prayers (and yes, I still covet them). The change in my father from even a week ago, let alone two weeks ago, is dramatic. I am certain that your prayers and thoughts and God's hand are very active in this.
Bulbs
Karen (Hobo) got me thinking about bulbs. My parents planted two kinds here.
The second, Irises, are coming up but will bloom later. These bear even a deeper memory for me. Irises were the favorite flower of my material grandmother and these bulbs were actually taken from here backyard. My parents have been here at least 20 years so they are at least that old here; perhaps add on another 20+ years for their age in their previous home?
It strikes me as odd - and at the same time "homely" in the old sense of the word - how such a simple thing as flowers can bring back such memories. We do not do these sorts of things as a culture so much, I trow: we have moved more and more to virtual representations of our memories, ions and pixels that live on our small screens and computers and are there only when we remember to pull them out and look.
The flowers, of course, bloom year after year, disregarding any such nicety as being pulled out of a pocket to be viewed.
Some of my first memories are of helping mom plant tulips, cannas, iris and roses... She loved them all but roses were her favorites. I think of her when I smell them or see them.
ReplyDeleteI, too, wonder if that is how his mind dealt with the circumstance of your mother. Our wetware is amazing in it's resilience and adaptation. I am so relieved he is doing better.
We have roses here too STxAR. My father planted them for my mother. And yes, I do think of her when I see these.
DeleteWe are relieved too. He is asking when he can come home now. We are trying to ease him into the idea that "home" will be somewhere different, but we can visit.
The snow just disappeared from our future bulb beds yesterday so we have a ways to go yet. The old beds got torn up with the addition we did to our house and the landscaping project didn't quite get done before the snow flew at the beginning of winter. Hopefully we can tie up that loose end in a month or so.
ReplyDeleteEd, here we are about a month to a month and a half before the end of the rainy season. Frankly, I wish we had more. We need it.
DeleteMy grandmother had a green thumb. I remember lilacs, forsythia, silver dollars and big hydrangea plants.
ReplyDeleteAnd every spring I would help her plant the pansies.
Praise God for small blessings.
Linda, so did my maternal grandmother. She was forever growing small houseplants and had quite a rose garden in the back of her house. Writing this, I remember going there to water it when they were on vacation.
DeleteWe are indeed grateful to God.