Tag: parents

How I disarmed my contentious mother with dementia

Today, for the second time in two days, I figured out how to divert the confabulated facts my mom repeats about the loss of their car.

I don’t want to repeat exactly what she said because it’s so nasty and not indicative of the woman who raised me. I’ve tried ignoring her, changing the subject, taking her head on with the facts and all of those typically ended in some type of misery for one or both of us.

Today, I looked her in the eye and just told her “That’s so sad. I hope you don’t really believe that. Do we have to have this conversation?” Before my mom can reply, my dad jumps to the rescue and says “No, we don’t need to have this conversation.” I quickly start a new topic.

It’s been so frustrated tying to help my parents when my mom dishes out false facts and dares us to counter or discredit them.  I work very hard to employ my three go-to tactics when I visit my parents. Today, they worked. Succeeded.

This is just one post in the story of how the author, Kay Bransford, is working to help her parents. When her mother called her three years ago wondering how to get money into the bank, Kay embarked on a six-month journey to gather, organize and document the personal, financial, medical, online and household details she needed to maintain their day-to-day lives. From this experience, Kay launched MemoryBanc and now provides a workbook which provides caregivers with the tools they need to easily support their loved ones. 

How different each dementia can be.

Today was another practice session in patience, humor, forgiveness, and patience.

First, I need to celebrate my win. My parents had holed themselves up in their town house and declared this their permanent home. I managed to create chores that ended with me delivering them to their retirement community home. Yeah!

My mom struggled with basic things today. When we planned to go to pharmacy to pick up her new prescription, she continued to run to her bathroom to prove she didn’t have a prescription. My dad finally bellowed at her “You won’t have this already, it’s a NEW prescription!”

We stopped for lunch at their favorite restaurant, Arby’s and she spent five minutes ordering potato chips. She’s been to the restaurant hundreds of times and just didn’t understand they didn’t offer potato chips with her meal. I asked her to go pick out a seat so we could finish up the order and she quickly redirected.

At one point today, we ended up on the “why did you take our car” conversation. My mom believes my brother took her car without first discussing the issue with her. I smile and walk through the facts. She disagrees, quite angrily. To make peace, my dad says, “I don’t remember if we had a conversation, but I also don’t remember that we did not have a conversation about the car. So I will take your word for it.”

Our 800-lb gorilla is my parents devotion to stay united. My mom will not accept the things we tell her and steadfastly clings to her confabulated facts. My dad just doesn’t remember, but accepts what we tell him.

My parents devotion has created an impenetrable roadblock. Even though I admire it, now I begrudge their loyalty. Stymied.

If you have faced this situation with success, please share your suggestions!

Where are you?

The hardest part of this journey with my parents is the recurring disappointment. Today I get a call from my dad asking me “Where are you?”

I had no plans to see my parents today. I spent my entire Sunday afternoon with them looking for my mom’s purse and taking them to the grocery store. They wanted a ride to their townhouse so I gave it to them. I was very clear yesterday that I was unable to see them today.

All I can do is apologize “Sorry Dad, I was unaware you were expecting me.”

I have tried to eliminate the word “Remember” from my vocabulary. My typical response would have been “Remember, we discussed this yesterday and you knew I had the day planned with my family?” But of course they don’t remember, so saying that is just frustrating for everyone.

My mom was very depressed for most of the afternoon yesterday. She was frustrated at losing her purse – which happens almost weekly now. I have asked her several times if she wants to go buy a big red purse that will be too big and colorful to miss. She declines. I think we both know she won’t remember that big red purse is hers.

She wants my dad to help her, but he can’t any longer. She mentioned to me that he seems to be wearing the same clothes every day now. She suggested he change, but he declined. She knows that is a very bad sign.

I will continue to do what I can until we can get more permanent and legal support to really help them lead the lives they so wish to live. Surrendered.

Where are my Car Keys?


After my sister gets punked by my parents she comes to stay at my house. My parents said they wanted to give up the car keys and driving, but when my sister starts to drive them everywhere they end up taking the keys and leaving her without a car or a ride.

My sister was trying to help keep them compliant with the doctor’s orders by driving them where they said they “needed” to go, and they quickly repay her by creating an emergency and leaving her in their apartment at the retirement community without any of her belongings.

The next morning, after I picked my sister up to come stay at my house overnight, my mom calls looking for their car keys. Within the hour, my dad calls wondering where his car (and car keys) are – does my sister have them? Now my parent’s can’t find the car keys or the car. Do we know where they are?

My sister has no idea; it should be at their townhouse. He says he’s going to take a cab to the retirement home to pick up his car. But by the next day, when his car is at the townhouse and mom’s car is still “missing,” we later find he had driven mom’s car to the retirement community and left it there when he picked his up – probably using a second set of keys. We later learned that the set of keys that dad so solemnly handed over to my sister in front of the doctor had been mom’s set of keys, not his own.

I am trying to explain this clearly, but two homes, two cars…it’s hard to keep track of them much less for my parents to manage two places and two cars.

My siblings and I will often discuss how tiring this must be. They spend hours each day looking for my mom’s calendar, their checkbook, car keys and their cars. We would love to help them find more meaningful ways to spend their time. They don’t seem interested. Noted.

When caring for a family member, the heart takes over.

Last week I shared the hurt I felt in dealing with my parents who have dementia. I was mad at myself for forgetting they have head injuries. My heart won over my head.

Terry who is caring for her brother Al reminded me that when you are caring for a family member, the heart takes over. It should, but it sure does make things more complicated.

A social worker suggested that I take small breaks when I visit with them. Get up and go the kitchen, bathroom, walk around the block — take that time to remind myself that it’s the disease, not my parent talking to me.

While my parents told us for years, we would never have to worry about them, we feel it’s our duty and honor to help them lead a fruitful life as long as they can. We look forward to the day when we can faithfully fulfill what we feel is our responsibility for the people who gave us so much. Indulged.

Enter Adult Protective Services.

When the social worker mentions that the hospital was prepared to call Adult Protective Services (APS) because they were so concerned about my parents, it initially sends a chill up my spine.

We are trying to help my parents, we know they want to stay independent, but they are unable to do so safely anymore. Now they are getting themselves into situations where others are recognizing their state.

I ask her what it means to have APS involved. Might this be a good lever to help my parents make a choice to get some assistance? She suggests I call and just ask them.

When I call APS, they ask if I want to file a report. No – I just have a few questions. I let her know I have two elderly parents and I’m concerned for their safety. How could APS help?

I’m told that they first and foremost respect an individual’s right to choose how they live. Their goal is to protect the elderly against fraud, abuse and neglect. In my parents’ case, it might qualify as self-neglect. However, she continues, they have every right to refuse assistance.

I was hoping this was an option since the only other one seems to be to wait around until something bad happens. This choice is not ours. Undeterred.

Make laminated contact cards for their cars.

While I’m not so keen on my parents driving and we are working toward a resolution for this, I was shocked when the social worker told me my parents couldn’t come up with complete names and phone numbers. They both have carried contact phone numbers in their wallets for years.

Apparently, my mom didn’t have her purse with her and I’m not sure if my dad looked in his wallet.

The social worker recommended that I make laminated contact cards and put them in the glove box and back seat of their cars. If they are pulled over or lost and assistance is given, the glove box is one of the first places most police or emergency support will look. Activated.

I really want to believe what you say, but I can’t.

When I get a message from a social worker about my parents’ medical appointment, I’m a little shocked and confused. When I can’t reach the social worker, I call my sister who was on the phone with the social worker.

Apparently, my parents were at the hospital. This is the second time in two days. When they showed up today asking about an appointment and were confused, the hospital staff recognized something was wrong with their cognitive abilities.

I jump in the car and drive to my parents’ home in the retirement community. They are both there and my mom is on the phone with my sister when I walk in. “We weren’t in the ER yesterday,” my mom says. She immediately turns to my dad and asks him if they were.  At first he says, “I don’t remember,” then he quickly changes and says, “Yes, I took you there yesterday.”  He then excuses himself to go take a nap.

The call ends and I ask my mom if she wants something to eat. She says she just wants a Coke and we walk out to the living room to talk. She’s retelling me the story of her visit. I don’t really know the story, but remind myself that I can’t believe what she is saying. She has dementia and almost no short-term memory so anything out of her mouth is suspect. I really want to believe what she’s saying.

If I could believe her words again it would mean things are okay. She’s not demented and all of these issues don’t exist. Subdued. 

Already have a mouth sore?

Some of the bonds you have with family are just plain odd – but they are familiar so you don’t really know how odd until you start to tell other people. I had to preface this story with that statement, because I know this will seem weird, but I’m owning it!

My brother and I have always joked about how we get a mouth sore if we eat too many salty foods.  He’s been visiting with my parents for four days and I know almost every meal has been at the retirement home, the country club or Arby’s. Those are three food sources for my parents these days.  When I return from my trip I ask him, “Already have a mouth sore?” He smiles and shakes his head no.

Both my brother and sister offer to cook, but my parents prefer to eat out. I tried several times to take over casseroles and stews, but they would go uneaten past the point of me making it and putting it on the table in front of them. There are so many changes in their behavior, I am sometimes with strangers.

My mom had a stroke and was told to eat low salt, low fat foods. Even if she did remember, she would not change her diet. She’s very thin, always has been. I remember on a doctor report she was described as “frail” and she really bristled at that word. Today she’s at least 10 pounds lighter.

I struggled with myself when we ate together for the past few years. She would order chicken fingers and then pour salt over her plate (no, she does not taste it first). It took me a while to overcome watching her eat against what the doctor suggested. She enjoys choosing her own meals.  As far as I know at this point, changing her menu won’t improve her brain functions. I am letting this sleeping dog lie. Tempered.