An activity I’ve discovered that my mom and I can enjoy is the card game of solitaire.  Although the name of the game would suggest a solitary player we’ve teamed up to play separate parts to reach the goal of the game.

Originally, we played solitaire as an afternoon diversion in Momma’s assisted living apartment.  As time has gone by, it has also become a tool for me to gauge her state of being.  Since she has stopped talking, I read her body language to determine how she is feeling, i.e., does she have a urinary tract infection that needs to be treated.  The way she plays cards says it all.

Whether we are seated side by side at a table or we have a table between us, I initiate the game after we have accomplished the daily ritual of cleaning her teeth, hands, and fingernails, which I follow by rubbing lotion onto her arms and hands.  Now I know her hands are clean and how well she cooperated tells me if we can proceed with card playing.

Some days, her answer is no to the suggestion of cards.  However, I may go ahead and deal out the cards in front of her and see if I can engage her interest.  I count out the seven cards out loud, over and over, each set of seven, until the game is set.  We look over the hand that we’ve been dealt and see if any cards can be played.  I play those cards, naming what I’ve done like the red six goes on the black seven, until  we’ve played all we can,  Then I set the remaining deck in front of her on the table and see if she’ll pick them up.  Here’s when I need to wait for her to make a decision.  She may eventually reach for the cards to begin the game. I may offer the deck to her and she may accept them.    If not, I pick them up and count out the first three cards to lay face up.  I go on like this until she decides to join in. When the game calls for a card to be turned over, I tap my finger on the card as a queue for her to do so.   If she has become interested in the game, she will comply.

I have found that the longer we play, the more engaged she becomes.  We may play multiple games, hoping to finally win and when we do, I celebrate with a lot of cheering.  This generally elicits a chuckle or smile from her at our success. Eventually, with repetition, she may even initiate laying out the beginning cards, which is quite an accomplishment compared to where we started.

This time we spend together has become not only a diversion and a communication tool, but also a philosophical attitude. Although the game of life is often played alone, we’ve teamed up to play the hand we’ve been dealt together.

In a world of advanced directives, I have written a prayer to ask God to secure my longterm care.

Dear God,

If I enter the darkness that enveloped the women in my family before me, I pray for a good caregiver. I want someone to care for me as a friend, and is empathetic to my plight.  I want someone who will get to know my life history and cherish the time we spend together.

If I am lost to who I am, I want my “friend” to tell me a story about a little girl fondly called Buffer by her daddy and who always cared deeply for the needs of her family.  I want to hear about my special dog named Pittman that loved me so much.  I want to know about my two fine sons and my faithful and handsome husband.

And Lord, sometime we can just live in the moment, when we’ll spend a happy day accomplishing the menial chores that we must do.  Grocery shopping would be an exercise in stimulating my body and my senses starting with the pretty pastries in the bakery, then the feel of firm tomatoes in the produce section and take in the lovely sights of all the other garden varieties carefully displayed.  I’d want to grind some coffee beans just for the rich scent that emanates from the machine even though I don’t drink coffee.  I’d get to push my own grocery cart and have time to investigate something of interest that catches my eye.  I could hold on to my cart while bending down to peer into the big glass doors covering the freezer sections.  When it was time to check out, I would help lift the items from the buggy on to the conveyor belt, using my bent fingers in hopes of relief from their constant ache.

My companion would protect me from the questioning eyes of those who didn’t know what a special person I am.  She would lovingly put her arm around me and tell me how much she loved me when I tried to go where I shouldn’t.  She’d draw my attention to something I couldn’t resist and I’d desire to follow her lead.  We’d move on toward the unknown together and I‘d be happy to be with someone who knew what to do.

Lord, you remember the women who cared for my mother.  Some would know just how to enter her world and go along with her as they reached their daily goals of care.  Others just did the minimum of effort and sat quietly, lost in the crossword puzzle or handheld device brought along to help pass the hours of sitting, taking the term private duty sitter literally, as they added up their weekly paycheck.

My dear grandmother never forgot who I was, even when she was confined to her bed under the watchful eyes of three shifts of women, round the clock for several years.  We had spent so much time together in her later years, that the sound of my voice and the touch of my hand on her arm brought my name to her lips. She said it as if it represented all the life and love we had shared together.  Dear God, that’s the kind of care I want to receive.   Someone who will see me how I looked in the photograph taken when I was a young, beautiful woman, full of promise, fresh and unblemished.  Not like the wrinkled, worn, volatile creature that I now may appear to be.

I want someone who wants to be with me and thinks of things we can do together that will cause us to laugh and smile. She will show me, tell me, and sing with me.  She will pray for me, include me and hold my hand. She’ll read aloud short stories and bible verses that may still be hidden in the depths of my heart.  I want to recognize something and sing that song buried beneath the noise and confusion that predominates my consciousness.

She’ll look into my eyes and try to see what I see.  Even if my words are few or gone altogether, I’ll still be here, listening for a friendly voice, one that is full of love and compassion. She’ll give me time to respond to her efforts and I’ll try to find my way to the surface.  She knows that I might be getting lost along the way, and it may take me a while to begin to understand what is happening.  She’ll know that I do best when things are done consistently; she’ll keep her sentences short so I can comprehend and she’ll give me one command at a time.  I’ll want her to stay with me.  She won’t leave because I’m here and I don’t know what to do.  She’ll know whatever she does for me, she does for you.  She’ll know you are with me and trusts you.

Please Lord, hear my prayer.  If I begin to wander away from who I was, please seek me out, and rescue me back into the flock as you have done before.  Send a faithful servant in the form of a caregiver to keep me safe until I am in your arms forever.

AMEN

“Even to your old age and gray hair, I am he.  I am he who will sustain you.  I have made you and I will carry you.  I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” (Isaiah 46:4 NIV).

Gulf Shores United Methodist Church, located at 1900 Gulf Shores Parkway, offers DayBreak, a ministry providing support and service for caregivers and their loved ones with Alzheimer’s Disease. DayBreak is held on Monday and Wednesday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Cost is nominal and lunch is provided. For more information, contact Dolly Crewes at 251-968-3634 or Terry Fowinkle at 251-968-2377.  For more information, visit their website at Gulf Shores United Methodist Church.