Tag Archives: faith

I Want To Fistfight God In Heaven

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Just found out about another of mother’s new habits today…………….. apparently, she digs into her diaper, pulls out her own feces and tries to eat it.

OK, not just tries, but has actually had some success.

I sat at the counter staring at the fake granite as the owner of the home and a caregiver told me about my mom’s latest behavior…………………. fatigue immediately came over me. I wanted to leave. I hadn’t even seen her yet and I just wanted to bail.

I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.

My mom eats her poop.

Think about that. Remember that next time you have a shitty day at the office.

My

Mom

Eats

Poop

I can’t help but think about life and its purpose……………. or in my mom’s case, the lack of purpose. We hear people passionately fight about life, its meaning, blah blah blah……………. but what if there is no meaning. No plan. No God.

What if you’re simply a breathing pile of particles………………….. that’s it. Nothing more.

You have no special purpose in this life except to survive, like other creatures.

There is no God. And if there is a God. God is cruel. God is not merciful. God likes to sit back and watch reality TV…………………………… he’s watching your life unfold and doing nothing to stop bad things from happening to you.

God probably Tivo’s your life when he’s watching the mess that is my life play out.

Because it’s funny to see one of his most devout followers eat her own shit.

As I was driving home, I was think about God up in heaven…………………… and then I started thinking about fistfighting him. In heaven. His turf. I thought about pummeling him. For like hours. It felt good.

I probably even kicked him while the big guy was down.

Kick……………………

Stomp………………………..

Punch………………………………

I want to fistfight God.

I want God to feel my pain.

I want God to pay for what he’s done to my mother.

 

>>Flickr pic by my fave…. Meredith Farmer

Communion for the Demented. Maybe Not.

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Too demented to receive Communion?

Possibly.

Last Sunday, I briefly chatted with our priest about Communion…. the holy rite that makes us Catholics, well Catholic. Or to be more precise, the fact that we believe the bread and wine actually transforms (transubstantiated) into the body and blood of the big J-C.

My mother used to be what they call, a Eucharistic Minister—she would give Communion to churchgoers and the sick. Now, she’s sick and no one comes to our house. I’ve called about this. I guess I could try harder. I’ve sort of given up on this… mostly because she still takes Communion on Sundays. The problem, however, is that she not only takes Communions, she holds up the line trying to talk (actually, she rambles—LA FRUTA, LA FRUTA, MI ESPOSO, DESPIERTA AMERICA) to her boyfriend the priest……………….. then, making matters slightly worse, she chugs the wine—and backwashes—and refuses to give back the chalice (so I have to yank it out of her hands)……………. she likes the blood of christ…. it’s Berringer, White Zin. Nice legs.

This has caused some commotion and so when I talked to our priest about this in hopes of making the process less loud and messy, he told me that we should start “weaning” her off Communion. Apparently, one of the prerequisites of receiving Holy Communion is that you understand what you are doing, that you are consuming the body and blood of Jesus Christ. She obviously doesn’t, and therefore should not receive the most sacred of rituals within our church.

This is frustrating. My mom LOVES to get her Communion—despite not having the most pure motives (she wants to chat up her priest and she likes wine)……………….. but is it really up to mortal men to decide whether she can consume the body and blood?

{Long siiiiiiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhh, eye roll}

Seriously. I mean, I don’t have the deepest connection to Our Father, but I think God will cut my mother some slack in this situation (Preemptive apology: I am very sorry Dear God that my mom chews your son up and then chugs his blood, often spilling it on herself), especially since he is the one who made my mom sick—if you believe “that there’s one all-powerful Force controlling everything.”

Some quick Google searches on the subject, and the reviews are mixed.

One person on a message board called it “inappropriate,” another said that if the individual knows that the host is “special,” which I think my mom does, then it’s OK.

For me, I want her to have Communion because my mom was (and still is in her own way) one the most devout women I’ve ever encountered. I used to think her love for God was stronger than her love for me…………………..

So, for me, as her only daughter (who tried to get ex-communicated to avoid going to catechism class—it didn’t work—and now recites the prayers in Spanish so she can follow along with me—I intend to de-raise a good Catholic mother), all I want is for her to be able to receive the body and blood as she’s always done. I won’t fight the Church on the matter and I suppose we’ll see how things go……….. he wants to slowly limit her by just giving her the host (no wine)………………….

Holy Communion gives her joy and she’s often said that it makes her feel better……………………. the placebo effect of Christ.


Bad Thoughts. By a Bad Daughter

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My Demented Mom

I’m going say what you’re not supposed to say……………………………………

I’m counting down the years until my mom dies…………………….

Let’s see. It’s been about about 5 years since I first noticed something was horribly wrong. 4 years since her “official” diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease…. which turned out to be Vascular Dementia, or maybe it’s both—mixed dementia No one really knows. Most of her doctors don’t really seem to care, it seems. Probably have another 4 or 5 to go based on what I’ve read and the stage she seems to be at. Yeah, I can deal with 5 years.

6 might send me over the edge.

But 5 is a pill I can swallow.

4 would be a blessing.

3… there is a God.

2… there is a God who likes me.

That is my inside voice convincing me that it’s OK….. that I will be OK….. that I can cope with this and keep on going. You see, there will be a time when “normal” returns and the hurt and frustration that I feel almost daily will come to an end.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It may be very far off, but it’s there.

KATs BRAIN…….. Welcome. That is how I rationalize this ordeal….. and now that you understand that, that I am merely trying to protect me from everything going on around me, you might not think me so foul a daughter……………………..

………………………………that if you were in my position, you might pray for her death.

(Or you could say I should embrace each moment and step into her shoes, into her world, whilst at the same time smiling and dancing with her as she tumbles down the demented rabbit hole. Ah, the simple joys of dementia.)

Alas, I am a realist. And I see firsthand the toll her disease has on the people around her. Her disease is devastating. I not only worry about my dad’s stress level, his physical health and mental deterioration, but I wonder how much her dementia impacts me…. subtly, chipping away at me.

Here’s what I know…. I am in a constant state of worry. I just worry. I can’t help it, nor can I stop it. I worry about her. I worry about dad. I worry about my cats. I worry. I worry every time I plan a vacation that my plane will crash and my dad will not be able to cope with mom alone. I worry that I will be killed on the way to work, again leaving dad alone to deal. I worry that I’ll develop cancer at 33, only to die (again) and leave dad to fly solo, with mom constantly calling my ghost……….. This number has been disconnected.

Hola, mijita Kathy. I luf you, yo so tu papi. Tu eres mi esposo. Tu saliste de mi. Que dios te bendiga.

To not worry is to be outside of my comfort zone.

So, yes. I do sometimes find myself asking God to take my mother to heaven. To free us of this woman who is neither my mom, nor my dad’s wife. She looks like the woman we once knew………………………….. but Margarita is not there.

She is being eaten alive from within by a parasite so insidious, so nefarious, it doesn’t just take out its host, it takes out entire families.

>>Flickr image from Pareeerica

Our Father…

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Sunday with mom at church. Started out well. She was pretty mellow. I was pretty pleased. A few glitches in our demented matrix, but nothing unexpected—mom was yelling at the family sitting in “our” pew. Then she started rambling on about how she should be allowed to serve Communion. Mom starts stalking key members of the congregation, so she can ask them to “help her” get back on the Communion list. Sweet thing. She has lost so many words and is always asking them to let her be on the “fruit” to serve “fruit.”

Subject change…….. Padre Andres. Yes. Her beloved “husband/boyfriend/priest”

DINNERTIME

She is obsessed with inviting the priest over for dinner. She harps on it. She never lets it go. Every Sunday, “Padre Andres, cuando vienes a comer con nosotros?” This Sunday is no exception…………….. Mom goes into a long thing about how she is going to invite Padre Andres over for dinner. How her husband said to tell Padre Andres hello. How she has pictures from the last time Padre Andres came over to dinner (she has three in a row at the house. Same picture: Her and the priest holding a dish of payaya.).

An hour passes. We go early to secure our seats.

Mass FINALLY starts.

Sweet. Substitute priest…. for me, this is good news. Shorter service. For mom, this is bad. Her boyfriend is out and she gets bent out of shape. She loves him. “Mi esposo! Mi esposo!” Never mind the 38 year age gap. He is kind about it all.

Father Lloyd. This old priest comes walking down the aisle. Mom sees him. Mom starts screaming for Padre Andres. I think she’s going to cry. Or she’s faking it. Or she wants to cry but can’t. Or she’s just so upset. Her face is filled with anguish. Strange. I hold her.

The Mass begins.

OK. So far so good. Sweet. I have to pee. I’ve had to pee for over an hour.

I go pee.

I tweet from the bathroom stall.

I return to my sit and listen to the priest struggle through some sermon in Spanish—not his native language, nor his second or third or fourth language by all accounts.

Mom turns and her friend at the piano waves. She starts smiling and talking loudly about how he saw her…. I try to shoosh her. She goes on and then……… loudly, with the mic on:

“Because I don’t have enough trouble getting through this as it is……..”

Says a cross priest. Everyone stares. I glare at him. She is still talking.

Later, he comes over to our pew to apologize. I am not feeling kind. I tell him she has dementia and can’t help it. That he should be understanding of her disease, and she requires compassion. He smiles, laughs awkwardly and returns to the safety of his judgmental alter. Pussy. Jerk. Douche. Good. Go back to your God and tell him to do something useful like answer her prayers. Oh wait, you’re busing regurgitating bullshit that has been altered repeatedly by men…….. how about implementing what you say into your daily life? Hallowed be thy name? Thy will be done? Forgive me?

ANGER. TAKE A STEP BACK.

Here’s the thing. What bugged me most about this incident wasn’t so much his comment, but 2 things: a) she can’t defend herself, thus inspiring my urge to beat the priest with his challis and b) it serves as a reminder of her disease and what she has become as a result of it……. sick, demented, random, grotesque………………

I start to cry.

She has no idea what has happened.

I do.

I cry.

I cry for her. For the fact that she can’t protect herself. For myself. For my dad. For the fact that this will never end.

Standing Up for Mom

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My mom is stubborn. And sometimes she a royal pain in the butt. But I have a theory about this: In trying to imagine what it must be like to lose my ability to function “normally”—speak clearly, use the correct words, control my emotions, remember how to perform basic tasks, dress appropriately, behave well in public places—I realized that there’s a part of my mom that’s struggling to be heard. Maybe this part of her brain isn’t demented, maybe this part of her is trying to say, “Hey, I’m here. I am still here and I can do these things. Don’t treat me like a child. I’m the mom. I’m the wife. I’m part of this community! CAN’T YOU HEAR ME!!!???”

This is my theory.

So when we try to take away certain freedoms, like the car, it’s a huge ordeal for her—and for us. Of course, we do these things to keep her safe. It’s very different when you want prevent her from doing something because she’s annoying and difficult. Well, a group of people are trying to do just that because my mom is sick. These people want take away another freedom from her and the sad part is that these individuals are members of an organization that should be compassionate and ready to welcome the most damaged person with open arms: the Catholic Church.

My mom was always incredibly active at St. Jerome’s Catholic Church in Phoenix. Always welcoming new members, giving communion to the sick, participating in prayer groups, or having lunch with the ladies.

Now, she still enjoys giving Communion. This simple act is something that gives her a tremendous amount of satisfaction and joy. Of course, mom needs help and while there are a few individuals willing to support her… making sure all goes well and she is doing what she is suppose to do, there are others who want her to stop. I have talked to these people and their position is that it’s too much work to watch her. She’s challenging. She makes mistakes. She doesn’t always understand or follow instructions.

OK. I get this. I understand their frustrations. I see that they’re annoyed. Still, I am compelled to stand up for her tonight when the Communion folks gather to talk about my mom and whether she should continue giving the Eucharist.

“If a man’s gift is serving, let HIM serve; if it is teaching, let HIM teach; if it is encouraging, let HIM encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let HIM give generously; …” Romans 12:7-8

“So take a new grip with your tired hands, stand firm on your shaky legs, and mark out a straight, smooth path for your feet so that those that follow you, though weak and lame, will not fall and hurt themselves, but become strong.” Hebrews 12:12

If the church is truly a sanctuary, then my mom should be embraced. She should be cared for and watched over. She should be supported for as long as possible. Her disease isn’t shameful. Yes, it’s not easy. It sucks. Sometimes, it’s ugly. Sometimes it’s annoying. Sometimes you just want to scream and sometimes you want to scream at your demented parent.

But this disease will soon be the reality for many baby boomers, and that includes many members of St. Jerome’s Catholic Church. I hope I can change their point of view tonight and I hope they see mom as the woman she used to be and not as her disease.