My mom pooped her pants.

Actually, it was a tiny accident. She can control her bowels (and her bladder too)…………….. you just have to get her to a bathroom when she has to go—cause let’s face it: When you gots to go, you gots to go. I tried. There was a line. I rushed her to another bathroom. I failed. It was a smudge. A large-ish smudge.

Although, this wasn’t a huge mess/misstep/or even a big deal……… this accident got me thinking (well, I’ve thought about it, but I try to repress it)…………. what will happen when accidents become every day occurrences?

What will happen when she can’t wipe herself?

Wiping is such a funny, mostly strange rite of passage-slash-human experience… when you’re able to wipe on your own, you’re a big kid. When you can no longer perform this act solo, you’re an invalid.

As the child of a parent who will eventually have to be wiped by another human being, I really don’t know what to make of it. I mean, I’m writing about it, but I don’t have any profound words to share nor have I made a startling realization about life and its meaning, etc, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah…….

I guess all I can say is that at that point, we’ll likely have to place my mom in a facility, and that scares the shit out of me. We’ve been down that road……. it was brutal, emotional, messy and grotesque. I sincerely hope to never have to relive that horrendous experience ever again…………………… I hope she never has to relive that again.

Right now, my mom knows where HOME is.

So while the woman may not know my name, her husband’s name, or what year it is, and she may use the phrase, “Despierta America” to describe everything from the clouds in the sky to her most favorite food in the world (french fries), my mother knows exactly where her secret (not really) stash of apple juice is hidden—on her bathroom counter (don’t ask) in her house.


>>Flickr pic by funkomavintage


  1. As a child of a parent who just hit this stage, my condolences. It’s still occasional for my mom, but frustrating when it happens. In her case, she gets to the bathroom, but can’t remember how to get her pants off, so she sits down and goes, with the pants still on. We’ve moved to full elastic waistbands, in hopes that buttons/snaps/belts will no longer be a confusing issue.

    Putting mom in a home comes up in conversation from time to time. We haven’t tried yet, and I hope with all that I am that we don’t go through what you went through the first time. We keep coming back to the same question though…when is “the time”? What makes one day that much worse from the day before that pushes the decision to put her in a home?

    That single question seems to be one of the hardest to answer.

  2. I am sorry you are coping with this, and admire your willingness to try. I just put my mom, at 76, into a nursing home and she (with dementia) now has a colostomy bag. Not fun in any way, shape or form. I assume (?) you are using or relying on Depends? Seems like your safest option now.

  3. My Mom too, all though now it’s more of a “freely pooping zone” where she just wears a diaper all the time. The woman who changed me is now having me change hers. Circle of life sucks! She too leaves juice everywhere (Grape is her fav) it’s in the cabinets, drawers, and the laundry room. My beautiful mother is now in a nursing home and I go to feed her dinner 4 sometimes 5x a week. I swear all 4 of my kids made less of a mess. But I love her, I miss her. And I cherish the moment when she looks at me and smiles, after I’ve been there 45min and she finally remembers me. No words leave her mouth anymore, but I know she knows! God Bless her, you and your Mother. I feel your pain and want you to know, you have a sister in this fight.. If I don’t laugh, I cry.. So keep laughing and smiling, because I know somewhere deep down, mom is…

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