Caring For Mary (5 page)

Pocketbook, Kleenex,
Eyeglasses, and Makeup
 

T
hese four items were the absolute bane of my existence. Mary would not leave the house without her pocketbook, from which I removed all but her makeup and wallet. From her wallet, I removed all but a few photos. Why? Because she would, as we drove, rifle through her belongings, taking them out and dropping them all over the car floor.

She had to have a Kleenex tucked up her sleeve “just in case” (making laundry day a fiasco of shredded tissue) and her makeup
always
had to be administered before going out. She only needed her eyeglasses when reading, but she always managed to bring them along so she could forget them somewhere. Engage coping mechanisms.

First I separated her makeup from her pocketbook. Since I was tired of losing her pocketbook wherever we went, it was just plain time to lose her pocketbook. We moved to Florida and it just disappeared. She stopped asking after about a month.

Mary would wake up in the middle of the night to brush her hair because she was
brutiza
(ugly). How brushing her hair in the middle of the night made her
bella
(beautiful), I’ll never know. Oh, yes—how ego-driven was she? She could not find her room, the bathroom, or the garage, but she always knew where her hairbrush and the mirror were. She hated the way she looked—regardless of what she was wearing—and was always fishing for compliments. Popi and I provided them by the barrel. It was nicer than saying, “Pipe down, you silly little loony.”

Mary: Where’s my makeup?

Nicholas: Where did you put it?

Mary: I don’t remember.

Nicholas: That is why I tell you not to move it. Why is it you leave your hairbrush in the same place every day but move your makeup around all the time?

Mary: Oh, did you find my makeup?

Nicholas: Yes honey, here it is. You put it in the fridge. (Always go to the fridge, freezer, or oven for missing objects.)

Mary: Why would I do that? That doesn’t make any sense.

Nicholas: Yet another mystery to be unraveled, honey.

Mary: This color is terrible.

Nicholas: It’s the one you chose so you wouldn’t look like a
putana
(whore; and also a lie—Boo Boo picked it out for that reason).

Mary (laughing): Well, I don’t want to look like a
putana
. How do you know that word, honey?

Nicholas:
Perche mio Italiano, bambina.

Mary: Oh, I keep forgetting.

The makeup gets lost on occasion, but I make no effort to find it. I say, “You lost it—you find it.” She gives up after a few minutes.

After misplacing her glasses for the eighty-first time, it was time for a neck chain. This confused her and got tangled in her hair, but it kept the glasses from getting lost. Once we moved to Florida, I took the chain off because she only kept the glasses by her chair or by her bed. Why? I close my eyes to a gift horse.

Lesson Learned:
Good question. I guess whatever is the lesser of two evils: if it suits
me,
I do it.

Momma and Daddy
 

A
s a primer to this chapter, allow me this explanation. Mary views
all
death as sad. Frank, Dean, Sammy—all dead, very sad. She can barely listen to their music. Pavarotti, however, is alive and well and living in Padua, Italy. Why? Because the day she was told by an unknowing friend that he was dead, she cried and bemoaned like he was her brother. Come to think of it, she didn’t cry for her
brother
the way she cried for Pavarotti. I nipped that in the bud the very next day when almost magically (the upside to dementia), he was alive. Who says there are no miracles?

Now, Momma and Daddy have been gone for
many
years—unless you have dementia. Every night when dinner was being prepared, enough had to be made for Momma and Daddy for when they came home.

This is almost always how it began:

Mary: Honey, what am I going to make for dinner?

Nicholas: What do you want to make for dinner?

Mary: I don’t know—will you help me?

Nicholas: Sure, let’s see what we have.

Mary: Make sure there’s enough for Momma and Daddy.

Nicholas: Honey, Momma and Daddy are not coming over tonight. They, uh, called and said they were staying in, uh, Camden.

Mary: Why didn’t they talk to me?

Nicholas: You were napping, honey, and they didn’t want to wake you.

Mary: That was very nice of them, but you should have awakened me. Make sure we leave the light on so they can get in, okay, honey?

Nicholas: Okay, honey.

But because I
knew
there had to be a better way to handle both these issues, I tested a variety of responses over the next six weeks.

Mary: Honey, what am I going to make for dinner?

Nicholas: What do you want to make for dinner?

Mary: I don’t know—will you help me?

Nicholas: Sure, let’s see what we have.

Mary: Make sure there’s enough for Momma and Daddy.

Nicholas: Honey, Momma and Daddy are eating at Olive Garden tonight and said they’d call tomorrow.

Mary: So they won’t be home tonight?

Nicholas: No, honey.

Mary: Leave the light on just in case.

Mary: Make sure there’s enough for Momma and Daddy.

Nicholas: They went to visit your daughter Boo for the weekend and will not be home.

Mary: Why are they visiting Boo Boo?

Nicholas: Why not? She’s their granddaughter.

Mary: Make sure there’s enough for Momma and Daddy.

Nicholas: They went to North Carolina for a week on vacation.

Mary: But they’re so old—I can’t believe they are traveling so much.

Nicholas: Why not, honey? They are enjoying their waning years.

Slowly, as Momma and Daddy traveled more and more, I came up with another cunning plan.

Mary: Are Momma and Daddy back from … where did they go again, honey?

Nicholas: North Carolina, honey. No, not yet. They extended their trip. They are actually thinking of moving there.

Mary: Why would they do that?

Nicholas: They love it there. It’s warm and friendly.

Mary: Well, it’s not very nice that they don’t tell me.

Nicholas: But surely you are happy that they are enjoying themselves?

Mary: They should visit their children.

Nicholas: Honey, do I really need to point out that you don’t visit
your
children?

Mary: That’s different. I’m old.

Nicholas: Your parents are, by force of nature, older than you are.

Mary: No, they’re not.

Nicholas: Honey, on what planet does that make any sense? I know you’re unhappy, but your parents are older than you and they are happily traveling.

Mary: I’m not happy about it.

Nicholas: That, my dear, surprises no one.

Mary: Have Momma and Daddy returned from … wherever they went?

Nicholas: Yes, sweetie, but they are packing. They are moving to North Carolina this Friday.

Mary:
What?
They’re moving away?

Nicholas: Yup—this Friday.

Mary: I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they’re moving.

Nicholas: Yup—this week. Hey, guess what? Pavarotti is on
right now!

Mary: Really? I love Pavarotti.

Misdirection to the rescue. But everyday that week I reminded her that the folks were moving. She wasn’t happy, but at least she was prepared. Sorta.

Nicholas: Well, honey, as of 7:30 this morning, your parents landed in North Carolina.

Mary: Why did they go there?

Nicholas: They moved there, honey. They like it there.

Mary: I can’t believe that they didn’t say good-bye.

Nicholas: But you are happy for them because they are happy, right?

Mary: I guess.

Nicholas: Hey, guess who’s singing on TV?

When we decided to move to Florida, Mary was hopeful her folks would come to visit her. I needed a new plan—even more cunning than all my previous plans. It was time for drastic measures. It was time to hear from Momma and Daddy.

I went to the post office to get some official foreign-looking stamps [because I
am
a pinhead], drew some lines on it to make it look canceled, and presented it to the queen mum.

Nicholas: Look, honey, a letter.

Mary: Who’s it from, dear?

Nicholas: I don’t know, sweetie. I didn’t read it.

Mary: It’s from Momma and Daddy!

Yes, I took pen to right hand, which during best of times looks like an elderly lady’s arthritic scrawl, and wrote a letter from Momma:

Marieda, [Little Mary]

Come sta? Bene. Daddy ‘e me are good. Nort Caroline nice but we move home to Palermo. We want be with ol frends. Daddy e’ me hear that you move to hot Florida wit Nico an Popi. You know what Daddy say, “At’s a gotta good dat is.” We happy you move where it hot all the time, cause you always so cold. You be good e’ happy for me e’ Daddy. We love you lot. Ciao, Marieda Bambina!

Momma e’ Daddy

I can’t say that she was overjoyed because she said, “I can’t believe Momma wrote in English—and I can’t believe they moved back to Italy!”

So, being just a tad annoyed at her lack of surprise e’ happiness, I said, “Honey, you have done nothing but complain that your parents have not been in touch with you and now that they are, you don’t seem very excited. Why not?” [you narcissistic twit – implied]

“Well,” she said, “they could have told me to my face.”

Then in a frenzy of anger, I tore the just-sharpened kitchen knife from its stay. Lunging without hesitation, I plunged—but that’s a story for another time.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Momma ‘e Daddy would send letters. As with the
vino
, I simplified my life. Using
Creative Ideas for Dummies
and my computer, I created stamps from beautiful Palermo, Sicily. And, mostly because I had
way
too much time on my hands, I googled restaurants in Palermo and used an address as Momma and Daddy’s address. Hence, letters came from:

Via N. Garzillo 42

Terracina Palermo Province

Sicily, 90049

Gangi

Mary never understood the “Gangi” part, even though she knew it was her father’s last name.

Lesson Learned:
It doesn’t hurt to try and God certainly forgives non malicious lies to someone when you are trying to make them a little happier.

Panel 1

A clever attempt at creating international postage.

Panel 2

A typical letter from Momma in Palermo.

Panel 3

All of the letters took the same tone. All was well in Palermo, cooking pasta, eating, and drinking wine, alluding to “hot” Florida and, because Mary likes to swear, Momma and Daddy were now studying the Bible with Witnesses. Boo and I are Witnesses and it really annoyed us that she would do this for fun in front of company. The first letter addressed the issue of swearing. Mary thought it was very cute and would blurt out
va fa napola
to people. It wasn’t—and we’d have at it.