La Bene Vita

Memory

My mother-in-law lives with us. Last summer, we sold her house and ours and bought a larger house. We renovated the basement so she could have a private apartment, but we could still watch over her. She'd lived in her former home for forty years and raised her children there, so moving was a big project involving sorting, organizing and packing and many tearful trips to Goodwill.

Keith made the decision to consolidate our households when his mother began to exhibit signs of severe memory loss. She can tell me stories about her youth like nobody's business, but she doesn't remember that she told me the same story a month ago, or an hour ago. Every time Keith goes on a business trip, she thinks he's in Italy (this last trip was to St. Louis.) All her plans are at noon or sometime other than when they actually are, so she sits by the front door waiting to be picked up, thinking she's been forgotten. And she keeps saying she just needs to get in her car and drive herself to church or the grocery store or wherever, but even though these destinations are a straight shot from our home, she's gotten hopelessly lost the last couple times she's ventured out on her own. She has a cell phone, but naturally she doesn't remember to bring it.

Ever since she moved in with us, I've been taking my mother-in-law to church. I lead worship, and on a rare occasion, I have to be early or stay late, so I either tell her a different time to be ready that morning, or I make arrangements for Keith to drive her, or for a congregation member who lives near us to take her home early. I think a routine would be better for her, but it's not something I can control. Leading worship is my job.

Yesterday, we had to leave the house at 8:30 am. She confirmed with me on Saturday night: "We're leaving at 8:30, right?"

At 8:32 yesterday morning, we had not heard a peep from the basement. On any normal Sunday, she would have already been upstairs to feed and water the cats and set her purse and Bible on the counter.

I opened the basement door and called down to her, asking if she was ready to go.

She called up, "I can't find anything to wear."

My mother-in-law dresses to the nines with perfect hair and makeup to ride along taking Abby to cheerleading. She is always immaculate and always - ALWAYS - ready on time. Finding something to wear is like a profession for her.

After a stunned pause, I called, "Do we need to take you shopping?" Maybe she's gained weight. We've all had those mornings.

She replied, "I'm just so aggravated."

Another beat later, I come up with the solution.

"I have to go, but I'll wake Keith up and ask him to bring you at 9:15." That gives her an extra 45 minutes to get ready.

She agreed, so I woke Keith and left.

After worship, I got hit with the usual barrage of people needing to speak with me for various reasons. I apologize to my MIL almost every week for keeping her waiting, and every week she tells me not to worry, the couch by the door is very comfortable.

Yesterday, she sought me out while I was asking a friend to help me load up the drum set in my Jeep, and she was distraught. She'd been waiting outside for Keith to pick her up, and he was a no-show. I realized the problem immediately: She assumed that since he brought her, he would also be picking her up. That implied she'd forgotten the reason Keith drove her.

At that moment, my friend got pulled away into another conversation, so I hustled her out as quickly as possible, since she was clearly in a bad mood. I tried to gently remind her: "Why would Keith need to pick you up? I didn't have anything unusual scheduled today. Did you end up finding something to wear?"

And she snapped at me, "Oh, I always find something to wear. I'm always ready and waiting for you people."

*blink*

It is SO HARD to take comments like that in stride. I have to bite my tongue, count to ten in my head, and take a deep breath before I reply.

"Don't you remember? When I asked if you were ready at 8:30, you said you couldn't find something to wear. That was why Keith drove you today."

She didn't say anything, and I have no idea if she remembered, or if she felt bad, or if she was mad, or what, because she rarely says what's on her mind. I got her in the car and asked her to give me a minute to tell my friend we were leaving and would load up the drums another day. But then she changed moods abruptly, saying there was no need to rush, that I could finish what I was doing.

All I could think was that loading up the drums would take at least ten minutes, and that's enough time for her to forget why she's waiting for me, to forget that she'd insisted on it.

Sometimes it goes beyond unjustified accusations, and I get treated with mistrust. She looks at me with suspicion when some piece of mail or personal object or large stack of cash she withdrew vanishes (it turns out she hid the money under a lamp.) I used to pay her bills because she paid her mortgage twice in the same month but repeatedly failed to pay other bills, and I'm better at money management than her two children. She was aware that I took over and approved it, but sometimes she would forget and be accusatory about the status of her bank account and the fact that I had access to it.

I have my faults, but dishonesty is not one of them. If anything, brutally unfailing honesty is sometimes on the "weaknesses" list. It hurts my feelings to be accused unjustly and mistrusted, especially when I'm voluntarily taking on a time-consuming task like managing someone else's budget and bills and making all the payments on time. I was hoping for gratitude, not mistrust.

Luckily, cohabitation means she doesn't have bills anymore.

I agreed to cohabitate with my mother-in-law because I understand that she needs looking after, and since Keith worries about her, so do I. But she is strong-willed and difficult, and we're talking about one of the nicest people you will ever meet. I can't imagine doing this with a crabby person. And I can't imagine being in her shoes.

To lose my independence in old age is now one of my greatest fears.