Josephine

It was mid July 1983 when I first met my mother-in-law, Josephine. A strong-minded Italian women, looking out for the welfare of her youngest son, she scared me. I remember that she was always terribly concerned if I had eaten enough, at the same time arguing with her brother about one thing or another. The concern she showed to her family was remarkable. I envied them, and wanted to emulate her. I loved the passion she showed to her husband as well as the rest of the family. She always had a smile and a hug for anyone walking in her door, and the house always smelled of her wonderful sauce.

I remember when her son and I wanted to express our desire to get married. It was not long after we had met, but we knew that we were soul mates. We were nervous about telling anyone, let alone our parents, but we wanted to do the right thing. So we asked his parents to take a seat in their living room and my soon-to-be fiancée asked if they would share our joy in our engagement. Josephine leapt to her feet and stormed out of the room declaring that she would not allow it and that we were too young. She scared me half to death, I had thought that she liked me. I had not realized that she would never think that her “baby” would be old enough, let alone to marry an eighteen-year-old. After several agonizing minutes she returned to the room and gave me a hug. Her husband, Fred went to the bar and opened the Crown Royal (saved for very special occasions) and poured two shots, handing one to his son. Toasting us to a wonderful life, they gave us their blessing. On October 5, 1984 we were married.

Over the years she has been there for us on many levels. She even took us in under her roof when we did not have one of our own. She nursed me through wisdom teeth removal allowing our dog Tramp to lay on the end of the bed when I was sick with an infected dry socket. Dogs were never allowed back by the bedrooms and when I thanked her for allowing him to be there she pretended she hadn’t known, but I knew better. She was even there to keep me in bed after the birth of my daughter by c-section, not even allowing me to get her when she needed to be changed or nursed. She made me feel like a princess, taking care of my every need. She even became my confidant when I was having trouble with my own mother. Listening but never judging. I have watched her color with my children in her living room on a Sunday afternoon, and play volleyball in the backyard over the clothesline. She is truly a remarkable woman.

But somewhere along the road we missed the warning signs.

A stubborn woman, Josephine loved to argue, especially with my husband. But these “spats” seemed to lose momentum when she would become easily distracted. When we would sit around the kitchen table on Sunday mornings, she would seem distant and unable to carry on the conversation and several times would interrupt to ask, “Is it nice outside? It looks cold.” She would seem to hear your response, but was unable to process the information. And instead of understanding what she was going through, we looked blindly past and instead got angry at her lack of decorum. On several occasions she would jump up and begin to straighten the table even though we were still eating, or interrupt someone speaking to ask about the weather, again. It all became very frustrating, we didn’t know if she was confused or just upset about something, and she always said she was fine.

Not long after these “spells” became more frequent, my brother-in-law and family decided to move. Not across town, closer to Josephine, but across the country to Arizona. My husband was furious. He felt betrayed and confused. How could he move across the country? His daughter had one more year of high school, and we were just becoming close. How could he tell us only one week before they were to move? Then we found out even more tragic news, that in our hearts we had probably known all along. Josephine was in stage two Alzheimer's.

Now, just a few years later, our Sunday visits are still a part of our ritual but a sad one. Now when we knock on the kitchen door, we have to wait until the lock on the chain is removed. My mother-in-law greets us at the door, sometimes, and those days are the good ones. Josephine gives us all gentle little hugs, and pats on the backs. She smiles beautifully at her grandchildren asks how they are. She seems fine but feeble. She knows us all, and for that we are grateful. It is the Sundays that she doesn’t greet us that are the worst.

On those days she is often sound asleep on the couch, after what we would find out to have been a grueling eighteen to sometimes forty-eight hours of none stop motion. At these times she becomes agitated and unable to coherently communicate. She is irrational and sometimes wants to “go home” (the reason for the lock). A sad and frustrating state to witness, let alone to be in. She has a terrible compulsion to straighten and will rearrange placemats and towels over and over again. The stove that once came to life under her loving touch now has the knobs removed so that she doesn’t accidentally turn it on and injure herself. A sad existence for someone that was so recently full of life.

It is a tragedy that a woman with so much to give would be robbed so early in her life by such an unsuspecting predator. A predator that would slowly suck the very essence of her character and leave her a confused shadow of her former self. I will always be grateful for knowing Josephine the little time that we had. The thoughtfulness and generosity she showed to her family and friends was beyond limitations. She was and always will be my mentor, friend, and “Mom”.


Update: 3/21/2008
After battling this horrible disease for 11 long years, Josephine passed quietly away last night at 9pm. Her family was around her...