Help! My mother has Alzyheimers!

This blog will be especially hard to write, if I can even wrap my head around my feelings.  I don't know if it has to do with alzyheimers, aging or just the childhood dynamics of my own family.  And I will be the first to admit that these are purely my feelings and my stuff and may not even be close to reality, but they are still mine. 
First, I suppose a little family history would help.  We looked like the Leave It to Beaver family, but, of course, we weren't.  Nobody is the Beaver family.  My dad was a very dynamic individual, driven by work and accumulating money, which he did very well.  Unfortunately, that quickly translated to money is more important than me.  My guess is because of his own childhood, growing up in the depression, that he did not want to experience the lack of anything as did his preacher parents.  Not just preacher parents, but parents that planted churches in new areas.  My mom says that my grandma used to take her kids to the goodwill and when my dad would get a pair of shoes there, he would get shoe dye and take them home and dye them so the other kids wouldn't know he had bought shoes at the goodwill, possibly even their shoes.  Which is kind of odd actually, because growing up he had no problem sending my mom to the goodwill for our clothes and shoes.  That was actually fine with me and from what I remember most of what I did with my mom was shopping, thrift store, goodwill, yard sales, fabric stores, and finally malls.  She wonders why I have problems with overshopping and over spending.  Even as an 80 year old woman, it appears her highlights of the week are shopping, for herself, of course. 

Christmas at my parents house was routine, it always seemed like the gift giving was totally out of obligation.  It was Christmas, you were obligated to buy a present.  It wasn't about what anybody wanted, mind you this is my perception, but it was fulfilling the obligation.  I can remember my brother opening his package and my mom quickly saying, "I hope you like it, I bought it on sale and you can't take it back."  Yes, from what I remember, we got one package at Christmas.  On Christmas, the packages would be passed around, they would all be ripped apart and people would scatter.  I don't remember really sharing what people got or even recalling.  You unwrapped your package and quickly put it in your room; I'm not sure if that was about cleaning up the mess or taking on the "my package, back off" mode.  The first Christmas I had with Mike's family, I found out that other people don't do Christmas like that; it was like party time.  The day would start with the video camera rolling, everyone getting in front of the Christmas tree, bar lights (that's what was used in that day) were blaring at us from the kitchen to make sure there was plenty of light.  It was happy, festive, celebratory; I knew I wanted to emulate that kind of Christmas when I had children.  The first Christmas we were married, Mike's parents gave us a gift, it started with 8 little poems, first one on the tree, all clues brought us closer to the gift.  From the tree to the cupboard, to the bathroom, it was like a treasure hunt.  It was so fun; it brought us to the front deck of the house to a string that led to the shed and upon opening, there was a red bow almost as big as the dryer underneath it.  It was joyful.

My dad was not a demonstrative guy; he died never having said the words to any of us, "I love you"; he never said it to my mom either.  I don't know how you could marry someone that couldn't tell you those three little words, but my mom said she knew that he loved her. I guess that was enough for her.  She must be stronger than me.  I do remember though the first time I knew my dad loved me.  It's really kind of a sick story when I stop and think about it; so dysfunctional.  My dad was an extreme tight wad, you used to call him that and I think he enjoyed it.  He took pleasure in discount everything, except for maybe his fishing or hunting stuff. I don't remember ever eating out because he used to say, "you're mom's an awesome cook, why would we eat out?"  I'm pretty sure that aspect of my childhood is what caused me as a newlywed to want to eat out almost every day.  Funny, how denying someone something, causes you to then crave it or seek after it.  The day I knew my dad loved me was after he gave me a check, I think for $10,000; well, actually he gave all three of his children checks.  I cried when I came home with that check.  I remember holding it up to my husband, tears streaming down my face, "I would gladly give him this check back, if he could say those three little words, I love you".  I knew that he couldn't do that, but as weird as it sounds, I now knew that he loved me.  It's so twisted when I think about it and as I type about it, it's so dysfunctional, it's sick.  The money gift came after I had been in a confrontation with my father and yelled, "all you care about is your money; you care more about your money than us."  I remember he said, "that's not true" and I replied with "you won't let my mother call me because it's long distance, she calls my house on my toll free number".  Did she not know that I was paying for those calls?  Those money gifts continued year after year, each year I wept with the perverted thought that I knew my father loved me.  Such an unhealthy attitude about money; yes, it would bite me in the butt at some point, perhaps over and over again.

For birthdays only, my mom would purchase a gift, it was always to be under a certain limit that she said my dad put on her.  I remember $10 a gift, then $25 and up until he died, $35 gift.  My mother each birthday would remind me that she would do more than that if she could, but my dad puts a limit on the gifts of $35.  Now, that's not necessarily a bad thing, having a money limit, that concept probably would have benefited me with my own children or even my gifts to my family, i.e. my mother, than to just buy them what I know they wanted, needed or loved.  As perverted as it may sound, I looked for ways to make my children's lives easier by buying them what might help them reach their own goals.  Perhaps overspending, but enjoying the spirit of giving.  Now this probably wouldn't keep coming up in my head, beating me over the head with the thoughts, if it didn't seem like my family was all about the money.  You see telling me for years and years, about this money limit and "I would do more if I could, but your dad won't let me" and then having him die and you not buying me a birthday present since is messing with my head.  It's sending me messages that I don't want in my head.  Messages like, "you're not loved, it still is all about the money".  I'm trying to wrap my head around this, I'm praying about it, I really am trying to move on, I'm trying to let go of it but obviously, it continues to come up, to wake me in the night and to leave me weeping myself back to sleep.  It's no longer about the gift, it's about something else.  Oh wait, I did get a  birthday present last night, it was Hickory Farms sausage package, (1/2 off after Christmas), $13.00 to be exact, I'm glad she didn't go over her self-imposed, at this point, limit of $35.00.  This is inconceivable to me since I put a lot of thought into my mother's presents (except this year), I enjoy buying her things.  Her last birthday, I believe I got her one night's stay at a bed and breakfast on the Oregon Coast that was a lighthouse because lighthouses are one of her favorite things.  Now, I know I sound ungrateful, I'll be the first to admit that and that is so discouraging to learn about myself.  That's part of the reason I'm writing this blog, I'm trying to let it go but somehow it has attached itself to me and won't let go.  I know in my head, that she's old, not thinking well, but she hasn't bought me a present since my dad died 5 years ago, but this year she buys me a sausage log gift package.  If she knew me, she would know that's not even something I would eat.  Oh well, Debi, let it go.

My tightwad dad had amassed a fair estate, he was good at making money, no doubt about it.  Part of his estate planning was to each year gift us the maximum allowed money gift so that when he passed, he wouldn't have to pay so much estate taxes on the money.  If he didn't gift us money, it would be taxed in the estate which would be costly.  He didn't like that thought at all.  He did his gift giving at Christmas, probably because it saved on getting another gift.  So, my dad dies and what does my mother do, she makes up her own rules.  My oldest brother is her co-trustor person, but he just repeats over and over, I just do what mom wants which is asking a lot for a 80 year old woman, who didn't know where all of her accounts were when my dad died.  So, each year, it's a different amount, based on her whim, I guess.  Who knows.  But again, as warpped as my thinking may be, what this tells me now is she must not love me. I know it's wrong, it's stupid, it's silly, it's perverted, I can acknowledge that, but it still haunts me.  Last year, I brought it up to her that the maximum amount was a certain amount, she had decided less than that amount.  She had no reason for her decision, she said to me: "well this is the amount I've decided on and I'm going to stick with that".  Perhaps that was the first time I understood what my dad said when he used to say, "don't confuse her with the facts her mind is made up".  Ok, then.  No logic, no plan, whim estate planning.  I believe that my dad was a bright guy and he sought out wise counsel and gifted the maximum amount because he could and because it saved him estate taxes in the end (no pun intended) and because he "loved" me.  So, this year she hands out a check for a $1000.  I know, I should be happy, ecstatic perhaps, but all I feel is unloved.  Don't remind me, I know it's sick, I know I have money issues; why is this the message I hear.  My dad had it all figured out and now my mom who has said a zillion times to me, "I'd do more for you kids if I could, but your dad won't let me" does her "whim" estate planning and changes what she does.  There's no rhyme or reason to try and talk to her because like last year, "her mind is made up".  So this whole situation now makes me feel like I lived my life with my feelings and attitudes about my dad from what my mother said about him; I feel like I, perhaps didn't really know him at all.  And who is my mother?  Was she lying to me all those times or is she just slipping or am I just slipping?  Like slip sliding away.  That's me!

I think I've been an amazing daughter and I have amazing children.  My mother-in-law died many years ago; my mom and dad were in Arizona for the winter.  I called weeping and asked her to come home.  Her reply was that it was a waste of money, she was already dead, my dad wouldn't let her fly home for the funeral.  The day after my mother-in-law died my sister-in-law who had decided to stay at her mother's apartment (and now we all know why) rented a U-Haul and had it half loaded before we got there.  Mind you his mother died on a Tuesday, 6:30 p.m., Wednesday morning 11:00 a.m. we drive over to the apartment to a half loaded U-Haul.  Needless to say, it was not a good experience.  Her perception was she was the daughter and she deserved whatever she wanted.  My husband was unwilling to take any kind of stand although he was the executor and so he did nothing except watch me rant about her.  Most disturbing to me was the costume jewelry; Mike's mom had 3 big boxes of it that my kids used to play with every Friday when they would spend the night there.  Mike's sister let them each pick out one necklace.  Really, out of three big boxes, you're going to give them one necklace each and take anything of value and leave the tupperware, worn out linens and old lady clothes for our "inheritance".  OK.  I tell this story as a preface to my next hurt.  So, jewelry goes to the daughter no matter what, that's what she said.

So, I get a call from one of my children a couple of weeks ago, they witnessed the whole demise of Mike's sister and her selfishness when his mother died.  My daughter says, "you better get over to grandma's, she's giving away some of her jewelry to your sister-in-law.  Now, I've already experienced my mother passing off a few of her jewelry items to me, everyone of them with the name of one of my daughters on it.  Not to me, but directly to them.  Even the diamond necklace and earrings I gave her, she gave back to me and told me to give them to _____ designated daughter.  I've discussed with her numerous times about my incident with Mike's sister, how hurt I was but now she's handing out her jewelry to said daughter-in-law.  Let's see the daughter-in-law that you have been complaining of for years about "she practically drives right by my house on her way to work and never stops to see me".  Well, the last 2 months she's been visting my mom regularly and now she's getting the jewelry I guess.  Well, that may be an exhaggeration somewhat.  After I was told about her giving jewelry away, she asked me over to her house.  She has laid out various earrings and says are there any of these you want, I've already decided I'm so hurt, I can't even go there.  I say no, ask Amy and Anna.  So, today I go over there to pick up my birthday present, half-off Hickory Farms gift package, ($13) and again she has jewelry laid out.  She asks me to come see if there is anything I want.  I don't look, I just say, "No".  Fifteen minutes later my brother shows up, husband of said sister-in-law, and my mother immediately takes him into the bedroom to ask him what he wants.  What the hell?  What about my children? 

At this point, I'm feeling unstable.  I leave and get to my car to weep alone.  I wonder why I have these feelings?  Why can't I just let go of this stuff?  Why am I so hurt?  I think I've been an amazing daughter, I actually think I've been a hell of a lot better daughter than my own two daughters, but why does this hurt so much.  Is it watching my mother, the one I thought to be so strong, slipping away.  Her feelings for people shifting based on who spent time with her last.  Is it watching and observing the "probate hell" that I've seen so many times as a legal secretary: someone dies, first one to the house gets what they want.  Or is it the behavior of my siblings and their  spouses?  Is it my brother's wife buying my mom's silver dollars for a dollar a piece? (those were returned)  Or my other brother after my dad's death saying all of the coin collection was his? Or my other brother taking most of the cowboy boots, 58 pair of them or whatever? Or is it my oldest brother, the designated co-trustor with my mother, never sharing any information about the status of the trust or anything?  When asked a question, his standard reply is "I just do what mom wants".  That's no comfort considering her state of mind. Or is it my mom telling one of my children they can have her computer and then letting my brother take it home? Or is it my mom telling my children if they come over and clean or take her to run errands and then she either forgets to pay them or pays them and then says something like, "I feel like they only come over here for the money".  That's because that is what my family of origin is all about, the freaking money.  Well, here's the thing, my children were calling and visiting you regularly before she ever started handing out the $10 and $20 for cleaning or running errands.  And although they are awesome grand daughters, she decides not to give any of the grand children money because four out of the six of them, don't deserve it.  How is that fair?

I thought that I had developed some maturity and spiritual depth in the last 15 years, but now I'm not so sure.  I am so hurt and angry.  I know my feelings are irrational, ungrateful, ridiculous, embarrassing, but they are still my feelings.  Was I not a good enough daughter?  I feel like I spend my life investing in others but am I ever going to get a break?  I don't think so, not on this side of heaven.  This is my lot in life.

I realize that I would do things differently.  First off, as a grandparent I would love to do things for my awesome grandchildren, for example, my children desperately need new computers, it is their livelihood.  As a grandparent, I would love to do that, it would have brought me great joy knowing everytime my grandchild used that computer, she would think of me; when I was gone, she would have found memories as to my love for her.  But, there I go, that's me.  I have to realize my mother is not me.  She lived her life for my dad.

My mom came back from visiting my aunt in Washington, her sister.  Growing up everytime her and my dad returned from one of their many trips, my mom was sick for a week or so.  So, she comes back from visiting her sister and she's sick, no according to her she's dying.  She tells my children she's ready to go, she doesn't think she has long to live.  I call my aunt who tells me my mom is just feeling sorry for herself.  She says don't give into her.  I believe my aunt and carry on.  Not the rest of the family, after all there's a lot at stake.  So, my oldest brother starts showing up twice a day and my other brother sends his wife over there almost daily.  And guess what?  My mom has this miraculous recovery.  So, I ask her about a month ago, "so you want to go check out the senior citizen, it's less than a mile away, we can go check it out?"  She says, "no, I don't want to do that, I'm content being in my house".  What she is really saying is: "I've trained my children, well, not this one, to be at my every beck and call.  I no longer need to hang out with people my own age, because my children, except this one, will keep me company everyday."  It's to the point where when I am going to stop by other there, someone else is always there and I continue driving.  I'm not going by there to visit anyone but her.  I would probably discuss some of these things with her, but I'm sure half-way into the conversation, company would show up.

I am trying to blame alzyheimers for my mother's mind, her feelings, her confusion, her making no sense to me, her decisions that hurt and devastate me.  But what am I to blame my own feelings on: hurt, anger, distraught, resolve, helplessness, loss, disgust, etc.  I'm doing my best to try and lay these things at Jesus' feet, "this world is not my own, I'm just a traveling through", but, the pain, the almost anguish consumes me.  I can't go to her apartment without having these overwhelming feelings of being unloved and not measuring up.  I need a breakthrough in this area of my life.  I don't know why, at this point of my life, I am having these feelings, perhaps that's the bigger question.  God puts me in places to teach me, to mold me, to make me more like Him, but through this whole experience of hurt and pain, I feel far, far away.

I think my mom's alzyheimers is making me crazy, one crazy bitch!