Thank You Good Neighbor Society

Last year my mother's condition with Alzheimer's disease had worsened noticeably. As a family we had decided that she required more care she could receive on my parents farm. Before we could move her into an assisted living facility she wandered off during a trip to town with Dad one day.

Unable to get her back, Dad called the police to help find her. Confused and scared, Mom wouldn't go with the police when they found her. Since she wouldn't go voluntarily she was sent to a "senior behavioral health unit" in Cedar Falls for "observation" to make sure she wasn't a danger to herself or others.

She was increasingly confused about people, words and places but Mom could walk and talk and largely take care of herself with increasing help from Dad and others at that time. After four weeks in the "care" of the big city doctors she was discharged unable to speak, smile, feed herself, display any emotion or hug her grand kids. The nursing home that had evaluated and accepted her a few weeks before said that they didn't have the capability to care for her when she was released.

The family was overcome with shock and despair. Was there nowhere that Mom could go and receive the loving care that she deserved? That's when we discovered the Good Neighbor Home in Manchester.

The Good Neighbor Home (GNH) is a care facility run by the Good Neighbor Society, a non-profit collaboration of 11 local churches. GNH has 133 beds. Mom was able to move into their brand new 20 bed state of the art Memory Care Unit, known as “Marietta’s Place," and later their 12 bed hospice unit until her death last month.

But of course physical facilities are only a small part of the equation. The staff at GNH were professional and caring. Their motto is: "COMPASSIONATE CHRISTIAN CARE FOR THOSE WE SERVE." They definitely lived up to those words. They treated Mom and the family with tenderness and respect.

It's often said that "the Lord works in mysterious ways," but sometimes there is no mystery in it at all. He works openly in plain sight through the dedication and hard work of caring people like those at the Good Neighbor Home. I thank them for making my mom's last year and a half as pleasant and comfortable as possible.


By the way, as a non-profit entity donations are always sorely needed, greatly appreciated and tax-deductible. They can be sent to:

The Good Neighbor Society

105 McCarren Drive

Manchester, Iowa 52057

Mom's "Never Alone" Redux

Since my family has had a tumultuous week dealing with my mother's progressively worsening Alzheimer's Disease, I don't feel much like writing.  I hope you'll indulge me as I repost a piece I originally posted on April 3, 2010.  As I watch my mom disappear further into the mists of Alzheimer's, it seems even more poignant now.

As I was knocking about the internet the other day I found an online version of a magazine article, titled “Never Alone,” that my mother got published back in 2003. The article is about how Mom’s faith in God and a big black dog comforted her when she was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at the young age of 60.

According to the Alzheimer's Disease Education and Referral Center, “Alzheimer’s disease is an irreversible, progressive brain disease that slowly destroys memory and thinking skills, and eventually even the ability to carry out the simplest tasks.” That’s the clinical definition. It takes on a much more personal tone when it strikes someone in your family. It slowly takes away who that person is before it takes their life.

Rereading her article now, seven years after it was published, is like a window into the past for me. I can once again see the woman I once knew, expressing the thoughts and fears that she can no longer fully articulate.

Mom wrote: “Tank sprang out the door and galloped down the road. Eighty solid pounds of black Labrador retriever, he certainly lived up to his name. He loved barreling through our 160 acres. I used to enjoy it too, but not lately. Not since I heard the word Alzheimer’s. ‘You seem to be showing some early signs,’ the neurologist had told me, after a checkup with my family doctor and a battery of tests, including a brain scan. […]

“I remembered the flyer I’d picked up from an Alzheimer’s support group. It said that I should get an ID bracelet with my name, address and phone number. More than likely I’d end up forgetting who I was and where I lived. The thought horrified me. I was going to lose myself, remembering nothing and nobody. Would I eventually forget who God was? Lord, I can’t bear the idea of being so utterly alone. Please stay with me.

“’Tank!’ I called. No sign of our big black Lab. Would I forget him too? ‘Here, boy!’ I called. Tank careened out of the woods. The dog was so big that when he stood on his hind legs his paws rested on my shoulders. Still, he was one of the most gentle creatures I’d ever known. Tank circled me then dashed back into the trees, chasing something I couldn’t see. I’m being chased too, I thought. To a place where no one will be able to reach me.”

Medicine has slowed it somewhat, but the predator that stalks my mother is closing in swiftly now. She has difficulty now with common tasks that my four-year-old takes for granted. My words, my guns, even my love for my mother are all powerless against this killer.

Mom is a good, hard-working, church-going woman, totally undeserving of being slowly stripped of a lifetime of memories, then of life itself. I often use this blog to impotently speak out against injustice. If you’re listening God, I’m speaking out now.

If anyone else has some time, please read the short article by my mom, Judy Cashner, here.

Mom's "Never Alone"

As I was knocking about the internet the other day I found an online version of a magazine article, titled “Never Alone,” that my mother got published back in 2003. The article is about how Mom’s faith in God and a big black dog comforted her when she was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease at the young age of 60.

According to the Alzheimer's Disease Education and Referral Center, “Alzheimer’s disease is an irreversible, progressive brain disease that slowly destroys memory and thinking skills, and eventually even the ability to carry out the simplest tasks.” That’s the clinical definition. It takes on a much more personal tone when it strikes someone in your family. It slowly takes away who that person is before it takes their life.

Rereading her article now, seven years after it was published, is like a window into the past for me. I can once again see the woman I once knew, expressing the thoughts and fears that she can no longer fully articulate.

Mom wrote: “Tank sprang out the door and galloped down the road. Eighty solid pounds of black Labrador retriever, he certainly lived up to his name. He loved barreling through our 160 acres. I used to enjoy it too, but not lately. Not since I heard the word Alzheimer’s. ‘You seem to be showing some early signs,’ the neurologist had told me, after a checkup with my family doctor and a battery of tests, including a brain scan. […]

“I remembered the flyer I’d picked up from an Alzheimer’s support group. It said that I should get an ID bracelet with my name, address and phone number. More than likely I’d end up forgetting who I was and where I lived. The thought horrified me. I was going to lose myself, remembering nothing and nobody. Would I eventually forget who God was? Lord, I can’t bear the idea of being so utterly alone. Please stay with me.
“’Tank!’ I called. No sign of our big black Lab. Would I forget him too? ‘Here, boy!’ I called. Tank careened out of the woods. The dog was so big that when he stood on his hind legs his paws rested on my shoulders. Still, he was one of the most gentle creatures I’d ever known. Tank circled me then dashed back into the trees, chasing something I couldn’t see. I’m being chased too, I thought. To a place where no one will be able to reach me.”

Medicine has slowed it somewhat, but the predator that stalks my mother is closing in swiftly now. She has difficulty now with common tasks that my four-year-old takes for granted. My words, my guns, even my love for my mother are all powerless against this killer.

Mom is a good, hard-working, church-going woman, totally undeserving of being slowly stripped of a lifetime of memories, then of life itself. I often use this blog to impotently speak out against injustice. If you’re listening God, I’m speaking out now.

If anyone else has some time, please read the short article by my mom, Judy Cashner, here.

Mom

Mother's Day has taken on a bittersweet tone this year, after the passing of my wife's mother last spring and the realization that the number of Mother's Days with my own mother are rapidly dwindling. You see, several years ago, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.

According to the Alzheimer's Association, there are 5.3 million Americans living with the disease and it is our sixth leading cause of death. Since it primarily attacks senior citizens, that number is sure to grow as our population ages. The disease "destroys brain cells, causing problems with memory, thinking and behavior severe enough to affect work, lifelong hobbies or social life." It is always fatal and there is no cure. These are facts that I never realized until Mom was diagnosed.

Mom came from a poor family but, through hard work and the help of a Pell Grant, she was able to put herself through college. She worked first as a teacher, then later for the Iowa Department of Human Services. She kept the books for our family farm. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at the age of 62, rather than moping about, she wrote about the experience in an article that was published in a national magazine.

My mother is a smart lady. I would like to explain to Alzheimer's how unfair it is that she be slowly stripped of her greatest asset, but there is no rationalizing with Alzheimer's.

Besides working full time and keeping the books, Mom gladly accepted all the other duties of a farm wife. I can recall myself and my siblings working in the fields, picking up the numerous rocks that our farm always bore. In the late afternoon we would see Mom's car return from work. A few minutes later Mom would emerge from the house, out of her office attire and into her chore clothes, to help us, always without delay and without complaint. Whatever the task, be it picking up rocks, driving a tractor or hefting buckets of feed, Mom could do it.

My mother is a strong woman. I would advise Alzheimer's that there must surely be easier targets to attack, but there is no reasoning with Alzheimer's.

Long about junior-high age I decided that I didn't want to go to church anymore. I can recall arguing about this with Mom one Sunday morning. Although I thought I had presented a compelling case, Mom carried the day and forty minutes later my rebellious little butt was firmly planted in a church pew.

As I sat there in church, my arms folded, silently fuming, I felt a gentle rap on my shoulder. I turned to see Mom produce something from her purse and hold it out to me. It was a small plastic sandwich bag filled with Cheereos, much like the other mothers in the congregation might use to comfort a crying baby. Message received.

My mother is a smart alec! She has an acerbic wit that still, to this day, she will occasionally play like an ace card when no one expects it. I would warn Alzheimer's not to mess with her, that she could cut it down to size with a mere word (or less), but there is no threatening Alzheimer's.

So, what is this mother's son to do? I help my folks out with some errands now and then (what little I can with a job and a growing family of my own from two counties away). I donate what little I can afford to groups like Alzheimer's Association. Other than that, I can only remind Mom that I love her and wish her a happy Mother's Day.