I guess one of the reasons I dreaded placing my mother was because I thought she would be terrified finding herself surrounded by unknown faces in a strange environment without Franci or any other loved one around. I had images of her experiencing a kind of fear she would not be able to understand upon not finding herself in her own home. She had also become like my own child, and I guess, subconsciously, I found it hard to give her up and put her care into the hands of others. My family background may have also influenced my hesitancy in taking so long to place my mother. After all, Spanish people always took care of their own did they not? After I placed Mami, when anyone asked if I ever felt guilty about it, I would tell them I felt many emotions, especially sadness, but never guilt, because I knew I had obeyed God.

However, guilt does plague many caretakers of all cultures when they have to place a loved one. The weight of this guilt, on top of the pain of placement makes it even more traumatic. The guilt will go when you realize you are not qualified or have the expertise to care for an Alzheimers patient. Holding onto a loved one for too long does a disservice to the loved one, as well as the caretaker. The negative affects to your health and state of mind will rob you both of any semblance of quality time together. The longer this window is kept open, the harder it is on the entire family. It breaks my heart to see the guilt so many suffer when having to make the gut-wrenching decision of, to place or not to place. With few exceptions, caretakers need to know early on that placement is generally the right thing. This truth will keep guilt or fear from stalling your decision to go through that pain of placement at the appropriate time, or torment your mind afterwards.

We need to make a choice not to allow guilt of any kind to dominate our lives. A mind is a delicate place that needs Gods protection and divine direction during such an ordeal. God had to come and chasten me to do the right thing. I am so grateful He did! However, one need not wait as long as I did before placing their loved one in the right place. I had been reading about this disease all along, but after the Lord led me to place my mother, I devoured everything I could get my hands on concerning Alzheimers disease; something I should have done more of sooner. I was then also able to read and receive information with more objectivity. I had not realized that some of the things I was doing for my mother, which I thought were for her welfare, were doing her more harm than good. It took a while for this hard truth to sink in.

In retrospect, I marvel at the patience God had with me and how firmly, yet gently, He led me. I also now realize that God, in His wisdom, knowing I felt even more adverse about foster homes than nursing homes, used the nursing home route to get me to the foster home system. I said I would never put my mother in a foster home after I saw what my sister-in-law Cindys mother went through. My mother was like no other, so God had to personally handcraft a place that would be able to deal with her special brand of outrageous behavior. Once He got me to first accept the nursing home without guilt, the more unacceptable concept of a foster home quickly followed. He was then able to lead me to that unique place He was preparing for her a place suited just for Mami! As God continued to lead me there, I also listened to the advice of the Alzheimers organizations and professionals, and ultimately to those running the home where she spent the last three years of her life and where we were visited by those six weeks of heaven on earth.
The Dreaded Day
The dreaded day had arrived! I was about to do something I once thought unthinkable; place my mother into the hands of strangers. In essence, the long overdue window I was now closing was the window on myself as primary caretaker. This window was the hardest to close yet! My sister was here helping with the packing and moving, and sharing in the pain of placement. After going through all the trouble of moving her out of her home for the first time and setting her furniture up in this very nice nursing home, little did we know how short-lived it was going to be. My sister and I watched in tears from our hidden position behind the nurses station as the daycare director walked her into her room. (We took their suggestion to bring her in straight from daycare.) When we finally worked up the courage to go in, Mami was not a happy camper and I found it hard to leave. Those next couple of days I felt like I was living in a nursing home. When we were not there, she would try to elude the aides, but they would always find her. On two occasions, she tried to break out by slipping through the secured front door. Another time, she threw herself down on the floor of the dining room screaming right after my sister and I left. At bedtime, she once hurled a cup at an aide and a shoe at another one and so it went. For those having to deal with my mother, it seemed every day was a dreaded day.