Take a Look

It’s morning at Meadow Brook Nursing Home. During the last ten months, this has been my mother’s abode. Most days, I feel it is mine, too. Life, as I have known it, is a blur. Alzheimer’s has taken Mother from herself, her family, and her friends. It has demanded a grit and grace in our everyday lives beyond human comprehension.

“I am tormented! Help me! Take this torment away! Help me! Help me! Help me,” she screams.

Daily I have fought to do that, to bring peace to her life. With every utterance, my heart is torn apart, and I cry out to God to not forsake us in our fight. This disease has taken us from the heights of Heaven to the pits of Hell. Today is different. After my second 36-hour shift at Meadow Brook this week, sleep comes in moments for me or not at all, causing me to be exhausted within and without.

Hallway lights outside Room 2128 announce the arrival of the first shift. The quiet peace of the night will soon be replaced with the bustle and activity of a new day, a scene to which I have become accustomed over the past few weeks is now the routine of my daily life. I am sitting at Mother’s bedside, holding her hand.

After her visit from the “Old Folks’ Friend” three weeks ago, the death watch began. Meadow Brook has become the “Valley of the Shadow.” For a few moments here and there, Mother awakens. Her mind is clear. God has given me the greatest gift of all: He has given me my mother back. We hold tight to each other. We sing. We recite poems from her childhood. We talk about her life and her death.

She slips in and out of consciousness. My mind races through the pages of our lives and reviews all the experiences that have brought us growth, both through gain and through loss. Her frail body is fighting to stay, but she will not win this fight. It is her final chapter; her time to go.

Looking in her face, I see a glowing, radiant, child-like spirit filled with love. As I hold her hand, I think of all the hands she has held and comforted in her lifetime. I know that I must tell her story—which ultimately is my story, too—with the hope that it may bring a degree of peace to the hearts of those who have walked, or will walk, the same road. This is our story—the chronicle of the life of a beautiful lady and her family—a life humbly begun, now ending with the devastation of Alzheimer’s.

Mary Ann Howie, my mother, has lived a long and fruitful life filled with devotion to the noblest causes, ones which evoke human loyalty and commitment. She has lived for her faith, her family, and her friends. She has been deemed by many the last of the great Southern Ladies whose gentle ways have been portrayed in graciousness throughout her entire life. She has lived with abundant vitality and in quiet solitude.

She has loved people, places, and things—places as humble as her home and as grand as those visited through her travels. The things she has loved, she accumulated through hard work and endowed with memorable stories, making them more than just things. They vividly evoke times and experiences we have shared. This journey had imbued Mother with simple elegance, beauty, and meaning in life. God has used her as an instrument in His hand and filled her with His voice, allowing her to give to others the greatest gift given to mankind—unconditional love.

Come with us and experience our joy in her journey home.

—Nancy Elizabeth Howie