The Big Smile

 

              When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, I talked with a couple who ran a photo studio near our home. They also had an aged mother who had Alzheimer’s disease.

              One day, they talked to me with big smiles: “Finally, we decided to put our mother in a nursing home.”

              Actually, in those days, I had just started my caregiving for my mother. So I didn’t understand the meaning of their words and big smiles. I couldn’t understand why they looked so happy. They had left their mother.

              For over ten years later, I had lived with my mother and had taken care of her. I decided to put my mother in a nursing home. I was released from hard caregiving. An Alzheimer’s patient needs twenty-four hours of care a day. I was released from these busy days. An Alzheimer’s patient can easily create accidents. I was released from this heavy responsibility.

              I finally reached this day safely. From the next day on, my life had drastically changed. I didn’t have any difficulty. I had a normal life. Those were wonderful days. I wanted to share this great feeling with someone.

              I quit it. I felt really happy, but this feeling was difficult to understand. Only someone who had a difficult time during caregiving could understand this. From an objective point of view, I had just left my mother. My mother’s disease got worse. I gave up taking care of her at home. I should not express my happiness with a big smile. No one should say “Congratulations” to me.

              The goal of caregiving could be leaving a nursing home, a hospital, or a funeral. Even if the caregivers worked hard for a long time, the result could be a tragic end. I think this is one of the hardest parts of caregiving.

Picture by koti

Sutra

 

              In a common Japanese funeral, a monk chant is a sutra. These sutras are difficult to understand for ordinary Japanese people. I couldn’t understand why people were doing this. In these important moments, why do we have to listen to sutras when no one understands their meaning?

              In 2007, my grandmother who had lived with me passed away. My mother was the only child. She was the chief mourner, but she was already experiencing an onset of Alzheimer’s disease. I needed to play the role of the actual chief mourner.

              That was my first time to be a chief mourner. Everything was new to me. Furthermore, two of my relatives had trouble. It was possible that they would fight during the funeral. Their problems were so serious. If they started a fight during the funeral, it would lead to the humiliation of my grandmother. She had lived a great life and deserved a solemn funeral.

              I prepared for the funeral as the chief mourner. I also talked to both of my relatives. I asked them not to fight during the funeral. On the day of the funeral, these relatives always glared at each other. I was literally standing between them. I glared back at each of them. I was screaming in my mind, “If you start a fight now, I will never forgive you!”

              Then the monk started the sutra. I finally reached this moment. I believed the two relatives were not outraged as to who would start a fight during the sutra. I was released in this moment. During the sutra, I didn’t need to do anything. I didn’t need to think about anything. Then teardrops fell from my eyes. That was the first time I cried my eyes out after my grandmother had passed away.

              Primarily, a funeral is supposed to be a moment for sadness. I had no idea what the monk was saying, but I believe a funeral requires a moment like this. Sometimes a funeral could be a battlefield. I think monks don’t like this idea, but I think a sutra could be a nice interval.

Picture by Romi Harashi

Heroes Die

 

One day, when I was a kid, I was watching TV. My mother was cooking our dinner. A news program was on, and the announcer reported the news of someone’s death. I had no idea who the person was, but my mother screamed, “What?” Then she quit cooking and stared at the TV for a while. That was the first time I saw her so upset.

Now I am older. The heroes whom I admired when I was a kid are dying, one after another. Sometimes I hear the unexpected news of the death of one of my heroes, and I also stare at TV.

I can’t remember the name of the person whose death shocked my mother. But she must have considered him or her a great person.

Longevity is wonderful. But, if I lived a long life, I would have to receive a lot of news about death. I don’t want to die early, but I don’t want to receive a lot of news about death.

Picture by Shintako

The Medical Records

 

One of my relatives runs an ophthalmology clinic downtown. And it so happens I used to take care of three old persons: my great aunt, my father and my mother. Old people always have medical problems, so I would take them to various kinds of hospital. Almost every week, I would be at some hospital. When they had eye problems, I would take them to the hospital our relative ran. It was a win-win situation. The hospital could profit, and I could show that I was a good caregiver.

The doctor was my relative, and the nurses and clerks treated me very well. I was a frequent visitor there for about ten years. We became very familiar with each other and engaged in small talk every time.

One day, I wanted to buy new glasses. I decided to ask for a prescription for them at the hospital. When I was in the waiting room, the clerk came to me. She looked upset.

“Now, we are looking for your medical records… but we can’t find them.”

Then my relative, the doctor, joined us. They started to argue: “Have we lost the medical records?”

“How could we do that?”

“Losing medical records could be a serious problem.”

They were upset for a while. Then we solved the mystery. They never had my medical records in the first place. I had visited the hospital many times as a caregiver. I had never visited it as a patient. I didn’t even have a hospital ID card. The clerk had assumed that they had my medical records because I was familiar.

After that, I met my relative in my capacity as a patient for the first time.

Picture by Aroaroui