Home - My Brother, part 3

        I wasn't going to write any more about my brother – my mother would kill me for sharing all this personal stuff. But as I mentioned here once before, if anything I say can give hope to someone going through the same nightmare, then it's worth the risk.

          So, the big day to move my brother into assisted living was July 1. For two weeks, I mentioned it every time I spoke with him on the phone, and he kept asking why he had to move out of his house for a couple of weeks and why it was going to take so long to fix his water. But we just kept telling him our little fib about it – that to clean up the iron in his well water, it would take the plumber that long, and he wouldn't have any water that whole time, and it would even cause poisonous gases to come out his water faucets.

On the last day of June, he called multiple times, and I think it was starting to sink in. The morning of July 1, he called at least four times asking about it again. I told him I'd pick him up at 1:00 and that he could pack a bag with his electric razor, a change of clothes, and anything else he might want to have over the next two weeks while he was there. He was agreeable to that.

Then, when I got to his house at 1:00, he had made a 180 turn. He didn't know why I was there, and when I told him, he said he wasn't going to go. I kept telling him it would only be for a few weeks and reminded him that they would feed him three meals a day and he could watch TV all day on the big screen TV right outside his room. I also asked him if he remembered talking to me earlier and if he had packed anything to take with him. But he just gave me a blank look.

He finally gave up on that argument and switched to wanting to buy a new vehicle. We'd been telling him over the previous week that they couldn't fix his truck and he couldn't get it back, so he'd been saying he was going to buy a new one and that I had taken him to the dealership the other day and he had put a down payment down on a truck and he wanted me to take him to pick it up.

My brain searched all over my head for a story. But I finally told him that we'd need to get him settled in his new room first, and then we'd worry about picking up his new truck.

I got him in my car and talked again about how nice this place was as we drove to it.

I walked him into the building and to his room. He said, "oh, I remember coming here before."

We had bought him a throw for his bed, which had a big whitetail buck on it because he used to feed the deer. They were half-tame, almost eating out of his hand. He laughed when he saw that on his bed and thought it was great.

I spoke with a few staff members and asked if I could run to get more of his things and if they could keep an eye on him. I parked him in front of the TV in the lobby, and he was fine when I left.

I met Hubby at his house so we could load up his dresser, an end table, and the rest of his clothes. We looked for his razor, too, but couldn't find it. When we got back to the place, he was still watching TV, happy as a clam.

I could NOT believe it! Who was this man, and what had he done with my brother?

He called me a few times that evening, asking where he was and why, and I told him the same story. He'd say, "Oh, yeah," but then he'd still call back five minutes later.

Then he started calling me at one o'clock the next morning. When I asked if he was okay, he answered, "Yes, I just called to talk." After the fourth time, I finally told him it was the middle of the night, and I had to get some sleep, that he should put his phone away and go back to bed, and it would be morning before he knew it. I turned off my phone, and in the morning, I felt guilty because he had called three more times. I'm sure he was scared, even though he wouldn't say that.

He still calls a few times a day, but mostly to tell me that he's been watching TV all day or that he just got done eating a meal, but when I ask him, he doesn't remember what he ate, just says that it was good.

But he seems sooo happy. I still CANNOT believe it. Thank You, God, what did I ever do to deserve this huge blessing in my life?

Through all this, the only time I got teary-eyed was the day after we checked him in there, and Hubby and I were trying to clean up stuff at his house. In his back room, I found a brown paper bag with some underwear, a pair of shorts, a handkerchief, and his razor. He had packed a bag for himself that morning and had forgotten all about it. I don't know why that made me feel like crying - just that dementia is such a horrible thing.

Yesterday, when I went in to see him, I sat down on the couch next to him where he was watching Jeopardy. He was so pleased to see me, and we had the best visit we have had in a year. I told him about the different people I had talked to who wanted me to say "hi" to him. And he seemed to remember these people when I reminded him who they were (two cousins and someone he went to school with).

He pointed to the sign on the door to his room, which had his name on it. He said the maintenance man wanted to remove his name, but he told the guy he was staying for two months, so he should leave his name on the door.

Two months! We'd been telling him two to three weeks. I don't know where this extended time came from. But he also didn't ask me today when he would be going home. Well, maybe he doesn't have to ask anymore because I think he is home. And maybe he knows that, too.

          I realize that he will probably still have bad days, that I might get phone calls in the middle of the night or he might argue with me about something stupid. But I still thank God for the good days that he has had so far.