May 14, 2012~

Maurice Coddington here.  I'm afraid that Ethel will sadly never get any better; she is in her own little world.  Her mind is totally messed up, thanks, in part, to these small strokes she keeps having, which, in kind, causes further damage to her brain.  She was diagnosed with multi infarct dementia last year and her memory has all but disappeared ....

Yesterday was Mother's Day and I was hoping that Ethel would recognize me or the kids (Linda, Seth, and Corrie), but she looked at all of us as if we were a band of strangers.  It broke all our hearts.  She was like a little child.  She screamed and carried on and would not stop until we left the room and until the nurses and doctors could calm her down somewhat.

It was a very sad Mother's Day for all of us.

Healthwise, I have been doing pretty good, but worrying about Ethel's mind has taken a toll on my arthritis: it is flaring up like never before; each day my body is wracked with pain and some days it is all I can do to get out of bed.  I have rheumatoid arthritis and stress (and bad weather) really agrravate it.  The last week I have been hobbling around like an even older man and I have had to resort to using my crutches.  

After we went to visit my wife at the nursing home, I and the children went out to eat, where I broke down and cried, right there in the middle of Steak'N'Ale.  It was rather humiliating, but I couldn't help myself.  All the stress that I have been under ever since Ethel first got sick bubbled to the surface and overflowed: I bawled and bawled and bawled!  I felt so bad for putting Linda, Seth, and Corrie through this, but I had finally reached my breaking point, and I had to let it out.  So I cried.

So die the kids.  It was a higly emotional time.  I know people were looking at us blubbering in the corner, but at the time, I (or they) didn't care.

The only good part of the day was when we went to church, but then I cried then because they honored all the mothers, and I had to go up in place of my wife.  I got a flower to give to Ethel when I wold see her later at the nursing home.  I did exactly that, but all she did was look at me and then go off on us when we entered the room, screaming that we were strangers and that we were going to "hurt her" somehow.  

It was a terrible, awful, disappointing day, one of the worst that I could rightly remember.

Today may be different, but I do know this much: Ethel will probably never get any better.  I wish she could, but the disease has destroyed her mind and she is no longer the same person, physically, emotionally, or mentally.  I know it is not her fault: the disease is what did this to her, but down, way down deep inside, I still cling to hope, and I still love my Ethel with all my heart and soul.  I just wish she could express that to me and the kids and I wish she could get her mind back to where it was, before the multi infarct dementia took her away from us!

~To be continued.~