added, "We could never bring our mother back to our reality. We had to go to hers. "
"That helped us in a way, too," Rita said. "The distraction helped to keep us focused on the moment. Otherwise, well, your thoughts go forward and backward and don't have a place to settle. It can be unnerving."
Listening to them I realized that they had become, against their will, experts in the field.
"It sounds like you both really learned how to cope with the illness."
"Dr. Dosa, I don't want it to seem like it was easy," said Annette. "What worked for our father didn't work for our mother, so we needed to come up with different strategies. There were days when I would leave work in tears. I would have breakdowns."
Rita nodded in stoic agreement. "Toward the end, there were times when my mother couldn't tell who I was."
"So, how did you deal with that?" I asked.
"By taking comfort in the little things--"
This had a familiar ring to it.
"My mother liked Cajun music," Annette jumped in. "Even in the end, she would tap her foot to the beat of her favorite songs. Other times, even after she had stopped eating, it was ice cream. You do whatever makes them happy."
"Still, the nursing home does take some getting used to," Rita said. "For us as well as them."
I used her last statement as a segue into my questions regarding Oscar. "Did the fact that there were cats on the floor make it any easier to accept Steere House as a home for your parents?"
"Absolutely," Annette said. "Both my sister and I took great comfort in the fact that Oscar and Maya were here. It just makes the place so much more livable. They were such a nice distraction--not just for the residents, but for the visitors too. Watching a cat can be mesmerizing. You know the way a cat will find a sheath of light and just stretch out..."
"Kitty yoga!" Rita said. "And the way it will stare out of the window as if the Macy's parade is passing by? And what about the way it will clean itself as if nothing else matters in the world?"
You can say that again, I thought.
"The cats proved to be...well, another diversion. A lovely one at that," Rita said.
"Was Oscar there at the end for your mother?"
Rita smiled before she answered. "Dr. Dosa, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it."
"Believed what?"
"There were several false alarms with my mother before she died. With every turn for the worse, Oscar would come in and out of the room, checking in on her. He wouldn't stay for long. Sometimes he would simply come in, smell her feet, and then leave again."
Smell her feet? That was a new one.
"Were you surprised?"
"No, we had heard that the cat did these things from other families on the unit."
Taking a deep breath, Rita launched into the story of her mother's last day.
"At first, it was just the distinct sounds of scratching-- scratch, scratch, scratch . I remember looking at my sister, wondering where it was coming from. We looked out the door and didn't see any cat. Then it would come again: scratch, scratch, scratch. This went on for probably an hour before there was a knock on the door."
"Then one of the aides walks into the room," Annette interjected, "closing the door behind her. She asks if we would be okay with the door open. I think we both looked at each other in bewilderment. We ask her why. She tells us that Oscar has been outside our door, desperately trying to come in."
"But where was the scratching coming from?" I asked.
"Apparently Oscar got tired of sitting at the door and had gone to the next room over. He just kept scratching at the wall to let us know he was there and that he wanted to come in."
"The aide told us that he had been pacing outside our door for several hours," Rita added. "So she asked us again if we would mind leaving the door open. We looked at each other and said okay. Well, as soon as the door opens, Oscar comes charging into the room from next door at breakneck speed, and then he leaps onto the bed with our mother. He
"That helped us in a way, too," Rita said. "The distraction helped to keep us focused on the moment. Otherwise, well, your thoughts go forward and backward and don't have a place to settle. It can be unnerving."
Listening to them I realized that they had become, against their will, experts in the field.
"It sounds like you both really learned how to cope with the illness."
"Dr. Dosa, I don't want it to seem like it was easy," said Annette. "What worked for our father didn't work for our mother, so we needed to come up with different strategies. There were days when I would leave work in tears. I would have breakdowns."
Rita nodded in stoic agreement. "Toward the end, there were times when my mother couldn't tell who I was."
"So, how did you deal with that?" I asked.
"By taking comfort in the little things--"
This had a familiar ring to it.
"My mother liked Cajun music," Annette jumped in. "Even in the end, she would tap her foot to the beat of her favorite songs. Other times, even after she had stopped eating, it was ice cream. You do whatever makes them happy."
"Still, the nursing home does take some getting used to," Rita said. "For us as well as them."
I used her last statement as a segue into my questions regarding Oscar. "Did the fact that there were cats on the floor make it any easier to accept Steere House as a home for your parents?"
"Absolutely," Annette said. "Both my sister and I took great comfort in the fact that Oscar and Maya were here. It just makes the place so much more livable. They were such a nice distraction--not just for the residents, but for the visitors too. Watching a cat can be mesmerizing. You know the way a cat will find a sheath of light and just stretch out..."
"Kitty yoga!" Rita said. "And the way it will stare out of the window as if the Macy's parade is passing by? And what about the way it will clean itself as if nothing else matters in the world?"
You can say that again, I thought.
"The cats proved to be...well, another diversion. A lovely one at that," Rita said.
"Was Oscar there at the end for your mother?"
Rita smiled before she answered. "Dr. Dosa, if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed it."
"Believed what?"
"There were several false alarms with my mother before she died. With every turn for the worse, Oscar would come in and out of the room, checking in on her. He wouldn't stay for long. Sometimes he would simply come in, smell her feet, and then leave again."
Smell her feet? That was a new one.
"Were you surprised?"
"No, we had heard that the cat did these things from other families on the unit."
Taking a deep breath, Rita launched into the story of her mother's last day.
"At first, it was just the distinct sounds of scratching-- scratch, scratch, scratch . I remember looking at my sister, wondering where it was coming from. We looked out the door and didn't see any cat. Then it would come again: scratch, scratch, scratch. This went on for probably an hour before there was a knock on the door."
"Then one of the aides walks into the room," Annette interjected, "closing the door behind her. She asks if we would be okay with the door open. I think we both looked at each other in bewilderment. We ask her why. She tells us that Oscar has been outside our door, desperately trying to come in."
"But where was the scratching coming from?" I asked.
"Apparently Oscar got tired of sitting at the door and had gone to the next room over. He just kept scratching at the wall to let us know he was there and that he wanted to come in."
"The aide told us that he had been pacing outside our door for several hours," Rita added. "So she asked us again if we would mind leaving the door open. We looked at each other and said okay. Well, as soon as the door opens, Oscar comes charging into the room from next door at breakneck speed, and then he leaps onto the bed with our mother. He
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