Featured Article - Where One Sister Lacks...

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Where One Sister Lacks...

LINDSEY FINLAY

Being a mom is HARD, but we all come to a point in our lives where being a daughter is just as hard, if not harder. No, I’m not talking about the teenage struggle for independence; I’m talking about when our parents get … well … old.

Some of us have the privilege of seeing our parents reach old age, and some of us have to say goodbye too early; some of us watch our parents slowly deteriorate, and some lose them suddenly. Sooner or later, though, we will all inevitably have to learn to let them go.

I have two babies of my own. When my second child was less than a year old, my mother, who married my stepfather and moved up to Iowa six years beforehand, came down to visit us in Texas.

Something seemed off. She had trouble remembering things, couldn’t follow directions easily, and misplaced her digitalcamera. I shrugged it off, because she had always been a little loopy. (I either get that from her, or my kids took all of my brain cells!) Because I didn’t see or talk to her daily, it was obvious to me that she was declining each time I saw her. Something was wrong.

Hoping to start delaying the effects as quickly as possible, I confronted her. She assured me that she would see a doctor.

Without a lot of obvious signs at first, it can be difficult to diagnose dementia, especially in an otherwise healthy, 57- year-old woman. They misdiagnosed her and threw anxiety medication her way. I was upset that this was the accepted diagnosis, but from afar, I really couldn’t press thedoctors. That was difficult, because all I wanted was to keep her mind intact for as long as possible.

When she came to visit me that fall, I remember her husband calling in advance to tell me not to let her drive anywhere. The “missing link” I had noticed was becoming more apparent to those who saw and spoke with her more frequently. Lord knows how she made it from her layover to the connecting flight on that particular trip – her last solo flight!

It was terrifying to leave my kids in her care on that particular visit (she had come to spend time with them after all). My sister Amanda "just happened to drop by” several times to make sure everything was okay.

LINDSEY FINLAY Lindsey Finlay was born in Austin

and raised in Kyle, Texas. She and her husband, Neil, live in Buda with their two children. Read more athighheelstohousewife.com.

Top photo (pictured, left to right): Lindsey's sister, Amanda; Lindsey's mother, Shelley; Lindsey; and Lindsey's sister, Emmalee, in 2016

I carpooled to Houston for work one day while she was here and parked my car at a friend’s house so she wouldn’t feel that I was preventing her from driving. It's such a strange feeling to withhold a vehicle from a parent, the one who taught you to drive in the first place.

By the time I flew up to see her in January 2015, I knew in my heart that this was Alzheimer’s. She got incredibly lost (like hours away). I remember sitting her down that evening, asking her question after question while I still had her. If I had only known the questions I would have in the years after. Later that year, we were given the official diagnosis. We could start prolonging her time here via medicine, but the confirmation also felt like a heavy burden.

N o w , i t w a s r e a l .

My mom was just given a deathsentence.

I have two sisters through my mom. Emmalee was 21, and Amanda was 29, when we got the ill-fated news. At age 32, I realized I would probably not have my mom at 40. Even if I was lucky enough to have her that long, she wouldn’t be my mom as I had known her.

I began wondering when it was my turn to get this horrible disease. I was hurt, angry, andhorrified. Guilt swept over me. How could I possibly care for her? Why had she decided to move so far away?

Would her husband be able to accommodate this? Did she need to move back and live with me?

The thing is, only God knows the beginnings, middles, and ends of our stories. We have to remember that he is always in control, and we must call on him for strength. The only thing I can do from here is pray and have faith that God has a purpose for this in my life and in my sisters’ lives.

I am so thankful for Emmalee, who has lived in Iowa since she was 13. Outside of my mother’s husband, she is the only person readily available to care for her. She moved her family 150 miles across the state to be in the same town as our mom.

S h e d i d n ' t a s k f o r t h i s a t 2 5 .

Without her involvement, I wouldn’t have peace about everyday things like making sure our mom has showered or, as of August, making sure the facility she calls home is taking good care of her. When I boohoo over not having my mom at 40, she has to worry about that at 30.

Having sisters is so much more than growing up together. Sure, you spend years fighting over who gets to wear that one pair of jeans and arguing over who pulled the shortest straw in thelineup.

One day, you realize that, in them, you’ve actually received the best kind of friends – who love you unconditionally, always have your back, and tell you what they really think.

Where one sister lacks, another sister is ready to pick up theslack.

That’s what Emmalee does; she picks up the slack. A lot of it. Okay, basically ALL of it. I don’t envy her for the load she carries on her shoulders as a mom herself, but she has rightfully earned the reward of our mom still calling her by name. It’s a small, momentary return on her investment, but it’s one she doesn’t take for granted.

If nobody else tells Emmalee this today or when she needs to hear it most, she should know that our mom would be so proud of her. I know I am.

Our mom, Shelley, once enjoyed all-things-horticulture, could draw or paint just about anything, and played the piano and the flute. She made the best schnitzel, stir fry, and strawberry banana milkshakes.

Now, she sits with an empty gaze and has trouble following a conversation. She puts on layers of clothing, hats, rings, and can even fit multiple earrings through one ear piercing. I’m just someone she pretends to know, but, sometimes, I get a glimpse of her for a briefmoment.

Am I ready to let go? Nope. No matter the age or circumstance, I never will be. But I’m thankful for sisters who can walk with me through that season when it comes. In the meantime, I’ve been soaking up as much time with her as I can from hundreds of miles away. I take every opportunity to let my kids make memories with her, knowing she won’t get to keep and recall those special times together.

I keep praying that God lets my sisters and I keep our memories forever, or at least until he allows us to find a cure!

Lindsey with her mom, Shelley, in 2011 (left) and 2018 (right)