Her Last 6 Months

How do I even begin?

I met Martha Belle approximately 40 years ago when we moved to her town.  She was my mother-in-law's first cousin - quite vivacious, glamorous and on her fourth marriage.  My husband and I were newly married, busy developing his professional practice and raising our family.  Martha and I saw each other infrequently at the beginning and then eventually lost touch.

One evening in March 2012, Martha called and asked to speak to my husband (her cousin and her dentist for all these years). She was frantic and crying, so he immediately went to her house.  She wanted him to write down names and phone numbers of her banker and attorney and pastor and her housekeeper.

Three days later on March 19th, he got a call at his office from a caseworker with the Texas department of Adult Protective Services saying they had taken Martha to a hospital in Kilgore (a town 30 miles away), but had left her dog (Precious) and the house key in her house.  They asked him to pick up the dog and lock up the house.

"Precious, meet your new housemate, Riley, the standard poodle."  Precious is a very high-strung dog and to this day will bark constantly whenever I take her in the car.

As I struggled to learn more about Martha's life and what had caused this emergency, I talked to the hospital social worker as well as her neighbors and the people my husband had written on his list during his last visit with her.

It seems that Martha had begun to develop Alzheimer's and was unable to live alone.  But because of her previously diagnosed mental illness (borderline personality disorder), she seemed incapable of having someone live with her and had fired all who had tried.  One former caretaker was worried enough about Martha's situation to call the State for help.

I finally understood about all the broken relationships in Martha's past after reading an article in the New York Times.  "Borderline patients seem to have no internal governor; they are capable of deep love and profound rage almost simultaneously. They are powerfully connected to the people close to them and terrified by the possibility of losing them — yet attack those people so unexpectedly that they often ensure the very abandonment they fear. When they want to hold, they claw instead."

During Martha's 3-week stay at the Kilgore hospital, her social worker kept in touch with me.  She told me that the doctor would only release her to a locked, memory-care facility when she was stabilized and ready to go home.

So, I began the task of finding a place for Martha to live.  As I called the people on her list to help out, most of them said that Martha had "fired" them or they had "fired" Martha.  Even her only son said he couldn't help as Martha would not want to see him.  It began to look like I was on my own, unless I also backed out and just let the State take care of her.  "If I can take care of stray dogs and feral cats, I can surely take care of a human being who has no other alternatives," I said to myself.

I found Martha a place to live - a brand new Memory Care facility that would allow her dog to live with her.  The Kilgore social worker said they would arrange to transport her there on the designated date.  I got busy, hired a mover, picked out clothes and cosmetics with the help of her former housekeeper and set up her new home. Because Martha had been a professional artist most of her life, I also hung some of her paintings.

Precious (her dog) and I went to Sundance early the morning of April 9th to await the arrival of Martha.  She finally arrived, in a wheelchair.  She knew me immediately and was extremely excited to finally see Precious again.  By the time we wheeled her from the courtyard into her new room, she burst into tears saying how beautiful everything was.  I eventually left, thinking her Kilgore social worker had explained everything to her, and that all worries were behind me.

No, that was not the case as my worries were just beginning.

Someone would have to pay her bills and make sure she had enough money to stay in this facility for a number of years.  There were prescriptions to be purchased, doctors to be found, hearing aids to be repaired, Precious to be taken to the vet because she had never been spayed and even pizza to be ordered when Martha didn't like the dinner she was served.

While Precious spent a week with me recuperating from her surgery, I went to Martha's house and packed up all of the accumulated mail and the piles of papers scattered over her kitchen table and took them home to sort.  I found her checkbook and wrote checks for any bills that were due and took them to her to sign.  I also took her a form to sign giving me the power-of-attorney.  She absolutely refused!

In fact, Martha started yelling at me and accusing me of trying to lock her up and take all of her money.  I can certainly understand how she felt that way.  There was no way I could explain the situation to her; she couldn't hear, she never stopped talking and telling me what was wrong and what she wanted, and she was confused.  There were many days that I certainly felt like "firing" her.

With all of the bills to be paid and the medical decisions to be made I talked to an attorney about the next step and was advised it would be a guardianship.  But the way it was explained to me, I would be expected to keep all kinds of records for the court and maybe I ought to think about hiring a "professional" guardian who was recommended by the attorney.

While I talked to people about having an estate sale and selling Martha's house, I did mundane tasks like trying to sort out all of her boxes of jewelry.  We started the paperwork for a guardianship which took three full months.  In the meantime, I was having to talk Martha into signing some checks or just writing checks out of my own account. 

Martha began to settle into her new home.  One day she would be on a tear and accuse everyone of conspiring to do evil things to her and her dog.  Other days she would be sweet and vivacious again.  She dressed up for a Mother's Day Tea.  I began to take her on outings which she thoroughly enjoyed.

Many days when I visited her there was a job involved - like the time she wanted me to use my "computer" (iPhone) to keep track of all her clothes because she was not getting them back from the laundry.  We spent the afternoon taking pictures of all of her clothes as she held them up for me.

Then one day the impossible happened - Martha had a major stroke as she was putting her make-up on for the day.  I got a call to meet the ambulance at the hospital.  It was Saturday, June 30, 2012.  Martha could no longer speak and her right side was paralyzed.  The next day she was able to hold a fork and feed herself.  We didn't know it then, but that was going to be her best day.  

From that time forward, I was with Martha once or twice a day.  She went from the hospital to Hospice.  Then she went from Hospice to a skilled (?) nursing facility where she quit eating and developed a blood clot in her lung.  Back to the hospital and then back for her final stay at Hospice.

Those final six weeks were so emotional.  Often, I took Precious to see her.  I would just sit with her and hold her hand.  Until the last couple of days, whenever I walked in and she saw me, her eyes lit up with joy.  That was the only way she could communicate - with her eyes and holding your hand.  I called her son and some of her "lost" friends to come and visit her.  She seemed to be so glad to see everyone.  At the end, even though she was in a Hospice facility, we hired 24/7 caretakers to sit with her.  The Hospice nurses only checked on her every 1-2 hours and I couldn't bear the thought of her dying alone. 

The morning she died (August 14, 2012) was such a relief as I knew she would no longer be suffering.

I did not understand the extent of my grief nor how long it would take to "get over" her death.  It really doesn't matter as each of us has to go through grief in our own way.

This week was Martha's Estate Sale (November 29, 2012).  When I drove up early that morning there were already dozens of cars parked on the side of the street.  Martha had a house full of beautiful things and those people were out to get a bargain.  

Most of them never knew Martha.  They didn't know she had lived a full 88 years with much sadness and hardship but also with much love.  They didn't know she was elected to be the first Drum Major of her high school band. They didn't know she sang in her high school choir which won the “All Texas Best Choral Club” award.  They didn't know she represented her small town in the “Miss Texas” contest for three years in a row.

They didn't know that Martha attended a summer art class in Taos, New Mexico, sponsored by the Hockaday School in Dallas before attending TCU in Fort Worth. They didn't know that while at TCU she was chosen “Ranch Week Queen” and studied art, mechanical engineering and draftsmanship.  They didn't know that during her time at TCU, she designed and etched the horned frog used to represent the school and was also awarded a “Teacher of Art Certificate.”

They didn't know that upon graduation, she was hired by Consolidated in Fort Worth where she designed manufacturing devices and components for military aircraft.  They didn't know that after the war, she opened her own art studio on McKinney Avenue in Dallas where she painted portraits of many prominent people. They didn't know she designed the program covers, posters and stationery for the State Fair Horse Show and the Dallas Charity Horse Shows for twenty-eight years.

As I walked through her familiar house at the sale, I found the perfect keepsake.  I purchased a beautiful ceramic planter for the plant I had from Martha's funeral.  Now I have two cheerful, living reminders of my deep friendship with Martha - a lovely green plant in a beautiful planter and a chipper little dog who has transferred all of her love and affection to me.

I needed to get this story out as the tears have been flowing for too long.  Maybe this will help me remember those good times and know that Martha had a good, exciting long life and now she is in that wonderful place she passionately dreamed of. 

RIP sweet Martha Belle.

You go girl!