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Art Imitates Life In Poignant 'Vesta'

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By MICHELLE BEARDEN

mbearden@tampatrib.com

Published: November 15, 2008

I look in her eyes and I wonder: Is this a good day or a bad day?

My mom lies in her bed at the rehabilitation center looking small and forlorn. She doesn't like being here. But we tell her it's not negotiable. She nods as if she understands, but I know it won't stick.

She's recovering from her second major surgery in a month. For a woman who never took so much as an aspirin, it's been a difficult time. A fall in the bathtub resulted in a shattered humerus. Surgeons tried to repair it, but osteoporosis has made her bones fragile as eggshells. A week after the first operation, surgical pins started popping out of her shoulder.

Back to the hospital, this time for a complete shoulder replacement. Recovery time, if she follows through with her physical therapy and doesn't fall again, could be as long as a year.

The physical issues alone are challenging. But to make it worse, earlier this year, Mom was diagnosed with front temporal dementia, a degenerative condition of the brain. It affects reasoning, control, personality, movement, social graces, language and some aspects of memory.

I can't believe this is happening to my mother.

We're just 20 years apart. I am the eldest of four daughters, and the one she bragged about to anyone who would listen. She was the first person to predict that I would be a writer, based on the scrawled handwritten notes I would leave her when I was a child. In her biased opinion, I was beautiful, talented and a prize catch. I didn't think I was so special, but mom always did.

In high school, the boys who hung around the house thought she was a real babe. She didn't bake cookies or lead Scout meetings. She wore mini-skirts, drove a sporty car and took me shopping and to the movies. She listened to the Beatles, took art classes and decorated our homes in a funky, eclectic style. She was the cool mom.

Even though we were separated by miles and time zones for years, we talked nearly every day. I sought Mom's advice for every drama in my life, big and small. Then we both landed in Florida, just about an hour apart. She was my gal pal, as much a friend as a mother.

She made me promise that if she ever got cancer, I would support her decision not to get chemotherapy or radiation. She thought it was poison. She didn't like doctors or hospitals. I agreed, because my mom, trim and fast on her feet, was the original health-food fanatic. She would never get sick. We would just grow old together.

We never thought she would start losing her mental capacity, or that her bones would start giving out on her. She hates this loss of independence and dignity. She doesn't like having caregivers and not being able to express herself in her feisty fashion. She wants out of this facility now.

She prepares for her departure every morning, applying her Mac lipstick and eyeing the exit. She's not pleased about the ankle bracelet the staff put on her to sound the alarm if she bolts.

We never talked about how to handle this strange and uncomfortable chapter in our lives. She's always been able to fix things. And now we can't fix this for her. I feel guilty and helpless sometimes.

This came as a surprise to my family. It doesn't have to with yours.

On Thursday, the drama ministry at Hyde Park United Methodist Church will present "Vesta," a 90-minute play that explores the emotions and decisions that a family faces at the end of a grandmother's life. Co-sponsors of the production include Tampa Bay area hospice groups and Duke Divinity School's Institute on Care at the End of Life.

When the play concludes, the audience and actors will participate in a discussion with local professionals about the issues that come into play at a time like this: spiritual, medical, philosophical and practical. This interactive component is an effective way to get those tough questions answered, to start working on a game plan.

There is a beginning and an end to life. Some lives end way too soon. I'm one of the lucky ones, whose parents are still here. But there are strings attached to this gift. The aging process naturally takes a toll. And in some cases, roles eventually change, as we become the adults and they become the children.

My mom was always there for me. Now I need to be here for her.

"VESTA"

WHAT: A dramatic production followed by a discussion of end-of-life issues with local professionals. Co-sponsored with Duke Institute on Care at the End of Life, Hernando-Pasco Hospice, LifePath Hospice and The Hospice of the Florida Suncoast.

WHEN: 6:30 p.m Thursday

WHERE: Hyde Park United Methodist Church, 500 W. Platt St., Tampa

ADMISSION: Free

INFORMATION: (813) 253-5388

See a rehearsal and hear the play's director in Michelle Bearden's "Keeping the Faith" segment Sunday at 9 a.m. on WFLA-TV. She can be reached at (813) 259-7600.

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