Each year Russ and I travel to
Illinois to visit my mother, Darlene, who has now reached the age of 87. It’s an honor and a privilege that I don’t
take lightly. I am well aware of the
passing of time and I don’t want to miss any of her remaining years.
She is in relatively good health but
is experiencing more and more dementia.
Her short term memory is gone and during my weekly phone calls I make
sure that I announce who I am at the start of the conversation. “Hi Mom, this
is Kathy.” After all she has nine
children to remember.
My younger sister Carol visited two
weeks before me. Since she had changed
the color and style of her hair, my mother couldn’t quite place her. When they visited a local pizza parlor for a
buffet lunch my mom thought Carol was a very nice and efficient waitress. The fact that the waitress joined her for
lunch didn’t strike her as odd.
When we arrived I was a little
apprehensive wondering if Mom would recognize me. Amazingly, she did and greeted me with, “Of
course, I know my Kathy.”
We spent some time
looking through family pictures on my computer.
Several times when we came across a picture of Russ she would say, “Now,
why does he look so familiar?” I would gamely point to Russ seated across the
room and say, “Because he’s right there, Mom.” She’d giggle and we would
continue on.
For five years she has been a widow,
three years in assisted care, and just a year ago her twin brother died from
the effects of Alzheimer’s. His death is
foremost in her mind and because of this she is re-experiencing her mother’s
death. It is like the childhood memories
are clearer than todays, and the pain of her brother and mother being gone is
acute.
When she wonders anew if her mother
has died, I simply remind her that her mother would be over 107 years old. That’s makes sense to her and it helps her
cope with the fact that she has now lived longer than her mother.
My mother is well loved at the care center. As she makes her way to the dining hall she
waves and smiles at whomever she meets not unlike a reigning queen.
“It’s always good to be friendly; everyone can use a smile.”
When she comes upon a resident that she has some shared
memories with, she stops, sets aside her walker, to embrace them and gently
kiss their cheek.
When anyone visits she struggles to her feet to extend a
welcoming hug and kiss. My brother Dan’s
wife received one and then Mom reached out to Dan exclaiming, “Your wife didn’t
come?”
“She’s right behind you Mom, you just hugged her.”
“Oh, my,” she says and smiling, she bestows another hug and
kiss on Carolyn.
When Mom asks about our lives, our children, our trip she
really wants to know. But she doesn’t
remember asking the questions or receiving any answers so our conversation is
repetitive. But her great joy is being
in the room as we converse. Her joy is
in our presence, as is our joy in hers.
It takes so little to bring her happiness. She is grateful
for our visit, her children and grandchildren, her home, and the feeling of
being cared for and safe. Her only
complaint is that she believes that someone keeps eating her chocolate. But at 87, it’s easy to forget having just
one more piece when chocolate goes down so smoothly.
The last thing I did before we left was polish her nails with
a glittering mauve nail polish. She
loved it and kept exclaiming it was the nicest that she could remember.
“I did a good job
picking out that color, didn’t I?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom, you did.”
I am blessed to be
able to visit and talk to my mother. I
am doubly blessed by her example into old age of kindness, love and
gratitude. I hope that will be part of
my legacy, that and an ability to forget eating chocolate.
