Alternate Life: A Morning With My Mother And Alzheimer's
If I could go back and take all my knowledge of this 41-year-old being that I am today and use it to be more present as my mother’s brain became tangled webs of plaque from Alzhiemer’s, this is what a moment in time together might have looked like.
A Fall Morning In Richmond
I wake and know mom’s laying in her bed waiting for help to find the restroom. I slide into my slippers and grab a warm robe because fall is in the air. My father is traveling for work and my babies are being cared for by my husband. It’s just me and mom today.
I softly speak to her as I walk in her room, as to not startle her. Everything seems to make her jumpy these days. I need to remind her I am there with her and Dad is okay. She is certain he is going to leave her because she knows she’s not the same woman he married.
“Good morning, Mama. It’s Leah. Dad is working at a MOM Project today, and we get to hang out. He will be home tomorrow and told me to tell you he loves you. Did you sleep well?“
She smiles like this all makes sense to her. And replies with a simple, “I think so.”
I gently grab her hand, “Let’s go to use the restroom and then we can make some tea and breakfast.”
I help her stand in front of the toilet the right direction and make sure she sits down safely. I get her some toilet paper and hand it to her, then step over to the sink to give her a little privacy. She relieves herself and wipes okay today. Some days even that doesn’t make sense to her brain.
I help her wash her hands and get her slippers and robe on before we walk down the hall to her kitchen.
I calmly recognize in my own head that every process of simple, daily life she used to accomplish seamlessly is foreign to her now. She stares as I begin turning on lights and filling the tea pot.
I remember how she used to love to start the day with a full glass of water with fresh lemon in it and remind me how our bodies are dehydrated upon waking from a night’s sleep. I find an organic lemon in the fruit bowl and make us both a glass of this simple tonic. As I hand it to her, she sips and tells me how much she loves fresh lemon water.
“I know, Mama,” I know… But she had forgotten.
When she is done, I remove the glass from her hand, so she doesn’t have to figure out where to place it awkwardly and walk her to the sofa where she can look out the window at her lovely front lawn with trees of all colors dropping their leaves on to the rolling Richmond hills. I tell her I’ll be right back with tea and she smiles.
The house is still and quiet, and I am okay with it. Enjoying the morning of peace without toddlers and expectations to conquer the world before noon.
I continue making our tea and preparing some toast with almond butter and banana slices. Finger foods are much less stressful for her to eat because finding her fork or spoon is confusing with apraxia that makes depth perception tricky.
Upon returning to the living room with our tea and breakfast, I find her gone.
“Mom?”
The side door I thought was locked is open. I walk outside to find her. She’s walking down the long, sloped driveway with purpose. I join her.
She wears an emergency bracelet with her name on it and contact information.
I say, “Hi Mom,” and place my hand in hers. She smiles blankly at me. I ask if she’d like some breakfast to warm her after her brisk morning walk.
“That would be nice. I think am hungry,” she replies.
We walk back into the house together, and I giggle as it never ceases to amaze me that she can one minute not know how to put on her shoes and the next minute unlock a complicated door to slip outside unnoticed.
I decide to turn on the gas fire, and we talk about the colors it makes as it warms us. She notices the orange, her favorite color, when she could remember she had a favorite color.
I mention we should go get her a new orange fall sweater or cozy coat for the autumn season. She says she likes the one she has, she thinks out loud, ”Do I have a sweater or coat to wear?”
I smile and assure her she has a nice one, but it might be fun to get a new one for the fall, “You don’t have an orange one, Mama, and you always look so great in that color. Maybe we can find one today.”
She replies with, “Oh I am fine. We don’t have any money. I don’t need a new coat.”
Before we go down the recurring “no money” spiral, I gently change the topic and ask her if she’d like to go on a walk. There is no reason to debate with her whether or not she has money for a new coat.
In her mind, she is a version of herself at some point in her life with no money for a new coat. I am mindful to respect that version of her she is connecting with and let go of the idea to take her shopping.
I know she would feel overwhelmed by the racks of clothes and people she didn’t recognize even in a small store that she used to love to refresh her wardrobe with a few new pieces each season, J. McLaughlin on Libbie Ave.
I will order her a cozy orange coat or fleece online later, have it shipped to my house, and bring it over with the kids and David when we join her and Dad for dinner one night later in the week.
No snaps or buttons. Too tricky. A zipper that Dad can help her with, if needed. Help will be needed.
I begin telling her about Lola and Oliver. What they are learning in preschool and how they are growing. She smiles and listened adoringly, but I can tell she is having a hard time placing their faces. I dash to my room and grab my phone for the first time all day to show her a recent picture.
She oos and ahhs over how cute they are and asks me where they are.
“They are home with David, while we get to spend time together today,” I reply.
“Where is Terry?”
I calmly explain, “Dad is working at a MOM Project today. He will be home tomorrow. He loves you.”
She smiles and sips her tea looking at the fall trees, “Aren’t the leaves pretty as they dance in the air down to the grass?”
“Yes they are, Mama.”
Yes. You. Are.
Thank you for sharing that daydream with me.
I miss my mother every day. And while I no longer have the chance to enjoy her company, you might have the chance to enjoy someone in your life who is slipping away from you because of Alzheimer’s. It’s not too late to live in the present with them.
Of course real life gets in the way and there are logistics of laundry, work, kids and spouses and the list goes on and on. But maybe just one morning this fall you can carve some special time to be present with your loved one - giving honor to where they are in their life with dementia.
This coming November 13, 2019, is Alzheimer’s Day In RVA.
This will be my third year to volunteer with the Rick Sharp Alzheimer’s Foundation and help raise money to find a cure for this monster of a disease.
Lisa Genova, best selling author of “Still Alice” and neuroscientist, will be here in Richmond speaking about the latest science, discoveries, research and reality of living with Alzheimer’s disease.
A new Alzheimer’s case develops every 65 seconds in the United States.
6 million Americans are living with the disease today.
We all know someone affected by this disease.
Join me and David in supporting this ongoing research to find a cure. 100% of every dollar raised goes toward funding the cure, when you buy a ticket for this lovely evening, buy a raffle ticket or bid on an online auction “experiences” the Rick Sharp team has been working hard to pull together.
You can get your tickets at here.
Together we have raised over $2 million dollars that goes directly to research by Cure Alzheimer’s Fund. Let’s keep that number rising until we don’t have to worry about ourselves or our loved ones being swept away from us by amyloid plaques and neurofibrillary tangles.
PLEASE don’t hesitate to reach out to me. (← Click to email me.)
I am here and open to sharing my experience or what I have learned over the years, if you have questions, need guidance in dealing with a loved one being impacted by dementia or think I might be of any type of guidance to you or someone you love.
Lotsa Love,
Leah
