What I want to remember

With the rash of snowstorms we've been having over the past 10 days, I haven't ventured north to visit Mom very often. So when this morning dawned bright and clear, I took advantage of the weather and drove to Holland for a visit.

Mom is always extremely happy to see me (any one of us, for that matter). She was sitting at the breakfast table and after our hello hugs were complete the first words out of her mouth were: What are we going to do? Translated that means: Where are we going?

I took her back to her room and we sat there for a few minutes. I tried to have a conversation with her. Ok, hope springs eternal. I knew it was fruitless, but on the off chance she might be having a good day and be able to converse I had to try. It took six attempts at "How are you?" and I finally gave up.

So I decided to just blather on about the first thing that came to my mind . . . Thirty-six years of martial bliss does not come without its struggles and King and I had just called a temporary truce. I was still smarting from our latest battle. So I told Mom all about it. All the injustices. All the hurts. All the frustrations. Everything. I held nothing back. When I finished I looked at her, knowing she hadn't heard a word I said.

Or, perhaps she had and didn't know what to say because her only reply was, "Is that your coat? Can we take it somewhere?"

So we went out for coffee and a pig-in-the-blanket. I know she is not supposed to eat anything that isn't pureed, but come on, let the old gal have some fun. I cut her portion into tiny pieces and then watched every mouthful she ate. I even helped her douse it with ketchup.

Dining out is always an adventure. So many things we take for granted have to be carefully considered when dealing with someone who has dementia.. It's the little things that can cause great consternation. When a waitress comes around to your table with a coffee pot in hand, even if you can't hear what she is saying, after 91 years of dining out (more or less) one ought to be able to figure out she is asking if you want more coffee. Except it doesn't work that way with someone with dementia. They haven't a clue. You may as well be asking, "How many aliens does it take to scrape peanut butter off the sidewalk in front of a purple house?"

And so it goes. But we were together and I think that is all that matters.

Mom doesn't last more than an hour on an outing and then she begins to worry about getting home. The questions begin, "Will you take me to a new house? Are you just going to drop me off? I think they are missing me."

So I brought her back to the nursing home in time for her to join in some sort of activity that involves passing a balloon around. I used to think those types of activities were demeaning, but knowing how limited Mom's capabilities are, I understand better now.

We said our goodbyes. I assured her my sister would be back to visit her in the afternoon. (Why I took time to explain all this I don't know because she could not hear me. But I think the smile, the pat on the arm and the kiss goodbye helped). I walked out without looking back until I got out of sight. Then I turned to peek around a corner. Mom was sitting in a chair in a circle with a blank look on her face.

Try as I might, that picture is etched into my memory and I can't see anything else. It is not how I want to remember my mother. I tried calling up other memories. . . Mom at a podium giving a book review. Mom announcing the winners at a 4H style review. Mom serving tea at the conservative party ladies' tea. They are there. Kind of foggy, like an old photograph. But they are there.

It's something I will have to work on for a while.