Finding the beginning

A friend asked me if there was a beginning to my blog ... A starting point if you will.

So I went back through my archives. And cried. Not just weepy, eye watering tears, but full blown sobbing with tears rolling down my cheeks weeping. So much change over the course of a few short years. So much sadness mingled with so many good memories.

The truth is there is no beginning. The changes in Mom came on gradually. It is not as if one day we woke up and said, "Oh my God, Mom has dementia."

There were lots of little signs that we didn't see at the time but looking back we now understand better. We also know, given the progression of dementia, there would have been little we could have done had we known anyway. Science can delay the onset but it can not prevent it. But the signs were there nonetheless.

There was the letter she sent to me on my birthday: "I know I'm slipping, I do the best I can..."

There was the phych evaluation ordered by her physician, which she failed miserably. The second question the psychiatrist asked was "When is your birthday?" Failing that he asked "What season is this?" Mom looked totally baffled. He looked at me and said, "There is no point in going on."

The thing is, even after that failed test Mom was still Mom. Just a little confused. But she could still tell me stories about when she and Dad were dating. In fact, she was probably a little more open with me than she might have been had she had her full faculties.

She told me how Grandma told her Dad was "out of her league," but how she continued seeing him anyway. She told me how Uncle John convinced Grandma and Grandpa that she should go live with he and his wife in Ann Arbor during WWII. And then, later convinced them  that since Dad was stationed in Europe doing his part for the U.S. war effort, Mom should do her part as well. Mom then went to work for Ford Motor Company dismounting machine guns from bombers, cleaning them and re-mounting them.

"I liked the work," Mom told me. "I could get outside. Some of the women did not like it because it was so hot in the summer and bitter cold in the winter. But I loved being able to be outside. I don't think I would have liked working inside riveting all day long."

She often spoke about the farm where she grew up and how Uncle Jim loved to tease. "Jim loved to tease me, especially, because I was the youngest."

We could still go for rides and she would comment about the places we visited. Yes, for a while Mom was still Mom and while she changed we learned to adapt.

If we took her out to eat we would have to order for her. Although she could still read the menu, it was little more than words on paper.

When she decided she wanted to make a pie for Thanksgiving one year, she could not tell me what kind she wanted to make. "A pie Mom? That would be wonderful. What kind?" She motioned with her hands, indicating a round pie. Ok. So I took her to the grocery store. It was much too overwhelming for her and I decided she wanted to make a pumpkin pie. It was her Thanksgiving staple.

Slowly things began to change.

There was the time we were talking one afternoon and I mentioned something about a former neighbor in our hometown.. "How did you know him?" Mom asked me.

"I lived next door to him Mom."

"No, I lived next door to him," Mom said. Getting a little angry.

"I know Mom. I lived there too. I am your daughter."

By this time Mom was pretty upset. "Well no one told me that."

All I could muster was, "Sorry Mom, I thought you knew."

And slowly Mom faded away. And we watched.

So is there a beginning? Probably somewhere. I just don't know where it is.