Ma Mere Merveilleux

She does not remember my name or that I'm her daughter, but she knows I'm a part of her somehow. She can no longer read or write, and, for being the artist she once was, no longer recognizes a pencil from a table napkin. She can't dress herself; she doesn't know what clothes are for. She wants to chat, but the words no longer make sense to her. She's not sure what to do while waiting her turn to cross over. She tells me Dad visits her now and then. He assures her that all is well but that he's kept pretty busy. She looks lonely most days, and she senses that her world is now much smaller than it used to be.

And yet...

She'll tell you she "hates" bingo, knows a "sharp program" from a dull one, and remains fascinated by patterns the clouds will make in the sky. She insists that dessert is the main course, just like the "olden" days. She'll "shop out" the snazzy outfits from the closets of her fellow residents, and knows how to hold the sleeve of her shirt so it won't rumple up inside as she puts on a sweater. She's a pretty sharp back-seat driver, eschews pumpkin from strawberry cheesecake, and tells me "I love you" every now and again--three words I seldom ever heard from her as a child or adult. When she comes over to my house, she calls for our kitty, Bijoux. Bijoux runs up to her, purrs deeply, and jumps up into Mom's lap. They very much enjoy each other's company, as you can see from the picture.

Alzheimers disease removes all that makes us human--our memory. It is our memories that we savor in our old age, that we did what we did for whatever reason, and appreciate the foible, wisdom, humor, hastiness--and so on--of our choices. Choice may be the keystone to our humanity, but our reflection upon, and memory of, our choices is, I think, rock from which that keystone is cut.

And yet...

Alzheimers is at odds with memory. To be with Mom is to live in the moment and appreciate the insignificantly small instead. To live with it is to give up memory and communicate with emotions and feelings. For me, this has been extremely tough as I am a cerebral child, introspective, reserved of emotion, and dependent on recalled factoids. Alzheimers does not quite take away all. It's gift to me is the humble, significant immediacy of the moment.