Alzheimer’s with Mom

Originally posted Nov 29 2024

I called Mom for Thanksgiving yesterday. Four times, she asked where I lived. I explained as though she’d only just asked, enthusiasm with each response. I told her it’s beautiful, and I have a garden, something she’s loved throughout life.

She always remembers my husband, and asks how he is. Sometimes more than once. She knows he loves bikes and he loves me. I believe that’s why she always inquires. She wants to make sure I’m still loved.

Every time we talk, she confirms that I’m happy. Even if my hair was on fire, I’d tell her I’m good, it’s all good.

We laughed. I made sure her stomach hurt from laughing so hard. I told her funny stories about things that I’ve seen, wanting to hear her joy and give her some sunshine.

She knows that a conversation is two-way, and she wanted to participate. She was trying to explain something and I clenched my fist, silently saying, “Come on, Mom, you can do it!”

She dropped the thread and said, “Oh, fuck,” frustration and resignation in her voice.

I said carefully, “It’s worse, isn’t it?” I know it is. I wanted to give her the space to talk about what was happening to her.

She replied softly, “Like the cheese with the, you know, the spaces.” She was quick to add, “But I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

At one point, I was explaining my book to her, telling her there is a critical part that takes place in Bermuda, and the animals can talk. The star is a kiskadee, a bird with a brilliant yellow chest, and the most terrible song you’ve ever heard. There are lizards, longtails, and hurricane spiders, all native to the island. There was silence, then, “Can you imagine?” Wonder speared her voice, a sense of magic. She sounded so young.

After fifteen minutes, she was grasping to hold the conversation. She was getting tired. Somehow, we got on to talking about London, where I spent seventeen years. She asked, “Did you ever go to the changing of the fruit?” She was referring to the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

Silence on my end, then uproarious laughter from both of us. She said, “That wasn’t right, but you know what I mean.”

I do, Mom. I know what you mean.