Who She Is Now and the path we've taken to get here is the premise of this blog, so this one should be easier, right? However, Who She Is Now hasn't happened overnight; it's been a transition that has spanned 8 years, and I sometimes wonder if there weren't signs of what was to come 20, or even 30 years ago.
I've maintained all along that we were somewhat blinded to the initial symptoms of Alzheimer's as Mom was always—and I say this lovingly—a bit daffy. The woman talked to 2-year-olds all day long for 40 years, for heaven sake, and her adult conversations reflected that fact. We were well into adulthood and a standard conversation with her consisted of topics such as "Look! An airplane!" "There's a train!" "I see a robin!" or "Look at the cows!"
When larger signs began to show, they were often so infrequent and random that the thought of Alzheimer's still never entered our minds. Every 6+ months or so, she'd be tooling along to our house, and wonder, for instance, "Wait—am I on Springfield Avenue or Green Street?"
The millisecond of disorientation would shut her down. She'd pull over and call us, declaring herself lost on the near-straight-shot between her home and ours, one that she'd driven thousands of times.
If I'm going to reveal personal things about my mother, here, and spill ugly truths about Alzheimer's, then I'm going to (wo)man up and spill my own ugly truths: We initially found this irritating as hell. "What do you mean you don't know where you are? You're at Osco! Seriously, Mom, you're just nervous. Take a deep breath, get back in your car, and get over here." I remember Brian, when he was 14 or 15 saying "Why does she do that?"
Once we'd get her back to home-base, she could hop in her car and buzz off to Kankakee to see her own mother, if she wanted to. It was like her mind was a blinking alarm clock after a power-surge: It just needed to be reset, and worked just fine for months after.
The thing is, we all kind of short-circuit every now and again, don't we? Run out for milk, and come home with $30 worth of groceries, and no milk? Say something stupid like "Look at that lady's hat in the car in front of us—oh, never mind, it's a dog." Have you ever zoned out, driven across town, and wondered if you'd run any red lights on the way, because you don't quite remember the trip?
No? Shut up, you have too, don't make me feel paranoid.
They were that miniscule, these signs that were the beginning of the beginning. Small, inconsequential things that everyone is likely to do on an off-day, and nothing to shake two sticks at were the first signs.
Not very comforting, is it?
