Mom feeding neighbor's horses, taken October 2009
When you're dealing with something as big as Alzheimer's on a daily basis, you don't always step back and look at the big picture. You simply may not have the time or energy—and if do manage to find time and energy...it is golden, baby, and you're better off spoiling yourself with it while you can.
I am already finding this blog to be comforting and therapeutic, as it's allowed me to connect on a deeper level with other people that remember and love my mother. My cousin Nancy posted this message in response to the first post:
Aunt E____ is a wonderful person. I remember her always being there. If someone was sick or in the hospital or just needing help, she was there and dug right in, no matter what needed to be done. I remember her walking from her home to the hospital EVERY morning my mother was in the hospital, bringing muffins, sitting with us, just being there... It seemed like when she walked in a room everyone sighed "AHHH, E____ is here." I will always respect her gentleness, her calm way, her smile and her love. She is a wonderful person.
This completely bowled me over. I had forgotten.
It's not that I'd forgotten that she used to walk all over creation; or that I'd forgotten that she spent time at the hospital when my Aunt died—or that she spent time with any of our family and friends during times of duress. These things I know, they are memories under the radar, when I don't have time to sit and wax nostalgic.
What I had forgotten—what had flown completely out the window for me—is that other people have their own memories of my mother; memories that aren't mine. Memories I'd never heard of! What!?!
Alzheimer's is isolating. The patient becomes limited by the disease itself, and quite frankly, loved ones freak out over the symptoms and just bow out. With my sister Teri's (my only sibling) illness and passing in September, her family tending to her, my son in the military and inaccessible, my own little world with my mother has dwindled down to...well, me.*
What Nancy's post made me realize is that I, too, have become isolated. My world of taking care of my mother alone has become so focused and miniscule—out of necessity, mind you—that I actually thought I was just about the last person that knew her then
I forgot.
I am reminded that many of you your memories of her that define her life, who she was, and all that she's done. I need your memories of her. I need help remembering who she was.
And she needs your memories of her. I spoke to her last week, and said "Oh, Mom, one of my cousins told me she has the nicest memory of you. She's your niece. Her name is Nancy, and she remembers how you helped her and her brothers and sisters when Aunt Joyce died. Aunt Joyce was your sister-in-law, and you walked to the hospital every day, and hugged them and held their hands, and they love you for that."
You would not believe how happy that makes her, to hear.
So, if you got 'em people, send them to me. I'll post them here, and I'll share them with her. I'll write them down so she can read them, and tell her over and over who she was.
She still needs to know that she's not nobody.
*I do not, in any way, discredit the assistance I get, from my brother-in-law, niece, nephew, my boyfriend Clint, friend Diane, or from friends that have made me promise to ask for help when I need it.
