Alzheimer’s is a horrible disease. That one sentence by itself could be a blog article. Alzheimer’s robs a person of the possibility of living life fully, in many cases joyfully, and frequently with dignity. Alzheimer’s robs the family of the person they knew and loved. It is a horrible way to fade out of this existence. It is a horrible disease to watch a loved one go through.
However, Alzheimer’s can have its lighter side, and perhaps something you might very loosely term a “silver lining”. In another blog article, Hanging from the back bumper, I accused Saturday Night Live of modeling their character The Church Lady after my mother. Obviously a bit of hyperbole, but there is a grain of truth tucked in there somewhere. My mother, being very religious and very conservative, had a hard time with an agnostic, liberal son like myself. She did not approve of me in many ways and was deathly afraid that I was going to spend eternity burning in hell. This attitude came out in many ways, but does not need detailing here. As the disease advanced, she became less and less judgmental, and seemed to like me more and more. That was the “silver lining” for me. It would have been nice if she had got there before her mind deteriorated, but she lived the best life she could, according to her own lights. I will take what I can get.
One of the funnier parts of the disease is that my super honest mother turned into a kleptomaniac the first few years of her disease. She also developed the habit of wandering around the house at night. At her own home she did this with a flashlight. She came to St. Louis for our wedding, and did some of this wandering. In fact she wandered right into our bedroom in the middle of the night, sans bottoms, and for some reason was trying to take the covers off our bed. Next time I visited her in Muskogee I found a pair of my jeans in her spare bedroom, and I had not left them there. It was during this visit that several items came up missing. We finally found them in her bedroom dresser buried under some clothes and a few others in her purse. She continued this behavior in the nursing homes, but the staff was able to watch her better.
We had last visited my mother in October of 2019. We did so then as Robin was scheduled to have her second back operation and we knew it would be a while before we could make the trip again. Then COVID hit and they locked down the nursing home tightly… and rightly so.
We visited my mother for the first time in about 18 months last weekend. I had lots of trepidation about the visit. It has been several years since my mother has known who I am, she knew I was someone, but whether my father, one of her other sons, a nephew, it was a toss-up. I had zero expectations she would know me this time. I also had a lot of fear as to what sort of shape she would be in. I knew she had either decided she did not want to walk, or forgot how to walk, but she was essentially in a wheelchair. However, she must be able to walk some as a therapist came in talking about walking her later.
I was pleasantly surprised with my visit with my mother. First our visit was scheduled for only a half hour (right now you must make appointments), but when they discovered we had driven to Oklahoma from St. Louis they allowed us an hour. Secondly, my mother seemed to be in good health, and reasonably happy. I’m not sure what happy is in this situation, but her mood was good. She speaks with a mixture of gibberish and normal speech, but if she starts out normal the sentence devolves into gibberish rapidly. Her room has a big picture window and she was very attentive to all that was happening on the streets outside. She still reads every printed word she encounters, but does not remember that she read it 30 seconds later. She seems to have put on a little weight, but that may be due the lack of walking.
It was during this trip that another of the lighter Alzheimer’s moments happened early in our visit.
I had worn my USS Carr hat. For 30 years there was a Navy missile frigate with this name floating around the various oceans. It was named after her brother, Paul Henry Carr. I was hoping it would be a touchstone for her, and it was. We had barely sat down for our visit in her room when she began to read my hat, “USS Carr, FFG-52, Courage, Will, Determination”. I am not quite sure what demon grabbed me at that moment, but I followed my impulse and stood up and saluted. To this action she responded with her only intelligible sentence of the whole visit, “Well aren’t you the elegant bastard!” Needless to say, I was shocked; it was the first off color word I had ever heard my mother say in my 69 years. I started laughing, a little hysterically perhaps, and sat down with a plop. I asked my mother what did you say, and she repeated it, but somewhat vaguely this time. I reminded her that I was her son, and perhaps she ought not to say that. Silly I know.
Another thing that was amazing to me is that she told Robin and me, 30 or 40 times, I lost count, that she loved us. She repeatedly kissed Robin’s hand and held my hand for most of our visit.
You take your blessings where you find them. It was one of the few times I left a visit with my mother and did not have tears in my eyes.
And so it goes
Beautiful and funny memory.
Great story. I hope your mom has many more good days.