On a visit to the nursing home that year I experienced the third occasion that would be ingrained in my memory. I was sitting beside my mother and she was having a conversation with another woman. I tried talking to her but she treated me like I was a stranger. When I finally got her attention I asked if anyone had been to see her. She said "no". Then I asked her if David (me) had been up lately. She looked me in the eyes and said, "No, I haven't seen him in a long time." During that visit she never recognized me once. I knew this would finally happen, but reading about it earlier never prepared me for the pain I felt then.
By the turn of the century my mother and me had been struggling with the disease for four long years. Her weight would go up and down as would her attitude. Mentally she was getting a lot worse, and by the year 2000 it seemed like the whole process was speeding up. When I entered the ward, it was hard for me to recognize her. She would speak in broken sentences, and most of the time she never knew me.
She was starting to get stubborn, and sometimes this stubborness would border on violence. At least three times a year she would be evaluated by the medical center. They would increase her medication. There was the usual amount of scrapes and falls to contend with. She never called anyone by name anymore. She became attached to another resident thinking she was her mother. I wondered how long can a person go on this way. I had read that most Alzheimer's patients didn't die from Alzheiemer's, they usually died from natural causes. My mother was healthy when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It seemed to me that her body would out last her mind. She wasn't having trouble with her bodily functions yet, but I knew that wouldn't be far off.
I remember a Christmas party. You had to be careful with the presents you brought. There could be no sharp objects. The label should read, "not for children under 6 years old." The ward was crazy. Relatives tried to appear like nothing was wrong and the residents were running around all over. There was a brief prayer and Santa Claus appeared. They were like children.
I wanted desperately to blame someone. I wanted the burden taken off my shoulders, but it was me who had the responsibility. It was me that had to pick up the pieces, and it was me who had to try and put them back together again.
One night in May 2000, something happened that made my family understand a little about this disease. My daughter was moving out of our house. She was getting her stuff together when she noticed my mom's old sewing basket. I gave it to her when mom went into the nursing home. We were talking about the basket and how mom had crocheted such beautiful bed spreads. My daughter had never opened it. When she did we were all surprised to find a pair of mom's dirty underwear inside.
On December 1, 2000 in all the confusion in my life I was given one of the greatests gifts a father can receive. A grand daughter. She was perfect in every way. All of her fingers and toes were in the right places, I checked. As she grew I began to notice a comparison with mom. My grand daughter at the age of six months was starting to form words. My mom was forgetting hers. My grand daughter was reaching out to her family, wanting to be held and loved. My mother was reaching inward and losing her feelings of compassion. My grand daughter was learning to build with blocks, and my mother was losing the battle with simple objects. My grand daughter was learning. My mother was forgetting. While my grand daughter was adjusting to life outside the womb, my mother was regressing back into it. This, to me, demonstrated the cycle of life, and how little control we have over it. Mom would rarely smile anymore. Sometimes she would remember my face, but never my name. Her weight was over 200 lbs., and she was starting to lose control of her bodily functions.
As I sat and watched my mother try to stack blocks, I wondered how much more of this will I have to endure? Is there a limit to this cruel disease? Is there a way out? It has taken so much from me already. When I can't find my keys, or I misplace something, I wonder; is it beginning? Will I soon be trying to stack blocks? I feel old anymore and I have to force myself to enter the nursing home. When I enter the Alzheimer's ward my legs fee like they weigh a hundred pounds. She hardly knows me now and we mostly just sit. All of her friends have abandoned her. The good times were great, but now that she can't write checks anymore they say, it just hurts me so much to see her that way. It didn't hurt them when they became fat with her kindness. It didn't hurt them when she went to church every time the doors were open and dropped her money in the coffers. I guess preaching about God's love and acting on it is two different things for some people. It's a shame, no hypocrisy, to teach God's love and then like the picture mom loved so much find out it was only her foot prints on the sand after all.
I watched her one day as she pushed on a locked door trying to get out. I wondered what would happen if she were allowed to go free. Is modern technology really doing us a favor by allowing us to live longer? We are more humane to our pets than we are to other human beings. The drugs keep my mother calm, but I can feel the underlying violence. If there were no medication she would be like her mother was. There are many articles written about how we have made great strides in finding a cure for Alzheimer's, but from all I can see all we can do is manage it. It has been over forty years since my grandmother died and the only thing I can see different is the treatment at the nursing homes.
