It took Mom a while to recognized me.
I stumbled through "Hi Mom. How are you today Mom? It's good to see you today, Mom."
All the time she just stares at me with a blank look on her face. "Hi Cat, how are you today?" I pat the cat and grit my teeth. I try not to burst out crying, I try not to run hysterically from the room, I try to keep it together.
The blank stare, the hollow expression. Then she finds me.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
natural disasters
It's been quite a year for natural disasters.
We had huge amounts of snow this winter, with many rooftops buckling and collapsing. Then in March there was the horrible earthquake and tsunami in Japan.
In June a tornado or two cleared a path across the state of Massachusetts, where tornadoes hardly ever stay on the ground for that distance.
Earlier this month the whole eastern part of the US felt the earthquake in Virginia, which cracked the Washington Monument.
And this week Hurricane Irene gave us a thorough soaking and almost washed away the state of Vermont.
What has this weather report to do with my Mother? Mom watches the news on TV, she sees images of these natural disasters over and over.
When I was visiting Mom last Thursday, we discussed the coming of Irene, which would probably just be a very bad rain storm by the time it reached Mom’s area.
Mom reminded me of the Great Hurricane of 1938, when she got caught in the storm and was pushing me in the stroller across town in the rain and wind. Of course, I didn’t correct her, because in 1938 she was the one in the stroller, not me.
My Mother’s father was born on the day of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. No one in the family ever noticed that connection until recently. It’s probably because in 1906, that horrible news never made it to the little New England town where he was born. There was no YouTube to let us immediately see, hundreds of personal videos of these disasters. There was no CNN or Weather Channel. There wasn't even radio. People didn’t hear about all the things we hear (and see!) now.
Last month, when they moved my Mother from the independent wing to the not-so-independent-wing they told her a therapeutic fib-let. They told Mom that she had to move to the new room because they needed to do some construction on her old room. Something had broken and it would take a few weeks to fix it. They had to move all her stuff so that it wouldn't get ruined by the plaster dust... yada, yada... you get the idea.
So Mom is in her new room in the new wing of the building.
Last month she sighs and says "Nothing's the same."
"Oh? What's not the same." I ask.
"This place, it's all new, it's too bad what happened to the other part of the building."
"Oh? What happened?"
"You know! The tornado! It ruined _____. That's why I had to move down here."
"Oh, that's terrible. I'm glad you're safe here."
This morning my brother and I were talking on the phone.
Mom told him that she was sad because she can no longer go to the lounge for games and sing-a-longs... because... the hurricane washed it all away.
Fortunately these disasters are happening only in Mom's mind, not at the assisted living residence.
Mom's mind: that’s a natural disaster of a different sort.
We had huge amounts of snow this winter, with many rooftops buckling and collapsing. Then in March there was the horrible earthquake and tsunami in Japan.
In June a tornado or two cleared a path across the state of Massachusetts, where tornadoes hardly ever stay on the ground for that distance.
Earlier this month the whole eastern part of the US felt the earthquake in Virginia, which cracked the Washington Monument.
And this week Hurricane Irene gave us a thorough soaking and almost washed away the state of Vermont.
What has this weather report to do with my Mother? Mom watches the news on TV, she sees images of these natural disasters over and over.
When I was visiting Mom last Thursday, we discussed the coming of Irene, which would probably just be a very bad rain storm by the time it reached Mom’s area.
Mom reminded me of the Great Hurricane of 1938, when she got caught in the storm and was pushing me in the stroller across town in the rain and wind. Of course, I didn’t correct her, because in 1938 she was the one in the stroller, not me.
My Mother’s father was born on the day of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. No one in the family ever noticed that connection until recently. It’s probably because in 1906, that horrible news never made it to the little New England town where he was born. There was no YouTube to let us immediately see, hundreds of personal videos of these disasters. There was no CNN or Weather Channel. There wasn't even radio. People didn’t hear about all the things we hear (and see!) now.
Last month, when they moved my Mother from the independent wing to the not-so-independent-wing they told her a therapeutic fib-let. They told Mom that she had to move to the new room because they needed to do some construction on her old room. Something had broken and it would take a few weeks to fix it. They had to move all her stuff so that it wouldn't get ruined by the plaster dust... yada, yada... you get the idea.
So Mom is in her new room in the new wing of the building.
Last month she sighs and says "Nothing's the same."
"Oh? What's not the same." I ask.
"This place, it's all new, it's too bad what happened to the other part of the building."
"Oh? What happened?"
"You know! The tornado! It ruined _____. That's why I had to move down here."
"Oh, that's terrible. I'm glad you're safe here."
This morning my brother and I were talking on the phone.
Mom told him that she was sad because she can no longer go to the lounge for games and sing-a-longs... because... the hurricane washed it all away.
Fortunately these disasters are happening only in Mom's mind, not at the assisted living residence.
Mom's mind: that’s a natural disaster of a different sort.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
book review
I just finished reading the book Alzheimer's in America: The Shriver Report on Women and Alzheimer's. It's a somber read. It's a concise synopsis of the effect of AD on everyone. Yes the title specifies Women, but it talks about all of us, those with the disease and those who have to care for them.
The most powerful part of the book is that many of the chapters of the book are written by other people. People who have AD and people who know someone with AD. It is the raw emotion of their words that reminds us that we are not alone. It is akin to being at my support group. Sometimes it just helps to know that you are not the only one going through this. You nod your head and cry too.
Thank you, Maria Shriver, for using your VOICE to educate people about Alzheimer's and it's impact on all of us.
The most powerful part of the book is that many of the chapters of the book are written by other people. People who have AD and people who know someone with AD. It is the raw emotion of their words that reminds us that we are not alone. It is akin to being at my support group. Sometimes it just helps to know that you are not the only one going through this. You nod your head and cry too.
Thank you, Maria Shriver, for using your VOICE to educate people about Alzheimer's and it's impact on all of us.
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