It's the Friday before the grandest Hallmark Holiday south of Valentine's Day. Mother's Day. Like most people my age, my Mom is gone. She technically died/passed/moved on/met-her-maker etc in 2001. She started dying many years before that and was gone long before her heart stopped beating. She died in tiny pieces, each one more horrifying for her than the last, until, thankfully, her mental world was so altered that she wasn't aware of her own existence. There are some blessings in Alzheimer's. They just take a long time to happen.
During her long long "journey" (oh how I hate that word!!!) there were many wonderful - but fleeting -moments that are as clear to me now as if they just happened. Two small, simple ones stand out. The first always reminds me of how tightly we cling to hope and how we find meaning and relevance where there isn't any. The second memory reminds me about the incredible power of love between a mother and her child. Both memories bring tears...but both pop up every year at this time as if my Mom were here to say, "Don't forget me."
My parents lived in Florida. In a good year I got "home" twice. There weren't a lot of "good years" because I was busy with work, a kid and all the other stuff that provides excuses for us. When her mental deficits could no longer be ignored, I spaced the visits further apart. And yes, I regret it. It was during a late Spring visit. By this time Mom was going through a cheerful stage. She spoke mostly jibberish (but with a lot of inflection!). Sometimes an entire clear block of relevant words and sentences would pop out of her mouth and we learned to value this. She spent hours talking to small people who lived in our kitchen. She laughed so hard when these "people" were around that I sometimes wished I could see them. She was also very active. Constantly in motion (always - even before she got sick). She loved to walk. We had to keep the doors locked and chained to keep her in.
Spring in Florida is lovely. Humidity is low, Temperatures are comfortable. It's the perfect time to walk. So we did it every day. On this specific day, we walked quickly (cause she did nothing slowly) around a man-made lake behind the apartment complex. We walked and talked. She asked me questions that gave me every reason to believe that she was having a period of clarity...she knew who I was and generally understood what we were talking about. We talked about family. Work. Kids. It was one of the most wonderful times I'd had with her in years. Partway through our third time around the lake she looked at me and said, "You are such a wonderful person. So nice. Is your Mother still living?" I recall two simultaneous reactions to her question: an emotional kick in the gut and an inability to speak. Maybe there were five seconds of silence. But she was waiting for her answer. I reached out and gave her a hug and said, "No, she's been gone for some time. ....but I've sure enjoyed talking to you. She was a lot like you" We walked on. She reverted to happy jibberish. And I recall thinking how foolish I'd been to let my self imagine something that wasn't possible. But it sure was nice.
My second memory actually happened earlier than the walk around the lake. Perhaps one or two years earlier. I had spent many months on the phone from Wisconsin searching and fighting for services for my parents. Dad had no money (A perpetual state of being) and he needed help. Luckily there was grant money available to pay for day care. For awhile Dad resisted. "Your mother won't like it. She never joined anything. She doesn't like groups." Over and over we had argued until, at last, he agreed to try it. She loved it. She thought she was going to "The Club". This was odd since she'd never joined or even visited a "club". After my Mom had been "clubbing" for several months, and Dad was realizing how wonderful a few hours of freedom could be, I flew down for a visit. I picked up a rental car and drove directly to the Day Care Center.
In the room where I found my mother there were many tables full of magazines and small toys, brightly colored crayon pictures hanging on bulletin boards, and stuffed toys seated patiently on nearby shelves. In a large circle on one side of the room sat a dozen or so "guests" singing loudly to a recording of "Let me call you sweetheart". There were men and women. Some were swaying with the music. A few were slumped in wheelchairs. Several were chatting to each other unaware that those around them were singing. In the group of singers, looking animated and happy, sat my little Mom. My mother would never ever ever in her life be in a sing-along! But here she was. Off key at the top of her voice. Happy and involved. I felt my throat close and the tears come and I ran from the room. I sat outside in the garden on a concrete bench and sobbed till there were no tears left. This was real.(It's never real when you live 2000 miles away) This really was happening. She was gone. And my heart was shattered.
After composing myself I returned to the room to get her. For a brief moment she looked at me, her eyes widened, and she smiled and waved. I hugged her. She held out her hand and said, "Hello Ruth " (Ruth is her sister) She shook my hand and turned away. I took her hand and led her out the door. We walked out slowly.. She was talking nonsense. She stopped several times to examine a leaf or tie her slipon shoe that had no laces. When we got to the car she grabbed my elbow and turned me around, "Honey,have you been crying?", she asked. I said, "No Mom, it's allergies." but she didn't hear me because she was busy rolling small balls of paper and tucking them into her pocket. But for that one moment she recognized me and for that one moment she knew who I was and I knew that she was still in there somewhere and she still loved me.
Wherever you are now Mom, I miss you. Happy Mother's Day.
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