Dorian Gray

I'm thinking today of the story of Dorian Gray.  You know, the young man who sells his soul for eternal youth while his portrait ages in the attic.  Sometimes I think of Alzheimer's as the antithesis of Dorian Gray.  The portrait I have of Mother in the attic of my mind is of the vital, whole person she was.  She will not change.  But the person I see before me is ravaged by this disease.  She loses her mind a bit at a time, and the horrible part is when she is aware of it.  She tells us that she is dying.  When asked what she means, she says that it is like sailing out into a fog or that she feels like she is sinking and going away.  No wonder she cries.  All we can do is hold her and rock her and be there with her.

Most of the time she is unaware.  That is better for her, but then her behaviors deteriorate.  Yesterday we were told she is now banned from the community concerts at her home.  She is inappropriate with the male residents and the performers.  The music gets her stirred up.  She dances and laughs and has a wonderful time.  She likes to flirt, and she is funny.  But then she gets inappropriate and things get out of hand. 

Maybe my analogy should be more of Jekyll and Hyde.  The one side of her kind and sensitive and civil.  The other out of control like a tyrant toddler.  She has taken to making her room mate cry.  She knows just one or two words that set the woman off, so she says them just to see her cry.  That is not my mother.  She was compassionate and had no tolerance for that kind of behavior.  Where has my mother gone?  This disease has stolen her.