Remebering Too Much

Sometimes stimulating Mother's memory is worse than watching her forget.  This week I found a coffee table book with beautiful pictures of our part of the country.  It was filled with photos of the places close to her home and scenery from the region that were stunningly beautiful.  I thought she would enjoy the book, so I took it with me when I visited.

Mother was in a quiet mood and just wanted to lie on her bed, so I sat beside her and in bedtime story fashion I held the book while we looked at the pictures and talked about the places.  She got excited about some of the scenes and even seemed to remember some of the places, or at least she reacted to the names when I told her what the photo was. Then what seemed like a pleasant experience just broke my heart.

She started crying and howling as she does when she is upset.  "I'm getting homesick," she said.  I closed the book, but it was too late.  The beautiful photos had caused her pain, and worst of all it caused her emotional pain.  I moved the book out of sight and diverted her attention to her new wind chimes.  Like a small child she was easily distracted, but the experience has haunted me.

Some memories are still with her, and she is still aware enough to know that she can't participate in those places or times again.  It is difficult to know where to go with helping her remember pleasant times, but I have found one line I will not cross again.  It is okay to remember briefly a time and place from the past, but immersion in it is only painful for her.  I can remember, and I will remember her cries of homesickness for a long time.

Happy Birthday to Me

Mother just had a birthday.  We had talked about it for days, but when the day arrived, she didn't remember that it was her birthday.  We arrived with cupcakes, presents and some of the family to celebrate with her, but her room was empty.  I went looking for her and found her sleeping in another room in someone else's bed.  But she roused, and I told her it was her birthday and there was a party for her in her room.  I sang Happy Birthday to her as we went down the hall.  When we arrived at her room she announced, "Happy Birthday to me, me, me, me, me, me, me" while beating her chest and smiling.  We sang again and ate chocolate cupcakes.  Like a small child, she had frosting all over her face and hands and thoroughly enjoyed each bite.  We called my sisters so that she could talk to them, and then she opened her present.  By then, she was tired, but happy.  I know that by the time we were in the parking lot she had probably forgotten all of it, but she was so happy.  When we gave her her package she said, "My family is my best present."  That is why I try to visit almost everyday.  She forgets so easily, but she still remembers her that her family is important to her, and I want to her have those moments as often as possible.

Piece of Mind

The brain, the walnut shaped organ that allows us to be, is a mystery.  I try to read what I can about brain function, growth, learning, etc., but no matter how much I think I might understand, how the brain actually works in any individual remains a mystery to me.  Mother's brain, ravaged by dementia, is even more of a mystery than the brain of my thirteen year old grandson.  My grandson's teenage brain at least follows a pattern that is recognizable; Mother's brain snaps and flashes in ways that leaves me grasping for some kind of pattern or for some kind of sense.

Yesterday, Mother was listening to a recording of my youngest grandchild singing.  He had learned a song at Bible school and sang it so sweetly that I recorded it and played it for Mother.  Her face lit up as she listened.  I told her who was singing and what the song was.  It was an old song, and she was familiar with it.  She mouthed the words as she listened.  Then she looked up and said, "And he is only six years old!"  How did she remember that?  He had just had a birthday, and most of the time she doesn't know who he is or who his parents are.  We had told her about his birthday, but it made no impact- or so we thought.  Somehow, that tiny piece of information stuck in her mind and for that moment, she could remember.

I told her she was right and reminder her that she had a birthday coming up soon herself.  "When is your birthday?"  She gave me a date.  It was wrong.  She has no idea when she was born or how old she is.  Yet for that one split second she could remember that her great-grandson was six.  Her mind is in pieces, and we never know what piece will be working.  Neither does she.  How terrifying to live with only random pieces, yet we keep feeding her broken mind information.  Who knows what she might remember.  It is a mystery.