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.
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