The Visitor

It is more and  more difficult to write about Mother's journey.  Her days are so similar, and her regression is so painful to watch.  I sometimes feel like I am caught in a time warp watching dementia stealing Mother away ever so slowly.  There is nothing I can do to stop the decline, but I am forced to watch and to cling to the fragile pieces of Mother that are left. I want to gather each piece and put it back, but like Humpty Dumpty, the pieces of Mother can never be put back together again.

For several weeks Mother has spoken only a few words.  Today, she wanted to converse, but the words were so difficult for her to speak.  She struggled to form the word, and a phrase was slow - each word followed by a pause as she formed the next word.  I believe she has had another small stroke.  The left side of her face seems to droop a bit, and when she smiles the droop is more evident.

Today as I walked in, she was moving her milk carton from side to side on the table, touching the tablecloth and repeating the motion over and over.  I've seen this same motion is so many of the residents over the years.  It is a sign of degeneration; the repetition giving them some kind of comfort even in its meaninglessness.

Mother grabbed my hand, and slowly spoke, "You are my visitor."  She smiled, but that was all she knew, that I was her visitor.  She didn't know who I was, or that I was her daughter.  She couldn't remember my name even after I told her who I was.  But I was familiar, and she knew I had come to see her like I do virtually every day.  We held hands.  She smiled a lopsided smile.  We sang a song and she remembered the chorus. She tried to converse by repeating a word or two that I spoke.

When I asked Mother a question she would just smile or say, "I don't know," or "I don't remember."  She tightly held my hand.  I wonder if it is terrifying to not know and not remember anything.  I wonder how it is to eat what is placed before you, to go where someone tells you to go, to have no ability to make a choice or to know what is happening to you.  It terrifies me to watch this, but Mother just smiles and knows at some level that for that moment I am her visitor as she stares intently at my face as if she should know and remember.