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.

Losing More of Mother

Alzheimer's is slowly, slowly stealing Mother.  The medications make the decline more steady, but even so, there are times when the changes in her are more pronounced.  I see her almost every day, but this last week I have noticed that she has lost more ground.

She has stopped greeting me by name as much, and often I see her really look at my face before I am sure she recognizes me.  She often thinks I am "stealing" her clothes when I gather her laundry.  She is sleeping more, and her left hand is curled into a tight fist.  These are all small things, but they indicated decline.  We lose more of her, and I miss her.

Someone said that they don't visit because they want to remember her as she was.  To me, those are the ugliest words imaginable.  It negates the fact that she is still herself.  Changed and diminished from what she was, but she is not dead.  She is still with us.   Alzheimer's is a part of her life and who she is.  To only remember her as she was and to refuse to acknowledge who she is now is incomprehensible to me.  Don't we all wish she was who she was even 5 years ago?  Of course we cherish those memories, but to stop seeing her, to stop interacting with her, to set her on a shelf and forget who she is now simply kills her.  It is not love.  It is selfish.  No, she won't remember you visited after you leave, but she knows someone is there when you visit.  She only has the moment.  To not share some of those moments is to diminish the only part of life she still has.  Alzheimer's does not just affect the person who struggles with the disease.  It affects family and friends too, but it really isn't about us or how we feel or what we want to remember.  Love is about the person who suffers, and even in the midst of decline love is all we have to share.