memory

Watching someone with Alzheimers is like having one page of a favorite book ripped out every day until all that's left is the cover.

Yesterday was a good day for my mom. We moved her furniture in on Saturday, and really, I couldn't be more pleased at the way everything fits in there. It's such a nice little spot, and it looks homey and cozy. She has adjusted to the transition better than anyone could have expected or even hoped.

I'm grateful that my brother and his wife are close enough to help. Actually all the kids pitched in, too, and by the end of the day we had pictures hung and everything in place. She seems to be genuinely comfortable here, and for that I'm grateful, too.

Yesterday morning I put some hymns on the CD player for her, and then gave her the task of putting a stack of pictures in an empty album. Afterwards I sat down and let her show them all to me. We also looked at a book that was put together for her by the teachers at the elementary school where she had taught before she retired in 1999. It ends with letters from each of them, telling her how special she is.

In the afternoon she had my nephew's baseball game to attend, and when my brother brought her home, (Jim and I were on a babysitting mission) she gave him a tour of her "new house." I guess she had forgotten that two days ago he had been very involved in moving everything in. Here's how he described it in an e-mail I have permission to copy:

She took me on a Full Tour....showing me every detail of the new addition, every piece of furniture and picture that "They" had put there. She even opened each drawer in each cabinet, showing me how the items inside would be used. "Now, see, in here is this thing (hairbrush), and I can just do this (demonstrating her hairbrushing technique) after I take a shower, which I did this morning, and see, here is where I hang the towels..." Clearly she is totally enamored with the setup -- I couldn't be happier with how she has reacted. But the whole time I had a lump in my throat, thinking about how much like a two-year old she was, wanting to show me everything, like a toddler with a new playhouse.

The whole time Danny and Suse were popping in and out, obviously amused by the whole thing. And while they were being very nice and respectful, it made my heart hurt. It's the same with my kids, and with every stranger who happens to run across Mommy at a baseball game or track meet; I want to scream out NO you DON'T know her based on this shell, albeit a very happy shell, of who she REALLY IS, or was. She is the most amazing teacher known to education, whose memory is so sharp she could remember all 30 students' names after 15 minutes on the first day. She is the person who is so smart and brave that she learned to fly a plane and soloed when she was 60. She is the person who is so creative and caring that she sends extra lunch with her kids for all their friends, who would otherwise eat junk food for nutrition, and writes personal notes on EACH banana. This is NOT the person you should judge, this is only what's left. And I realize that what keeps that wonderful person alive is our memories. Our own fragile, temporal, vulnerable memories. Which I now feel I need to protect not just for me, but for her, since that's all that remains..."