My mom passed on five years ago today.
I miss her, but her spirit has never left me. For that, I am forever blessed.
I wrote this piece several years ago.
I stumbled across a copy of it today looking for a printer manual.
Of course, I do not view such events as random events. I sat and re-read the article and thought of my mom.
And so I re-print it now with loving thoughts…
* * *
Zen and the Art of Making Lemonade
My mother has Alzheimer’s disease (or rather, that’s the label that seems to have stuck. Truth is, nobody really knows for certain what she suffers from).
When I talk to friends for the first time in a while, they usually ask me about my mom’s condition. I’m always appreciative that they ask and I always wish that I had a better answer for them. A contributing factor in my decision to move back East was so that I could be closer to siblings, nephews, and nieces, and my mother, Mary.
Since a few weeks after my father’s death, Mary has lived in full-time care facility. She sleeps and eats about 25 minutes from where I live. Typing that sentence, even after a year and a half, it still doesn’t feel right. Probably never will.
And yet it is.
My mom was one of my closest friends, my trusted confidant, and my unwavering support system. As time passes, the most distressing part of dealing with the reality of who she is today lies in the fact that it becomes harder for me to remember who she was. I find it difficult to visit her. The “institutionalization” of the whole process unnerves me.
Alzheimer’s patients have a tendency to wander, especially at dusk. Considered a flight risk, they are locked in their own wing of the housing complex. I have to ask someone I do not know to punch in a code and open a door so that I can see my mom.
Whenever I walk in, she recognizes me immediately with an expression that conveys both joy and relief. I joke that I’m here to “spring her for a couple hours” and she’s very eager to go for a ride and listen to some Sinatra on the CD player.
My mother and I can no longer hold a conversation. Mom has trouble getting any words out. She points a lot. She giggles constantly. I’ve stopped trying to ask too many questions, but occasionally I’ll throw one in there to test what she still knows.
She will have no recollection that her sister came to see her a few days before. And yet, she will point at the Ralph Lauren outlet among a cluster of similar buildings, clearly recognizing the place where she bought so many things for herself, always proud of the great bargains she’d found.
We never know what really lies in the mind of another, do we?
On the day that I write this, mom and I decided that some ice cream would be a splendid way to end our afternoon together. Our menus had great big pictures of all the sundaes. I thought maybe mom could point to what looked good, but deep inside I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I made the executive decision — Heath Bar Crunch sundaes all around. Triple scoops.
The sundaes arrived in deep, old fashioned glasses with an extra long spoon. The fudge and caramel were so warm that they wouldn’t stick to the ice cream. My mother’s first eager spoonful ended up in her lap. Her eyes expressed her frustration and she even managed a heartfelt, “I’m sorry.”
Assuring her that everything was fine, I had her put the spoon down. I asked her to lean forward. I showed her how to lean forward. I had her open her mouth and I fed her two spoonfuls. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the flavor in her mouth. I had two spoonfuls. And then back to her.
With my mom, I’ve learned that it’s much better to just enjoy our experiences together in the present moment, free of judging her against the past of who she once was. When I allow myself to just appreciate the ice cream in front of me and focus on what we are still able to do together, feelings of gratitude replace the feelings of anger and despair.
And the truth was that we had a good day. We laughed.
Later that evening I met up with one of my oldest friends. He asked me how my mother was and I told him of our day together. He shared that his mother was starting to show the same sorts of symptoms. We both took a swig of our beers, shaking our heads as we swallowed.
And he said, “you just gotta make lemonade, you know?”
Beautiful memory, Drew. It made me a little misty.
I’m always thankful that my mother was sharp right up to the end. A few days before she passed, she was at our house for dinner and we played Cribbage, her favorite game. She couldn’t physically handle the cards very well, or peg her points, but she knew every card she had and exactly how many points she should be getting. Five days later she was gone. We had a complicated relationship, and at this time of year I always miss her more, wishing we could share one more Thanksgiving dinner.
Thanks for letting me reflect, and thanks for sharing your mom with all of us.
I was more than a little misty. It felt good to cry, though. I haven’t cried about her passing in years because it was never sad to me. I was always glad she was set free. That picture made me miss the mom we knew “before” and I cried for that. …and there is my doll Victoria in the background, the one you ruined by carrying it around by the head all the time…
thanks Joan…
settling in here. trying to get our son to sleep. and to spend some time contemplating my mom.
she was a peach…
You look very much like her.
Your post reminds me to cherish the moments. Moms are the best.
Mmmmm… she must have thought the world of you.
Thanks, Drew. It’s wonderful to get to know more about how you got to be so special.
Thanks for sharing Drew. This post really resonated with me.
Touched me deeply. A gentle reminder to cherish and not judge the precious moments we have with those we love.
Thanks Drew!
Drew,
The doll story made me snort-laugh!
XOX
barb
Drew –
Thanks so much. I was listening to one of our coaching sessions today at the gym, and it was nice to hear your voice. Great coach! I still get value out of listening over a year later.
And I’m all misty and sniffly from reading this. You definitely did some major focusing with your mom that day. Inspiring.
Hugs,
Christina
thanks, drew, for posting this. my mom passed august 2, 2010 and would have been 82 on november 1, had she lived a couple more months. she also had dementia, alzheimers – some demonic thing that took her over and turned her into a shell of the person she was. i miss her terribly and will always cherish those last few times a short time before she left us when there was a glimmer of recognition and a tender moment between us. it’s only been a short time for me and 5 years for you, but i know that those markers don’t really matter – it’s just sad to lose their presence. thanks for sharing your story and giving me the reminder that she is with me always, regardless of whether i can touch her beautiful white hair and silky skin or not.
@cam: hi cam — for what it’s worth, i used to see my mom’s condition as a demonic thing as well. like a virus sucking her dry… and certainly there were so many reverberations throughout our family dynamics… and i spent a lot of time in places of anger or guilt…
that said, by the time she died, what i mostly felt was relief. i was glad she was free. and in truth, i felt free as well.
i choose to look at her condition as a choice she made to disconnect from this world and connect to a place that felt better. while my mom’s situation was very tough for all around her, she never seemed unhappy. it was our reaction to things…
i share this because time heals things. the raw and ragged edges are no more. and today, i can more clearly remember my mom than i could in the midst of all the changes that were taking place.
i just feel appreciation for having such a wonderful mom for the time i did. most people do not have the kind of connection we shared. and in many ways, her death made me open up to my feelings… and teach me how to stay present in the face of intensity…
i very much appreciate your note…
warmest,
drew
thanks again drew…your words touch me in places i know only those of us who have lost someone to this disease can really understand. during her demise, i had the blessing of being connected to a wonderful reiki master and light worker who had assured me that my mom was doing just that, disconnecting from this world. she took her time to pass and i know now that she was waiting for my family to be intact again (oddly enough we were all together for the first time in 3 years the day she took the turn to begin her exit) before she knew it was ok to go. many people suggested to me that they were glad to hear she was no longer suffering – but i knew she wasn’t suffering at all – we were. healing is definitely happening as the waves of emotion come and go. i have found that the most important thing for me to do is to be open to my feelings and not try to push them away – just ride the wave – and make lemonade.
Thank you for sharing Drew and thank you for posting a beautiful picture of her. I am deeply touched.