Her Name is Harriett. I Call Her Mom

Her name is  Harriett. I call her mom.  Mom  remembers me, she remembers her name, but other memories can be elusive for her.  Each visit is a gamble because I never know how much of my mother will be waiting for me when I arrive.

I always feel a level of tension when I am driving to see my mother.  The visit  today was ideal but there is no guarantee that mom's mind will be clear.  Mom always remembers who I am but there are times when she struggles to hold onto memories of what occurred just minutes before.  Those visits  can be emotionally draining.

After work today,  I stopped by to pick up my mother's laundry and make a shopping list.  I was able to enjoy a nice conversation with my mother about dinner, breakfast, and a new friend she had made.  She remembered my job, my recent promotion, she asked about the family, she told me how happy she is in her new apartment and how much she misses her garden.  This is one of the good visits. In fact, this was a great visit.

Yet, even when mom demonstrates some level of clarity, my mother's memory is not complete.  This evening she asked why she had a special diet and stomach issues.  "Because they removed part of your colon when you had colon cancer." I told her.  She  was shocked and asked me "When did I have colon cancer?"  Her statement saddened me because my mother is a two time cancer survivor.  Mom won a battle with breast cancer when I was very young and survived an advanced stage of colon cancer about 25 years ago. She doesn't remember either one.  Mom also has a degree in music and is a skilled pianist but there are days when she doesn't remember that either. 

Sometimes it is necessary to take mom out of her familiar surroundings but these adventures are not easy. I only take her to familiar places but she becomes agitated if we are out too long, refusing to let me out of her sight. When I take her back to her residence, it takes a long time before she recognizes that she is home so I need to stay with her until things feel routine and comfortable again.

I feel blessed that she always remembers me but it is becoming all too routine for her to ask me "How many children do I have?"  When her memory is cloudy like this we name my siblings and their birth order until she nods her head and says "Yes, I remember now." 

My mother understands that she has memory problems and she is comfortable telling me when she struggles to remember something. I think that her ability to trust those who are caring for her helps to alleviate some of her anxiety.  In spite of her trust,  the unfamiliar can be very difficult for her.   I try to avoid taking her away from her familiar surroundings but this creates an additional challenges at holiday time. 

As difficult as this is, I am grateful that I have an opportunity to reconnect and put the angst of the past behind me.   I dread the day that mom will struggle to remember me but it breaks my heart as I watch the feisty woman I have known all of my life disappear into that black hole of memory loss.  I am terrified, for both of us, because I know that one day mom could sink into that black hole and never come back.

People try to understand what we are going through, and they are supportive, but this is something that has to be experienced to be understood.   I am helpless.  All I can do is be there and watch as the essence of my mother slowly fades. I hope that they find a cure for Alzheimer Disease so others will never need to make this journey but the reality is that one day my mother... this woman named Harriett.... could be lost forever as Alzheimer Disease robs her of every memory until only a blank page remains where a vibrant mind used to be.