Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Laughing with Mom in a Nursing Home, The Alzheimer's Timeline
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Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
Once again I had to have a staffer hunt down my mother. Mom had fallen asleep after dinner, didn't hear her phone ring. Luckily, her roommate is near deaf, so I don't bother her.
Mom has lost her timeline. She believes that she has only forgotten, "lost" she says, a brief period when she had to leave her last apt.---the only time she got to live by herself and she loved every minute of it.
We want something and think that in time we will have it, but we wait too long and it slips through our hands. Mom could not have known she would get Alzheimer's. (I say Alzheimer's, though one can only know at autopsy; she did show on MRI with "water on the brain." which can cause same symptoms as Alzheimer's, but Mom refused treatment/surgery--a shunt to drain, so who knows what might have been?) Lesson we hear again and again: Do it NOW. Tomorrow may never come.
Mom recalls people and events when I prompt her, but she struggles more now. And each time, over and over, "My brother is dead? How did he die? I wondered what happened to him." Homer, wow, seems like just last year she was visiting him, playing cards with him, telling ME how he was doing. So, I tell her the whole story about Uncle Homer once again. Once again she makes the same responses, "Really?!" "Oh my." "That's a shame." and so on.
She has forgotten a recent reunion of sorts with many of Homer's children. She loved them and spoke of them often as I was growing up. She hesitated trying to remember my brother's names. With a small prompt she had them. But she is unsure where they are in space and time. (The oldest cherishes his privacy, I guess, whatever, and frankly I am not sure where he lives and I no longer care. So, I make up a new location each time she asks. I've used up most of the states, I think I'll start placing him in Canada or Germany. Her response is always the same: "Oh, really? Well, that's nice." She always wanted her kids to be and do whatever they desired. That was important to her. She might find our actions crazy, but if we did them she would outwardly support us.
She still asks each time, "Where do you live?" A new twist this last call, she wants to see photos of herself when she was younger. Interesting, and I shall oblige. She doesn't know if she got the book I sent, but she loved the candy. I doubt everything she tells me now. Too often I believed her in the years leading up to her brain collapse, now I doubt, but now it doesn't matter.
We laugh. Her voice sounds as clear and fresh as it did when she was 40. I sing to her and hear a smile in her voice. That is all that matters now.
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