Something else I’ve learned about dementia, which has taken over the mind of my 86-year-old mother. It’s relentless. There is no backward movement. Only the push forward. I think of the brain, now, as a live organ that can erode. On some level, I knew this. Although I’m not sure I understood what it meant.
Where am I? she wonders. What is this place?
You’re home, I say. This is your house.
This isn’t 28th Street. (the house she grew up in, back in Virginia.) I don’t recognize these walls. (Looking across the room. In a whisper.) Who are those people?
Your daughters, Mom. The oldest and youngest.
This is a terrible situation. (clawing at the arms of her chair.) I want to get out of it. But I can’t.
Nothing will make this better.
The person you love is not coming back.
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Jessica,
I can so identify. My mother, too, had Alzheimers. It is a cruel and heartbreaking disease. Sadly, we know the final destination of this journey, yet there is nothing we can do about it.
The poem by Joann Snow Duncanson, titled “TWO MOTHERS REMEMBERED”, speaks poignantly to our loss and loved ones left behind.
Joan
Thank you, Joan. There’s comfort in knowing others have traveled this road. I read the poem, too. It’s beautiful. Thank you again. ~
I understand what you’re going through. My mother had frontotemporal dementia for the last 8 years of her life. She slowly faded away. She wanted to die in her home and it was not easy to accomplish, but we did it. It certainly helps to have a doctor who will work with you to keep her comfortable while not actively treating things like cholesterol, arthritis and the so many things that the elderly are medicated for. Life extending medications are no longer important. Every step down is one that will never be climbed back up. Try to avoid ‘rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic’ by overmedicating. Keep her comfortable. Always tell her you love her. Old photos of loved ones near her can be comforting, since her mind may recall those days, but not events of earlier that day. My mom often spoke of those that went before her visiting with her in her bedroom. As hard as all that was, I was glad that I was able to allow her to die on her own terms. Prayers to her and your whole family.
Thank you, Peg. I appreciate your sharing the insights you gained through experience. Everything you say makes sense. This sentence, especially: “Every step down is one that will never be climbed back up.”
There is a comfort in knowing we are not alone.
Thank you for your prayers.
I’m also sorry for the loss of your mother. Only now am I beginning to understand what that really means.
~ Jessica