A Baked Potato Conversation

(Time Period: The first few weeks after Mom moved into memory care.)

Conversation # 1: It Made Sense To Me

Six weeks after my father died, we moved my mother to a smaller assisted living community so that she could receive more personalized care. We were relieved to have found what appeared to be the perfect setting for Mom, yet we were anxious about her transition. Eager to relay everything there was to know about Grace to her caregivers, we typed a brief summary of her background and personality traits, as well as more detailed notes that covered her daily routines and preferences. The bullet points ranged from Mom’s bedtime habits to her favorite TV programs and from her clothes and most comfortable outfits to the big topic: Food.

When vetting the care home, one of the first observations we made was that the food preparation looked thoughtful and appetizing. Food was an important factor (we are Italian, after all) and for some reason I had a particular fixation on snacks between meals. What if she needed a little something mid-morning before lunch? In the afternoon will they remember she wants her three o’clock cup of tea with a few nice cookies?

I would discover eventually that the care home did an excellent job with food and they knew when to offer a snack vs. when it was better to save room for dinner. But in those first few weeks, this is what I thought about: Was Mom getting the snacks she wanted? I was the new parent leaving overly detailed notes for the experienced grandparents.

Around the second week of Mom moving in, I spoke to her on the phone in the morning to let her know I’d be coming by for a visit after lunch.

“Is there anything you’d like me to bring?”

Her answer was immediate and specific: “Yes, a baked potato.”

“A baked potato? Okay, sure.”

I hung up the phone and started to wonder about the potato. I dialed my sister Lori. “You think she really wants a potato? Should I bake one and bring it?” These are the kinds of questions I called my sister with in the middle of her work day.

Instantly we were transported to our childhood on a late winter afternoon as it was getting dark outside. While doing homework at the kitchen table, the aroma of a baked potato in the oven told us we had about an hour to go before dinner. All those potatoes Mom had prepared for us over the years: baked, mashed, twice-baked and my favorite: cubed and boiled stove-top, then mixed with olive oil, salt and pepper.

Mom had just lost Dad and was in a new place, a foreign environment. Her request made perfect sense to me. By gosh, if she wanted a baked potato, she should have one!

Ultimately we decided that it wasn’t necessary for me to bring a potato. It was probably just a passing thought that Mom was having and by the time I got there, she would have forgotten all about it. Besides, her new home served lovely meals and snacks. She wasn’t going to go hungry.

Conversation #2: A Comedy Routine

During these first few weeks in particular, I wanted to reassure Mom that she would see me often, that she’d be taken care of and that this was a pleasant new home. I sat down in the chair next to her and can still picture her look of anticipation.

Mom: “Did you bring it?”

Ginny: “The potato?” (Silently to myself: Darn, I should have brought it!)

Mom: “What potato?”

Ginny: “Oh nothing, I was thinking of something else. Want to sit outside on the patio?”

On the way home I relayed this exchange to Lori and we had a good laugh – not at Mom’s confusion, but at my response. Here I was overthinking the potato while it was no longer on her mind. My conversation with Mom was on par with Abbott and Costello’s Who’s On First routine. It was the exact same rhythm.

What Potato?

It wouldn’t be the last time I waded a little too far into the dementia waters myself. Throughout the many conversations I had with Mom and the other residents, it was easy to fall into a thought process that sounded plausible, at least initially. The tricky part, similar to interacting with young children, is that you can’t dismiss what they say, but you can’t take everything literally either.

Many of these interchanges were funny, plenty of them. Is it right to laugh when your loved one has Alzheimer’s? There are “old people jokes” I find cynical, disrespectful and upsetting, especially when they are delivered in a way that’s at another person’s expense. Yet I learned the answer is yes, it’s okay to laugh, as long as it is with kindness and sensitivity. Laughing is a release for everyone: the person with dementia, the family members as well as the caregivers.

My desire to please Mom often bumped into the realization that I wouldn’t be able to know everything that was going through her mind. And why would I expect to? All relationships are subject to occasional miscommunication. Some days I can hardly keep track of my own thoughts!

Whenever we couldn’t figure out a conversation, Lori and I would simply conclude: What Potato? It was a lighthearted reminder of what we learned that day, that the communication challenge goes both ways. It wasn’t just Mom who was unable to grasp everything I said. There was plenty that I wasn’t getting either.

I would do my best to be a good interpreter and translator, but the comprehension on either side wouldn’t be 100%. It was another item for the list: To Let Go Of: being able to understand everything.

Thankfully, this lesson came with another one: Sometimes things are truly funny and it is good to laugh, to release and to lighten up.