(Time Period: About two years after Mom moved into memory care.)
When Mom first showed signs of a failing memory, I found myself using a certain word and asking the same thing repeatedly. That single-worded question was this: “Remember?”
That’s your niece, Gloria, your sister Rose’s daughter. Remember?
That’s when you and Dad took a trip to Hawaii. Remember? Read more
(Time Period: About a year after Mom moved into the smaller assisted living home with memory care.)
“I ordered Grace the Alzheimer’s pajamas.”
“Okay,” I responded, “What are Alzheimer’s pajamas?” Read more
“Does she know you?” That’s the question everyone asked and I understand why. There is much anguish in anticipating that someone you love deeply and know intimately might not respond with that familiar smile. Read more
“She smiled and acknowledged us. It was a good visit.” My friend Ira described a 15-minute interaction with his mother who was confined in a memory care facility during the height of the pandemic. With plexiglass restrictions and no-touch rules, it was especially heartbreaking. That Sunday, receiving a smile from his mother made it a fraction more bearable. Read more
(Time Period: In the last few months of my mother’s life while she received hospice care.)
In the final months of my mother’s life, I sat by her bedside while she rested, played soft music and even watched a bit of the Food Network with her when she was up for it. The days ebbed and flowed with the overall direction clear but the exact timing unknown. Overall it was a peaceful phase. Read more
(Time Period: Two days after moving my parents to Arizona, in a relative early phase of Mom’s progression with Alzheimer’s.)
It was 10:00 p.m. Dad was downstairs watching TV and Jess and I had just gotten into bed. Light from the guest bathroom down the hall was streaming through the small window above our bedroom door. Mom was getting ready for bed but it had been a while and Jess suggested that I check on her. Read more
(Time Period: Within the last ten months of my mother’s life, under hospice care.)
Dinner was about to be served and it was time to wrap up our visit. As Jess and I were on our way out, we turned to see Gabriel wheeling Mom to the head of the table. Rather than transfer her to the dining room chairs, it was better – safer and less of a fall risk – to have her stay in the wheelchair now. Today Mom was smiling, her appetite was good and she had the energy to hold herself up for a meal with the group. It was more common, however, to find her leaning to one side, no matter how much the caregivers repositioned her or propped her up with pillows. That Mom might slide out of the chair was a constant concern.
Jess unlocked the car door and suggested we head directly to a store to find a makeshift seatbelt. We drove to REI (the outdoor sports equipment store) in search of a solution. It didn’t dawn on us that these wheelchair accessories are readily available online or at medical supply stores. Read more
Earlier this year a new caregiver couple moved into my mother’s group home. Prior to their retiring, the former caregivers tended to my mother for three years with great love and kindness. This changeover could have been a time of apprehension but I was reassured by an interaction that first week. While setting the table and about to serve that evening’s dinner, Delia remarked: “I hope they like it. I put my soul into it.” Read more
Here’s how my Monday morning started last week. I walked upstairs to my office and when there was no computer in sight, the feeling in the pit of my stomach told me what must have happened. That Sunday while on my way into the grocery store, I brought my laptop with me so it wouldn’t be exposed to the high heat inside the car on a June day in Scottsdale — it was 107 degrees outside. After shopping for about an hour, I quickly loaded the groceries into the car. In my haste to get home with the refrigerated items, I left my laptop in the shopping cart, lined up in the parking lot stall. Since I decided to have a computer-free Sunday afternoon, I didn’t notice it was missing until bright and early Monday morning. Read more
It was a few days before my birthday in early December 2009, and a card from my parents had just arrived in the mail. Mom’s Alzheimer’s symptoms were still subtle at that time. Previously she would have written “Dear Ginny” and “Love Mom and Dad.” In this card, however, there were only three words: Shine, Ginny, Shine. I was immediately struck by the coincidence in that I had just selected my theme for the upcoming year: Shine. Though I hadn’t shared that with her, somehow my mother had known what to affirm. It wasn’t the first time. Read more