I wished my mother a Happy Birthday when I went upstairs to get her up and get her dressed. While she thanked me, she didn't quite 'get it'. I reminded her again. "It's your birthday today!"
"Oh! It is?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "Do you know how old you are?"
"Am I ten?"
"Nope. Guess again."
"Five?"
I laughed at this one. I could see where she was going. Mom no longer felt like an adult. If she had said 2 she would have been closer to the truth. (Sadly, her Alzheimer's makes her more of an overgrown two-year-old than anything else.)
"So Mom, do you see yourself as old or young?" I persevered.
"I'm young," she answered without missing a beat.
Okay then. Confirmation complete. My mother had lost all touch with reality. Now I was faced with a decision. Should I indulge her or should I tell her the truth? I decided to let it go. Why not let her live in her birthday bubble for a while rather than burst it.
An hour later a friend called and wanted to wish Mom a Happy Birthday. She spoke to Mom on the phone and asked, "How old are you? Are you 97 or 98 today?" (Uh oh!) I had to inform Mom of her age.
Her eyes opened wide and she said, "That's so old!"
"Yup."
Then I took a picture of her. I thought that it was pretty but Mom scowled when she saw it. "Who is that?" she asked distastefully.
"You!"
"NO IT'S NOT!" she insisted.
"Yes, Mom. It's you."
"No. That's my mother," she informed me. "Besides, I have a pretty smile. That smile (she points at the photo) is ugly."
I showed her the outfit she was wearing and then the one in the photo. "See? I just took the photo. It's you!" Mom just shook her head as if to say that I was wrong but she wasn't going to waste her time arguing with me. Yes, that's right. I am delusional. *sigh*
This birthday, more than any of the others I am more aware of her age. Mom has slowed not just mentally but physically. I feel like she is existing on a day to day basis. She is still healthy but oh so changed, so much older. I look at photos and videos from two years ago and see the tremendous changes in her face, her demeanor, the way she holds herself. Still, she laughs and jokes. She comes alive when we have company. She smiles when we say something nice to her. Alzheimer's or not, she retains that inner light, that smile, that sweetness. I think back over this past year and remind myself that we nearly lost her in September. We called for hospice and I sobbed over her eventual exit. Then she miraculously bounced back and I was overjoyed until I began to tire with her decline. It was difficult to bathe her, to feed her, to take her anywhere. My work was doubled with her Alzheimer's. It was physically demanding as well as mentally challenging. I fell back into the impatience, frustration, and occasional bouts with anger. I struggled with my emotions and battled with negativity.
I don't know how to describe the emotions I feel other than sad gratitude. Hmmm. There are other words that come to mind. Angry joy, ambivalent love, or caring impatience. You see what I'm saying? It is such a roller coaster. I love her, but go nuts when I have to deal with something for the millionth time. I become impatient when I see her do something repeatedly after correcting her oh so many times; like habitually rub her eyes with hands that just blew her nose or hands that picked her teeth or worse. (I try to keep after her but cleanliness and hygiene are not part of her vernacular any longer. When we try to explain why she should use a tissue to wipe her eyes because her hands have germs, she looks at her fingers and searches for some indication that we are correct knowing that we are crazy. Her hands look clean to her! She ignores us and does what she feels like. Then she gets an eye infection.)
Yes. 98. The new 2. You know what they say about two-year-
olds? They call them the 'Terrible Twos' with good reason. Picture having one of those in an adult body and you have a good idea of what we deal with. Still, I look at her and see the woman who is so filled with peace and contentment that I want to be her when I get to be her age. (Maybe without Alzheimer's though.)
So, moving on...I asked my mother what she wanted me to make for her birthday dinner. She thought a long time and I thought that she had forgotten the question but finally she told me, "Read."
I thought she had misunderstood the question so I asked again, "What food do you like?"
"Read," she repeated.
I asked her to clarify what kind of food that was. I finally got it out of her. She liked bread. BREAD. And when I asked what else she liked she told me, "Butter."
Okay then. For her amazing and delicious birthday dinner Mom will sit down to a yummy dish of bread and butter. Maybe I'll have some awful stuff to go with it though: some steak and potatoes, fruit salad, birthday cake and ice cream. Just sayin'.
Happy 98th Birthday, Mom.
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