Mom, Me, and Dementia
I haven't forgotten about LJ, I've been working two jobs and working with CAT and discovering that the internet is a luxury when you are tired all the time. Facebook, blogs, and journals go by the wayside when every moment is filled with how to pay the reant, pay the bills, work, and see Mom. I'm trying to regulate my time and, as always, finding it very difficult. Thankfully, my second job is such that I do have time to type personal documents and email them to my self for posting.
Here is the first of these little entries:
Eleven months old. That’s when my memories of Mom and my family begin. I am walking towards Mom as she sits by a window holding what I now know to be my little brother, Peter. She is sitting in an armless rocking chair gently rocking backward and forward and humming softly. That chair would be in our family for years and I would always be comforted by its smooth rocking motion. I have no idea what happened to that chair but one year it simply was no longer there.
Mom was wearing a green plaid skirt with a matching vest and her hair was in soft, golden waves brushed back from her face. She glowed in the sunlight coming through the sheer lace curtains blowing in the open window. I clearly recall the feeling of being in that eleven month old body. It felt unsteady as I walked and I remember looking at Mom seeing her see me and then looking down at my feet as I walked towards her.
I can still see the soft golden glow of the sunlight on her hair and face, the curtains shifting slightly in the breeze, sounds of traffic passing, Mom’s face as she looked down at Peter humming a lullaby and stroking his cheek. From that moment I knew what love looked like. When I remember Mom this is what I remember: a woman so filled with love and joy that she glowed. Peter was wrapped in a white blanket and when Mom held him down to me saying “This is your little brother.” he never took his eyes from her face. Even today, as Dementia and Alzheimer’s destroy her ability to express herself, the love within her still shines through.
You may find it hard to believe that my memories begin so early but they do. My family all walked and talked early so it is to be expected that we have very early memories. This particular memory haunted me for years until I finally accepted it as real. The details have remained vivid and constant for all these years. I began by saying that my memories are of Mom and family and that’s true. My mother is always part of my memories about my family. Not true of my father. In my mind’s eye, my father was separate from the family; an occasional invader who was funny, charming, brutal, and terrifying. These pages will not have much to say about him.
Here is the first of these little entries:
Eleven months old. That’s when my memories of Mom and my family begin. I am walking towards Mom as she sits by a window holding what I now know to be my little brother, Peter. She is sitting in an armless rocking chair gently rocking backward and forward and humming softly. That chair would be in our family for years and I would always be comforted by its smooth rocking motion. I have no idea what happened to that chair but one year it simply was no longer there.
Mom was wearing a green plaid skirt with a matching vest and her hair was in soft, golden waves brushed back from her face. She glowed in the sunlight coming through the sheer lace curtains blowing in the open window. I clearly recall the feeling of being in that eleven month old body. It felt unsteady as I walked and I remember looking at Mom seeing her see me and then looking down at my feet as I walked towards her.
I can still see the soft golden glow of the sunlight on her hair and face, the curtains shifting slightly in the breeze, sounds of traffic passing, Mom’s face as she looked down at Peter humming a lullaby and stroking his cheek. From that moment I knew what love looked like. When I remember Mom this is what I remember: a woman so filled with love and joy that she glowed. Peter was wrapped in a white blanket and when Mom held him down to me saying “This is your little brother.” he never took his eyes from her face. Even today, as Dementia and Alzheimer’s destroy her ability to express herself, the love within her still shines through.
You may find it hard to believe that my memories begin so early but they do. My family all walked and talked early so it is to be expected that we have very early memories. This particular memory haunted me for years until I finally accepted it as real. The details have remained vivid and constant for all these years. I began by saying that my memories are of Mom and family and that’s true. My mother is always part of my memories about my family. Not true of my father. In my mind’s eye, my father was separate from the family; an occasional invader who was funny, charming, brutal, and terrifying. These pages will not have much to say about him.