When I visit Mom on Mondays, I never know what kind of mood she’ll be in.
Sometimes she’s cheerful and her mind is fairly clear. Other days, like today, she’s feeling sick. Her tummy hurts and her mind is foggy again.
One day last week, Mom looked at me carefully and said, “Now tell me your full name.” When I responded, she said, “That’s a beautiful name!” I agreed and asked if she knew who gave me that name. “No,” she said. I told her my mom did and that she was my mom. She gave my beautiful name. She replied, “Now wasn’t I smart!” We laughed about that a bit.
My friend Emily wanted to know how hard it is for me when she doesn’t know me. It doesn’t bother me too much since with previous dementia caregiving, I knew it was coming. Also, I don’t look like the child Donna she remembers because the grey hair throws her off. I look more like her sister, Daught. Ninety percent of the time, that’s what she calls me. I’m okay with being Daught.
When she goes through the deep fog, she doesn’t recognize Daddy and she’ll call him Bean. She even told Laverne, one of our amazing caregivers, that she calls Dwight “Bean” sometimes although she never did it before the dementia. If Dad is right there with her, he’ll kiss her and snuggle with her and remind her who he is. He’ll say over and over again, “I’m Dwight. I’m your husband.” Sometimes she’ll call him Dwight then. I wonder if she truly recognizes him through the fog or if she is just repeating what he said.
I cannot imagine how difficult it would be if Michael, my husband, didn’t recognize me. He’s my best friend and I don’t know how I would handle life if he isn’t here. This is the cruelest part of the disease. Although it’s sometimes difficult to take care of Mom’s physical needs, the lack of recognition is much harder. Mom used to be so vibrant and alert, full of laughter and smiles for anyone and everyone. She saved her special smiles for Daddy. Now too often she doesn’t even know who he is.
On these days when she is so foggy again, I try to break through. She’ll call me and I’ll respond, but then she’ll say she wasn’t calling me. She is so deep in the clouds – it reminds me of that twilight zone we experience upon waking. I am so disconcerted when I first awaken, I cannot imagine staying in that condition. It only takes a few moments for most of us to clear our minds of sleep, but Mom can be there for hours.
This day, as all days, I’ll continue to reach out to my precious Mom through her fog. I’ll continue to be here even when the fog is so dense and she can’t recognize me at all. Just the love will have to be her anchor then.
