A couple of reflections on Christmas past and Christmas present…with Alzheimer’s.
It’s been a while since I’ve written about my mom, Gayle. She’s currently a resident at an Assisted Living Facility in the Alzheimer’s unit. Actually, she’s been at the facility for a little over three years now. About a year and a half in the Alzheimer’s unit.
When getting out all my Christmas decorations this year…I ran across a Christmas pin that she gave me three years ago (pictured to the left). That was shortly after she was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s…but well into the progression of this wretched disease.
I found it very poignant when I reflected it was really the last Christmas present I will ever receive from her. She didn’t go out shopping for it…or pick it out special just for me. But instead while her mind and ability to function normally was quickly slipping away…she was still aware enough that at Christmas time you exchange gifts. She was uncomfortable being the recipient of Christmas gifts without having something to give in return.
So she searched through her dresser drawer and found this pin and gave it to me as Christmas present.
I go to see my mom every Sunday. Usually we make it a movie day. When I arrive to see her…she’s usually finishing her lunch. I chat with her, other patients and the nurses that work there. When she’s finished eating, we head back to her room. While she’s “taking care of business”, I pop a bag of popcorn…and we put on a movie. Last weekend…we watched March of the Penguins.
Some Sundays…she doesn’t talk too much. This particular weekend she was alert and really watched the movie. But her ability to communicate and express a particular thought about what she’s watching or feeling doesn’t usually happen.
But every once and while…she’s say something that really touches me. After watching our movie…we were talking about Christmas…and she asked me if my mom ever comes over to my home to see me. It was just so sad. I told her no…and asked if her mom comes to see her. She said no.
Some days she thinks I’m her sister, or an old school chum…on occasion she can tell you quite clearly I’m her daughter Susan.
It’s funny…it doesn’t bother me when she doesn’t know who I am. Maybe because I was familiar enough with the disease I expected that to happen.
I think the thing that bothers me the most is…I’m not going to go there tonight. Perhaps another time.
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