Midlife’s A Trip

Dementia, Mom and Me–Clean Your Room

Posted on 24. Sep, 2007 by Karen in Misc

When I was a kid, my mom didn’t allow us to have many sweets.  She was way ahead of her time–vintage nutrition freak.  With that said, I snuck candy and gum into the house and the sanctity of my room.  Since I couldn’t throw the wrappers away because Mom would see them, I stuffed them into my dresser drawers.  I underestimated my mother’s investigative skills.  One day I arrived home and my drawers were pulled out and sitting in the middle of my room.  My mother loomed in the doorway and pronounced "clean your room".

Well years later, the tables have turned.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, Mom is in an assisted living facility (ALF).  Her dementia has her stuck in the thought that she is being switched to another "dorm" room.  So Mom is constantly packing and organizing her room for this imaginary move.

No matter how many times we tell her that the room at ALF is her room for as long as she wants, Mom doesn’t remember.  For a while, every visit to her was an exericise in finding her belongings, putting them away and, of course, seeing what she has stashed in her dresser drawers.  It was stressful for both of us as she watched me move through her room like Attila the Hun dismantling the piles of clothes she placed on every available surface.  I felt like a mother on a "clean your room" rant.

This exercise in futility of organizing Mom’s room has marred many a visit.  Then one day I was talking to a friend and he said "why don’t you just be with your mom where she is in her dementia".  What he was suggesting was that I change my perspective of trying to change mom’s perspective about her room.  Get it?  Well I finally did.

Now when I go to visit, I ask myself in the parking lot at ALF if seeing Mom’s room in disarray is going to upset me that day.  If the little voice in my head says "yes", then I have a plan B.  Instead of visiting in her room, I suggest to Mom that we go to one of the nice little sitting rooms scattered around ALF.  I let her pick the room, we settle in and visit.  We talk about whatever comes up which for Mom is usually something from way back in her life because that’s where her memory still exists intact.  I love these conversations which have given me great insight into her life.  Far more important than a clean room.

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