Midlife’s A Trip

Dementia, Mom and Me–The Tough Trip

Posted on 23. Sep, 2007 by Karen in Misc

This is the first of my postings on the "trip" with my mother through her dementia.  I know I’m not the only one experiencing this journey that many of us undertake in midlife as we start to parent our aging parents. 

My mom has had dementia for years–the vascular kind.  Unlike the steady decline of Alzheimers, vascular dementia left my mother on a plateau until she had another mini-strokes and then some skill, like dressing or bathing, was gone in an instant.  It’s been a slow decline for Mom that was masked for many years by her many lists and my late father’s care.  Once Dad’s health started to decline, my sibs and I began to see more clearly the "dements"–as I call the quirky manifestations of Mom’s condition.

She is now 88 years old and is in an assisted living facility (ALF) specializing in memory care.  That’s just another name for dementia patient lock-down.  Oh it’s a nice enough facility–cute town center for group gatherings, private rooms with a half bath and plenty of places to walk.  Good thing, because that’s what my mother does most is walk.  When she arrived at ALF, Mom walked so much that her ankles were constantly swollen; the treads worn out on her walking shoes.  Once I was visiting and she couldn’t sit with me–had to walk.  After the 4th time around the "block" so to speak, I told Mom that we needed to give me a rest.  She could have done 20 rounds.

Now Mom divides her time between walking and packing her room.  She tells me that the imaginary principal of her school has ordered her to move out of her dorm room so she packs.  Constantly.  Daily.  My sister and I have tried to reason with her and explain that she can stay put.  But Mom ignores us as she takes down the pictures we lovingly hung in her room hoping to make ALF a little more homey for her.  She takes everything out of her drawers, closet and the bathroom.  Mom’s clothes are always scattered around ALF despite the fact that we labeled everything like we were sending her off to summer camp. 

My conversations with Mom range from disturbing to hilarious.  Sometimes, there’s a flash of that dry wit she was always known for.  We laugh.  But then the dementia kicks back in and Mom’ll ask when my father is coming to visit.  Tough question because Dad died almost 5 years ago.  Sometimes I play along, sometimes I explain.  Sometimes I leave and cry in my car in the parking lot.

On the bright side, Mom still knows who we are–for the most part.  Occasionally, she thinks I’m her sister.  But there’s no mistaking the joy on her face when I come to visit.  She may not always recall my name, but she knows that I’m someone she loves and who loves her back.  For now, that makes the trip through dementia a little less tough for Mom and me.   

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