Sunday, June 8, 2008

Pots of Gold

Spring had finally arrived for my last visit Up North to visit Ma and Pa. It was mid-May and Dad said the ice had only recently melted from Rainy Lake. Ma and I decided to sit outside and soak up some of the precious, precious golden sunshine while Dad tinkered away on his shed.

Mom and I didn’t really talk much – and that was OK – I’ve gotten used to her silence. I was just happy that she seemed content to be sitting in the warmth of the sun. After a while she pointed off into the yard and said:

“Look at that little boy crying over there.”

I paused….my mind quickly jumped to some good ol’ Northern Minnesota yard art. On my drive up, I had driven past some yard art of little children pissing or playing “peek” – why not crying?

I looked over to where Mom was pointing and I saw nothing. No tacky yard art, just grass. I actually got up out of my chair to look past the garage….still nothing. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I said nothing. Mom didn’t say any more about it, and it seemed that her observation had quickly come and gone.

Dad did tell me later that she has started to see people and things that aren’t there. He said the doctors at the Mayo forewarned him of this.

*

It’s only been recently that I’ve been more open with my boss and my co-workers about what’s happening to my Mom. I was anxious for the visit, I knew Mom had slipped more in the past few weeks and I was afraid of what I was going to see. Prior to leaving I forewarned my boss that I would likely be coming to work after my visit with a hangover – or, perhaps even drunk. Our communications are typically through a thick layer of cynicism and smart-assness. He sent me an instant message on the Monday following my visit:

Furryoverlord731 (9:20:43 AM): what's up

melissamradford (9:21:01 AM): i'm sober (for now)

Furryoverlord731 (9:21:21 AM): good to hear. tough weekend i assume.

melissamradford (9:22:17 AM): some good. some bad. mom has starting hallucinating (and not even of cool things like fairies or pots of gold), but she seemed happy to see me and we had some good times.

Furryoverlord731 (9:23:36 AM): that's good.

Furryoverlord731 (9:23:50 AM): you're a brave one. i like that


I saved this exchange, and I often go back to re-read it. It’s a reminder to me to BE brave – to act brave even if I’m not feeling it. Because there have been many times where I’ve been a total chicken when it comes to my Mom and her Alzheimer’s: I would talk about needing to visit her, and then never make the arrangements because I was too afraid to see what more damage the Alzheimer’s had done; or, I’d think about calling, but then wouldn’t because I didn’t want to deal with my own sadness after the phone call. This exchange also reminds me that my visits bring her happiness. I may not be able to bring her memories or her mind back, but I can bring her fleeting moments of happiness, which makes it well worth the trip.

2 comments:

Ben Trudeau said...

I never think of the word, or idea, "Brave." I usually just think of the TMBG's line, "Do the damn things I gotta do."

But sometimes obligation isn't enough. Sometimes you gotta be brave...

enter Andy Rictor to sing "You Gotta Be" by Des'ree.

Unknown said...

I am moved and in awe. I never knew to what depth the Alzeheimer's had gotten nor into your writing skills. We haven't talked about it much and I don't ask details for fear of coming across as too nosy. I feel very lucky that you have shared this with me. And I agree ...'bravery' is 100% you. (plus I would like to add spunky and humorous too) :)

I look forward to reading more of your posts.