Thursday, September 28, 2006
I'm Going Home Today
I'm going to see my mother today.
I fly from Raleigh to Philadelphia shortly after noon. With luck I'll be in Media by 2 or 2:15 this afternoon.
I haven't been able to reach my parents for several days. My two brothers, Owsley and Tim, and my sister Lisa are all
in town. Nobody has called to say that my parents are missing.
I'm assuming that they have just gone undercover.
If Mom doesn't pick up the phone, it's always a problem. I have called recently when she isn't home. I dutifully leave
a message on the answering machine, but I haven't gotten any calls returned. I believe it's Dad who makes Mom call me. Otherwise
I don't even think she would check the answering machine.
I'm eager to see Mom. But I'm also wondering if I'll notice any changes in her. On the phone she seems her normal self.
She is happy to talk with me. We talk about that day's events. She always wants to know about my weather. She tells me about
her weather. Then we both say, "I love you." And we hang up.
I'm taking my computer to PA so I can write my blog from my parents' house where I will be staying.
I plan to look carefully at my Mom to see how she is doing. I will share with you what I see.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
ALZHEIMER'S: Practical Tips for Caregivers and Potential Caregivers
I read an article this morning about Alzheimer's Disease that appeared in
Market Day. It was helpful because it provided simple, practical advice for caregivers of people with Alzheimer's Disease and for potential
caregivers.
For example, if you suspect a friend might be developing Alzheimer's Disease you can ask them some simple memory questions,
including:
- What day is it today?
- How old are you?
- Where are we now?
- What year is it?
- What month?
- Count backwards from 20 to 1
These questions test a person's short-term memory (usually the first mental faculty to go in Alzheimer's) as well as their
orientation. Persons with Alzheimer's also experience disorientation.
Disorientation begins outside the home. A person may have trouble finding their way home or may go to a home they once
lived in because their memory of their new home's address may be wiped out by the Alzheimer's.
As the disease progresses, disorientation begins within the home, as well. It is important to keep items in the home always
in the same place. This lets a person function independently longer since they don't have the ability to remember when items
are moved on a short-term basis.
Other changes you can look for in an Alzheimer's sufferer are:
- Mood swings and personality changes
- Loss of personal hygiene
- Difficulty finding correct words; incomplete sentences and thoughts
- A change in sleep patterns
- Problems with eating; malnutrition; loss of common sense about what to eat
The article advises caregivers to have an Alzheimer's sufferer admitted to a hospital only as a last resort. Usually after
a person is admitted to an institution they go downhill rapidly.
Other tips:
- Do all you can to help your friend or family member maintain their dignity (they can't do this on their own; this is your
job)
- Keep them hydrated. Persons with Alzheimer's often suffer from dehydration because they forget to drink liquids
- Supervise medication. It is easy for a person with Alzheimer's to mix up their medication or take it too many times a
day since they have no recollection of the last time they took it.
Since people with Alzheimer's lose their ability to recognize those around them, it increases the difficulty in maintaining
a loving, affectionate relationship. This "Alzheimer's aloofness" distances caregivers at just the time when the person with
Alzheimer's needs the most loving and attentive care.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
I Buried My Wife Alive!
I am a member of the Alzheimer’s Association
of North Carolina – Eastern Chapter. Last week I received the summer 2006 issue of the association’s bulletin. The issue
has many excellent, practical articles written by relatives of people with Alzheimer’s and by professional caregivers and
doctors.
The most valuable article in the issue
for me was “Alzheimer’s Unveiled” by Peter Burgess. In 1996 Burgess’s wife, Eunice, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.
After Eunice was diagnosed, Peter cared for her on his own as long as he could.
Over the next ten years Eunice’s condition worsened considerably. Peter finally had to turn her over to professional caregivers.
His article begins:
Today, March 13, 2006,
I buried my wife alive!
Tonight, after placing
her in a long-term care facility, I returned to a dark, empty house that once was a bright, warm home. Without any hesitation,
I declare Alzheimer’s as the worst of all diseases known to humankind …
LOSING HIS SPOUSE AND HER MEMORIES
As Peter walks around his house after the
departure of his wife, he begins to notice items in every room. He realizes that his wife was responsible for acquiring these
items, and now he has no idea where the items came from or what they could possibly mean. They might be mementos having huge
sentimental value, but Peter is clueless. He regrets that he didn’t walk around the house with his wife, years earlier, so
he could ask her where everything came from.
“Don’t take things for granted,” he cautions.
“Learn to appreciate things; ask questions while your wife is still with you and can share her memories.”
HUMOR AND FAITH
Peter says that he has survived the trauma
of his wife’s Alzheimer’s, thanks to his faith and his sense of humor. He says that both were necessary for him to stay sane
and for him to continue being helpful and nurturing to his wife.
HOW TO HELP THE CAREGIVER
Peter is critical of friends and
family members who offer glib advice or verses of scripture. He says that there is no way to understand what it’s like to
be a caregiver for a family member with Alzheimer’s unless you have done it yourself.
His advice: don’t just offer helpful, healing
words, thinking that you are being kind and doing some good. Instead come by for a visit and be helpful yourself. Do something.
Spend time with the person with Alzheimer’s. Learn how to take over some of the caregiver’s tasks, so the exhausted caregiver
can get a valuable, desperately needed break from their round-the-clock job.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Shrinking Circle of Friends
In the old days when I called Mom, half of our conversation revolved around catching up on all her friends. She and Dad
always had a huge circle of friends. Both my parents are gregarious, charming, and larger than life. Dad started a hugely
popular restaurant business that sat over a thousand people each evening. He and Mom became restaurant "personalities," in
constant demand by everyone in the Delaware Valley, southwest of Philadelphia.
When I was a kid in the 1950s and 1960s I remember spending Sundays driving from house to house with my sister Lisa and
my brothers Timmy and Owsley. My parents just "popped in" on people, unannounced, and they were always welcome.
When we weren't driving and visiting, we were receiving visitors. We lived in a huge, hundred-year-old ramshackle mansion.
It had a huge living room, enormous kitchen, and spacious dining room -- plenty of space for entertaining. And my parents
entertained with gusto. Normal seatings for family brunches and dinners usually involved our six family members and six or
eight additional guests.
FROM FEAST TO FAMINE
My parents traveled in packs, in tribes, surrounded by swarms of friends. They went on jaunts around the U.S., Ireland,
Mexico, the Bahamas, always surrounded by friends.
Then things changed.
It wasn't all at once. People got sick. They died. They got old. They had accidents. They partied too hard.
The circle began to dwindle.
At first it wasn't noticeable. But very gradually the circle began to shrink, a little at a time.
My parents made new friends, but not so fast as in the old days. So the circle continued to shrink. And shrink.
Until here we are today.
My wife Janet and I talked last night about my parents' friends, and we could only come with two couples: the Terchas
and the Armitages.
That's it. From a cast of hundreds to a cast of four. Naomi, Joe, Ollie and Gloria. That's all my parents have left.
They still know hundreds of people. Hundreds more nightly come up and pay tribute to my parents when they sit at their
little dinner table in the bar at the Towne House Restaurant.
But real friends have dwindled to a precious few. And even these four friends are in precarious shape. Naomi was near
death in San Diego just a few months ago. Gloria carries a portable Oxygen tank with her wherever she goes.
Mom has Alzheimer's. Dad is just this side of a stroke.
Watching my parents has been like sitting in front of a gigantic bonfire. When they were younger, they shone; they really
shone. But the fire ran out of logs. It shrank and grew darker. Today it's not much more than embers, with an occasional spark
flaring to light the encircling nighttime shadows.
It's been a regal show. And I know that I should be happy. My parents are the lucky ones. And I'm lucky I still have
them.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
We Cry for Our Children, Too
The book is a gentle yet realistic portrait of a child whose grandfather develops Alzheimer's Disease. It is written
simply and beautifully. The illustrations are poignant and moving.
I asked Anne to read me the book aloud.
Anne is a good reader. But as she read, she began to cry. She continued crying softly and silently, shedding tear after
tear, as she read the book.
When she finished reading, I asked her why she was crying. I figured she would tell me about her own grandfather who
had Alzheimer's Disease.
She nodded her head. "Yes," she said, "I was crying for my grandfather, but also for my children, Daniel and Logan. And
for myself."
"Because of your grandfather?" I asked.
"Partly," she said. "But more because the story makes me see things through the mother's eyes. It is her father who
develops Alzheimer's. It makes me think of my own father. I can't imagine what I would do if he had Alzheimer's. I can't imagine
telling my children. I can't imagine them not having their grandfather around as they grow up."
"And so you cried," I said.
"And so I cried," she said.
Monday, September 18, 2006
The Alzheimer's Diet
Scientists have a found a new diet. We
all get to go on it ... eventually. It's old age. According to scientists who study aging, beginning in
our early fifties our bodies begin shrinking, and we lose approximately half a pound a year.
If we come down with Alzheimer’s Disease,
we lose even more.
ScienceDaily.com reported this morning that researchers at the Washington University School of Medicine in St. Louis have found a link between
extra weight loss and the onset of Alzheimer’s Disease. As part of the Memory
and Aging Project, scientists followed a group of 449 volunteer seniors from age 65 to the upper 80s. Scientists noticed that over one hundred seniors in the study
were losing weight at twice the rate of their counterparts. Approximately one year after the extra weight loss appeared, these
same seniors came down with some form of dementia.
BIOMARKERS
Scientists are eagerly hunting for biomarkers
for Alzheimer’s. Biomarkers are early-warning lab results that appear before the onset of normal observable symptoms. Symptoms
for Alzheimer's include loss of memory, language skills, judgment, and eventually bodily functions,
Getting a headstart on diagnosing Alzheimer's
will allow doctors to begin treatment programs that will slow the spread of the disease through the brain.
Scientists don’t see a single biomarker
as the key to early detection of Alzheimer’s. Rather they see a battery of tests being given to us in our annual physicals
to see if an Alzheimer’s “blip” shows up on the screen. If it does, a doctor can administer further tests to try to catch
the Alzheimer’s early, before it takes over our brain.
Millions of people around the world
will soon be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. Simple, non-invasive biomarkers would make it easy for doctors to catch Alzheimer's
early -- before symptoms appear -- when treatment can do the most good.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Our Skin May Contain Clues to Alzheimer's Disease
Alzheimer's is so elusive that the only conclusive proof of the disease is an autopsy of the brain after a person
has died.
Scientists around the world are looking for ways to detect the disease at an early stage so that a person can start receiving
medicines and other treatments.
Yesterday the
Voice of America reported that scientists have found possible clues of Alzheimer's in our
skin.
Dr. Daniel Akon, the head of an Alzheimer's research team at Blanchette Rockefeller Neurosciences Institute, outside
of Washington, DC, reports that his team has uncovered a test that might possibly become a prime early-warning test for Alzheimer's.
Dr. Akon's team has analyzed proteins in skin cells of various patients. In patients who later show signs of Alzheimer's
(loss of memory, coordination, speech, and cognitive function), the proteins show evidence of inflammation in the person's
body and brain.
This is a great, non-invasive test for Alzheimer's. It is the kind of thing that any of us could do when we visit the
doctor's office for our annual check-up.
I will keep you posted as I learn more about this new test.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow" is the dream-like song that was sung by Judy Garland in Wizard of Oz. It
captures the dream-like state that Alzheimer's patients find themselves in when they lose connection with themselves, with
the details of their daily lives, and with everyone around them. They are like helium balloons, untethered, unanchored, free
to drift where the wind takes them.
As many as seven of every ten persons with Alzheimer's Disease wander, according to a news story in today's
Raleigh News and Observer. Across the state of North Carolina alone, hundreds of people with dementia leave their home or residential facility
and wander off. In the last eight months three of these people have died.
So far, my mom doesn't wander. But experts say that wandering is likely and that it can begin at any time.
One day a person shows no threat of wandering. The next day, suddenly, they wander off.
Dad keeps a close eye on Mom. He knows where she is (or is supposed to be) at all times. But she has a lot
of freedom. She has access to car keys and frequently drives places on errands. She walks down the street and visits friends.
She goes on walks alone and with my brother Tim and is capable of walking miles on her own.
If Mom turned into a wanderer, she would be a champ. She is physically strong and for an 82-year-old person
she is in great shape. One family in North Carolina lost their dad, but later found him just a block away from their house.
If Mom took off wandering, she could be "somewhere over the rainbow" before anyone caught up with her. When I walk with her
on the boardwalk at the seashore she strides along at a brisk speed, gliding by adults who are decades younger than she is.
Mom is strong-minded. Experts say that Alzheimer's wanderers often put up resistance when they are found.
According to the news story in the News and Observer:
They have absolutely no desire to be found; in fact, they are trying not to be found.
As a result, calling someone's name, as searchers would while looking for a lost child, is counter-productive.
According to the article, wanderers typically fall into three categories:
-
People seeking to escape.
-
People who leave home to do something that makes sense to them. They think they have an errand, they think
they have to go to work, care for a child, or go to church. These needs typically come out of a memory of something they used
to do long ago.
-
People who wander without purpose. People with dementia may wander impulsively on a whim.
According to Teepa Snow, education director at the Alzheimer's Association of Eastern North Carolina:
They have no sense of self-preservation; they are operating at the level of an 18-month-
or 2-year-old child.
Right now, it doesn't seem like Mom fits this description. She seems rational, connected, anchored.
But Mom is like a cell phone connection. Sometimes she seems crystal clear. Then suddenly she fades
out, just like my cell phone when it drops a call.
Based on statistics for people with Alzheimer's, this is where we are headed. Mom is likely to be with
us less and less. The moments when she goes away will increase in frequency and duration.
This worries me and makes me very, very sad.
When I look at Mom sometimes, I can't see Mom at all. She has retreated to someplace inside her head,
lost in the past, perhaps "somewhere over the rainbow."
Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles
melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Doctors' Appointments
I called my parents this morning, and surprise, surprise! Dad answered!
(My father never answers the phone. My dad and phones have a love-hate relationship. Dad loves to make business
calls; he loves wheeling and dealing, buying and selling over the phone. But he hates to make social calls.)
"Hi, Dad!" I said, all excited. "It's great to talk with you. Where's Mom?"
"She's right here," Dad said. "I'll put her on the phone."
"No, no," I said. "Please don't. I want to talk with you."
"Oh?" my dad said. "Why me?"
"Because I want to hear about your elbow. Did you see a doctor about it?"
"Yesterday,"
said Dad. "I saw an orthopedist and he removed the fluid from my elbow."
"Awesome," I said. "How does it feel?" (Dad's elbow has been bothering him for a long time.)
"Much better," Dad said. "Always see an orthopedist. Don't go to an osteopathist. The last one I saw missed the elbow
and took out several pints of blood. My arm was sore for weeks."
"Will do, Dad," I said. "How's Mom? Didn't she need her teeth repaired?"
"She had a permanent bridge put in," said Dad. "Here, I'll put her on."
"Wait, Dad. Wait! I want to talk with you some more."
It was too late. He'd already passed the phone to Mom.
"Hi, honey," Mom said. "How's your weather?"
(Mom and I always start our phone conversations talking about the weather. Often that's the only thing we talk about.)
We talked about the weather.
"How are your teeth doing?" I asked.
"Great," said Mom. "I feel like a new woman ... Ha ... Ha."
"I'll bet you look good, Mom," I said.
"I can't complain," said Mom. "You know the old expression, right? 'I'm in good shape for the shape I'm in.' That's me.
I'm not going to get any better. But I could be a whole lot worse."
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
A Mom and Dad Sighting!
I wrote in my blog how I wasn't able to find my parents. I called all their numbers and didn't get an answer.
Yesterday, however, after making another round of phone calls, I finally got a call back.
It was my mother!
She was calling me on Dad's car phone. She and Dad were driving from the New Jersey seashore back to their home in Pennsylvania.
When I asked her where she and Dad had been, she answered: "Oh, just driving around."
(For days?)
I let that one pass.
Mostly I was just grateful to find them.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Tentative Sighting of Libby and Babe
I called the seashore and Media this morning, and still no parents.
I also called my dad's cell phone. Again, no answer.
I've left messages for several days, but none have been answered.
In desperation I called my sister Lisa. Lisa said she spoke with the folks on Saturday. They said they were planning
to come up today. Lisa said she thinks that Dad has a doctor's appointment for his elbow.
Lisa reminded me that Dad has been consulting with several doctors, including doctors at the world renowned Mayo Clinic
in Rochester, Minnesota. All the doctors, according to Lisa, have told Dad that the only thing they can do for his elbow is
to take out the elbow and replace it with a rigid joint that will immobilize his arm.
This sounds like a drastic solution. I guess this is why Dad keeps searching for another opinion.
I'm going to make more phone calls today to track down my parents. I'll let you know about them when I find them.
Friday, September 8, 2006
My Parents Are AWOL
I haven't been able to reach my parents for the past two days. I call their homes at the seashore, Media, PA, and the
farm.
But no one answers.
This is either a good sign (they are out and about), or a bad sign (there is something wrong).
I will keep calling them today.
I'll report in as soon as I find them.
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Babe and Libby: Caregivers
A month ago our doctors told us that our kitty cat Snow had kidney failure. We spent the next four weeks feeding
her a special diet (actually several special diets since none of them seemed to work). And we went into the vet once
or twice a week and had fluids injected into her to flush the toxins that were building up since her kidneys weren't working.
Sadly Snow went steadily downhill.
Over the past week she barely ate. She grew more quiet and more skinny by the day.
Last Thursday our vet, Dr. Sullivan, said it was time to consider putting her down. (This is such a useless expression,
but I don't like "put to sleep" or "euthanize" any better!)
We kept giving her fluid treatments and vitamins and different cat foods over the weekend while Laura and Janet and I
said our good-byes.
Yesterday I took her into the vet's office and Dr. Sullivan injected an overdose of sedative into the inside of Snow's
left hind leg while I held her head in my hands, crying and talking to her.
In moments, very quietly, very peacefully--very suddenly--Snow died.
I am so lucky I had my sister Lisa to talk with yesterday and my daughter Catie. I called them before and after Snow
died. Lisa has had 14 pets, and Catie adores cats and loves Snow. They "held my hand" over the telephone, and I am grateful
to them for their support.
As I was driving to pick up Laura at school after I left the vet, on a hunch I called Mom. Mom had been very happy about
my anniversary the other day, and she came through again.
I told Mom about Snow.
"Oh, honey," she said. "I'm so sorry. I know how you feel. Our animals are so dear to us. It is terrible when we lose
them."
Mom did great, so great I almost wanted to call her "Mommy." (I'm 57 years old, and it's crazy, but she was so comforting,
I almost said, "Thank you, Mommy.")
Whatever twilight world Mom gets into because of her Alzheimer's, she responded to me in my little crisis. She came out
of that world and was my mom, really my mom.
And if that wasn't enough. I heard Mom tell Dad that our cat had died, and suddenly Dad picks up the phone and in an
emotional voice, he comforts me, too.
My dad ... comforting me ... this was something I thought I'd never see again. Not in this lifetime.
WE ARE HOLDING YOUR FLOWERS
Janet's and my anniversary, September 5th, passed quietly and uneventfully. In my blog I made the comment that the only
people who remember the anniversary are the couple themselves, and that was all right.
But to my surprise I got a message on the answering machine two days ago (on September 5th!) that Janet and I had anniversary
flowers waiting for us at the local florist.
It's been a busy week with Janet out of town, so I didn't get back to the florist until today. I called them and told
them they could leave the flowers on our porch because I had to go pick up our daughter Laura from school. But the florist
said they were special and had to be delivered in person.
Half an hour later the florist pulled up to the house and delivered the flowers. They were a dozen, individually wrapped,
long-stemmed yellow roses. They were gorgeous!
"Okay," I thought. "Who could have sent them? Was it Jan's mom Doris? Was it one of our kids? Who had remembered our
anniversary -- on our anniversary!?"
I opened the card pinned to the flowers.
It read, "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, JANET AND FRED, FROM MOM AND DAD!"
I was floored.
My parents? My sick, grumpy 88-year-old father? My 82-year-old mother with Alzheimer's who most times can't remember
what she had for breakfast?
SWAPPING ROLES OF PARENT AND CHILD
The anniversary flowers, the anniversary song from my mom and the warm words of comfort from both parents over the death
of our kitty were important. They showed me that even though my parents seem to require more care than they ever have, I should
not give up on them. They are still my parents. They still love me. When I am hurting, or when I am celebrating, they come
through. They can comfort me when I am sad, and they can cheer for me when I'm happy.
In recent years I have noticed how tiny my parents have become. My dad used to be a six-footer, and at five-foot-seven-inches
I had to stand and look up at him. Now, suddenly it seems, I look down on him. Somehow, I'm taller. He and my mom have become
wee little folk.
But appearances can be deceiving.
Although my parents have shrunk in size they are still my parents. It's a mistake for me to assume that their spirits
and their hearts have shrunk, too. After their support for me this week I realize that Mom and Dad can be caregivers, too,
if I just let them.
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
A Day at the Jersey Shore with Libby and Babe
I called my parents early yesterday morning, and my mom sang "Happy Anniversary" to me while lying in bed. (See yesterday's
blog.)
Since I woke Mom when I called, I told her to go back to sleep after her serenade.
Later on, I called her back. Instead of getting Mom, I got my brother Owsley.
"Where is Mom?" I asked.
"She's out dumpster diving with Pop," Owsley said.
"Dumpster diving!?" I asked, in shock.
"Well, not exactly 'diving,'" Owsley said. "It's the day after Labor Day, and everyone cleans out their houses and apartments.
They leave a lot of things on the curb for the town trash people to pick up. Most of it is worthless, but there's a lot that's
not. Mom and Pop are out cruising the town looking for treasures amidst all the junk."
"Okay," I said, shaking my head. "I'll be curious to see what they come up with. Tell them I'll call back later."
MARTINIS AT THE HINDERLITERS
I called back later in the day. Again I got Owsley.
"Now where are they?" I asked. "Aren't they ever home?"
"Pop's home," Owsley said, chuckling. "He's all worn out from the dumpster diving."
"What did they get?" I asked.
"A really nice lampshade, a serving plate, and a chair. They all have possibilities."
"I'm so happy for them,"
I said. "Where's Mom?"
"The Hinderliters invited her down to their house for martinis," Owsley said.
"It's not exactly cocktail hour," I said. I looked at my watch. It was 3 PM.
"I'll tell her you called," Owsley said.
ELBOW ICING AND AN EVENING PARTY
I called back one last time. This time Dad was having his elbow iced, and Mom and Owsley were watching TV. Owsley was
staying around so he could take my parents out to a party they had been invited to that evening.
Owsley left today for Pennsylvania to help his daughter Curry move her belongings into her residential prep school for
the start of the new school year.
Mom and Dad will be coming to Pennsylvania soon to see an orthopedic surgeon about Dad's elbow. The elbow needs to be
treated, but it's a risky operation since Dad is on the coumadin blood thinner and any cuts and bleeding could easily get
out of control and lead to more serious problems.
BREAKING THE STEREOTYPES
If anyone thinks that all old people lead boring lives, they just have to look at Mom and Dad. They went dumpster diving
in the morning, martini drinking in the afternoon, and partying in the evening. In between, they snoozed and iced Dad's painful
elbow.
It was the last day at the seashore for most of the summer residents, including my niece Curry who worked at an ice cream
shop all summer and for my sister-in-law Teri who spent the summer looking after Curry.
It was a sad day, the end of summer friendships, summer romances, summer good times. People were packing up, cleaning
houses, and saying their good-byes.
My parents were in the middle of it all. Mom is 82 and Dad is almost 89. Mom has Alzheimer's and Dad's body is a mess.
But despite their setbacks, they still know how to live.
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Happy Anniversary!
Today is Janet's and my 37th wedding anniversary.
But who really cares?
I've learned over the years that the only people who care about a couple's anniversary are the couple themselves.
So Janet cares, and I care. But Janet is spending the week in Baltimore, Maryland, running a transportation conference.
And I'm here at home in Apex, North Carolina.
Then I had an inspiration. Our two mothers also cared about our anniversary. They are the romantic souls who went along
with us when we were starry-eyed teenagers who wanted to get married -- in direct opposition to our fathers.
I called Doris Letts, Janet's mom, and she was wonderful. She wished me happy anniversary, and we had a great conversation.
Next it was my mom's turn.
But I was nervous. How would Mom react? Would she react appropriately, or would this be a "bad Alzheimer's day," the
kind that made her seem disconnected and emotionally flat.
I took a deep breath and called Mom.
I woke her up! (This wasn't going well at all.)
"Why did you call me so early?" Mom asked, sounding sleepy and a little cross.
"Well, Mom, you see," I said. "It's Janet's and my anniversary."
"Oh, honey, that's great," Mom said.
She had just woken up. She was still lying in bed. And she immediately began singing "Happy Anniversary" over the phone.
My mother has a beautiful voice. She sang in a dreamy, sleepy voice. It was almost a lullaby. I just sat there listening,
savoring it, not wanting it to ever end.
When she finished, I held the phone against my shoulder and began clapping. I whistled. I cried.
"Thank you, Mom," I said. "Now it really feels like our anniversary."
Friday, September 1, 2006
Where, Oh Where Is Andre Agassi?
Mom is a tennis fanatic. Mom played tennis for almost 70 years (from age 12 to at least age 80). These days she still
watches every tennis match that comes on TV.
Until recently Mom knew all the tennis players. They were her hall of heroes. She was like a tennis database, reeling
off tennis player stats and rankings.
But Mom the tennis whizkid is no more.
I've been following the U.S. Tennis Open in New York, over the past several days. I called Mom yesterday expecting her
to tell me that she was glued to her TV set at the shore in Avalon, NJ.
She wasn't.
When I asked her about the U.S. Open, she said, "I think it's over." (In fact, it is just in its second round.)
This morning I saw that one of Mom and Dad's favorite players, Andre Agassi, had won a spectacular victory last night
against an opponent 15 years younger than him (Marcos Baghdatis from Cyprus), in a thriller that lasted 5 sets and 4 hours.
"Oh, boy!" I thought. "Mom is probably so happy."
I called Mom on the phone and asked her if she and Dad watched tennis last night.
"I think so," she said.
"Who won?" I asked.
"John," Mom said. "John McEnroe."
Oops. John McEnroe retired from pro tennis in 1992.
"Oh?" I said. "Okay."
Then I heard Mom consulting with Dad.
She came back on the line. "No," she said. "It was somebody Bagaddis."
"Baghdatis?" I asked.
More consulting with Dad. Then: "Yes, that's it."
More consulting. Mom said: "And Agassi. Andre Agassi. I used to know all the players. But they have so many new ones,
I don't know them anymore."
NO MEMORY BUT STILL FLASHES OF HER OLD GREAT SELF
I just shook my head. Probably Mom really enjoyed the match last night between Agassi and Baghdatis, but the morning
after, she just doesn't remember it.
I have to remember that she can't take any of her memories with her. We just have to focus on her having "quality of
life" in the moment.
And move on.
And move on we did on the phone this morning. Suddenly Mom's old sense of humor and impishness surfaced when I asked
her about Dad.
"Oh, he's fine," she said. "He's quite a smart aleck these days, so I have to sit on him to make sure he's behaved."
(This thrilled me to hear her talk this way.)
"He's quite a handful," Mom continued. "In fact we both are. Come to think of it, we're not doing too bad for two old
farts."
I heard Dad crack up laughing in the background.
I laughed, too.
"Yes, Mom, you're right," I said. "For two old farts you and Dad are doing great."
