When Dementia Fades

Solitary older woman looking lonely

August always ends with a flurry. Parents get kids ready to go back to school and everyone else shakes summer brain and goes to work. We hunker down waiting for the cool breeze of fall, the leaves to change, and the year begin to end.

MY MOM

Mom was born September 21, 1924 and passed away October 13, 2022. In almost 100 years she lived a million lives: immigrant, daughter, mother, wife, volunteer, friend, sister, aunt, grandmother and great-grandmother. She was both practical and frivolous, she was courageous and timid. When my oldest brother and I were toddlers and she was pregnant with my middle brother, my dad was drafted. He drove us to Alaska from Missouri. On the way, the car broke down and he left us with my mom in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness while he went for help. When I found out about this, I asked my mom if she had been afraid. She answered: "What else were we going to do?"

TOUGH COOKIE—SORT OF

I thought mom was a badass. When I was a kid she could stop our mischief with a look. She handled six kids, housework, family budget and my dad's business books without breaking a sweat. When my dad passed, she took herself to the Antarctica. Again I asked if she had been scared. This time her response melted my heart. She and my dad had promised one another to step foot on every continent in the world. He didn't make it to Antartica, so she went for both of them.

A ROMANTIC AT HEART

That was my first clue that beneath mom's stoic German exterior, there was a romantic girl. It turns out that she loved romance novels, flowers, and dressing up. Looking back, I realize she was a bit of a flirt when my dad was alive. In the hospital he called her his girlfriend and I swear she blushed.

One day I took her for our favorite girl outing—hot wings and Margaritas. As she licked a bit of salt from the rim of her glass, she said: "Can't you ever write a book without bodies?" I told her I could, and the challenge was on.

I presented her with The Bailey Devlin Trilogy on her 89th birthday: three sweet, funny rom-coms. No one gets murdered, there are no crime scenes, just love, confusion, family, and the joy of figuring it all out. Bailey was me in my younger days, Seymour, my grandfather (mom's father), and Bailey's mother was the romantic side of my mom. When Bailey's mom reveals what she knows about love, Bailey sees the light. She is at peace, she is happy, she makes the right choice of man, just like my mom and I did.

THE FORGETTING

Mom loved Bailey Devlin, but by the time she was ninety-three she had forgotten the gift. She had forgotten a lot. Dementia had reared it's ugly head. Perhaps it was the beginning of Alzheimers. Perhaps mom was just wearing out. After much discussion (with her and my siblings) we moved her to a lovely place near my two brothers in Missouri. They could care for her much better than I. My sister moved there to help. Mom didn't want to go; I didn't want her to go. Still, it was for the best. Then Covid hit and the lockdown was devastating for her spirit. Her memory tumbled down a dark and lonely hole and no matter how hard we tried, the lifelines we threw were not long enough to pull her out.

WHAT CAN YOU DO?

I traveled to see her as often as I could. The last time was in September of the year she died. She was in a wheelchair. I sat with her in her room and watched family videos on the TV, the family she didn't know anymore, frolicking in a backyard of a long-gone home. I took her to the beautiful common area and we sat together in front of the big fireplace. I talked to her, filling her in on Steve and the boys. I pretended she was there with me. I kept a smile on my face while my heart broke. She stared at nothing and remained silent.

LIKE A BOOK

On the last day I was with her, I noticed the blanket on her lap had slipped. I stood up to fix it, saying something, keeping my voice low. I will never know what made me look up, at the same moment she did. Her eyes sparkled. She smiled a delighted smile and said:

 "Oh, it's you."

I answered, half laughing:

"Yes, mom. It's me."

Ten seconds later, the twinkle in her eye faded and the smile drained away. I have never felt such pure love. I hope she felt me loving her back. That was ten seconds in September. Hre birthday month. The special month. The month when I felt a lifetime of love in seconds.

Hug the person who needs ten seconds of love today.