That's Not My Mother!

Elderly Parents

We think about it as we ourselves get older. We have all seen images of elderly people, incapacitated by degree and in need of care. These are the images we feed on and consider to be the norm. Occasionally we see an image of a sprightly old fellow with a smile on his face, but he is always singled out as being the exception.

It is our expectation that our elderly parents will become confused and frail we may expect them to develop early Alzheimer's symptoms. In fact that is our hope for them as their death is something we do not like to face. We have two options in life: To grow old or die. Most prefer the former. We prefer it for our loved ones, but at what price?

I spent five years watching an elderly woman I called my mother, but whom I no longer knew, slowly taken away from me.  I saw occasional glimpses of the wonderful joyous and generous Soul she was, but soon after her early Azheimer's symptoms appeared the disease developed quickly and they became few and far between.

I remember the day I drove towards home after my daily visit to the facility in which she lived. It struck me with a jolt and I clenched the steering wheel. 

"That's not my mother!"

I couldn't drive for the tears streaming from my eyes and pulled over to think about this discovery. My mother had been gone a long time and I hadn't realized it. 

Alzheimer's Disease had replaced her. Stupid as it may seem I couldn't help thinking of that movie "Invasion of the body snatchers" where facsimiles of people arise from seed pods. People who are not who they look like. The particular scene in the dry cleaners where the Chinese gentleman utters emphatically to the hero "That not my wife," came clearly to me and I laughed through the tears. My Mom loved that movie too.

She had gone from us all. A gradual withdrawal from life, while remaining with a fairly stoic body. I hadn't even noticed what was really happening. I remembered the diagnosis of early Alzheimer's symptoms, but  I had just called it "confusion" and looked no further. That was my word to bring a convenient understanding to her state. It was a word that fitted my expectations; those we are all fed with. That is what happens with elderly parents after all.

I cursed my self for being oblivious to the change. Its an insidious condition that comes from behind you and one day drives a sharp dagger of realization between the shoulder blades. 

It hit me hard and the guilt poured from my Soul.

I would visit for longer and I would not try to steer a pointless conversation from the one we had thirty seconds ago to something new. I would say the same things over and over and I would never mind doing that again. I would bring her gifts and flowers and tend to all her needs.

Guilty, guilty. But whose fault is it really? What could I have done?

I sat in my car on the edge of the road for quite some time wondering what I could have done, until I heard her in my mind say "Just get on with it. There's no looking back". 

Such a pragmatic woman she was and I knew she probably understood very well, although she could no longer articulate the fact.

So I tried right then and there to think only of what good there had been in this uncontrolled spiral into confusion. The family had rallied and her grandchildren had proven worthy of her love. They showed love and compassion during her illness and I think they grew from this. That was her last of great many lessons to them.

How could I wring some good from this all? 

Guilt is a good motivator.

I thought back over her more lucid times. She had placed herself in a good position many years ahead by purchasing an independent living flat, which was part of, but separated from, a large nursing home. A foot in the door I used to call it.