Monday Mom Day

It was sometime in 2015, seeing signs of changes in Mom's abilities, Monika and I decided to set Monday mornings aside to pop in on her. Mom was delighted, of course! She had the table set in pretty dishes with home made sweets and fruit salad in dainty tea cups, waiting when we walked in the door. I had no idea how fleeting these days would be; bitter sweet tears welling in my eyes now as Mondays have evolved to times where we just tackle the most obvious thing that needs doing. Coffee and sweets forgotten. Sometimes we both go, sometimes just one of us goes, but Mom does not recognize time any more, so when we both can't make it she does not even know. 

Let me share with you the gist of what I wrote last week ...

When I got there, she was mixing batter for pancakes to feed "the kids" (pictures on the fridge). I looked at Abe and he just looked at me, tired of this scenario.  Because this was becoming a problem, I decided it was time to remove the fifty or so family photos, mostly children, that were smiling at her every day. In a way it made me sad to think I was removing the memory of them, but I'm not sure anymore if that is how it goes. Before I got there she and I had planned that we would bake buns so, if I was expecting anything it would have had to do with starting to get those ingredients out, but this is my new mom. I went ahead and found everything I needed. When I started putting pans of buns into the oven, Abe left to get groceries, so I stayed until he was back. 

Being in mom's kitchen gives me a chance to tidy up the most oddly cluttered counter and fridge. It's hard for her to remember how and where and for how long to store food. While I cook I can clean up and dispose without her really knowing. At least, so I thought, when suddenly on this Monday she wrapped her arms around me and thanked me. She said she loved cooking with me. I told her I'd help her as long as I could. It was a rare jewel of a moment where I felt I had her back. 

These days, when she has called, it has usually been out of frustration at her new reality. Of course, she does not know it's new. She thinks that anything strange she does, is something that she has always done and that we are the ones who are coming up with new concepts ... such as that pictures are not real people. In her mind they are "present" in her kitchen and she feels guilty for not being allowed to serve them. She feels sad that they have to sit there and watch her eat. And as we try to talk her through it, she feels shame when she gets the feeling that we think she's gone mad.

As I was writing about my day I realized how much Mom still feels. In the midst of her confusion, she apologizes for disappointing us.  She thanks us. She feels joy, pain, anger, shame and pride ... and it dawned on me that with all she is losing, feelings are not on the forgotten list. 

Thinking about this consoles and yet breaks my heart for her as I suddenly know how I don't want to make her feel. If I can use the time we have left to make her feel proud, joyful, needed and accepted for just who she is, even if she is not like who she was, maybe we'll be able to work things out on this path of learning, where every week can be different. 

This week she pulled out an old photo album and pointed out precious memories to me, page after page. 

Paper was paper. Memories were memories. She said I had made her day. She made mine.