My mother suffered at least 13 years from Alzheimer's. We suffered too, my father, my sister and I. Alzheimer's is not just an individual affliction, but rather, afflicts everyone with whom it comes in contact.
My first clue that Mother was developing dementia was a worried phone call from Daddy. I'm ashamed to admit that I did not take his worries seriously. Mother had always been paranoid, short tempered and resistant to logic in general.
My reaction was something along the lines of, "So what else is new?" Then I suggested that he call Bill and have him send out a video player and some old movies. "Try to get her to watch some movies." I said. "Maybe you can even watch some together."
Daddy was pretty much house bound with congestive heart failure by then. Now, I shudder to think what it must have been like for him, sick and weak, and trapped in that house with Mother. On the day he called, I had no idea that he would be dead two short weeks later.
After his death, it became painfully clear why Daddy had been worried about Mother's mind. The general messiness of her lifelong personality disorder was now exacerbated by confusion, forgetfulness, frenzied agitation and fear.
Daddy had always been the only person who could sort of half way keep a lid on Mother. With Daddy gone, she was wild!
Alone in the house, she became a danger to herself. No matter how many times I took her numerous prescriptions down to the pharmacy so Dr. Overton could sort the pills and put them back in the right containers, Mother would, just as often, pour them all out in a bowl again and eat them like M & Ms.
She was still driving too. I cringed every time I saw her driving in town with that wild look in her eyes.
Finally, after two trips to the hospital (both drug related) my sister and I were done.
Fortunately, she had signed over power of attorney to my sister and me while Daddy was still alive. We arranged for her to live in Greenfield, an assisted living facility a couple of miles from her house.
We cleaned her house out and sold it. We sold the cars and Daddy's lawn tractor. We kept a few of her antiques and gave everything else away.
She was able to take her own bedroom furniture and favorite chair to her new bedroom at Greenfield.
When she realized what was going on, she was, naturally, furious at first. But eventually she settled down and became at least as content at Greenfield as she could have been anywhere else.
And there was actually one benefit to her Alzheimer's. As her memory got worse, her mood got better. She seemed to forget whatever had made her the angry, paranoid, and sharp tongued woman I had always known. She became a simple, eager to please, charming little girl who still lived with her mama and daddy, sister and brothers, in Sugar Tree, Tennessee.
Several times a week, I'd go over to Greenfield after lunch and take a nap with her. She would already be in her big old double bed and I'd say, "I've come to take a nap with you." "Well, alright," she'd say, and move over. She had no idea who I was. But she was always accommodating and willing to share her bed with me.
One day, I knew I shouldn't but I couldn't stop myself. I had to ask her, "Mother, do you know who I am?" Then I sat and watched her face, for what seemed like the longest time. I could see the cogs grinding ever so slowly behind her puzzled eyes. She looked troubled.
Then suddenly, she brightened and sat up straight. Her face lit up with a genuine smile. "Yes!" she said, triumphantly. "You're somebody who's good to me, "
That is my happiest memory of Mother.
Be Well and Good Luck,
Martha Maria