Beech Tree News Network

I stayed with my stepmom at my sister’s house last week, so she and her husband could take a vacation.  My stepmom has dementia and has caregivers during the day, but she needs someone to stay with her at night.

For the first few days, Mom thought I was her granddaughter.  The caregivers kept correcting her, but she argued with them, and I told them it wasn’t a big deal and to just let it slide.  You know how hard it is for dementia patients to navigate change.

Mom, like others with dementia, is afraid that people will take what belongs to her, so several times a day I took her into her bedroom to show her that her clothes were still in the dresser drawers where they had been the last time we looked.  One of her caregivers said that last month, Mom accused her of stealing the necklace she was wearing from Mom’s jewelry box.  The woman’s grandmother had given it to her.  They argued back and forth a bit, then Mom rose from her chair, walked over to where the caregiver was sitting and brought her cane down hard on the woman’s foot.  The caregiver stood her ground, and Mom said no more.  I’m going to tell you, it takes a special kind of person to take care of the elderly.

I took one of those little potholder looms you get when you’re a kid with me, because I thought it might be something Mom and I could do together.  She would stretch the first set of loops from peg to peg, then I would start the weaving process and let her pull the second set of loops, one at a time, over and under the first set, directing her fingers and holding the loom steady.  She was so proud of the finished product.  We did one potholder each day, and I told her by the time my sister returned, we would be professionals.  She thought that was funny.

One day, Mom and I talked about Dad and the way he laughed at things that were funny to him.  He had a very distinct laugh, and Mom’s eyes lit up when she talked about his laughter.  Shortly after that conversation, her caregiver and I were in the kitchen making lunch.  The woman said something funny, and we started laughing.  

“Stop that laughing!” Mom said.

It is amazing how quickly you can be transported back to your childhood.  As I turned to look at her and saw the frown on her face and the anger in her eyes, all the fear and anxiety I felt as a child in her presence came flooding back in.  But.  This time.  I did not shut down.  I walked over to where she was standing, and I said, “Mom, we were just talking about how much you enjoyed Dad’s laughter.”

“Yes, but your Dad was good,” she said, “and you’re not good.”

“You know what,” I said.  “You are my mom, and I am your daughter, so I think that means I AM good.”

There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.  “You’re my daughter?” she said.  

“Yes,” I said.  “I am your daughter, and you are my mother.”

She repeated what I said.  “I am your mother, and you are my daughter.”

“Yes,” I said.

She repeated it again, then again.  She began to cry.  She put her arms around me and said, “You are my family!”

It was at once the sweetest and the saddest moment we had ever shared.  She never had another cross word to say the rest of the time I was there.

One evening after we had eaten, I noticed a set of Bible story books on the bookshelf.  I pulled one down.  “Do you remember how you read us Bible stories every night when we were little girls?” I asked.

She broke into a smile.  “I sure do,” she said.

“Would it be okay if I read one to you?” I asked.  She nodded her head, so I began to read.  I read one, then another and another.  After each story, she said, “Isn’t that good!”

The next story was about David and Goliath.  I handed the book to Mom.  “Why don’t you read this one,” I said.

She read slowly at first, then she found her rhythm, and we took turns reading to each other.

Lying in bed that night, I remembered what Garey’s mom, Aggie, used to say about birth and old age.  “Twice a child,” she observed. 

I realized that my mom and I had come full circle.