“ Oh , Sandy ’ s a hottie !”
We were visiting my ninety-year-old mother in the facility where she has lived for more than a year . John , eighty-eight , had been in the hospital with a bladder infection and not seen her in a month . A large and sedentary man , John could barely walk , and seems determined to ride out the rest of his life in the expensive hydraulic lounger she had bought him as a present . My mother , in contrast , is a tiny bag of bones , shrunken to the point that her dentures no longer fit , so she does without them .
John , her live-in boyfriend for more than twenty years , is my mother ’ s anchor , and when Alzheimer ’ s has cast your mind adrift , you need one . She was diagnosed in 2016 , and that summer , she turned her anger-fronted fear on the world . My mother had been a nurse at a well-known Baltimore nursing home — she knew exactly where she was headed .
Even the best old age is a succession of terrifying losses . Your senses dull or disappear altogether . The olfactory nerve takes no notice of the rotting garbage in the kitchen trash can , night-driving becomes a superpower , reaching the toilet in time feels like victory . With each passing year , bodily failures chip at the crumbling edifice of your independence . And the funerals rain down like autumn leaves , until you are left with the last stubborn or genetically blessed peers who have stayed , like you , fast to the tree . You can no longer pretend that you will never die . Alzheimer ’ s erasures are more profound . The brain cells ’ proteins clump and tangle , disrupting vital functions . These abnormalities spread slowly , and then rapidly , throughout the shrinking brain . You lose your short-term memory , your ability to find your words and eventually , coherent thought . You lose that which is you .
My mother was a very funny person who wielded sarcasm like a machete . She was also kind , loving , intensely social and above all else , a helper . There wasn ’ t a kid she would not scoop up and adopt as another grandchild , no dog or cat that wouldn ’ t fit on her lap . There were no strangers in a restaurant , just new friends who had ordered something that looked really delicious . When people were at their most troubled , they reached out to my mother , knowing that she would not judge them , or turn them away . We grew up in a household that welcomed all . My mother employed a straight more-the-merrier strategy for social occasions . There was no party for ten that couldn ’ t be made better with the addition of ten or twenty more people .
She didn ’ t really get Facebook , but then , she didn ’ t need to . Long before Mark Zuckerberg was born , my mother had a network second to none . Every weekday evening after dinner , I remember my mother making school lunches , on the phone with her friends , catching up on the day ’ s events . I can still see the long telephone cord sweeping back and forth , brushing the floor like a jump-rope — which , as my mother would tell you , she was once very good at .
And now , as I walk beside my mother on her last journey , what interests me is what remains . And for her , it is love . My mother looked at John for two beats . “ We haven ’ t been together for a long time .” “ Yes , dear , we had our fun ,” he agrees . Ophelia was moved . “ I wish I had someone to love me like that .” For about three months , on two separate occasions , my mother stayed with my husband and me in Rhode Island . She had been living on bananas , Boost and chocolate chip cookies , and her weight had dropped to double digits ; John was frightened and overwhelmed .
Whenever someone in a difficult caregiving situation , like caring for a medically fragile child or a spouse with a stroke , spoke about how grateful they were for the experience , how it broadened them , or taught them about the important things in life , I would nod in agreement , thinking : “ You ’ re lying .” Or , “ If you say so , but I certainly never want to learn that !” Now , having learned it , I know that it is true . I spent those months trying to juggle my job , my family , my house and my mom . The days began with a quick trip to the senior center to sign her up for the morning fitness class before all the spots were taken , come home and get my mother showered , dressed and breakfasted , and ferry her to the senior center . That took two hours . The days ended with a frightening climb up the ten treads of my staircase to the guest bedroom , where I ’ d fight with my mother to take out her dentures so that I could clean them , put in her eyedrops and tuck her into bed . In between , I ’ d try to tempt her appetite with
80 RHODE ISLAND MONTHLY l MAY 2022