My Mom My Hero: Alzheimer's - A Mother and Daughter's Bittersweet Journey by Hirsch, R. (mind reading books .txt) 📗

so I and my husband and two children and grandchildren go on and remember the times when they were here with us and the smiles and love they gave. It will get better as time heals. Advice is cheap, but the one thing I can say is love each moment and make it precious to both of you. You will thank yourself for that someday. My heart goes out to you, along with my prayers.

—Serena

Lisa,

Thank you for sharing your world. My heart goes out to you and I think it wonderful the amount of people you touch by sharing so unselfishly all that you feel and experience.

—Linda

Thanks for sharing, Lisa. For folks like us, every day is Alzheimer’s Day. Keep the posts coming. Your stories are amazing, and you are helping spread awareness. Thank you.

—Homewatch CareGivers Columbus

August 25, 2011

Life Is Short—Be Happy

The picture above is from a birthday we celebrated together two years ago, while I was visiting my mom in Florida. Today she turned eighty-eight years young. This year I remained in New York during her birthday (which was yesterday). The best I could do was send her a special birthday card filled with much love and affection and to sing her the “Happy Birthday” song. As we approached her birthday, it was in many ways quite different.

The week started when my mom’s caregiver Trudy called around 8:30 a.m. to tell me that she phoned for an ambulance to take Mom to the hospital. She had cleared the decision with my brother Gil.

When she arrived, she found Ruthie to be a little disoriented and complaining terribly about pain in her neck. Trudy discovered that my mom had several bruises and black and blue marks on her arms, wrists, and fingers. We all wondered what had happened to her, and since she could not tell us, we all assumed that Mom must have fallen down.

The medics arrived, and Ruthie was at least able to tell them her birth date and her name as they strapped her to a stretcher and placed her in the ambulance. Several hours later when I spoke to the emergency room doctor, they were discharging Mom and sending her home. The doctor said that they ran many tests, with X-rays, an MRI, urine, and blood, and he was pleased to say that everything was normal. Yes, in the doctor’s world, “normal,” and in ours, “except for having Alzheimer’s.” Thankfully, nothing appeared to be broken.

I spoke to everyone several times that day from the hospital and later when Mom was back at home. The next two days she appeared to be so weak that she had trouble walking to the bathroom. We had her caregivers, who normally stay for twelve hours, sleep over with her for several days. By day three, Mom was starting to bounce back. She was walking much better and started laughing and singing along with me as we practiced her birthday song.

What struck me the most with this week was the several comments my mom had made about life and being alive. The day she came back home from the hospital, she was rambling on about things that made absolutely no sense. When I mentioned that she was in the hospital, she said, “No, I was never in the hospital.” I thought that all the strange things she was describing were in some way related to the nurses, the X-ray machines, the fear of being in an ambulance, things that she was not able to express. Yet as clear as day, my mom, in between speed-talking, said to me, “Life is short, so you just need to remember to be happy.” I hung up the phone, turned to my husband with amazement, and thought how profound it was what my mom had just said.

The next day, somewhere in our conversation, Mom said to me that she wanted to be alive. With lightness in my voice, I told her that she was very alive, for to whom else was I speaking? Finally on the day before her birthday, as we practiced singing her birthday song. As we got to the end of, “How old are you now, how old are you now?” Mom answered with, “Old enough to be alive, and thank God.”

All these phrases she kept saying about life and living only left me to wonder what she had felt was happening to her this week. These are feelings that she can no longer share or express for they just disappear from her memory. All the things she described to me, I truly believe for her, were a statement of wanting to live. Mom was not ready to die.

So, Mom, I toast you on your birthday. As you just recently said to me, I will remember that “life is short, so we need to be happy.” Yes, my sweet, loving mom, once again your words become wisdom to my ears. I just want to wish you a very Happy Birthday, and to let you know how very much I love and cherish you. I do not know how many more we will be able to celebrate together, yet for number eighty-eight, it stays in my heart as a very special one.

COMMENTS

Happy birthday to your mom, Lisa. This blog is special. The love you show is special, and it made my day.

—Joyce

This post brought tears to my eyes. I’m the caregiver of a terminally ill parent. Thank God, she is still very much alert and mentally active, although confusion is one of the major symptoms of her disease (multiple myeloma). As many of her other faculties diminish (more quickly as of late), I find myself sometimes startled by the emotional intensity of some of our exchanges—always loving and honest. My mother has always been the strength and heart of our family, so I feel I owe her all the care and consideration I can muster. I was struck by the strong resonance I