Sunday, September 11, 2005
"It disgusts me!"
After retiring around midnight, Mom was up again around 0100, somewhat disconcerted and agitated. I met her in the bathroom (I am super tuned to hearing her move around after she's retired). "Is your stomach bothering you?" I asked.
"No," she said, "but I haven't been to sleep. I've got the visit on my mind."
I assumed she was referring to MCS's & MCBIL's upcoming visit in October. We've been talking about this a lot. She's so excited about it she hasn't forgotton it.
"No, I know all about that," she corrected. "I'm wondering about the letter I got a few days ago. The one about the folks coming. Where are we going to put them? And, are the men coming?"
I immediately understood that she was talking about her folks. It sounded, as well, as though she was talking about not only her parents but her sister, brother and their families. I guessed that she was harkening back to a former family reunion that probably took place before I was a gleam in her eye. Just to make sure, I queried her about who she expects to visit.
"Everyone," she said. "Your folks, my folks..."
"Well Mom," I said, thinking this was one of those flights of fancy about which I should correct her, "You're my folk, you're my mom and you're already here. My father, you're husband, is dead, so I don't think he'll be visiting."
She sneered at me. "Well, I know that. But there are my folks, you know, and everyone else. I know DU is dead too, but what about the other folks? And the other men?"
Ahhh, I realized. We're in the Partially Not Dead Zone. I've lately discovered that there is more than one Not Dead Zone. In one of these zones those with whom she's had somewhat difficult and often volatile relationships, which are surprisingly few, remain dead but those with whom she's had delightful relationships which engender longing within her for their continued presence are alive. I satisfied myself that further correction was definitely necessary at this time.
"I'll tell you what, Mom. Why don't you come out into the living room, I'll heat up some water for coffee for you and we'll discuss all this."
"That's a good idea. I need to get this straight in my mind."
Once we were settled I pulled out the Who's Dead sheet and began the Litany of the Deceased. As usual, she was stunned that so many were "gone" and that among her immediate, born into family she was "the only one left". I corrected her memory of receiving a recent letter about an upcoming visit and suggested that she may be confusing this with MCS's and MCBIL's impending visit. I joked with her a little about "the men" thing in order to establish a humorous connection between her concern about "the men" and her mother's deep-into-dementia concern about "where are the men", taking care to point out that although the similarities are interesting, Mom is nowhere near Grandma's descent into The Land of Dementia and likely won't be following Grandma's path.
This episode of Dead Zone phasing surprised me a bit. Earlier yesterday she initiated a conversation about how sorry she was that her sister and brother had died so early in her life. We talked about how long it had been, how old they were when they died and how and why they died. She was pretty much on the money about all these details.
I decided to do a little out loud speculation with her. "You know Mom," I began, "I think your memory phasing must happen more frequently when you're tired. Earlier today you had no trouble remembering that a lot of people had died. Now, tonight, while you were settling into sleep, all these people are alive again and coming to visit." Although I didn't mention it, I wondered if this episode was also connected to us watching, immediately previous to her retiring, part of the movie Dead Again.
She flashed me a startled look of recognition. "I believe you may be right," she said, "but I wish I could remember these things all the time."
I found myself switching tracks. "What difference does it make?" I asked. "You remember what you need to rememeber. I'm here to remind you of those things you don't remember but which would clear up confusion for you if you did remember them. I mean, let's face it. You're functional within your life. I'm here to help you negotiate the areas that are a little hazy for you. The truth is, sometimes it doesn't matter whether you remember who's dead and who's not. Are you afraid of your creative memory?"
"I like the way you put that, 'creative'," she said.
"Well, I don't see any reason to call it "failing". I mean, the stuff you forget is usually stuff that is window dressing."
"Usually," she repeated.
I decided to be completely up front. I'm here. She can take it. "Yeah, well, you know, very occasionally, like during your colonoscopy, you don't remember where you are are what's being done to you. That type of short term memory loss can cause problems which is one of the reasons I don't allow you to be victimized by those types of procedures anymore. But for the most part you know where you are. Even if you don't remember some people when you're not in their presence, your history with them floods back when you are and you remember all your significant relatives whether or not you remember that they're dead. As far as daily routines are concerned, I'm here to remind you of those and I don't have a problem with you not remembering the unpleasant ones, like me cleaning you after a bowel movement. So, you know, don't worry about your creative memory. It's not a problem, for you or for me."
Her face was screwed up with some kind of difficulty.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
"It disgusts me!" She spit the verb out like it was sawdust.
"Whoa! Why does it disgust you?"
"I should be able to remember those things, who's dead, who's not..."
I took curious note that she didn't include, "...why you clean me after bowel movements..."
"Okay," I said, "tell me why you 'should' remember those things."
She considered this for some minutes. "Well, I don't know, it just seems as though I should."
"Mom," I said, "let me tell you something. Despite all the propaganda, very, very few people your age have memories that are as sharp and clear as when they were in their 60's or 40's or 20's. I always find it disconcerting when people describe Ancients in their nineties or early hundreds as 'sharp as a tack'. People used to say that about Grandpa [my mother's Dad] when he was in his nineties. You know what I remember? Yes, he mostly knew where he was and, yes, he remembered who people were but he didn't remember to do the business of his and Grandma's life, which is why they were moved in with your sister's family. Neither did Grandma. He had to be reminded of daily things just like you. He told the same stories over and over and over and it often seemed to me as though he was telling them as though they'd just happened. You know what else I remember? He didn't care.
"The one area he did usually remember is who was dead and who wasn't. But you know what? Dwelling on that is one of the things that took him out. Remember when he died? One of his regular litanies was that 'everyone was gone'. Everyone wasn't gone. Grandma was alive and fairly functional. Children and grandchildren were alive and vibrant. He was still chatting up anyone who would listen and usually people listened because, you know, when Grandpa spoke, people listened. What he was mourning was that all his peers are gone. Well, I say, so what? If some people are gone then you look around to see who's left. Grandpa didn't do that. He might have lived to be a hundred if he had. I'm not saying that one 'should' or 'shouldn't' dwell on one thing or another. And, you know, maybe one of the signals that one is close to death is that a person begins to mourn those who aren't around anymore; maybe it's natural and is 'supposed' [I drew quotation marks in the air] to happen. What I'm saying is that you, personally, are probably better off because you remember the dead as being alive. Your dreams are full of happy times and treasured relationships. So are your memories. Don't grieve what you can't control about your memory. Be glad that your memory isn't yet turning dour like Grandpa's. Knowing you, it probably never will. You're lucky. You've got very pleasant, very in the moment memories of your life. Celebrate that. Don't let all those 'shoulds' spoil your pleasure or your life."
She listened intently to me. "I think you've got something there."
Both of us were silent while she continued to consider what I'd said. She finalized our conversation thus: "Well, I still want to go over that list [The Dead Zone list] tomorrow."
"Okay," I said. "Not a problem. It's right here. We'll go over it tomorrow."
And, we will.
If she remembers.
[NOTE 1: Of course, as always, assume that we both said the gist of everything I recorded above but that quite a bit of it is paraphrased. Understand, it's a memory problem...
NOTE 2: She finally went back to bed around 0115. I'm going to allow a late rising this morning, er, afternoon. Talk about creative memory; what about creative days!?!]
"No," she said, "but I haven't been to sleep. I've got the visit on my mind."
I assumed she was referring to MCS's & MCBIL's upcoming visit in October. We've been talking about this a lot. She's so excited about it she hasn't forgotton it.
"No, I know all about that," she corrected. "I'm wondering about the letter I got a few days ago. The one about the folks coming. Where are we going to put them? And, are the men coming?"
I immediately understood that she was talking about her folks. It sounded, as well, as though she was talking about not only her parents but her sister, brother and their families. I guessed that she was harkening back to a former family reunion that probably took place before I was a gleam in her eye. Just to make sure, I queried her about who she expects to visit.
"Everyone," she said. "Your folks, my folks..."
"Well Mom," I said, thinking this was one of those flights of fancy about which I should correct her, "You're my folk, you're my mom and you're already here. My father, you're husband, is dead, so I don't think he'll be visiting."
She sneered at me. "Well, I know that. But there are my folks, you know, and everyone else. I know DU is dead too, but what about the other folks? And the other men?"
Ahhh, I realized. We're in the Partially Not Dead Zone. I've lately discovered that there is more than one Not Dead Zone. In one of these zones those with whom she's had somewhat difficult and often volatile relationships, which are surprisingly few, remain dead but those with whom she's had delightful relationships which engender longing within her for their continued presence are alive. I satisfied myself that further correction was definitely necessary at this time.
"I'll tell you what, Mom. Why don't you come out into the living room, I'll heat up some water for coffee for you and we'll discuss all this."
"That's a good idea. I need to get this straight in my mind."
Once we were settled I pulled out the Who's Dead sheet and began the Litany of the Deceased. As usual, she was stunned that so many were "gone" and that among her immediate, born into family she was "the only one left". I corrected her memory of receiving a recent letter about an upcoming visit and suggested that she may be confusing this with MCS's and MCBIL's impending visit. I joked with her a little about "the men" thing in order to establish a humorous connection between her concern about "the men" and her mother's deep-into-dementia concern about "where are the men", taking care to point out that although the similarities are interesting, Mom is nowhere near Grandma's descent into The Land of Dementia and likely won't be following Grandma's path.
This episode of Dead Zone phasing surprised me a bit. Earlier yesterday she initiated a conversation about how sorry she was that her sister and brother had died so early in her life. We talked about how long it had been, how old they were when they died and how and why they died. She was pretty much on the money about all these details.
I decided to do a little out loud speculation with her. "You know Mom," I began, "I think your memory phasing must happen more frequently when you're tired. Earlier today you had no trouble remembering that a lot of people had died. Now, tonight, while you were settling into sleep, all these people are alive again and coming to visit." Although I didn't mention it, I wondered if this episode was also connected to us watching, immediately previous to her retiring, part of the movie Dead Again.
She flashed me a startled look of recognition. "I believe you may be right," she said, "but I wish I could remember these things all the time."
I found myself switching tracks. "What difference does it make?" I asked. "You remember what you need to rememeber. I'm here to remind you of those things you don't remember but which would clear up confusion for you if you did remember them. I mean, let's face it. You're functional within your life. I'm here to help you negotiate the areas that are a little hazy for you. The truth is, sometimes it doesn't matter whether you remember who's dead and who's not. Are you afraid of your creative memory?"
"I like the way you put that, 'creative'," she said.
"Well, I don't see any reason to call it "failing". I mean, the stuff you forget is usually stuff that is window dressing."
"Usually," she repeated.
I decided to be completely up front. I'm here. She can take it. "Yeah, well, you know, very occasionally, like during your colonoscopy, you don't remember where you are are what's being done to you. That type of short term memory loss can cause problems which is one of the reasons I don't allow you to be victimized by those types of procedures anymore. But for the most part you know where you are. Even if you don't remember some people when you're not in their presence, your history with them floods back when you are and you remember all your significant relatives whether or not you remember that they're dead. As far as daily routines are concerned, I'm here to remind you of those and I don't have a problem with you not remembering the unpleasant ones, like me cleaning you after a bowel movement. So, you know, don't worry about your creative memory. It's not a problem, for you or for me."
Her face was screwed up with some kind of difficulty.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
"It disgusts me!" She spit the verb out like it was sawdust.
"Whoa! Why does it disgust you?"
"I should be able to remember those things, who's dead, who's not..."
I took curious note that she didn't include, "...why you clean me after bowel movements..."
"Okay," I said, "tell me why you 'should' remember those things."
She considered this for some minutes. "Well, I don't know, it just seems as though I should."
"Mom," I said, "let me tell you something. Despite all the propaganda, very, very few people your age have memories that are as sharp and clear as when they were in their 60's or 40's or 20's. I always find it disconcerting when people describe Ancients in their nineties or early hundreds as 'sharp as a tack'. People used to say that about Grandpa [my mother's Dad] when he was in his nineties. You know what I remember? Yes, he mostly knew where he was and, yes, he remembered who people were but he didn't remember to do the business of his and Grandma's life, which is why they were moved in with your sister's family. Neither did Grandma. He had to be reminded of daily things just like you. He told the same stories over and over and over and it often seemed to me as though he was telling them as though they'd just happened. You know what else I remember? He didn't care.
"The one area he did usually remember is who was dead and who wasn't. But you know what? Dwelling on that is one of the things that took him out. Remember when he died? One of his regular litanies was that 'everyone was gone'. Everyone wasn't gone. Grandma was alive and fairly functional. Children and grandchildren were alive and vibrant. He was still chatting up anyone who would listen and usually people listened because, you know, when Grandpa spoke, people listened. What he was mourning was that all his peers are gone. Well, I say, so what? If some people are gone then you look around to see who's left. Grandpa didn't do that. He might have lived to be a hundred if he had. I'm not saying that one 'should' or 'shouldn't' dwell on one thing or another. And, you know, maybe one of the signals that one is close to death is that a person begins to mourn those who aren't around anymore; maybe it's natural and is 'supposed' [I drew quotation marks in the air] to happen. What I'm saying is that you, personally, are probably better off because you remember the dead as being alive. Your dreams are full of happy times and treasured relationships. So are your memories. Don't grieve what you can't control about your memory. Be glad that your memory isn't yet turning dour like Grandpa's. Knowing you, it probably never will. You're lucky. You've got very pleasant, very in the moment memories of your life. Celebrate that. Don't let all those 'shoulds' spoil your pleasure or your life."
She listened intently to me. "I think you've got something there."
Both of us were silent while she continued to consider what I'd said. She finalized our conversation thus: "Well, I still want to go over that list [The Dead Zone list] tomorrow."
"Okay," I said. "Not a problem. It's right here. We'll go over it tomorrow."
And, we will.
If she remembers.
[NOTE 1: Of course, as always, assume that we both said the gist of everything I recorded above but that quite a bit of it is paraphrased. Understand, it's a memory problem...
NOTE 2: She finally went back to bed around 0115. I'm going to allow a late rising this morning, er, afternoon. Talk about creative memory; what about creative days!?!]
