I expect it must be terrifying to lose your memory—the disorientation, the inability to recall faces, names, or the context of a moment in time you once knew so well.
Lynn and I have been home from our anniversary trip for just over a week. We’ve been caring for life here at the house “as per our normal.” However, last evening as Mom and I sat in the living room, alone in the quiet, she softly asked, “Are Greg and Lynn arriving home tonight?”
As I looked into her eyes, there was no recognition. No acknowledgement that I was in fact Greg, her son, that she was speaking with. Whatever once connected us in her mind seemed to be lost again in this moment.
Before responding, I paused and wondered, what memories remain, and which are lost? if I correct her here now, how is that going to impact her? & does it really matter?
There was a time I might have corrected her. But I’ve learned over the course of these past 8 years, that the “truth” can sometimes do more harm than good. So I smiled and said gently, “Yes, they got home a little while ago.”
She relaxed. And in that moment, that was enough.
I have come to understand that Alzheimer’s is a slow and sorrowful goodbye. But within the fading memory, there are still moments—moments of connection, of grace, and of love that transcends memory. As caregivers, we have learned to let go of needing to be remembered, and instead offer presence. To be present in her time of need as someone who is constant and dependable. I think compassion matters more than correction and my loving mom well means entering into her world rather than insisting she stay in mine.
#livingwithalzheimers
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