It was a warm sunny day, the morning dew had already burned off the grass. Mom was sleeping as I sat on the sofa in the living room reading a book between appointments. I heard mom begin to rustle and begin her morning ritual of getting out of bed which would eventually end up with her in her chair in the living room.
After a few minutes I heard the bedroom door slide open with it’s familiar thump, and shortly thereafter saw the walker poke out from around kitchen cabinets and very soon mom was in view. She looked curiously around the kitchen as she made her way toward her spot in the living room. I noticed a slight confused look and expression upon her face as she surveyed the living room. She turned the walker and backed up close to the chair and sat down. Looking around some more her eyes betrayed greater confusion, and I said, “Good morning Mom. What are you thinking right now?”
She looked at me then quietly asked, “Where did all the Christmas decorations go?”
The winter town display that graced the top of our kitchen cupboards was gone, there was no garland, no ribbon, and no lights.
“Where is the tree? All the gifts that were there? Where did they go?” She asked with slight concern.
It’s June. The sun is warm and it’s rays pour through the windows. The birds are enjoying the feeder just off the veranda, and all of the lush green leaves are upon the trees once again. Her question lands like a snowflake on this very warm day – out of season, but not without meaning.
I paused, not quite certain in this moment if I should explain the month or acknowledge the memory. Because for her, in that moment, Christmas had not yet happened – she was recalling what we had enjoyed just a few months ago. The family gathered around and decorating the tree, laughter and joking filled the living room, as Mom sat observing with great contentment and joy.
It would seem though that Alzheimer’s doesn’t follow the calendar as closely as we do. It meanders. And on days like today, it loops back to a season that has become a very enjoyable mom as she has participated with us as a family.
I know her question wasn’t just about the décor. It was about disorientation. About trying to stitch together a world that no longer holds its shape. And yet, it was also a window into something tender— maybe it was her growing love for the many Christmas mornings she has shared with our growing family, maybe in another way her mind was simply yearning for something familiar where so little right now seems to stay put.
I smiled and spoke as carefully and gently as I could, “Christmas came, Mom. We celebrated it together as we usually do, the kids, grandchildren, and spouses joined us as they usually do. It was a beautiful time together as a family, and we’ll do it all again when Christmas season arrives in a few months.”
She simply sat back in her chair, raised the foot rest, and wrapped the blanket around her legs and simply said, “I like Christmas.” “Yeah, me too Mom,” I replied.
These moments can be great reminders for me. They can remind me that love isn’t limited by clarity of mind. There is something precious she’s holding on to, remembering, cherishing. I want to let her sit with that and relish in it even if it is the middle of June. Mom’s question was not just about Christmas; even in the midst of confusion it was a reminder that her mind is still reaching for what is good, pleasant, and brings joy.
As I sat with her, I thought about how God, too, meets us in our confusion. When we forget, He remains constant and faithful. When our minds are scattered, His presence is steady. Isaiah 46:4 says, “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you.”
In that moment, I simply asked, “Mom, what is it you like about Christmas?” and let her relive the memories, the moments, and the joys she has experienced over the years.