My mom forgot my name
Mar 9th, 2008 by spaceagesage
A few days ago, my mom could not come up with my name when her eye doctor asked, “So who is this with you today?”
She said, “This is my daughter.”
Both the doctor and I waited for her to give my name, but she said nothing.
I said, “So what is my name?”
She couldn’t answer. A bit of discomfort crossed her face, and then it was gone as her thoughts focused on the doctor and what was going on in the office.
Not only did she forget my name, she promptly forgot that she forgot.
My mom suffered a stroke and a TIA years ago and is fairly high functioning, but sometimes the onset of Alzheimer’s, combined with the loss of sequencing skills from the stroke, leave her in a very Zen-like state of mind. She has a past, present, and future, but her mind forgets so many things from a few seconds ago, that life for her is very much “in the moment.”
A few days previously, she had a craving for a fast-food burger, and it was one of those kinds of things she gets stuck in her mind and won’t let go of it. I took her to a Wendy’s drive-thru, but for some reason the chicken sandwiches on the huge menu board called to her and, despite my reminding her that she really wanted a burger, she got a chicken sandwich. I triple-checked with her that the chicken was what she really wanted. We drove a few miles to a scenic overlook and parked the car to eat and look at the view. I pulled out her wrapped up sandwich and handed it to her.
She peeled back the paper, look puzzled, and exclaimed in a totally surprised voice, “This is not a hamburger!”
In the past, these things would have made me feel horrible, like being kicked hard in the gut — partly for her being unable to live with all cylinders firing and partly for me being unable to help her in her decline.
But recently, I have learned to change my thoughts, change my life as well as to let go and let God. It allows me to gain a new perspective. On the one hand, I realize I live very much in a Saturday Night Live skit on aging, and I just smile at the craziness of it all and let it roll off of me. On the other hand, I realize my mom actually has quite an interesting life where many worries and troubles don’t even exist for her. I find myself sometimes wishing I could live in the moment as well as she.
Hello, just randomly passing by…
That can’t be very easy to live with. It’s good to see you’re still there for your mother though, I’m not sure most people I know would be so engaged or even keep in touch with theirs… My thoughts are with you. 🙂
Ana — thanks! All good thoughts flowing this way are appreciated!
I can’t imagine dealing with something of this extent on a daily basis. You deserve a round of applause…
And I’m sending good thoughts as well. 😉
Jennifer — thanks for your kind words.
Living in the moment – – hhhmmmm – – don’t people go to seminars to learn HOW to do that? “Each day is a gift, that’s why we call it the present”
You know, after cooking for the elderly, some with this condition but most without, it is usually harder on the ones closest to the individual with the condition rather than the afflicted one. A good friend of mine told me to think of it this way: When that person comes toward you, pretend they have a sign around their neck that says “hello, I have a brain disease” (different affliction, similar traits) and it makes it much easier to deal with on a daily basis. It helps some, still hurts like nothing else ever could tho, to have a loved one forget my name.
I’m coming up to see you. My son and his humor is on the way. My name is Bob, by the way!
Wow! Your story brings back so many memories of my own mom. She had developed multi-infarct dementia and would enter those zen-like states you mentioned.
My mom also got the burger-craze also. One day after forgetting that my sister had taken her to lunch earlier she calls me over to take her for a burger, she noticed she wasn’t hungry, yet she couldn’t understand why.
THe next day she calls. Apparently “someone” was sneaking into her apartment and leaving partially eaten hamburgers in the refridgerator.
It’s a sad comedy, this dementia stuff.
— Bill Grote
Bill — I think many of us will be going through this as we age into our parent’s parents.