This week, I began listening to a podcast while prepping food for dinner. Let’s Not Be Kidding is by gay comedian Gavin Crawford. It is the story of his relationship with his mother and what it was like for him and his family as she swirled into the dreaded disease of dementia caused by Alzheimer’s. My mother also died of dementia with no specific cause named.
I wasn’t living near my mother and didn’t experience daily her spiral into dementia. I was residing in Texas with teenagers and a partner. She was in a nursing home 1100 miles (1770 km) away. She died February 20, 2008 almost sixteen years ago.
Listening to the podcast brought back memories that I have conveniently locked away. Rarely do I think about what it was like for her. Before we realized that my mother had the beginnings of dementia, she was in an horrific car accident that killed her husband. I jumped on a plane to be with her. As I exited the elevator on her hospital floor, I heard her voice echoing down the hall, cracking jokes and sounding quite flirtatious with the doctor and priest. She was in a body cast from chin to thigh. I had expected to find her at death’s door. Her response wasn’t from pain drugs either. Gavin talks in the podcast about his mother’s uncharacteristic flirtatiousness which perfectly described my mom in her final years. I was surprised to find that her behavior was likely due to her illness! I thought she was just odd.
One time I came to see her in the care facility where she lived after the accident. She didn’t know I was coming as I wanted to surprise her. She was sitting in the common area enjoying an entertainment program. I slipped into the seat beside her and put my arm around her. She pulled back and looked at me in confusion. She didn’t know who I was. At first I thought that she was kidding, which was so like her. Later when she remembered me, she was horrified that she didn’t know, “my own daughter”. I pretty much dismissed her emotions and reassured her, blind that her behavior was a symptom of her mental decline.
All my life I telephoned my mother every Sunday. It was just what we children of a certain era did. In the final years it never failed that Mom would ask me, “how’s my friend?” She meant my wife Lisa but could never remember her name. Everyone loves Lisa, my kids, my siblings, everyone. I often wish I had her like-ability. But my mother never asked me how I was.
Lisa and I were holding her hands when she died. Her last word on this planet was my name. I was such a tangle of anger, grief, resentment and confusion at the time. We had a challenging relationship. I wanted it to be more loving but didn’t know how to change things. I tried. I wish I’d tried harder.
I guess it comes down to accepting her the way she was and that we both did the best we could. Unfortunately I think I learned from her all too well and this week I’m feeling particularly sad. My children also have difficulty feeling loved by me. And the cycle continues.
DOS TORTAS
the adventures of dos tortas 
Thank you for sharing this Alex!
My Dad passed with early onset Alzheimer’s in 2000. I can identify with a lot, too, about my relationship with my parents. And, yes, the cycle. Reminds me of the song “Cats and the cradle and the silver spoon”, a song by Harry Chapin.
Namaste 🙏, Joel in NM, USA
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Hello Joel, thanks for your response. I think it helps us not feel so alone in our relationships with h both our parents and our children. At least it does for me. June 2024 is sixty years since you taught me to meditate. 🙏🏼❤️😔
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Dementia is so cruel. Both Liam’s parents suffered from it, ridding them of their very essence. Simply horrible 🙂
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I’d like to think exercising and a healthy diet could beat it. Fingers crossed. Lisa’s great aunt was so lucid and sharp. There’s hope.
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I meant to add sad face – duh!
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I have a picture of my mom and I dancing at the care facility she lived in her final couple of years. Your picture brought back that memory. Mom loved to dance. We danced on the stage at the Lawrence Welk Resort in Branson for her 80th birthday too. I still can picture her smile that day. She passed away at 96 from Alzheimer’s disease.
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Sweet memories. My mom was in a wheelchair and stood up to dance! When I was young (3) Mom took me to dance classes. She memorized all the steps and drilled me until I knew them by heart. She took me to see the Rockettes. Good times.
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