When Alzheimer’s knocks on the door of a loved one, your role in life changes to becoming either a caregiver or a “supporting cast member.” It’s not just a change challenging everything you know about relationships, but a complete transformation in lifestyle. Rarely is anybody prepared for the changes they need to make. As a result, you draw from everything you’ve learned in life, or at the very least think you understand.
In her early stages of Alzheimer’s, most of us found ourselves correcting Mom. She might say something like, “The sky is so green today.” While my Dad and I would remind her that it was blue, my wife, Sheila, just went with it and would say, “It’s beautiful!”
“You’ve got two ears and one mouth, so listen twice as much as you speak!”
-Author Unknown
Even though my grandmother and great-grandmother had Alzheimer’s, I was much younger at the time and not directly involved in either of their care. But with my mother, Sheila and I were on the front line.
My mother met Sheila around year four of the disease. For whatever reason, my mother was convinced that she’d known Sheila for most of her life. She used to introduce her to people as a friend with whom she did volunteer work when she was younger. She’d hold Sheila’s hand and say, “This woman is such a hard worker.”
Sheila never challenged anything Mom shared or said, just supported what she was sharing. What was interesting was that there was always some logic in her thoughts … for example, Mom became whatever she watched on television.
I walked into my folks’ place one Sunday evening, and Dad was in a panic. He and Mom had watched Father of the Bride II. With the scene of the daughter and mother both giving birth, Mom, sitting in her recliner, went into heavy Lamaze breathing. I came into the den and there she was, 85 years old and about to give birth!
I looked at Mom, kissed her on the top of her head, and asked, “How ya doin’?” Her response: “Get your father, you’re about to have a baby brother!” I started arguing with her, using my best logic, and then gave up. I was there by myself and called Sheila for advice.
“Just go with it for a few minutes,” she said. So, like a bad Hollywood movie, I sent Dad off to boil water. We shut the TV off, and a few minutes later, the whole scene had faded away.
On another occasion, we had all watched a Lakers game, and when they lost, Mom asked, “What exactly do you do for the Lakers?” I responded, “Nothing, Mom, they just pay me to watch!” She sounded almost indignant and said, “Go to the kitchen and make some pasta. The boys lost tonight, and I want to make them something comforting.” Off I went for a few minutes, preparing for the Lakers to show up in Sarasota for pasta.
With Sheila’s help, the support group, and anything we could read about Alzheimer’s, we learned to listen without reacting when Mom was “off course.” I’m not suggesting it was easy, but the only choice was to go with the flow.
One more advantage of being in our support group was the continued realization that we weren’t alone. Everybody was dealing with the same kind of challenges, and the more bizarre the situation with Mom, the more we seemed to learn and understand. Stories like the two above became benchmarks on our journey.
After one support group meeting, when everyone had shared some of their most challenging stories, Dad said to me, “Wow, we have the good kind of Alzheimer’s!” Everyone else’s problems seemed bigger than our own.
Nothing takes away the pain of this horrible disease, but Dad made the best of it. The stories became crazier, but Dad turned them into something to squeeze out a small smile, always accompanied by a tear or two. There was nothing we could do, but as Dad said so many times: “Your Mom took care of me my whole life, now it’s my turn to take care of her.”
Before Alzheimer’s, Dad was never known for his listening skills. In fact, his favorite joke was talking about the secret to being married to my mother for all those years … he always slept on his good ear!
He learned to listen to Mom without challenging the craziness. And no matter how much it hurt, he never lost sight of the importance of being by Mom’s side.
There is one thing Alzheimer’s cannot take away, and that is love.
Love is not a memory – it’s a feeling that resides in your heart and soul.
-Author Unknown
The Alzheimer’s Association Helpline is available 24/7 at 800.272.3900 or visit alz.org.
About Me
Skip Cohen has been directly involved in the Alzheimer’s battle and supporting the challenges of aging since moving to Sarasota fourteen years ago. Today he serves as Director for the Memory Care Alliance which is focused on support for caregivers and patients fighting Alzheimer’s.
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