My family continues on the journey we have embarked on with my mother. As her Alzheimer’s progresses, we learn new things about this unrelenting disease and its horrible effects on its victims and their families. This week we took another step in the battle we will never win – we moved Mom from the level one/two care home she has lived in since February to a level three/four care home. Her disease has progressed to the point where she now needs more specialized care. She now resides behind closed and locked doors for her own safety.I am constantly amazed at the puzzle that has become Mom’s memory, and at the holes and gaps that are now a part of her life. Yet there are some things she always remembers. She still remembers her children, although she is not always sure who her grandchildren are anymore. She always talks about the “three nuns” who resided in the last apartment building she lived in while still independent. There never were three nuns living there, but she has inserted a memory into one of the newly created gaps in her mind, and she never forgets that piece of false information. Rarely a visit goes by that she doesn’t mention them. Perhaps she finds comfort and safety in this recollection, as she spent her childhood living in a convent, going home only for holidays and the summer. She always spoke lovingly of her days there and kept in contact with the sisters throughout all of her life. It may be that she is seeking the safety provided to her as a child, and somehow finds comfort in remembering the three sisters who lived in her building.
Through-out her life, one of Mom’s biggest pleasures was attending church. When she was independent, she went every Sunday, often walking to church from her home. After she moved, I would try to drive her to church most Sundays. She enjoyed the service itself and she loved visiting with other parishioners. She looked forward to these Sunday outings. As she lost her sense of time, she was often confused as to what day it was. “Is it Sunday today?” became the other item she always remembers each time I see her. When I tell her that it is not Sunday, she always remarks, “So, there is no church today”.
One day recently, as Mom and I drove to a coffee shop, she asked me if it was Sunday. I was just about to say no, when she remarked “No it isn’t - there’s no Sunday this week”. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this comment, but then it struck me that this could well be a metaphor for what her life has become. There are “no Sundays” in her life anymore, because now even if she attends church, she has forgotten by the next day. Visits with her family and friends fade from memory almost as soon as they walk out the door. Each day is as confusing as the one before. There is no longer anything special about Sunday, it has simply become another day, no different than a week day. There is, in fact, “no Sunday this week” for Mom.
So, for those of us who still have Sundays in our week, let’s savour every moment. Let us relish time with family and friends and enjoy each activity in our lives. Let’s live each day to its fullest. Hopefully, we will always have a Sunday in our week. Appreciating and enjoying our lives . . . it's a good thing!
