Arden - Feeding my mother: comfort and laughter in the kitchen as my mom lives with memory loss

I remember the first time she forgot something big. It wasnt the kind of lapse we all have from time to timeforgetting where we put our keys or our cell phones, or where we parked the car. This was a big sudden void. Right after it happened, that morning eight years ago now, I felt a discomfort insert itself at the back of my throat that hasnt really eased up since. Its hard for me to remember what my life used to feel like. Its hard for me to remember my old mom.

We had been sitting having a visit with my sister-in-law, Lori, talking about life things: the weather, the grandkids, jobs, the progress of our summer garden. Everything seemed perfectly normal. My sister-in-law at some point brought up the subject of her old cat. I didnt want to tell you, Joan, she said to my mom, but we had to have her put down a few days ago. God, whatever you guys do, dont tell Duray about it as hell be devastated.

My brother Duray was in jail, as he had been for the last twenty-five years, for first-degree murdera murder he has always denied committing. He isnt really up to speed on what is going on around our lives out here in the free world, and hes very sensitive to anything the least bit upsetting. Im sure its because he feels so helpless. I think thats why Lori wanted to spare him the news about their cat.

I would never say a word, Mom said. Lori went on about how sick the cat had been and that she hadnt found the right moment to tell Duray she was gone. We talked about it in detail for at least fifteen minutes. Mom seemed to be carefully listening to the story, consoling and responding in all the right places. Lori repeated again as she walked out the door, Please dont say anything, okay, you guys?

Mom said, We wont, Lori. Moms the word. And we all had a bit of a laugh.

Lori waved goodbye, hopped into her little blue compact and pulled out of the driveway.

Before the car had even disappeared down the road, Moms phone rang, and it was Duray. The first thing that came out of her mouth, was, You wouldnt believe it, but your cat died! I stood there in her kitchen in disbelief.

MOM! I waved my arms in the air trying to get her attention.

What? she asked with her hand over the receiver. Im on the phone!

Jesus, you werent supposed to tell him that!

Tell him what? She looked at me blankly. She really didnt know what she wasnt supposed to tell him.

About the cat dying! What are you thinking?

That was the day. From one single second to the next, my life, my moms life, my dads life, my brothers lives, the lives of all of our friends and family, were altered profoundly. My mom had started the journey down the lonely, confusing road called Alzheimers disease.

I would spend the next two years in denial. I made excuses for both my parents over and over again as the memory thieves slowly stole things from right beneath our noses. I chalked the frequent lapses up to garden-variety old age and tried to leave it at that. My dad had had a stroke several years earlier, so we already knew he had severe memory and mobility issues, but my mom was the normal one. She was the glue that held everything together. She dedicated her days to looking after my dad, coordinating his appointments and doling out his medications. She looked after their house and their yard and their meals and all the driving. I desperately needed her to be okay and I was also too scared to think about what was happening.

I must have hoped if I ignored it enough, and wished it away often enough, my mom would start remembering again. But thats not the way Alzheimers works. I have come to think of it as a cruel and haphazard sculptor. It chisels away at a person, one tiny piece at a time, exposing a mind to every form of loss and sadness. Uncovering every nerve and every bone and every vein. It doesnt stop until it cuts away the last breath. We lived through a small stretch in which my mom knew she was forgetting things. It seemed only a matter of hours to me, but it was actually a short few months where she was aware of things going missing and time being lost and tasks being left undone. She admitted to me once or twice that she knew she was forgetting things. I will never forget her saying to me, I know I cant remember the way I used to, Jann. It could always be worse, you know. I hope you never let me become a filthy old lady. Those words are stuck inside my heart like wet leaves in a gutter.