Dementia is a land where my mother lives

 

Dementia is the land where my mother lives. It is not who she is. I think of it as an actual place, like the Acropolis or Paris. Whenever I go to visit or call my mother in Denmark, I am really traveling to Dementia.

In this land, rules of society are laid aside and time has no linear progression, moments from the past, present, and future blend like colors on a painter's palette. My mother may recall a childhood memory with vivid clarity but struggle to remember what she had for breakfast. She will call my sister several times a day because “they” took her wallet or her keys. In her mind “they” are out to steal from her, so she must find new places to hide her things, so “they” won’t find them. But when she talks to me, everything is just fine. We talk about the weather. That is safe.

She might dress for the wrong season, or refuse a shower, because she had one yesterday.

 

Thinking of dementia as a land where my mother lives allow me not to be upset when I can’t make heads nor tails out of what comes out of her mouth, or when she doesn’t know who I am. Go with the flow and validate what she is saying. Even when she is asking if I talked to grandma’ lately?  (that would be a no, as she died 30 years ago) Just to stay in the moment and follow her where she takes me in our conversation.   Each time I go to see her or talk with her, it’s different. I’ve learned to set expectations aside. But it is not always easy. A part of me want to tell her she is wrong and remembering things wrong. But I must remember to put myself in her shoes. It is heartbreaking to see my mother like this. This is not who she should be. This is not how she should live the final years of her life. When I am with her, I have to push my emotions aside and just let her lead me where she is going.

Because I live so far away from her, most of my interactions with her are via the phone.  I've learned to listen with patience and intuition, deciphering the hidden meanings behind her words.

Communication is a creative endeavor here. Words and meanings are fluid, and conversations meander like winding rivers. Sometimes, it's like deciphering a code; other times, it's simply embracing the beauty of her unique perspective.

 

Emotions are raw and honest in this land. Joy and sadness, fear and love, all are expressed with unfiltered intensity. When I call her, I can hear my mother's tears might, at that moment, be flowing like a sudden rainstorm, but often she is trying to hide that from me what is really going on. To get the truth, I must talk to my sister who fills me in. Her side of the story is very different from what my mother is telling me. My mother doesn’t want to upset me because I live so far away. In her mind, if we don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen.

 

In this land, memories are the currency, and love is the anchor. I hold tight to the memories we've made; even as new ones fade. I anchor myself to the love we share, a love that transcends words and time.

 

Visiting my mother in this land has taught me the value of living in the present, of cherishing each moment, and of embracing beauty in uncertainty. It's a land where love knows no bounds, where memories are precious, and where every moment is a gift.

 

If you have a loved one living in this land, know that you're not alone. We are a community of travelers, navigating the twists and turns of dementia together. And if you're just learning about this land, remember that it's a place of beauty, love, and resilience – a place where memories may fade, but the heart remains strong.