Coping With My Mother’s Alzheimer’s: A Journey of Love and Loss

The cries of my mother, convinced she lived in a haunted house, were unsettling. She often forgot turning on the TV and became startled by familiar artwork from her past. Trusting her nurse turned into suspicion. The woman who once banished my childhood fears now relied on me for solace.

Dealing with her stroke and lung cancer was overwhelming. Alzheimer’s pushed us further into uncertainty. “Will Grandma remember me?” my daughter asked about her 87-year-old grandmother. Every two weeks, my sister and I alternated visits to help with chores, errands, and appointments until her afternoon nap. Gradually, she seemed to drift away.

Every visit grew more challenging. “I don’t want to do the bills now,” she’d insist, overwhelmed. Yet, she refused my help managing them. Time slipped by, leaving us exhausted. I often fought tears, summoning patience. Our relationship wasn’t always smooth, but her love was unwavering.

Two Mother’s Days ago, she was her lively self, offering unfiltered opinions, a source of amusement. Favorite remarks included, “She’s not the sharpest pencil,” and, “He likes hearing his own voice.” Alzheimer’s seemed distant, but it eventually caught up.

COVID’s isolation hastened her decline. Restrictions curtailed visits, sparing my children from witnessing it firsthand. Video calls weren’t an option; they confused her. Experience taught me timing mattered. Late afternoon confusion, “sundowning,” was distressing. Reasoning inflamed fear, forcing me to beg forgiveness for non-existent infractions.

I scheduled calls before noon, seeking online advice. The Alzheimer’s Association likened the disease to an erasing blackboard. Understanding this helped meet her where she was. Approaching slowly, maintaining eye contact, and using short sentences became key.

Familiar routines offered comfort. We’d browse old photographs, but music especially soothed her. Barbara Streisand and the Bee Gees transported her back in time. Without speech, she enjoyed my company, responding to tone over words.

On my birthday, thoughtful signs reminded her, while the caregiver reintroduced me each visit. Watching her study my face, voice, and eyes showed her effort to remember. A YouTube video revealed a daughter lying with her mom, discovering that love endures beyond memory. This guided me.

Now, her passing leaves me dreaming of her youthful self, vibrant and loving. Alzheimer’s dulled her memories, yet love persists undiminished in dreams.

Linda Wolff is a Los Angeles-based essayist. Her work features in The Boston Globe, The Washington Post, Los Angeles Times, Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan, McSweeney’s, and more. Follow her on Instagram @carpoolgoddess.