I go to see my Mom in her new place on the weekends. Yesterday, Bryan and I went on our way to his usual speech therapy and social group. We planned a regular visit which is about 20-30 minutes. I typically like to take her for a walk. She doesn’t talk much and mostly I feel like Shecky Greene doing a monologue (if you are too young to know who that is google it) but I try to get her out in the fresh air and talk about what’s going on in our lives. The bad news is she doesn’t remember what I tell her, the good news I can tell her the same things over and over and she doesn’t get bored. Ok, I know that’s really not funny, but humor is my way of coping and at this point, nothing about this is funny so I have to make a joke out of it. We sat down outside at a table and Bryan was looking at his phone. I wear a “J” initial necklace and my mom said to me, “what does the J stand for?”. I said “Jane” and there was nothing but an “oh, ok” from my Mom. I had to look away. I felt that hot feeling come over me, and no not a hot flash, but that feeling like when you are holding back tears and/or vomit. I thought for sure she might say something like “my daughter’s name is Jane or right”. I don’t care for the expression “the new normal” but somehow it’s fitting. We left not too long after and I didn’t cry when we left. I took Bryan to his speech therapy and sat in the car for a few minutes reflecting. How does the brain retain so much info and then slowly lose it all. Fortunately, for now she still recognizes me when I come to see her. She doesn’t know that I’m her daughter, but she does know she knows me. She is always excited to see us; at least for now. The strange thing in all of this is even though she does not recall details, like my name or how I am related to her, she does know that I belong to her. Last week when I was there we sat on a bench and we flipped the pages of People magazine.She likes to look at the photos and it does help give me some things to say to her. We notice the fashion and the ads. She looked at me and said “we love each other”. I smiled but again my eyes filled with tears; much happier tears. When I leave her and I’m alone I always break down. She is doing well, but the reality that she is not ever coming home still gets me each time.
When I go now it reminds of a time when Bryan could not really make a sentence or have true conversation. I remember when we were still living in NY and I took him alone out to dinner. His inability to make an exchange, even in a small sentence, was a big trigger for me to know he was not a typical child. Ironically my mom is now very similar to that small Bryan. I guess the best lesson is that it doesn’t matter whether they can answer back as long as they know they are loved.