It was the most recent in the noticeable signs the dementia is progressing. It was very hard for my mom to take. She left me a message on my cell phone, and at the end she started crying.
When I got the message, I was at the pool in my mom's community with SB, who was having a swim lesson. We were right around the corner from my mom's house, and I knew we needed to stop by.
After the lesson SB and I played in the pool for a little bit. When we were ready to leave, I explained we were going to have a quick visit with my mom, who SB calls "DeeDee."
"We need to go to DeeDee's and give her a hug, She's having a very tough time today."
"Is she sad about BaBop?"
"Yes, she is."
"I wish DeeDee and BaBop could live together again and be happy."
"I do, too, sweetie. But that's just not possible."
"Because BaBop won't get better."
"No, he won't. As we've discussed before, he is going to get worse. That is what dementia does. It makes it so your brain doesn't work the way it is supposed to anymore. The sickness is taking away BaBop's memories."
"Yes. He has a hard time remembering things. Basic things. And someday, he may not remember who we are anymore. He won't know I am his daughter and he won't know you are his granddaughter. It doesn't happen with everyone who has dementia, but it is common. We need to be prepared in case it happens with him."
"He won't know us?"
"It is likely there will come a point when he does not. But there is no way to know when it will happen. It could be tomorrow, it could be a year from now or more. Whenever it happens; it will be hard for us."
"But we will know who he is."
"Yes, we will. And we will always love him. BaBop can't help what is happening to him. This isn't what he would want, anymore than it is what we want. It just is, and we're trying hard to make the best of it."
When we got to my mom's, I could tell she was uneasy. I went to hug her and she pulled back. Hesitated. She knew if we embraced, the tears would come. She motioned toward SB and shook her head, indicating she didn't want her to see that.
"It's OK to let her see you cry," I told her. "It's important, even. The more open we are with her about what we're feeling and the more we let her see how we are working to process everything that's happening, the better she will be able to process it. She will sense our feelings one way or the other. If we try to hide them from her, she will believe she needs to hide hers, too."
And so my mom fell into me and I held her while she sobbed. As if I were the mother and she the child. Across the room, SB sat in my dad's favorite chair, sucking on the lollipop her swim instructor gave her. In her tiny voice she assured my mom, "It's OK to be sad, DeeDee."
A friend of mine recently referred to SB as "an old soul." She has wisdom far beyond her years and demonstrates the art of grace whenever it is most needed. She amazes me. Later in the day, back at our own home, she brought me a piece of paper and asked me to help her write a note to my dad.
"Sure, honey. What do you want it to say?"
"Dear BaBop, I love you. I will always love you, even when you don't know who I am."
I was the one who could not hold back the tears at that point. I let them flow freely as I kissed the top of my sweet daughter's head.
"You are a very special little girl," I managed to say, "And I 'm so lucky and proud to be your mom."
A few days later, I took SB and our dog Shaggy to visit my dad. A staff member stopped us before we got to his room and explained he was not having a good day. He was very disoriented and agitated, and the person felt it would not be in SB's best interest to see her grandfather that way. I agreed. So instead, we picked hubby up from his office around the corner and had a treat.
Sunday we were supposed to all get together to celebrate my mom and dad's 52nd wedding anniversary. Mom was unsure, but the head of the memory care unit encouraged her, saying it could be the last time they could do so. So she reserved a private dining room at the facility where dad lives. The plan was to have cake and champagne after dad had his (very early) dinner, then the rest of us would go out to eat.
When my mom arrived, dad refused to get out of his bed. He said he didn't want to celebrate. He was not having a good day. We went out to dinner with my mom as planned and made the best of it. Fortunately, when she went to see him the following day, he was doing better.
Dementia is cruel. But life can be cruel in many ways. Perhaps by watching this all unfold and seeing how we as a family deal with it, SB will be better prepared for the adversity she will face in her life.