Early morning after the Soul Travelers at the Sweetwater, I was up early, headed out East to visit with my mom amd hopefully give my sister and brother in law a much needed break.
Unfortunately, a medical situation of concern arose the next day and my sister had to call the ambulance to take my mom back to the hospital. My mom was NOT happy about that. I was exhausted from lack of sleep, so I was feeling everything a bit more deeply than usual (which is usually pretty deep...) Not complaining, just explaining.
Next day...
Luckily, the hospital where my mom is staying is a short walk from my sister's. My mom has aphasia, so communicating is a challenge. This has been the hardest part of all, as my mom is very intelligent, has always been a communicator and she gets really frustrated when she can't express herself fully (something we have in common.)
At this point, we are fairly certain she has Alzheimer's.
Anyway, when I arrived at the hospital Sunday, her face expressed a mixture of emotions ranging from surprise to relief and then that anxious excitement she exhibits when she tries to speak. Despite the fact that I feel like busting out crying at any given moment, my mom absorbs whatever energy is around her, so I do my best to stay upbeat.
I watch and smile as she tries to get the words out: "I..was.. angry..." (not a newsflash.)
I replied, "Are you mad at me, Ma?"
"No, no.." as she pointed to herself, "Mad at me, mad at myself..."
"Why were you angry at yourself?" I asked.
"Our time...was so...short," she replied.
Not knowing what time she was actually referring to, I assumed she meant yesterday.
"Don't worry, Mom, I'm going to be here for a while."
"Oh good," she said.
I look for a chair and notice the hospital has a computer screen on a large adjustable wall mount. It was playing some soft rock music playlist off You Tube.
Trying to jog her memory, I ask her if she would like me to play some of my music. Her face responds with a resounding "Yes!" So, I search for a Mari Mack music playlist and after a few attempts, I hear the Monophonics horns. Her face brightened up as she recognizes the music. A few songs into it, she looks at the CD image on screen. She asks, "Who is that?"
"That's me, mom."
"Really?" She looks at my face, then the screen again. "Oh, yeah, I thought that might be you."
"Well, it's an old photo," I reply.
We laugh.
She points to my face. "I used to have that, those..."
"What, freckles?"
"No, that." She points to my lips.
"Lipstick?"
"Yes. No...." She makes a circle all around my face as she struggles to speak her intended word.
"Makeup?"
"Yes!"
"Do you want me to put some makeup on your face?"
"I don't have those any more."
"Well, we'll get some and make you up for Thanksgiving." She smiles, then looks out the window into the hallway and perks up again as my sister and brotber in law arrive. They have been doing the heavy lifting and these past several months have been eapecially challenging. I am grateful for this opportunity to lift a small part of the load, if only for a couple of weeks.
I place the music on hold, and the energy in the room shifts to discussion of medical issues and chores and the practical habits necessary for a sustainable, stable life. They stay for a little over an hour, then say tbeir goodbyes until tomorrow.
For the remainder of the day, I provide leg massages, a facial, feed her dinner and play DJ. My music choices are based upon my own memory of the CD's Mom kept in her car.
On her playlist: Led Zeppelin, Strunz and Farah, Eric Clapton's "Unplugged." I sit and watch as her yellow slipper socks tap to the rhythm in the air.
When the YouTube playlist shifted to "I Shot the Sheriff," I decided to play her some Bob Marley. She stared at the image on the screen.
"Who is that?"
"That is Bob Marley, Mom."
"I like his face," she said.
