On April 1st, my mother celebrated her 93rd birthday. She was born in 1918 during World War 1, lived through the Great Depression, and was a nurse in London during World War 2. In the 1950’s she became an avid fan of Elvis Presley, then in the 1960’s The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Above all she loved watching boxing; her favorite boxer was Floyd Patterson. She lived through the sexual revolution, she watched Man land on the Moon, has traveled through Europe, and the US. Every day she reads her Horoscope; she believes in spirits. White flowers are banned in her house because a gift of white flowers was given a few hours before a telephone call that informed her that her father had died. She was convinced he would have lived if she had not brought those flowers into the house. For as long as I can remember, she loved gambling small sums on horses. On a visit to Santa Anita racetrack in California, she won $150 on a 5 dollar bet. Her secret to success was finding names of horses that relate something in her life; she would bet on a horse called March Surprise because March was when my sister was born. Money never really meant much to her, she seemed to get the greatest joy in giving it away. Every charity that had a photo of some unfortunate, she subscribed to, telling me “You were born with nothing, you will leave this earth with nothing”.
My mother was the second youngest of six children born on a farm in Ireland. All her siblings are now dead, as are all her friends. In of itself that is something of a miracle. She was hospitalized in 1930s for pneumonia and nearly died, and again at 80 when she was thrown across a bus that stopped unexpectedly. She broke her hip losing half the blood in her body. The doctors were mystified by how she managed to survive. When she returned for a check up, they were surprised as her vital signs were strong, even though she has smoked cigarettes since age 18. My mother is something of a medical marvel at the local hospital.
My Dad and Mom were married in 1949, they stayed together 52 years. Dad died at home, sitting on the couch while my Mom was making him a cup of tea on September 10, 2001. It is a date I cannot forget, as the following day was the infamous 911. With Dad’s death, it seemed the world changed and an era ended.
Now ten years later, another era is ending. When I visited my Mother in January, she was moving from our home into an apartment. The stairs in our home were becoming too much for her. She also was entering the early phases of Dementia. I spent a week with her, and in that time she ghosted in and out of reality. She heard voices of people apparently next door talking about her, then would tell me that “she needed to go to the market to get something for your Dad’s dinner, he will be home soon”. Gently I told her “Mom, he died ten years ago”, she looked at me and said “Then why didn’t anyone tell me”. I had to remind her we both buried him in Ireland, then she asked about her brother, “he’s dead too”, and Molly “she died too”, “she didn’t oh my God they are all dying”” she would say. Mom, I said slowly “Molly, John and Michael all died in 1996”, and she would look at me puzzled “Then who is running the farm at home” she asked. I had to tell her that a neighbor had convinced one of her brothers to take sole title and sign it over to him. We had lost it. “My father would be furious, if he knew that, there would be hell to pay”. “So there is no-one left, I’m the last one” she would say. “Yes Mom you outlived all of them.” This scenario would be repeated over and over with minor variations and voices speaking to her through the walls.
During the day, the daughters and grand daughters of her long dead friends visit. They all love her, love her because she is a character, but also because she is the last link to a now long dead close relative. There is admiration in old age; she has lived in the same neighborhood for over 40 years, and everyone knows her by sight. In their eyes she is living proof that old age doesn’t have to be dreaded, but recently, they too have seen the cracks in her sanity appear. One neighbor found her looking confused and lost, another was told she had just returned from an imaginary holiday in Spain. They now keep an eye on her making sure she gets home safely.
Watching a parent slowly lose their grip on reality is an emotionally devastating experience. They have been the pillar you could always lean on, and now that pillar was crumbling. But it doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom. On the second day of my visit, I decided to call a cab and go for ride around town. First, we got her hair done, then we went to a restaurant to eat. She often forgets to eat, and seeing her clean a plate of vegetables, roast beef, and potatoes not only seemed to make her more alert, but I could see she was enjoying the moment. There we were talking about life, the newspaper gossip, and laughing. She was present in reality enjoying the moment with her son. Whether she would remember it a few hours later did not matter. I was grasping, holding on to the Mother I knew and loved, to moments that we had shared a thousand times before, but now were soon to end. We read our Horoscopes, bought the Racing Form and had a flutter on the horses. We walked around town looking in shop windows, and bought some food at market. I called a cab when she got tired and we went back to her place. Not long after, she lay down and fell asleep. It was then that a great sadness welled up, mixed with gratitude. I had been given an encore performance of the one woman play that was my Mother. I didn’t know how many encore performances I would be allowed. We spent the next five days doing the simple things we had always done: buying bread at the bakery, reading the newspaper, betting on horses, living in the moment, knowing that each was a gift and that anytime soon these simple pleasures would pass.
