by Attorney Philip J. Kavesh
It started out just like many other mornings I’ve experienced, once or twice a week, for years now. I set off to visit my Mom, 99 years old (Lord bless her!), and take her out to her favorite breakfast place.
Sadly, what should be a joyful event has become a routine, an obligation of love, and even a struggle at times. You see, Mom has been stricken with dementia and it’s hard to know if she’s really there anymore, somewhere inside her remarkably well-preserved body. Mom looks fantastic, takes no meds, has vision way better than mine, walks without a cane or walker and otherwise appears in excellent health, so much so that at her last physical the doctor told me, “She’s in great shape…for a 60-year-old!”
Certainly, Mom’s good health is something to be grateful for, and I am. But Mom’s dementia has gotten to that advanced stage where she doesn’t know where she is, hardly remembers anything or anyone, only speaks a few words at a time (mainly sensory observations about her surroundings) and can’t answer any questions let alone carry on a conversation. What has happened to that person I still remember and cherish as “Mommie”?
It’s become difficult to know whether my visits make any difference. Yes, we have some happy moments and those alone are a good thing. But it feels as though my personal connection with Mom has been lost. And that always leaves me with, at best, a hollow feeling whenever I see her. That’s why some other family members have stopped visiting, and I empathize with them.
But, Today, Something Unusual Happened
While Mom and I waited for her usual breakfast delight to be served (including not only a gigantic stack of pancakes, but extra strawberries, extra whipped cream and extra syrup), the waitress brought her a coloring book page doubling as a placemat, along with “kid’s crayons” of assorted colors. Mom has always had an artistic side, an eye for color and, I might add, incredibly good hand coordination (again, way better than mine). The drawing we were invited to illuminate depicted an open treasure chest sitting above ground, unearthed from a nearby hole, on an island beach with pirates’ paraphernalia strewn about (including a captain’s hat with crossed swords and a prosthetic, hand-replacing hook!). No individuals were to be found although a modern-looking clipper ship, without a pirate flag, was anchored at the water’s edge. Neither of us seemed to pay much attention to the picture’s content, as we joyfully immersed ourselves in coloring it with our magic, hard, painting sticks. Then, just as the food came, we put it aside, unfinished, to eat.
As is often the case, Mom became totally engaged in gorging down her huge, sweet, sticky feast, slowly bite by bite, savoring every morsel! (Even cleaning the plate of leftover syrup with the side edge of her fork before stopping.) Noticing she was done, the waitress returned and cleared the table. Then, I, imitating how Mom spoke to me as a child, praised her for finishing her meal and earning her dessert, but added “you won’t be getting one today because you already had dessert!” To which she chuckled, a sign she was in fact there, at least a little bit.
It was now time to go. Mom had spent almost two hours enjoying her yummy meal and I knew she was likely to nod off after all that sugar (which her doctor only permits me to serve her like this once a week!). But I soon realized. . .
Mom Wasn’t Ready to Go Yet
Mom refused to get up out of her chair and return to her assisted senior living home. So, I stood up from the other side of the table, sat down in the chair next to her, moved it close to hers, brought back the coloring page and side by side we started to work on it again. From time to time, Mom began to mumble under her breath some gibberish, as if she was struggling to find the words she wanted to say.
Suddenly, Mom startled me by clearly articulating her incredibly deep, incisive thoughts about the picture. The kind tone and the soft lilt of her voice sounded the same to me as did Mommie when I was a young child. She gently directed my attention to the placemat, and to the story (and its important lesson) she was about to impart.
“The pirates aren’t around anymore”, she began. “They left their treasure behind without ever enjoying it. They were bad people who took it from others. Then later someone else found the treasure. They were good people who were rewarded and got to enjoy the treasure.”
She paused for a few moments, as I sat there stunned and silent, and then concluded her short lecture by stating, matter-of-factly, “That’s how it goes!”
Wow. I wasn’t sure how to absorb what had just happened. We then left the restaurant and when we reached her nursing facility. . .
Mom Refused to Get Out Of The Car
I thought it was because she didn’t want to return to what often appears to me to be the predictable drudgery and boredom of her daily regimented life there. Instead, she consciously decided to use this moment to add a postscript to her earlier talk.
After she sat there a few minutes, observing the cars in the parking lot, the buildings surrounding it and the people walking back and forth to and from the nursing home, she said, again quite matter-of-factly, “The cars and buildings are all left behind and the people come and leave. That’s how it goes.”
Mom then, apparently feeling rejuvenated by the fact she had completed her lesson to me, quickly got right up and out of the car. I walked Mom inside and sat her down in the lobby (which, as always, was decorated charmingly in the spirit of the current season or holiday, in this case Fall Harvest Festival and Halloween). As we waited for her helper to take her back to her room, I again had a strong sensation, worse than the usual sadness, come over me. I felt I may have just witnessed Mom express her final thoughts with her last breaths.
Then, after Mom sat quietly for a few minutes, while I gently massaged her neck and shoulders, she offered one more emphatic statement, “Every time you bring me back here, I look at this place and think ‘how beautiful!’” Having spoken her truths, Mom's helper now appeared perfectly on cue, and Mom happily went off with her.
As I walked out the door and pulled away in my car, I immediately thought, this is the true treasure—a healthy, happy and long life. Mom has deserved it with her many acts of kindness and goodness, especially while dutifully and lovingly raising five children as the perfect stay-at-home mother of the late 50’s and 60’s (often referred to by others as Donna Reed, remember that TV show?).
Then, I stopped my car to reflect more deeply upon what had happened (and to write this article on my phone, lest I forget any details). Today, Mom confirmed she is still there and enjoys life despite her dementia (a lesson for any of us who may feel conflicted about visiting elderly loved ones).
And maybe, Mom’s wonderful mindset, as expressed in her words, that has gotten her this far down the path of a beautiful life, reveals some other simple, yet vital lessons which we all can absorb and embrace. Act with goodness, knowing our time here is short, and find joy in the little things of our daily existence!
And, not least, Give Thanks, for the people and blessings we receive in our lives, not merely once a year on Thanksgiving, but every day!
