One Word Wednesday: Always

Some words comfort.  Some excite.  Some words bring back memories.  And some words strike fear straight into my heart.

And some words do it ALL.

ALWAYS is one of those words for me.  There can be a lot of pressure in ALWAYS.  A lot of commitment too.  When a bad thing is for ALWAYS it takes the breath away. 

All the very smart, self improvement people and lots of other evolved souls will tell you and try and teach you to "live in the moment".  I find it nearly impossible.  I meditate - not often enough, but in short bursts to calm myself and I am horrible.  My mind wanders.  My list making tendencies kick in.  My eyes peek.  My toes tap.  "The moment" is elusive.

Guess what?  When you have advanced stage Alzheimer's - all you have is "the moment".  You have no idea what has happened.  You have no idea what is supposed to or going to happen.  It's supposed to be Nirvana, right?

What I"ve learned lately is that CHOOSING to live in the moment and having a disease FORCE you to live in the moment is different.  Choosing comes with discipline and thought and practice and peace.  Alzheimer's takes all of that away from you.  The choice.  The intent. 

It also creates a weird flashing in mom's brain.  Flashes of memories, but just bits and pieces most of the time.  No whole stories.  Just a word or a place or a thought she can't capture. 

Alzheimer's steals your ALWAYS.

Mom has no idea how old she is.  No idea where she is.  She asks for people long dead.  She calls a blanket a newspaper.  She asks if her nose is on right.  I show her pictures and she has no stories to go along with them.

I read that her short term memory would disappear.  I understood that she might call me a name from her past.  I was not prepared for her to forget herself.  I was not prepared for her to be cold, then cover herself with a blanket and ask ME if she was warmer.

I didn't expect her to get too weak to walk and not be able to remember that.

I thought I'd ask her questions and she'd tell me stories about her past.  Her loves.  Her friends.  Her family.  Her first kiss.  Her recipe for pecan pie.  But it's all gone.  I asked her today what she would want to see if we went back to her hometown and she smiled and me and it was clear - she had no idea what I was talking about. 

These days we can talk about the weather.  I can tell her the names of the hosts of the Today show as often as she can ask.  I can tell her why her back is hurting.  I can sing "You are My Sunshine" with her as we exercise.  But no stories.  No memories.  No connection.  No always.