Editor’s note: Jean Gibson recently received first place in a contest for an Alzheimer’s Anthology from the Mid-Missouri Chapter in Sedalia with this story. The contest was advertised in the Rural Electric magazine. Jean was shocked when she was not only included in the book, but also received first place! She is now published in Western Australia and now Missouri.
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by Jean Gibson
“I think it may be too cold to get her out today,” I told my brother on the phone. The sun was shining but it was only about 20 degrees in Northwest Missouri and the wind chill was in the single digits. “I sure would like her to be here. We never know when it will be the last time.”
“This is true. I will get her ready and we will be there later, but I can’t tell you when, so go ahead and start the party without us if you need to.”
I hung up the phone and thought, yes, it will be great for you, brother, as you will not have to go to the nursing home, clean her up, and redress her in a nice outfit for the one and a half hour trip. You will not have to turn and twist and tug to get her to understand how to get into the seat of the car. You won’t have to pack the bag with clean clothing changes, diapers, wipes, and medication or have to try to get her to the bathroom every two hours all day so she doesn’t have an accident. And he won’t have to worry about her having an accident in his nice leather car seats, as I continued my little pity party in my head. He will most certainly enjoy his visit with Mom. I will be worn to a frazzle!
Shame on you! Wake up girl and know this is the right thing to do, I tell myself as we finally, one and one half hours later, drive out the lane of the nursing home. Mom is smiling and looking around at the sparkling snow that has fallen overnight. We are on our way to the family Christmas at my brother’s house. My daughter tries to make small talk with her grandma but is unable to hit on a subject that sparks her memory.
“Oh my God!!” Mom suddenly hangs onto the seat with one hand and the door handle with the other. “Oh my God!” There is fear in her voice. Huge sobs come out of her mouth and she looks terrified. “What is wrong, Mom? ” I pull over and stop the car to reassure her.
“I don’t know where I am. I am lost!”
“No, Mom, you aren’t lost. I am your daughter Jean and we are going to JP’s for Christmas. All five of us will be there and most of your grandchildren. We will have turkey and pie and will open presents.”
It is really the New Year’s weekend, but it was the first time my four siblings and I could get together at once. Mom attempts to turn around in the seat, and Annie tries to talk to her. “You are alright, Grandma, everything is ok. Remember me, Grandma? I am Annie and you used to tease me about liking Ronald Reagan.”
Mom smiled and melted back into her seat. Annie had finally found a common bond. Annie reached over the seat and rubbed Mom’s shoulder as she whispered in my ear, “This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it, Mom?”
Annie had tears in her eyes as she mourned the loss of her highly Democratic grandmother who was an elected official in the courthouse when Annie was growing up.
She remembers when her Grandma wore dresses and fancy high heels every day, walking up two flights of stairs to her office. She talked for a while about how Grandma kept candy in a dish in her office for anyone to take. She asked Grandma if she still liked those hard cinnamon balls wrapped in clear red wrappers.
“I sure do,” said Mom. I decided it was safe to continue and we resumed our journey.
Within minutes Mom was asleep and the rest of the trip was quiet as we dwelled on our sadness at the losses mother had suffered physically, as well as the dementia which was stealing her thoughts more every day. We arrived safely at our destination and I felt myself sigh as I thanked God for our safe trip.
Ok, Jean, it’s time to turn off the car, open the trunk, and pull out the 46-pound wheelchair. Annie put the leg rests on it and I prayed that this time she would remember how to get out of the car. As I turned her sideways in the seat to stand up, she looks up at me and suddenly beams.
“Well hi, Mac, so good to see you.” She plants a big sloppy kiss on my cheek.
Mac is short for Maxine who is Mom’s sweet sister whom she adores. I just smile back as I am so glad to be anyone she loves, and any name will be just fine to answer to. That smile is worth everything.
We head straight to the bathroom for cleanup and redress. Fortunately the nursing home let me borrow a pad for the car seat. We will launder it while we are there for the trip home.
We place her wheelchair where she can see most all of her family come by. She probably had no less than 20 hugs and kisses in the next 10 minutes. She doesn’t remember just exactly who we all are, but seems to know that we belong to her and that she is safe in this noisy crowd of laughter.
My sister-in-law fixes her plate and minces her turkey and vegetables so she won’t choke, as that too is becoming a problem. Mom is not as interested in the vegetables or meat as she is the four kinds of pie my brother’s wife has prepared. She eats a little of every dessert offered, some fudge, and drinks her coffee.
My brothers tease her about her chocolate moustache, and she sticks her tongue out at them and smiles. Later we open presents and she sticks the bows on her head and her shirt and smiles. This is the mom we love.
“Well, Mom, we’d better hit the road, don’t you think?” It is starting to get dark. We are down to the last outfit, the last diaper, and the medications have all been taken. My brothers help get her in the car as the sun sets. I am relieved at how well the day has gone and regretful of my bitter thoughts from earlier in the day. This really was a good idea and worth every inconvenience.
I saw the Krug Park sign. Mom pointed to the Merry Christmas sign that was lit up. Mom would love to see the Christmas lights, and fortunately this was the last night they would be on. “It will make us pretty late getting home.”
“Let’s do it, Mom” Annie said. We pulled into the park and saw the long line ahead of us and the cars closing in behind us. There is no turning back. I am afraid that she will be frightened after dark, but she seems mesmerized by the upcoming light displays.
The gates finally open and we turn off the car lights to get the full effect of this night of electric wonder. There are Santas, Jesus, Joseph and Mary, beautiful trees with beautiful lights, gingerbread men, squirrels, deer, and reindeer that appear to be jumping into the trees.
Beautiful Christmas music completes this scene. We put on Mom’s favorite furry hat and her gloves so we can roll the window down. She can hear those wonderful carols of days gone by.
Mom sings along with the music, singing harmony. Mom’s voice was always beautiful. This is apparently not affected by dementia. She raises her arthritic glove-covered hand and appears to be conducting the music. She is singing like an angel.
“Oh my!” She exclaims as she sees the cartoon characters made of lights bend and wave. She waves back at them saying “Thank you, Thank you, Merry Christmas! The live reindeer are there as well as Santa’s elves. They are real to her and she waves and smiles at them all.
”Thank you for coming," she says to the lighted animals that jump in the trees. She looks like a queen waving to the crowd and the smile never leaves her beautiful face.
As we approach the decorated castle, she says “Hi Sleeping Beauty, have a nice day!”
Annie and I are grinning from ear to ear as we enjoy Mom’s magical night. As we approach the end of the display, two gentlemen thank us for our donation as we put money in their bucket. They wish us a happy holiday and give us a handful of Cherry Mash candy bars.
“It’s my favorite!” Mom says as she unwraps a Cherry Mash. She has eaten two small bars before we reach the city limits.
As we approach the next sizable town I realize that we are not going to be back in time for Mom to eat supper at the nursing home. “Mom, what would you like to eat? Would you like to get a hamburger at McDonald’s, Dairy Queen, or Burger King? ”
“Dairy Queen for ice cream” she said. We negotiate and decide on a hamburger and strawberry shake. As we pull through the drive-through lane to the window, she says “Here, let me pay.” She hands me the red and white wrapper from her Cherry Mash.
“Oh thanks, Mom,” I say as I put the Cherry Mash candy wrapper in my billfold and use real cash to pay for her food. I don’t think I have ever seen her any happier. What a beautiful end to a beautiful day.
Mother died less than two weeks later. I cherish our magical evening and smile every time I take out my driver’s license. Behind it is a Cherry Mash wrapper that is folded into a small square. It serves as a reminder of how simply wonderful and magical an evening with your mother can be.