May 142015
 

When I presented Mom with her birthday present, I couldn’t get my phone to record her reaction. The present was a big frame with eight photos of our family, and she loved it. So, what did I do? I took back the present, waited about 10 minutes, and gave it to her again. This time I filmed it—the same, wondrous reaction to seeing all her loved ones is now recorded.

I’m both amused and horrified by my use of Mom’s Alzheimer’s to get what I wanted.

What I really want is my mom back. I don’t want the child-like adult who needs constant watching, who can’t remember how to get dressed or brush her teeth, who thinks washing dishes is running them under a stream of water, who is inactive unless someone engages her in conversation, who does whatever I tell her because she trusts me.

If I could only eliminate her confusion, repair her dying brain functions.

We say goodbye a little at a time to the people we love. Mom is there in body but not in mind. And as she slips away from us, her memories, her life force, her very existence, become hollow. I shower her with love because my feelings towards her have not changed. We are bound by the inexplicable bonds that exist between a parent and a child. She is still my mom.

We’re in a hard transition. She is both present and absent, herself and someone else. It is painful to make the best of it, put on a happy face and care for Mom as if it were not a difficult burden. Sometimes I wish she were more compliant, less ornery, and less needy. Then I feel remorse. The alternative is too awful to contemplate. But it’s coming whether I like it or not. I need to accept and appreciate where she is now for soon she will only be absent.

squirrelThis week, in order to distract myself and raise my spirits, I made sugar cookies. What’s fun about these cookies is the cookie cutters I found—all fun animal shapes, including a moose! Yes, Boris Badenov’s nemeses, “Moose and Squirrel.”

Sugar Cookies
There are many variations of sugar cookies, each with a slightly different set of ingredients. I like this recipe with the added colored sprinkles. You can also decorate the cookies with sugar granules on top.

¾ cup oil
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2¼ cup flour
½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt

Directions:
Pre-heat oven to 350°. In a bowl, whisk together oil and eggs. Whisk in sugar and vanilla. Add remaining dry ingredients until a soft dough forms. Using a rolling pin, roll dough on a flat, floured surface until about ¼ inch thick. To add sprinkles, place sprinkles on dough and gently roll them into the dough. Press cookie cutters into dough and wiggle slightly so that the shape detaches from the dough. Lift and place on a cookie sheet. When you cannot make any more cookie shapes, gather remaining dough and roll out again on a floured surface. Repeat process. Bake cookies for 10 minutes at 350°.

About the Author: Miriam Green writes a weekly blog at thelostkichen.org that chronicles through prose, poetry and recipes her mother’s battle with Alzheimer’s.  Her unpublished cookbook, “The Lost Kitchen: An Alzheimer’s Memoir and Cookbook” is filled with advice for the novice cook, easy and elegant recipes and home-spun caregiver advice. Her poem, “Questions My Mother Asked, Answers My Father Gave Her,” won the 2013 Reuben Rose Poetry prize. Miriam is a 20-year resident of Beer Sheva, Israel, and a mother of three.

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  4 Responses to “Mother and Child”

  1. I remember when I told my mother that a family member had her baby, there was no excitement or happiness on her face. This was the beginning of my realizing I was losing her. I still cry when I think of this. My mother left me February 28, 2010.

  2. Whenever you feel like you can not go on one more minute, hug your mom or sing a song with her. For the moment she is happy, isn't that all we get any way? Moments together that will have to last a lifetime. xo

  3. There isn't a day or even a few moments that go by that I don't miss my Mom, oh boy do I, alzheimer's is a cruel disease and I still ask why all the time. My sweet mother just went away little by little till the light left her eyes. It has been three years in Feb. She is always with me and since her passing she sends me pennies, pennies from heaven. Please cherish the time you have with your precious mom. God is good and because of what I have learned through this loss I can agree with my mom's faith. God has sustained me through this and I know He will continue to.

  4. Thanks for sharing Miriam! I know how hard is to see the person you love in a state like that. My grandmother is 80 years old, and sometimes she falls into the similar state. As we've been told it is just the beginning, but it scares me much.

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