Shared story: Joy from memories of who she was, and who she had become

Today’s shared story comes from Sarah Ferris, West Chester, Ohio, who is retired from the staff of Christ’s Church in Mason, Ohio. She wrote this piece in 1997 after the death of her mother, Mae Hensley, at the age of 77.

As a middle-aged woman aging gracefully, I watched my mother who also was aging, but not so gracefully.

Memories of my mother

The mother I had as a child no longer resembled the person she had become.

Once meticulous about her appearance, she now forgot to bathe and made no attempt to comb or style her own hair.

Formerly a talented handcrafter, she was capable of quilting and appliqueing what became expensive heirlooms that had required hundreds of hours of detailed stitching. Now she needed reminders of the location of the bathroom.

Mother could no longer grasp the concept that used toilet tissue gets flushed when the task is completed. Her behaviors were often rude, and it became increasingly more difficult to cope with irrational actions.

Sarah posed with her granddaugher Madeline as they celebrated their shared birth month in July.

These are real obstacles that I, as an adult child, had to endure. Millions of other adult children struggled as I did after dementia or Alzheimer’s is discovered. Discovered is not exactly the correct word. In my mind, discovered denotes something that happens quickly. But facing reality or accepting what you strongly suspect doesn’t happen overnight. The process can take months, or even years when justifying, analyzing, and rationalizing behaviors that are not in keeping with the loved one’s former self.

Facing the facts of her new reality

When preparing for and dealing with a death, one goes through stages ranging from denial to acceptance. Even before a physical death occurs, family members feel these losses. Never again will I be able to share the relationship that was a cherished part of my life. But when we love a person suffering from dementia, we struggle to come to the same realization.

And that’s only the beginning. 

Who would choose to live the remainder of life looking for a bathroom, eventually not able to realize that there is such a place?

How would you feel if the parent you love could no longer differentiate you from a total stranger?

No matter how rotten your children are now, do you really want to put this kind of burden on them? The stress on family members of the dementia sufferer is beyond words. Believe me, I speak from experience.

Honor thy father and mother

From the time children are old enough to understand the concept, they are taught to honor parents. My parents were a dedicated couple who had had little but sacrificed to give as much as they could muster for their children. Without speaking so many words, they promised to love and care for me in sickness and in health, till death would us part.

Sarah’s parents, Mae and Dan Hensley, in 1985.

But the best-laid plans often get off course, due to circumstances beyond our control. The dedication my parents had for me was evident. How dedicated am I? Where and when exactly does responsibility to a parent end?

Where and when does the responsibility to a parent end?

Guilt settled in on my very being if I got embarrassed by my mother. It hurts to see someone you love decline so rapidly. Why should I try to share my life with someone who doesn’t even remember that I’ve been there 10 minutes after I depart?

The answers aren’t easy. Time heals many wounds. I did what I could to enhance my mother’s life, simply because I still loved her.

There are days when the light inside her brain flickered on and off. When the light was on, we strived to capture a moment.

When the light was on, we strived to capture a moment.

Like others with her disease, she could enjoy many moments of happiness. My mother thought I was great. We laughed and talked with each other. It was difficult for others to understand where our conversation was going or where our laughter originated, but such moments together were sheer joy.

But now, the end

But soon the moments had to come to an end. As Alzheimer’s continues to rob the individual whose brain is affected, those who are near and dear are also robbed. The recognition once there in an occasional moment is gone. Slowly the quality moments happen less and less often.

I’ve learned that the response of “I love you too” or a kiss should not be taken for granted. Actually, each one is surely a gift from God.

As the end of life approached for my mother and reality set in that she was in the final stages of dying, my heart ached so intensely I thought it surely would burst. I didn’t want to hear all the clichés: “She wouldn’t want to live like that.” “I wish she could be at peace.” “Let’s remember Mother the way she was.”

I didn’t want to hear all the clichés.

My maternal instincts long ago instilled in me from my mother, consumed me. Memories flooded my mind, and I could hear her say, “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” I knew I would have wanted to have someone with me when I died. And I wanted, I needed, to hold her, stroke her head, tell her what a great mother she was. Maybe consciously or unconsciously, I wanted to witness a pleasurable awakening or change of expression as she passed from this world to the next.

Jasper Chamber photo at istockphoto.com

No such gift came from God.

As I held her, watching her every breath, the rasping diminished until her breathing was no longer audible. With one more kiss, I felt her forehead growing cooler. She did not raise a finger, stiffen a muscle, or acknowledge in any way that life had ended. Death was quiet, almost sneaky. A final robbery of Alzheimer’s disease.

She was there when I, her last-born child, took my first breath. I am grateful to have been there when she breathed her last. I was at peace with myself at last because I had been able to mark this moment.

My mother may not have ever been aware I was there. She appeared to derive no comfort from my presence. But I have been true to myself, and it has ended.

I know that by cherishing memories of the mother I had and loving and appreciating the mother she became, my mother will always be closer to my heart.