October 2001 - Archive 2

We just arrived home from our vacation in Maine. Since I was little girl, we have camped in Maine every August for two weeks. While there this summer, I was reminded of a conversation that occurred just two years ago. It was a late night and mom and I were at the bath house brushing our teeth. The early signs of Alzheimer’s disease were beginning to become evident to us as a family. I looked at mom with tears in my eyes and a heart full of frustration and said, "Mom, I am afraid that in a few years you will forget me." Mom responded with a smile and a simple answer, "Jocie, I could never forget you. Do not worry about that." She kept on with her nightly routine, but I remember thinking that she was a bit distant from me.

Our bathhouse discussions this year were quite different. When it was time for showers, mom spent the first ten minutes crying because she was afraid that dad and I had stolen her jewelry and would never return it. She would then wait for me to shower. When I came out the door, she said to me, "I thought I lost you… I did not know where you went." Shower time was filled with confusion for mom, but each night when it was over, she would boast of her soft, sweet-smelling hair. She would always make dad touch it when we returned back to the campsite. The Lord gave me the grace and patience to calm her in those confusing moments. 

In previous years, one of mom’s favorite things to do in Maine was to go shopping with her friend Marianne. They would go out for hours searching for treasures to fill our home, or to give as gifts to others at Christmas time. This year, I accompanied mom and Marianne on their shopping trip. Mom told us that the only thing she wanted was a stuffed animal loon. Once she had that goal in mind, she reminded us of it every 2-3 minutes. We found a loon at the very last store, and mom was so thrilled! She held it in her arms like it was her baby, and she kept asking me, "Is this my loon to keep?" I smiled at her and said, "Yes, we finally found the loon… it is very cute…" In those moments, I smiled at mom, but certainly there was an ache beneath it all. A part of me wanted to buy her something that she would have wanted years ago. Money was not an issue in my mind. I felt like running up to the counter and saying, "Show me your best crafts, and I will tell you what my mom would like…" But that part of her no longer remains. The gift would not hold the same meaning. Mom’s joy came in a loon, a sweater, and time with her loved ones.

A neat memory I will have of mom this year was her desire for me to read to her. We read stories, and if I stopped, I would hear her soft voice say, "Jocie, I can’t hear you." I would respond by saying, "That’s because I am reading it over again in my head." She would respond, "Well, I can’t hear you like that." I would smile at her cute, innocent face and read on further.

In the midst of challenges, I saw love displayed by my dad this vacation. He taught me the great meaning of commitment. This standard and perspective I will carry with me everywhere I go. I was reminded that dad is an individual with interests and desires. He loves adventure, God’s creation, hiking, and laughing. He has an incredible mind to offer God and others. Some might say, "Why are you wasting your time? Why don’t you move on?" But, my dad’s commitment to my mom is stronger. He loves her as he always has and possibly a bit deeper, for sure. I am blessed by his example. He has taught me the perfect balance of having joy in the midst of sorrow. We have learned that joy and sorrow are expected daily, and we make the most of both of them. 

Post Script: Perhaps the sweetest memory from camping this year was in the light of morning. I would be sleeping in my tent, all bundled up with blankets, blocking out the world around me. Then, I heard her voice, softly at first, then louder. "Turtle", she’d say, "Turtle, are you going to come out?" I would moan. "Turtle, are you going to stay in there all day? I miss your face" she’d say. I do not know whether or not mom understood the concept of a turtle coming out of its shell, or if she was implying that I was slow. All I heard was her innocent and gentle love for me. That is my treasure.