Archive Entry 1: Preface

Preface in the journal (written in the end stages). I am spending this evening in our dimly-lit living room, carefully sifting through a box of old photographs.  There are countless photos of my mother, and in this moment, I feel as if I can almost touch the memory of her. 

It is a journey of fascination and sorrow to see the decline in mom’s expressiveness over the last 11 years due to Alzheimer’s disease.  I smile at her vibrancy of life, and I grieve to see it replaced by a blank and distant expression.  The world may view her as an empty canvas, but I know there is more within her.  And when it seems like I can’t find more, I remember.

This is for my family, for all who have prayed for us, and most importantly, for the Lord who enables me to grieve with hope. 

Title: Miss-matched (First Entry)

Our clothes are worn out and exhausted.  I question why Mom is spending so much time in the basement.  After a little investigation, I come to observe that half-way though the laundry cycle the clothes are being prematurely transferred to the dryer, sopping wet.  Even at the close of the dryer cycle, dampness still lingers on the garments. 

I find a cd in the refrigerator, in the oven a cassette, and in the shower, eye glasses.  Miss-matched socks fill our laundry baskets.  Meals are minus vegetables, and Mom cannot recall how to set the dinner table.  Our home is losing its sense of normalcy and Mom is losing a part of herself. 

I find myself repeating stories and conversations for her benefit.  I work so hard to keep her attention so she will not tune out of the conversation.  She has always wanted to be in close communication, growing together.  Why does she no longer seem to care?  I miss her presence and she is still right beside me, speaking.

Forty-nine years old.  Alzheimer’s disease.  Only 15% of Alz’s patients are diagnosed as young as Mom.  We have no family history.  It is a unique situation; she is still relatively young with children who are just on the brink of adulthood.  We need you, Mom; please don’t leave us.  What would we do; how would we survive the loss of your presence? 

Christmas has come so quickly this year, and I’ve tried so hard to make it all slow down, to pause.  I have no sense of how long we will have with Mom and I wish time could cease and we all just remain as we are. 

For the first time in my entire life, this Christmas has no decorations, baked goods, or presents. All the thoughtfulness of gift giving is absent. My Mom is here with us in this house, and yet I've never felt more abandoned.