HER LAST WORDS

HER LAST WORDS

**

She was older now, way past her prime. Her beautiful auburn hair, once falling softly in waves past her shoulders, now had turned to white and was cut in a more manageable style. Her beautiful blue eyes, once sharp with focus, now stared blankly at what none of us could see.

Conversations ceased to exist. No longer was there recognition in any of our words. We still spoke hoping, somewhere inside, she’d know she wasn’t alone.

Oh God! I remember less than ten years earlier, there was life, a spark, laughter. We’d shop, watch a movie, laugh at silly jokes.

Where has the time gone? It flew by so quickly, too quickly.

After a doctor visit, while my mom sat and chatted with the nurse, the doctor pulled me aside. “Dementia”, he said. “There’s no way to determine how long her mind will still be able to hold on.”

Mom had shown signs of dementia for a few years, always repeating herself when we’d talk on the phone, but I always thought it was because, at the time, she still lived alone and ached for someone to speak with.

I mentioned this to the doctor, and he confirmed that it had been the beginning of the illness.

“But mom always had such a great memory. She taught school for forty-three years! Her favorite subjects were math and science. How could this happen?”

The doctor looked at me with sadness. “There’s really no rhyme or reason why this illness strikes or who it hits. Some people can go on for years thinking they just forget small details now and then, while others get hit so hard, their mind goes blank in a matter of a year or two. There’s just no telling what will happen. The question now is, do we tell your mom or just allow nature to take its course?” He left that decision, as mom’s caregiver up to me.

Mom, however, being the teacher she was, knew.

We stopped for lunch and I noticed she hardly ate. “Mom, are you okay?” I asked.

“Just not that hungry, I guess,” was her answer.

When we arrived home, she was sad and didn’t have much to say.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

“I guess I’m lost in my own thoughts wondering how much longer I’ll even have thoughts.”

I didn’t know what to say so mom filled in the silence. “Enough of the gloom and doom! Let’s put on Jeopardy and see how much I still remember while I can remember.”

That was mom. She always tried to make the best of a bad situation and never wanted to be the one to dampen the atmosphere.

I was amazed when mom answered almost every puzzle. At ninety, in my opinion, her mind was as sharp as ever.

A few days later, the visiting nurse arrived. Mom said she was tired and ready for her afternoon nap. After the exam, the nurse watched as mom entered her bedroom and sat on the bed. I raised mom’s legs up and helped her lie down. That was the only problem she had with her mobility. If you hadn’t heard her diagnosis, you’d never know there was anything wrong.

As mom dozed, the nurse gave me a crash course in the illness.

“It could go on for years or months. Each patient is different but you’ll know the end is approaching when your mom loses her ability to speak. Normally, that’s the final step. First, she’ll have trouble walking. Eating on her own will be an issue. Using the bathroom will be extremely difficult, whether it’s using the toilet or bathing. Her mind just won’t allow her to remember.”

I asked, “You mentioned her speech. Will she speak just nonsense? Words jumbled?”

She responded, “Most often, in the beginning, there will be a few words that make no sense at all. For instance, she might say she needs to use the toilet, but instead, she might say she needs to find her shoe. Something that has nothing to do with anything. Then, her speech will be reduced. Instead of a conversation, she might say one or two sentences. After a while, she’ll be reduced to one word. Then nothing! All you’ll see is a blank stare. She’ll hear you speak to her but will not have the mental ability to answer.”

The nurse must have seen my eyes get misty because she grabbed my hand. “I’m so sorry. I know this won’t be easy. I’ve been through it with my own mom. Here’s my private number. Call me anytime, even if it’s just to cry, talk, or even scream with frustration. I’ll be here for you.”

She stood, walked to mom’s room to check on her, then quietly left.

For the next year, I continued to take mom out for our weekly lunches. Mom made the decision to avoid restaurants and order take out. A lunch in the covered pavilion in the park near the harbor was more interesting. Being like mom and loving the water so much, I absolutely didn’t argue.

We never spoke of her illness. There was no point. Without words, mom knew what she once thought of aged senility, was much more. Rather than create a somber mood, we were determined to enjoy every day as much as possible.

And yet, as much as we enjoyed the time we spent together, the illness progressed. Each week, she lost a bit more of herself. First, it was her legs that stopped. Then slowly, she’d forget how to feed herself. Basic hygiene was now not so basic. I was extremely grateful that I had a walk-in shower. I put a bedside commode in mom’s room but it didn’t take long for her to forget how to use it. We were down to a diapers.

All that ran through my mind was, “Heck, mom took care of me! Changed my diapers, bathed me, taught me to use eating utensils. Now it’s my turn!”

So I did.

Then her speech stopped. Completely!

One afternoon, we were sitting on my back porch and while I didn’t expect an answer, I still asked, “Mom, was dad proud of me?”

She slowly turned her head and said (which surprised me), “Who was your father?”

Surprised at her answer, I replied, “Your husband.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I was married?”

It was like a knife realizing that she didn’t remember her husband of fifty-one years.

“Mom, do you remember that handsome sailor you liked?”

It was the first time in months that I saw her eyes light up with love. “Frankie? I married my Frankie?”

“Yes, mom. You married your Frankie and he was my father.”

The last words she ever spoke were, “I married my Frankie.”

Her eyes, then looked far away – somewhere I couldn’t see. The blank stare remained for the next three months until she took her last breath.

But at least she died remembering her Frankie.