Used to Be Mother Remembers My Birthday

Used to Be Mother could engage almost anyone in conversation before she had dementia. She resorts now to wondering about the stars, to commenting how much traffic there is, to wondering why the City doesn't spray for dandelions and to sharing snippets from telephone conversations she's had. Her life is punctuated by meals, eyedrop administrations and birthdays.

She remembers everyone's special day with buying Dollar Store cards and giving each a little cash present. She writes a short note to the receipient then mails it immediately and always well in advance of their birthday so it will arrive on time. Few ever write her back to acknowledge her gift and her thoughtfulness. They have no idea how much it would mean to her to find a note from them in her mailbox.

She wanted to spend the day with me on my birthday last week. We ran some errands and did a little shopping. She had an old sandal that she wanted to take to the shoemaker. Honestly it was ready for the dump but she insisted. Each place we stopped, Used to Be Mother would announce that it was my birthday and then tell them how old I was. They'd all nod politely and UTBM would just beam. At the grocery check out, I was ahead of her and preoccupied with my order. I could see her talking away but could not see anyone. I wondered if she had crossed another dementia milestone and really lost her mind.

Who are you talking to Mom?

With her hand patting the top of someone's head, she said "I'm talking to this little girl."

I couldn't see anyone so I leaned back just in time to see a little person - a dwarf! An older grey haired little person.

You're awfully little to be doing the grocery shopping yourself.

I looked apologetically at the woman but she wasn't bothered by what my mother had said.

On the way home, UTBM told me about the day I was born. I've heard that story 59 times but I never tire of it. She remembers and tells me all the details.

It was Good Friday.

She had finished washing the windows and had just put up the starched and ironed curtains when she went into labour. She gave birth to me all alone because my dad was at church. I was perfect. She counted all my fingers and toes. I was plump and beautiful. I'm old now but her telling me that story again and again tears at my heart for this woman whom I don't understand anymore and to whom I can't talk.  Used to Be Mother, thank you. Thank you for there being a birth day.