For Jodi. The Stranger I remember mom calling me late one Tuesday evening, to say that there was a strange man in her home. As she spoke, there was no urgency in her soft voice, which only added to the mystery. I quickly drove the half-mile or so in no time, and found her standing outside the front door. “He is inside,” she whispered to me, her words sending chills down my spine. “Where is dad?” I asked, now wondering what I should do. When she said “I don’t know,” I could only fear the worst. I slowly and quietly peeked into the one-bedroom apartment, and saw my dad sitting in his favorite rocking chair. “Hello son” he said, as I searched for the stranger my mom called me about. From behind me, my mother said, “that’s him!” For myself, it was the beginning of a long journey with no happy ending. At her doctor’s visit the next week, he said a word that I had only heard of in my life. Mom had the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. My father was unaware of the changes taking place. Now living with poor vision and almost deaf, he could not be left alone, nor would he ever want to be. Married for over sixty years, they were never apart from one another. The following days were spent looking for a nursing home where the two of them could remain together. After a place was found, they were moved into their new setting. At first, they both seemed content, and I felt satisfied that everything would work out. Dad was happy as long as he had his coffee, a piano to play, something to eat and people to visit with. A kind and caring sole, he worried about his wife, but indeed, he did feel more like a stranger to her, at times. Mom’s days were spent walking the halls, and visiting the birds that sat in their corner cage. It was always good to see her up and smiling when I visited. We would talk during a meal, reliving old days in the past. Dad did his best to keep up in the conversation, although so often his poor hearing let him down. But all too soon it seemed, there was no past with my mother. Even getting her to eat a meal now or getting her in the mood for a walk, became a daily chore. The months went by, as I watched my mom become a stranger in my life. There were often many times when she spoke, and foul words filled the room, through no fault of her own. This was not the same woman that had raised me, but merely a shell of her former self. Although each time before I left her, I could get a smile from her. I would tell her, “you’re one of my favorite mothers.” She never looked at me, but I could always see a smile on her lips. It was the only time I still felt she knew me at all. And each time before I left, I kissed her on her forehead, much like she had always done to me, as a child. It was a Saturday, after I had gone home for the evening, when I got the call I feared. Mother had parted this world, and joined her parents in heaven. When I think of her now, I can see her smiling, and sitting by the right hand of God. Thoughts of her and that smile, now keep me warm during the cold-dark nights.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Dec 2014 03:55:09 +0000
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