I don’t know if I’m a good daughter…. My two cousins and aunt (mom’s sister and her two nephews) blasted me a few months ago because of the name of the blog… My DEMENTED Mom. The word demented when translated into Spanish is apparently a not very kind word. I can’t say much about that. I didn’t know it was a wretched word in Spanish.
Alas, my mother tongue is English, the blog is in English and according to Merriam-Webster, DEMENTED has two meanings:
1. mad, insane
2. suffering from or exhibiting cognitive dementia
My mother fits both definitions quite nicely. The assault on my use of the word was so incredibly hurtful. They attacked me, the blog and from my point of view, my role as her daughter. I felt like such a horrible person, a rancid daughter, clumsy, baroquely grotesque, wretched and positively cheap……………..I knew it was a strong word……. but the name of my blog was never meant to disparage my mom or her memory………. she is demented. She is sometimes mad. She does suffer from cognitive dementia.
I love my mom.
I miss my mom.
This morning I woke up wishing that I had started wearing a purse when I was younger—when she told me too. Silly, random pre-dawn, pre-caffeinated thought. She used to tell me that I should wear a purse. That a girl my age should wear purse. I hated purses then (love ’em now), but I wish I just did what she wanted me to do. It would have made her happy.
I no longer have any relationship with these individuals—there’s no point. That and I’m stubborn but mostly I don’t think there is a reason to resume relations with people who just don’t get it. Who never will. I don’t know if I’m sad about that…… maybe more disappointed…………. but for me, family goes beyond blood lines. Natalie.
And of course, my Jon.
I talked to Sandra Gonzalez at the Alzheimer’s Associate Desert Southwest Chapter. My mom hates baths. Sandra was sharing some tips for making bath time a little easier…. Play soothing music. Prepare her bath before she gets near the bathroom (apparently the noise may be amplified for those suffering from dementia). My mom screams. She yells, PORQUE ME PONES? PORQUE ME PONES?
That’s dementia for, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? YOU KNOW I HATE WATER. PUT MY CLOTHES BACK ON. I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU PUT ME IN THE WATER I’M GOING TO SCREAM. YOU’RE REALLY PISSING ME OFF.
We also talked about communication…………. communicating with my mom, understanding her and talking to her in her own language. My mom has less than a handful of phrases that she uses and repeats over and over….. I use the same phrases to talk to her.
Oddly, she understands me. No idea what she thinks I’m saying, but she responds….. in her own demented language. I am in her world. Every time I visit my mom, I step into her world, I engage her……….. I “allow” her to shop lift………. I listen to her. I paint her nails hot pink. I clip her finger and toe nails. I dress her sometimes—something I actually like to do……. granted she ended up with a pair of Converse One Stars, but she likes them and I own the same pair (I like it when we match…………… it’s my thing).
Tomorrow, March 25, is my mom’s birthday. She’ll be 73.