by Diana G. Lea

Created on: February 03, 2009   Last Updated: February 25, 2009

Me and Mom

Three very simple words, but they are loaded with unspoken meaning. Love, dislike, rebellion, respectall the emotions both go through as the child and the adult grow older. This isn't about those turbulent teenage years. This little missal is about the aging of a parent who was stronger, smarter, wiser, savvier and all around MORE than all the other mothers in the world and her decline into the darkness called Alzheimer's. This also is not about that darkness, but rather about the trip we both took during her descent.

Mom left her home to live in a small house that we, her children, purchased for her on a cold January day almost ten years ago. She didn't know she was leaving her beloved home for the last time, she didn't know that the woman sitting beside her in the back seat of the van was her daughter, and she didn't know that the man driving the van was her son. In her mind, she was a small child accompanying her mother to the doctor via bus. Her beloved son was the bus driver, I was her mother.

Little did we, my brother and I, know on that cold January day that our mother was going to assign us many personas over the next three years. Instead, we were grateful that she was not arguing with us, that she seemed compliant with our requests. When we stopped for gas and asked her if she needed to use the restroom, she said "Yes", with no argument. That in itself was a surprise to us because Mom did not like to use public restrooms. She preferred to wait until she arrived at wherever she was going.

I did not know where Mom's mind had traveled to until we had returned to the interstate and Mom turned to me, with wide eyes and a soft voice asked, "Did that girl meet her sister?" I replied, in confusion, "What girl?" Mom said, again very softly, "The girl sitting up there next to the driver. The one who said her sister was going to meet her. She isn't here now and I saw a man near her."

It was then I realized that wherever my Mom was, it wasn't in that van heading north. I said to her, "What color hair did the girl have?" Mom replied, "She had blonde hair. I saw that man near her. Do you think he might have taken her?" Mom was beginning to get agitated, so I reassured her, "No, I know who you're talking about now and I saw her with a woman who looked like her and a man. Maybe the man knew her sister." Mom settled down then, satisfied with that answer. We made the rest of the trip in peace. She was happy to be visiting her relatives, and said she liked the

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