From McKenzie
Check out the new page (on the right) dedicated to the writings of my youngest sister, McKenzie. Here is her debut post:
A few weeks ago I was at my parents' house for the Alzheimer’s walk. While I was home, I needed my mom’s signature on a document. I took my mom into my dad’s office for some privacy. I explained why I needed her signature, and then I handed her a pen. I pointed out the line were she needed to sign. She took the pen in her hand and started to write on X next to the words “sign here” by it.
“Can you sign on this line,” I kept saying, while I tried to re-direct her to sign her name on the line above my finger. She looked at the line and hesitated.
Then she said “Carol,” as though making sure she knew her name. “That’s right,” I told her.
After a minute of trying to get her to understand where to write, she finally wrote her name. Once she was done, I thanked her, and she left the office. When she was gone, I began to examine her signature. As I was looking, her signature looked more like scribble. About the only thing she was able to write for a long time was her name, and now that was getting harder to read. Her name was not on the line, but was on the space above. I could read the "C" and make out most of the other letters in her first name, but I could not make out any of the letters in her last name. Later when my dad asked if the signature was ok, I lied and said it was fine. I tried to write over her signature, to make it look more like her signature, but I could not make it look like hers used to. Luckily, everything worked out anyway.
Looking at her signature made me think of one of the first signs I saw something was not “right” with my mom. In my late junior year in high school, my mom and I had gone to the grocery store. Everything was normal, until we were checking out. As usual my mom paid for the groceries with a check, but when I was watching her write the check, she was having problems writing out the amount. Writing the last word of the number, her letters looked more scribbled than usual; the letters looked like that of a child who does not know how to write trying to write a word. I know this does not seem strange to some, because some people's handwriting looks like scribble, but this did not look like her usual handwriting. At first I thought maybe she was having a brain freeze or having one of those off days, but this was not the last time this happened. Not too long after, a manager from the other grocery store in town called to ask my mom to come back and write another check because they could not read the check my mom had written (I think this happened a second time ). Then I started to recall a few other instances when my mother’s memory had slipped and started to think there was something not “right” with my mom.
My family had discussed some possibilities of what could be wrong with my mom, but none of our diagnoses was correct. In the back of my mind I always thought it was Alzheimer’s, but I wanted my mom to have a brain tumor, so when she had surgery to take the tumor out, she would be back to her normal self. Childish I know, but no one wants their mother to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. You are never ready to hear those words, or to watch your mother slowly disappear right in front of you. These past years have not always been the easiest for me. Although I have done a pretty good job of putting up a front and acting as though everything was fine. In reality I pushed my emotions down so I would not have to deal with them. I did not know how to tell people, or how I would react to people when I told them; I pushed my feelings farther down. Yet in reality I was sad, angry, hurt, and devastated. I realized these feelings this past summer, by talking to some family and friends. I came to terms knowing I will probably always feel this way, but this is life, and I can not change it. Although my mom is slowly slipping away, she is still my mom, and I will always love her.
I am staring at this blank page trying to figure how to start this story and what to talk about. I keep erasing the first couple of sentences because I keep thinking if I just started typing then the words would magically type themselves. I am having a hard time figuring out what it is I want to say since I have not really talked to anyone about this situation before. This is not easy for me to talk about, yet I want people to know what is really going on. My mom has Alzheimer’s. Although she is only in the early stages, it still does not change the reality of it. I think right now the best thing is to remember the memories of my mom, but also the ones of her now going through this disease without a cure. Although she may not be exactly the same person she was, in some ways she still is. When I am home, and I am bringing in my luggage, or I am cooking, she always asks me “can I help you with something?” My response usually is “no thank you I am fine.” I feel bad when I say this because I know she wants to help and feel she can do something, yet I see a person who can’t tie her shoes anymore. Although she may feel helpless at times, there are times when she isn’t. She has the ability to sit with me and listen to me. When I talk to her she still shows interest in what I have to say, even though I may not say much, she listens. Sometimes I am not sure she fully comprehends what I say, I think she is thankful to have someone to talk and listen to. Through it all I think one of the most important qualities that I have always liked is her sense of humor. It doesn’t matter how bad our jokes can be, she will laugh anyway.
A few weeks ago I was at my parents' house for the Alzheimer’s walk. While I was home, I needed my mom’s signature on a document. I took my mom into my dad’s office for some privacy. I explained why I needed her signature, and then I handed her a pen. I pointed out the line were she needed to sign. She took the pen in her hand and started to write on X next to the words “sign here” by it.
“Can you sign on this line,” I kept saying, while I tried to re-direct her to sign her name on the line above my finger. She looked at the line and hesitated.
Then she said “Carol,” as though making sure she knew her name. “That’s right,” I told her.
After a minute of trying to get her to understand where to write, she finally wrote her name. Once she was done, I thanked her, and she left the office. When she was gone, I began to examine her signature. As I was looking, her signature looked more like scribble. About the only thing she was able to write for a long time was her name, and now that was getting harder to read. Her name was not on the line, but was on the space above. I could read the "C" and make out most of the other letters in her first name, but I could not make out any of the letters in her last name. Later when my dad asked if the signature was ok, I lied and said it was fine. I tried to write over her signature, to make it look more like her signature, but I could not make it look like hers used to. Luckily, everything worked out anyway.
Looking at her signature made me think of one of the first signs I saw something was not “right” with my mom. In my late junior year in high school, my mom and I had gone to the grocery store. Everything was normal, until we were checking out. As usual my mom paid for the groceries with a check, but when I was watching her write the check, she was having problems writing out the amount. Writing the last word of the number, her letters looked more scribbled than usual; the letters looked like that of a child who does not know how to write trying to write a word. I know this does not seem strange to some, because some people's handwriting looks like scribble, but this did not look like her usual handwriting. At first I thought maybe she was having a brain freeze or having one of those off days, but this was not the last time this happened. Not too long after, a manager from the other grocery store in town called to ask my mom to come back and write another check because they could not read the check my mom had written (I think this happened a second time ). Then I started to recall a few other instances when my mother’s memory had slipped and started to think there was something not “right” with my mom.
My family had discussed some possibilities of what could be wrong with my mom, but none of our diagnoses was correct. In the back of my mind I always thought it was Alzheimer’s, but I wanted my mom to have a brain tumor, so when she had surgery to take the tumor out, she would be back to her normal self. Childish I know, but no one wants their mother to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. You are never ready to hear those words, or to watch your mother slowly disappear right in front of you. These past years have not always been the easiest for me. Although I have done a pretty good job of putting up a front and acting as though everything was fine. In reality I pushed my emotions down so I would not have to deal with them. I did not know how to tell people, or how I would react to people when I told them; I pushed my feelings farther down. Yet in reality I was sad, angry, hurt, and devastated. I realized these feelings this past summer, by talking to some family and friends. I came to terms knowing I will probably always feel this way, but this is life, and I can not change it. Although my mom is slowly slipping away, she is still my mom, and I will always love her.
I am staring at this blank page trying to figure how to start this story and what to talk about. I keep erasing the first couple of sentences because I keep thinking if I just started typing then the words would magically type themselves. I am having a hard time figuring out what it is I want to say since I have not really talked to anyone about this situation before. This is not easy for me to talk about, yet I want people to know what is really going on. My mom has Alzheimer’s. Although she is only in the early stages, it still does not change the reality of it. I think right now the best thing is to remember the memories of my mom, but also the ones of her now going through this disease without a cure. Although she may not be exactly the same person she was, in some ways she still is. When I am home, and I am bringing in my luggage, or I am cooking, she always asks me “can I help you with something?” My response usually is “no thank you I am fine.” I feel bad when I say this because I know she wants to help and feel she can do something, yet I see a person who can’t tie her shoes anymore. Although she may feel helpless at times, there are times when she isn’t. She has the ability to sit with me and listen to me. When I talk to her she still shows interest in what I have to say, even though I may not say much, she listens. Sometimes I am not sure she fully comprehends what I say, I think she is thankful to have someone to talk and listen to. Through it all I think one of the most important qualities that I have always liked is her sense of humor. It doesn’t matter how bad our jokes can be, she will laugh anyway.
Comments
Post a Comment