As my life has become less complicated, I’ve been able to visit Mother a bit more often. When I arrive, I find I need to approach her gently and gradually, sort of to bring her around from where ever she has mentally wandered to my being there. The dogs have no such compunction, however, and eagerly jump into her lap, usually startling her before I’ve quite succeeded. She is always glad to hold them. William is still her special buddy.
She is singing much of the time. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true. I’m half crazy, all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet, upon the seat, of a bicycle built for two.” Over. And over. And over.
The last couple of visits I’ve tried changing her tune: “You are my Sunshine,” “Pop, goes the weasel,” “Oh Susannah,” and whatever else I can remember.
Yesterday it was getting close to supper time and I told her if we wanted to chat we would have to stop singing. Oh, okay. She isn’t much for conversation, but when I asked her if there had been any special programs at QO she thought for a minute and said,
“No, but I did get to see a rehearsal of the junior play.”
Oh? She couldn’t remember the name of the play or what it was about, but she knew one of the kids in the cast. Boy or girl? She couldn’t remember. Older or younger than she? She couldn’t remember. I figured that asking her challenging questions she couldn’t answer was an unnecessary path to frustration. Validating her recollections–true or not–has to be the kindest way. It makes her feel like an adult human being who can interact socially.
Isn’t that what any of us wants?
Photo below taken last week out on their enclosed patio.