We were gathered there to celebrate her 81st
birthday. A couple of years ago, her husband passed away and her Alzheimer’s
kicked in high gear. As her mental capacity deteriorated, an army of friends and
family gathered around to support her. This day was just another poignant
example of their unrelenting dedication.
She used to sing in the church choir. Unable to continue
this passion, the choir came to her. When I arrived they were already sitting
in the living room around a keyboard that had been set up for the performance.
After kisses and handshakes, I took my place alongside the rest of the
choir. She was sitting on the couch
between her brother and son. Sheet music was passed around, and I struggled to
keep up with the fidel.
Her brother stood up, thanked us for coming and led us into
a prayer. Meanwhile her son guided her to the chair placed in the middle of the
room. Refusing, she instead toured the perimeter of the room, finally returning
to her original spot on the couch. The choir began to sing. Her face was buried
in the sheet music trying to follow along, however within a few minutes, she
stood again.
It was all in her eyes. Her heavy, half-obstructed, glazed
eyes. Her face was contorted to a permanent state of disorientation. I
remembered all too well what that feeling was like. Behind her on the wall was
a framed wedding picture. Catching my eye, my neighbor told me that picture was
63 years old and proof of the advantages of early marriage. The walls were covered
with many blown up family portraits. Behind me sat a picture of guest of honor in
her twenties, rocking an Angela Davis fro. Her eyes told me of her cheerful yet
rebellious spirit.
She wandered around trying to escape this place that didn’t
make sense. She moved around as if someone was continually altering all of the
rules. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, but couldn’t figure out how to
do it. She knew where she wanted to go, but the route changed. She didn’t know
that the distorted path was transformed until she was standing inches from the
wall. Beyond frustrated, her mind betrayed
her body’s instincts. The incongruent reality gave her no refuge from her
mental anarchy.
While she tried to adjust to the new rules, people rushed by
her side to persuade her sit down. Her independent and defiant nature was
unrelenting. The choir sang while her heartbreaking search for the correct
route continued.
An hour later, we took a chai and cake break. We sang Happy Birthday while her son coaxed her to blow out the candles. To us, the
inverse candles read 18. She looked at all of us, trying to understand what was
happening. Her frazzled eyes rolled over everyone in the room. But there was
just too much to take in. Cameras flashed. People clapped. Singing voices
overshadowed hushed whispers. Feet shuffled uncomfortably. A nearby dog incessantly
barked. Curtains billowed through the windows. Glasses clinked as the cook
shuffled between the kitchen and adjacent living room.
It was too much. Baffled
and near tears, she hid her head in her hands. The jovial atmosphere that we desperately
attempted to create was wrapped in an overlay of despair. Despite our best
intentions, I felt like we were making things worse. Stiffened with heightened
emotion, my neck ached. Eating our cake and drinking our chai, I tried to
suppress the intense sadness that washed over me, not sure if others were struggling
to do the same.
Her younger brother stood up. Choked up, he thanked us again.
While I missed most of his words, I understood the tender message. I lowered my
eyes, trying to contain the swell of emotion. Memories of watching my mother’s
own deterioration and her eyes of hopelessness flooded my mind. Emotionally
depleted, he wiped his nose and sat down.
Her eyes drew me in. In them I saw a lifetime of memories
lost. The years of anguish etched on her face could not eclipse her smoldering
eyes of determination. She continuously wrestled her reality to make the world
make sense again - to find her way home. She was trying to piece together a
puzzle with all of the wrong pieces. But her efforts were in vain. With every
passing moment, everything around her became increasingly shrouded in mystery
and her world even smaller.
As we made our way out of the door, I was relieved to leave.
The unexpected emotional afternoon took its toll on my heart. Silent and
distant, my companions worried that I was bored. Unable to articulate how I
felt, I weakly attempted to dispel their fears that the afternoon was anything but
mundane.
