Sometimes, these guys just make me laugh. After the success of our mother/father prompt, we continued with mothers, grandmothers or other important women. One of our participants was sure to let us know that "Men are complicated. Women are incomprehensible." Fair play.
Carl told us about his grandmother:
She was a devoted, rigid Mennonite who never touched a drink in her life. She made homemade dandelion wine for medicinal purposes only. Grandma only drank it when she was sick. She seemed to have a cold year-round.
Gene told us about his mother, who traveled alone across the Atlantic Ocean at the age of 12. I believe she was coming from Lithuania. She wore a card around her neck with all of her information, in case of accident.
I hear about Gene's mother and I wonder about our own voyage. I wonder about the journeys of this group around me. What happens when our mind sails off? Are the waters uncharted? How do we navigate a ship we once knew so well, that seems intent on betraying us?
When we struggle to remember names, faces, if we took our morning pills, what then? Who do we become? Are we the ship in the bottle, isolated, trapped, alone, solitary? Or are we out in the open, tossed among the waves? Is there a lighthouse to guide us home?
I have heard before that caring for someone with Alzheimer's is a dual-death. First, the person you knew dies as their brain function and memory fail. At some point, comes the death of the body. It is agonizing.
I also choose to believe it is hopeful. Because some day my mind and body will also die. Maybe suddenly, maybe not. But when the time is right –the winds strong and waters calm– my mighty sails will billow up. And while there will be many people mourning on the shore tearfully saying, "There she goes" as I sail away, somewhere on the other side –on a distant shore– there will be others saying, "Oh! Here she comes."
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