Issue link: http://read.dmtmag.com/i/67888
role reversal that was emotionally jarring. Some days I could cope, doing whatever was needed to help, to comfort, or just be present. Other days, I couldn't. Yet, I wasn't hurt by Mom's question about children. Saddened, yes, but it's just another memory lost in a whirlpool of malfunctioning brain chemicals. A muddy swirl of life experiences, some that sud- denly wash up out of sequence, like the day Mom "just found out" my dad died 40 years ago. "Who ordered his gravestone?" I choose my explanation carefully. What can I say to calm her fears? Will details make her feel worse? Mom taught me to tell the truth, but does the truth really matter anymore? Comedians joke about how "Alzheimer's means meeting new people every day." Th e hard truth is you can also lose people every day, another fi rst-time experience of life's worst losses. I hold my mother as she cries, my dad's death a new wound to her heart. "How did you know how to fi nd me?" It's a day when Mom is convinced she now lives "up north." I puzzle over this, then fi nally grasp her logic. Mom barely recognizes her house anymore, looks cu- riously around the living room, asks the way to the bathroom. Since her home is now unfamiliar, her deduction is she's liv- ing elsewhere. Her memory may be fading, but her mind is still trying to make sense of the world. Her conclusion could also be wishful thinking. All those family vacations back when Dad was alive, when for two weeks each year we lived in the simplicity of rus- tic cabins and ate fresh-caught perch and Some say only young children can live perfectly in the moment... But on her good days, Mom knows pure pleasure. walleyed pike for supper. It was a time and a place when she was happy. Somehow Mom retains impressions, shadows, maybe stored somewhere else in her body, imprinted by powerful emo- tions or long experience. I know this is true when I walk into the room and Mom smiles. She may not remember my name, but she knows I am someone she loves and someone who loves her. Th is is memory of the heart. "I'm so glad you came today!" Mom is beaming, a day when she radiates affection. Th is is a long way from the stoic Scandinavian woman she was before the 1970s. Th at's when the Lutheran church encouraged parishioners to shake hands and hug, and my mom became a master hugger. Now Mom loves being touched. She gives frail but earnest hugs, reaches out to hold hands. In some ways I feel more openly loved by my mother than ever be- fore. up. Mom no longer hides any emotions. She anguishes over her inability to remem- ber, blaming and berating herself as if she has committed some unforgivable sin. Four women from her church drop by for 56 BRAVA Magazine May 2012 "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry." Th e other side of the emotional coin turns a "goodwill visit." I'm glad for their effort, but Mom is having a bad day. Th e women