Yesterday was the first Mother’s Day that MayBelle’s mother might not have been aware of. Sure, MayBelle sent a card. And her sisters took their mother out to lunch and presented her with a basket of happies.
But it’s anyone’s guess how much their mother actually took in, now that they’ve gotten the diagnosis of dementia.
She’s still funny, still proper, still recognizes her children. But the memory comes and goes, and not in a “where did I put my glasses oh they’re on my head” kind of ha-ha way that so many of us resort to now that we’ve hit middle age and we can’t, well, find our glasses. It’s serious business, this dementia, and it’s taking some getting used to on everyone’s part.
So yesterday, when MayBelle called to wish her mother Happy Mother’s Day, who knows what it sounded like on the other end of the phone? But here’s what came through loud and clear to MayBelle, out there in Indiana, from a middle-aged daughter to her ninety-two-year-old mother and back again: “I love you.”
Maybe you don’t need memory to hold on to what really matters in the end. MayBelle, for one, is banking on it.