Caregiver Insights

Understanding Dementia

The Power of Love

We moved my mom into Cherrywood a year ago. It was rough. Really rough. Dad and I were lost without her. The house was quiet—not that she made a lot of noise when she lived here, but there is a silence that comes with absence that is hard to overlook. We’d glance over at her chair, and it felt wrong that she wasn’t in it. But we knew we’d made the right decision. We couldn’t keep her safe any longer. And we were exhausted. 

The move came at the right time. We all adjusted. But what I didn’t anticipate (though I should have), was Mom’s decline. When I look back over the past year, I’m shocked by how much she has changed. She used to be the belle of the ball. Greeting everyone, laughing and talking to each and every person at Cherrywood. Making sure all the other residents felt okay. She’d comfort those who seemed sad. She always wanted to help out and often did. She was one of the “higher functioning” residents. It was a sweet time. 

A month ago, I took her to lunch at Jason’s Deli (her favorite place). She wanted more soda. I always go get it for her, but she really wanted to go get it by herself, and I reluctantly let her. After several minutes, I went in search of her. I found her in the bathroom, pressing her cup up against the mirror and then the paper towel dispenser, looking at me plaintively and saying, “I can’t get this to work. Can you help me?” I was undone.

Our conversations now are word salad exchanges, concocted of phrases that don’t go together in the least. Like, “And then I, she said it was over, and so it, and you must be so proud, but it all worked out okay.” And I smile and tell her, “It always works out okay.”

Because the truth of it all is that the love between us is so palpable and so authentic. This love has only grown deeper, stronger. She might not know my name, but she brightens when she sees me. She may fall asleep in the car or at the lunch table, but she always tells me how much she loves me. We make silly faces at each other and can still be goofy together. We light up in one another’s presence, whether we’re speaking gibberish or not. The love that the flows between us are like a beautiful rose that blooms each time I see her. I didn’t know my heart could expand the way it does every time I get to be with my mom.

So, while she may have declined, physically, emotionally, cognitively…the love has not declined. I feel more blessed today than I could ever have imagined.

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