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Jan. 06, 2007 ~ Losing Harriet

My cousin recently called to chat, and mentioned that his mom was not doing well at all, that she was down to less than a hundred pounds due to a medication side effect, and that her memory was gone. Painfully, he described a conversation he had just had with her, in which she struggled to recall someone who had died. She finally remembered that she had twins, and that one of them had passed away. Cousin explained to her that he was the living twin, and that his brother had died some 18 years ago. After hearing this, theoretically I should have been prepared when I called to chat with "Aunt Harriet."

But no one really expects to be forgotten, not when you have known someone your whole life.

Harriet did not know who I was, and she repeatedly asked the same questions, every minute or so. "Who are your folks?" "Who are your brothers and sisters?" She understood for a few seconds, when she heard my parents' names, and it was comforting that she said the same thing about my mom every time, that she liked her very much. She also said that my dad used to just burn her up. When I asked why, she could only say that she didn't know. I'm assuming that she did know, once. But really, some things are best forgotten.

She told me that she gets scared sometimes, so scared, because she is alone in her apartment and no one else lives there. I'm sure it must be frightening, because of the confusion. She lives in an assisted living center, and her brother-in-law (my uncle) lives across the hall from her. So she is never completely alone, but she may not always know that.

She has had Alzheimer's for quite awhile now, but this was the first time she has not known who I was, and the first time that she couldn't remember something from minute to minute. I feel as if I've lost her, the "real" her, no matter that she is still here among us, living and breathing.

We spoke for a few minutes, me telling her what was going on in my life (at her request), knowing that it would be forgotten soon. She seemed to enjoy hearing about the farm, as she grew up on a place much like this. At the end of the conversation she thanked me for calling, and apologized for not knowing who I was, and said she doesn't really know anyone anymore, but it's always good to talk with people who know her.