Mom’s Language

Mom is ninety-five years old, physically healthy, but she has been reduced to the cognitive abilities of a one-year-old.
She spends most of her time in the land of the lost without even knowing what she lost. A beautiful home, a trailer in Florida, still driving at ninety, financial independence and total freedom to do what ever she wanted.
There are still moments when we have conversations and she is fully aware. When she says, “Everything has changed,” I know she is about to have a lucid moment.
As we talk about what has changed in her life, we both have tears in our eyes. I remind her with every passing day, everything changes for all of us.
I pick up her empty bowl after lunch and she asks me when I am going to feed her lunch.
I used to explain that she just ate, but she couldn’t comprehend, so I started to tell her you ate lunch a little bit ago, but I’m gonna go get you some dessert and she smiles.
Mom’s language is simple. I look at her face while she’s talking. I pay attention to her jumbled words and I ask questions and I watch her emotions. I can’t rush her and I have to stand still to listen with my heart.
She jumps up and down clapping her hands when I bring her food that she loves, so I know what she likes to eat, and I know what she hates to eat. She doesn’t have to tell me with words.
I put movies on for her, and I can tell by her face if she is happy with the movie.
Alzheimer’s patients can still communicate, just not in the way that you are used to hearing, so you have to slow down and open your mind to physical and emotional clues and you will hear the words that they can no longer say.
The most important things I give her are respect when she is talking, no matter what she is saying, and I remind her with hugs every day that she is loved.
That is Mom’s language.