Mother's Day visit in the year 2009

Last Sunday morning I awoke to dancing trees in my living room. Had I known, I would not have greeted them in my boxers, unshaven, unkempt. Not that they would have cared. They were too busy wrestling with their playful, breathy master to even notice. But I cared... well, not really. But it's not every morning, one is greeted with such an abundant welcoming. And these trees are not strangers. They have guarded this house long before I moved in. Coffee had to wait just a little bit longer while I lay down with my dancing trees to meditate on God's glorious bounty and vision.

After coffee, off to Westport to pick up my friends camcorder again. It was a blessedly still, quiet, sky-blue day, perfect for a drive to the Berkshires, or anywhere. Me, myself and my simple loneliness...
I had spoken to people about this visit. About how my dad called a few days prior saying mom, (long pause, big sigh)... was really declining; about how the sadness in his voice, its fragile timber, sounding foreign, almost alien, frightened me. Yet the connection would not be denied. God is the grease, we are the wheels. He must know this is not easy for some of his children. This new territory of despair, and fear and hope and grief and letting go. Grief has a mind of her own. And for all the work people have done studying her, work for which I am becoming ever so grateful, to experience the fullness of her bosom up close and personal, that is the realm of the poet.
I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chattered all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow
And ne'er a word said she;
But the things I learned from her
But oh, the things I learned from her
When sorrow walked with me.
--Robert Browning Hamilton

I spoke with a director at the Lewy Body Dementia Association prior to my visit and found out that when my mom thinks my dad is someone else (this visit she thought he was one of her caregivers' sisters who happens to be African American which my dad is not, nor is he female), there is a name for that- Capgras Syndrome.

The Capgras delusion (or Capgras syndrome) is a disorder in which a person holds a delusional belief that a friend, spouse or other close family member, has been replaced by an identical-looking impostor. The Capgras delusion is classed as a delusional misidentification syndrome, a class of delusional beliefs that involves the misidentification of people, places or objects. It can occur in acute, transient, or chronic forms.

The delusion is most common in patients diagnosed with schizophrenia, although it can occur in connection with a number of conditions, including brain injury and dementia.^[1] Although the Capgras delusion is commonly called a syndrome, because it can occur as part of, or alongside, various other disorders and conditions, some researchers have argued that it should be considered a symptom, rather than a syndrome or classification in its own right. So I arrived and found my mom in a pleasant state of mind with my dad ever doting by her side. The visit was as special as any I have had with them. After being coaxed into taking over the role of the chef when I visit, I know need no prodding and am happy to do the honors. At one point, I was trying to do too much, carrying three bowls of strawberry shortcake into the bedroom when one slipped out of my hand and went all over me. My mom was not happy and thought it was going to explode, but she did eat hers mind you, explosion or not. On Monday (5/11), my dad and I went to the attorneys to make me his POA rather then my mom and confirm that taking out a new loan was the right course of action which it was. Then on Tuesday I accompanied my dad to his support group at Elder Services in Pittsfield where I met a man named Lou whose wife of 21 years is living with moderate stage Alzheimer's. Listening to him describe his situation, I could identify with what my dad was going through as well. Having those connections is just irreplaceable. The patient often is the last to want to get help but is the first to recognize the need for additional help for their caregiver. At least that is what I gathered from listening to both Lou and my dad. I heard my dad talk about needing to let go for the first time and that kind of tears me up but it's also a good beginning. Everything is a paradox now. Endings are beginnings, and so it goes.