Mom Forgot My Name

The director of the nursing home walked by as I was sitting on the couch with my mom in a common area, having dinner with her. She asked my mom who I was. My mom was able to tell her I was her daughter. When the director asked what my name was, she couldn’t answer.

She’s been showing other signs of deterioration. Brushing her teeth is now a multi-step routine I need to help her with. I’ve never been more aware of the number of moves she needs to make: take off her dentures, clean them, place them in a cup with soaking solution, clean her teeth with interdental brushes, brush them, gargle with mouthwash, etc. She recently stopped using interdental brushes. Sometimes, she stands in front of the sink looking like she’s not sure what to do next. Today, she dipped the handle of her toothbrush in mouthwash.

A few weeks ago, she tripped and fell as I was crossing the street with her. She fell so quickly I couldn’t help her. Luckily, she broke her fall with her hand and wasn’t seriously hurt. We went back to her nursing home. Her physical therapist came by to check on her and said she may have tripped on the paint on the crosswalk. I had never noticed how thick the stripes were. When I went back and looked at them closely, I saw they were shaped like speed bumps. They’d always seemed two dimensional to me.

My mom’s delusions keep coming. She seems to have forgotten my daughter recently graduated from college and said she doesn’t know how to do her homework and has to ask her dad. As I was showing her my son’s high school graduation photos, she said he was married. She said this about him years ago, before he reached puberty.

I asked her some basic questions about advance directives during dim sum last week. We also touched upon the topic of burial. The conversation wasn’t difficult. She said she didn’t want to hang on. What’s left is to spend time with her while I can. A friend told me I can go to Ocean Park for free on my birthday, so I’m planning to take my mom to see the pandas.