I knew my mother was dying when she completely lost the ability to speak. Sometimes he smiled, though I suspected it was more reflexive than responsive. However, there was one amazing, miraculous thing. When I prayed with her, her lips moved with mine. Her lips moved when she was brought to say the rosary with the other residents. When she heard a hymn, her lips moved.
I am convinced that my mother never lost touch with the Lord, that the hard core of her faith did not succumb to illness, just as everything else that made her who she was disappeared. He was a child of God who could not be separated from Him.
My own faith was not always so strong. My prayers struggled against fear and doubt, and my trust in God sometimes wavered. I wondered if I was a good and faithful son, worthy of my mother’s and God’s love. I wondered how a woman of faith could be visited with such misfortune. However, it was not for me to learn, and only by faith could I understand.
On my last visit with my mother, I told her how much I loved her, always had, and that even in those moments when I drifted away from God and church and all the things she believed in so deeply, I knew she was still praying. for me and loved me. Perhaps it was selfish to unload myself on a woman who was no longer at a loss for words. But as I leaned in close, he whispered one, “Love.”
It was the last word he ever spoke.
Alzheimer’s may take away what we are, but I believe it cannot destroy faith and love, which are aspects of the soul and exist beyond its capacity.
Lately, I’ve noticed a few lapses in my memory. Just the vagaries of an aging brain? Is it normal to forget to put the carafe under the coffee maker (my mother did it too)? To return a jar of curry powder to the dishwasher instead of the spice cabinet? Did I remember to give my dog her daily thyroid pill? I’ve started writing reminders to myself, which I’ve never had to do before.
If these things are signs of early dementia, I want to know? Wanting to know is what makes us human – wanting to know ourselves, wanting to know love, wanting to know the future, wanting to know and worship God. The only thing I am allowed to know for sure about the future is that God will be present there, as He is present now and has always been present in my past.
Not everyone wants to know how they will die. Given my family history of Alzheimer’s, I do this because knowing is better than not knowing, at least when it comes to dementia. I can plan for long-term care and get my finances in order. I started seeing a neurologist and have had neuropsychological tests and brain imaging. It is known that early signs of Alzheimer’s can be detected years before clinical diagnosis.
I’ve been diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment – a somewhat maddeningly vague diagnosis that can mean nothing more than a benign decline in function not necessarily unexpected in a 69-year-old man – and small-vessel cerebral disease, which means I may have experienced small strokes episodes at some point that could explain the gaps in my memory. Again, not necessarily an unusual finding in a man my age, and I’m told the brain can deal with this damage. However, my neurologist’s clinical notes state that “a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s cannot be ruled out at this time.”
There’s no cure once the disease starts, but there’s a lot I can do to prevent it—diet, exercise, proper sleep. And faith. Faith, as I saw in my mother, is indestructible. It is my greatest protection, the unchanging presence of a loving God. The prayer that has seen me through many spiritual trials in life is called Serenity Prayer. “Lord, give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Nothing could make the future clearer.
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