Throughout the time during which my mother fell ever more swiftly into the pitiless clutches of Alzheimer's Disease, she increasingly forgot who people were until it finally got to the point where she very often forgot who I was. Sometimes she would call me Preston, thinking that I was her brother. Sometimes she thought I was just some guy who worked in the nursing home she thought she was in, although she was in her own house throughout.
I remember my first wife dropping by the house one time to visit mom. When I brought her into mom's room, who was totally bedridden by that time, I said "Mom, there's someone here to see you. Do you know who this is." Mom flashed a big smile, opened her arms to receive her daughter-in-law, and said "Well of course I know who she is!" As in, Are you kidding? Why wouldn't I?
But of course she didn't know her. You could see it in her eyes, in her furrowed brow despite the smile. You could almost hear the rattle of the broken machinery in her head as it struggled to capture, to ignite a spark of recollection, to happen upon that missing element that had once been as automatic as the blinking of an eye.
As my mother's mind and memory failed and faded away, the will to be socially ept remained vigorous. It was the very key to her generation of women, the ability to serve well as a hostess, a gatherer, an organizer, to be adroit, appropriate, effective. The word ept is a back formation, a word formed by dropping a earlier word, and is described in the dictionary as 'a deliberate antonym' of inept.
Dropping an earlier word. My ex-wife's name was an earlier word. Her person was an earlier concept. These words and concepts floated in and out of my mother's mind like paper boats on a rolling sea.
There is nothing worse than being inept. One's mind becomes an antonym to all that it was before, back in the world of functioning human beings. All is lost when the last outpost falls.
It frightens me, therefore, when I myself become unable to place a face or remember a name or remember the details of an experience. That's not because I have Alzheimer's Disease. It's because I have MS and the disease has erased large blocks of recollection. They are simply gone. There are places I have been--Singapore, Thailand, Penang, Jakarta--and I know I have been to these places because there are photographs and because I remember small things, but I remember nothing very specific, whether it be where exactly I was, or what I did there. I can be reminded of things, and I believe the things because the reminder is coming from someone who is quite ept and was there with me, but in this I am merely acknowledging the evidence, not recapturing the essence, the personal connection.
And so, like my mother, shrinking before the deadly dread of being inept, I pretend ept-ness. Of course I remember, don't be silly! Rather than admit straightaway that I don't know the person talking to me, I let the conversation unfold while I struggle inwardly to place him or her. Admitting to ineptness is almost like saying Sorry, I am no longer a human being like you. In fact, I'm a vegetable. But don't ask me what kind, because I don't remember that either.
My mother used to see people in her room. The people were behind a screen. She would say, "I don't like that man behind the screen." Of course, there was no screen and there was no man.
I would say, "What does he look like, Mom?"
"He's tall. Very dark. And he's wearing a hat."
"Who do you think he is?"
"I think he's your father."
"Mom, there is no man. There's not even any screen."
"Oh?" she would say, with some relief. For she wanted to believe.
Maybe there was a screen and a man. Who can say? What one can say, though, is that if they were there, they were certainly not in this world. And that, this world, is where we must live.
I remember my first wife dropping by the house one time to visit mom. When I brought her into mom's room, who was totally bedridden by that time, I said "Mom, there's someone here to see you. Do you know who this is." Mom flashed a big smile, opened her arms to receive her daughter-in-law, and said "Well of course I know who she is!" As in, Are you kidding? Why wouldn't I?
But of course she didn't know her. You could see it in her eyes, in her furrowed brow despite the smile. You could almost hear the rattle of the broken machinery in her head as it struggled to capture, to ignite a spark of recollection, to happen upon that missing element that had once been as automatic as the blinking of an eye.
As my mother's mind and memory failed and faded away, the will to be socially ept remained vigorous. It was the very key to her generation of women, the ability to serve well as a hostess, a gatherer, an organizer, to be adroit, appropriate, effective. The word ept is a back formation, a word formed by dropping a earlier word, and is described in the dictionary as 'a deliberate antonym' of inept.
Dropping an earlier word. My ex-wife's name was an earlier word. Her person was an earlier concept. These words and concepts floated in and out of my mother's mind like paper boats on a rolling sea.
There is nothing worse than being inept. One's mind becomes an antonym to all that it was before, back in the world of functioning human beings. All is lost when the last outpost falls.
It frightens me, therefore, when I myself become unable to place a face or remember a name or remember the details of an experience. That's not because I have Alzheimer's Disease. It's because I have MS and the disease has erased large blocks of recollection. They are simply gone. There are places I have been--Singapore, Thailand, Penang, Jakarta--and I know I have been to these places because there are photographs and because I remember small things, but I remember nothing very specific, whether it be where exactly I was, or what I did there. I can be reminded of things, and I believe the things because the reminder is coming from someone who is quite ept and was there with me, but in this I am merely acknowledging the evidence, not recapturing the essence, the personal connection.
And so, like my mother, shrinking before the deadly dread of being inept, I pretend ept-ness. Of course I remember, don't be silly! Rather than admit straightaway that I don't know the person talking to me, I let the conversation unfold while I struggle inwardly to place him or her. Admitting to ineptness is almost like saying Sorry, I am no longer a human being like you. In fact, I'm a vegetable. But don't ask me what kind, because I don't remember that either.
My mother used to see people in her room. The people were behind a screen. She would say, "I don't like that man behind the screen." Of course, there was no screen and there was no man.
I would say, "What does he look like, Mom?"
"He's tall. Very dark. And he's wearing a hat."
"Who do you think he is?"
"I think he's your father."
"Mom, there is no man. There's not even any screen."
"Oh?" she would say, with some relief. For she wanted to believe.
Maybe there was a screen and a man. Who can say? What one can say, though, is that if they were there, they were certainly not in this world. And that, this world, is where we must live.
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