Shattered Memories

[kro]

A very good friend of mine wrote this. I keep reading it for some reason, so I thought I might share it with you. It was written after his closest friend Jane came to him in distress after visiting her mother in a nursing home, and her mother, an alzheimers sufferer, no longer recognised her. I know it's a bit depressing in parts, but I think it's very well written.

Your past memories, both the enjoyable, and the tragic, that you know inside and out, like a glass figurine that has been perched on the same mantlepiece in the same place since you can remember, you know this figurine, you have examined every inch of it, every last detail, and it holds fast as the years progress.

One day you awaken, and the figurine has fallen, and lies in fragments. The initial shock jars you, and your senses are sent into a frenzy of horror, and anxiety, as you kneel, and proceed to gather up the shards, and try desparately to put them back together.
You gather up what you can see, and put it back together, carefully retracing all the details, and making sure it's all there, but something is wrong, and you are missing something, but despite how well you thought you knew this figurine, it just isn't the same somehow, and even the glue that binds it back together seems weak, and insubstantial.

Amidst the frustration of this, you walk past the figurine months later, and a painful reminder comes, as a piece you were so damn sure you knew had been found, lodges itself deep in your foot. The pain of the splinter is not that of nerve endings, and electrical impulses, but one of disbelief as you pull the piece out, and could swear without doubt, that you had found this shard already, but had not.
Doubt and anger come in waves, as you hold something in your hand that you thought was safely tucked away with the rest of your memories, but was not there for some reason.

As the years progress, the figurine becomes mis-shapen, and it's very appearance no longer pleases you, as you have forgotten so much of it, that it now angers you, and leaves you scared of something you have no control over anymore.

5 years later, your grand daughter visits you, and you love her so much, you take an old ornament off the mantle, and hand it to her, not really paying much attention to what it is. Later in the day, you sit with her, and see in her hand, a beautiful glass figurine, that is so pretty, you would love to own one of your own. You look up at your daughter, and ask her where she got it, and she says "its been on the mantle for years Mum, it's always been there".

You take the figurine, and hold it for a moment, and look over its flawless lines, then replace it on the mantle so it doesn't get broken.


Many things can be taken from a person, but nothing more soul destroying than a persons memories.

[Macktheknife]

Well written, and terribly accurate.

[Rainbow Wizard]

Memories may leave the awareness of the sufferer, but their loved ones can keep those memories alive. Here's where the sadness lies, because the alzheimer victim cannot share those memories. Yet the alzheimer sufferer is less of a victim than the friends, relatives, and care-givers - because those people are aware of the loss and it is they who carry the burden.

Of equal loss is that of a loved-one's life, except that the grieving process is possibly more intense yet certainly seldom as prolonged.

I thank God that I'm alive, and firmly believe that my miraculous escape from a potentially fatal car crash last friday night was from the hand of God upon me. Clearly my life's work has not finished and that carries its burdens too, but more thankful am I that my friends, family, staff (even innocent people) have been spared the trauma of grief and of having to pick up the pieces of unfinished business I would have left scattered by way of such departure.

At least the family of alzheimer patients get to work that one through over time.

May you be blessed with love and good health, and a safe journey each day.
{:-)>>

[avgas]

We were never designed to live as long as we do.

[kro]

This woman is 55 dude. I think we were designed to live longer than that, surely.

[limbimtimwim]

My Grandmother had Alzheimers disease.

We took her and my grandfather to the beach house one year (When we had one, oh, those are good memories of mine!). They were downstairs. My mother come down stairs spoke to my grandmother and my grandfather (Her parents) about something. My mother went back upstairs. My grandmother turned to my grandfather and said "Who was that?" .

How odd it would be to for you to stop creating new memories. Your daughter frozen in time from when you memory stopped working correctly.

Like Rainbow Wizard said, the one with the disease is the least effected.

[Winston001]

Good post. I think that the various types of dementia are a cruel life experience. The sufferer becomes confused and bewildered, sometimes abusive and even physically dangerous to others. Bewilderment ain't fun - it's terrifying.

And I agree that it is even worse for close family and friends. Dementia is like a corrosive acid which relentlessly burns away the good and fond memories we have of the sufferer. What is left is an image of a human whom we may have loved but now resent, even loathe.

This is deeply sad stuff. To watch a parent lose their mind, saying hateful things, full of suspicion and paranoia, destroys the mental picture of that parent. If it goes on long enough some people can only remember their parent as they were in their final years. Quite what we do to avoid this I don't know.

[Goblin]

I found this little gem...

Written by Raewyn MacDonald

Yesterday I decided to take my mother, who is 86 and has the onset of dimentia, out to lunch. It was a little treat for her. This is what we said to each other.
She asked, "Where is this place?
"Maungaturoto"
"Oh, that's where your father was born."
"I know. Well done for remembering that."
"How long ago would that have been?"
"Eighty-six years ago, Mum."
There were a few moments silence, and then she asked, "Where are we?"
"Maungaturoto."
"Oh that's where your father was born."
"I know."
There were a few moments silence, and then she asked, "Is this place called Maungaturoto?"
"Yes."
"Oh, isn't that where your father was born?"
"Yes"
"How long ago would that have been?"
"Eighy-six years."
"That doesn't seem right. I'm 86."
"That's right Mum. He was born the same year as you."
"No. He cant have been."
"Why not?"
"Because if he was my father, how could he have been born in the same year?"
"No, he was my father, Mum. Not yours."
"Who was?"
"Tom."
"Tom? Was I married to Tom?"
"Yes."
There were a few moments silence, and then she looked up from her food and asked "What's this place called?"
"Maungaturoto."
"Isn't that where your father was born?"
"Yes, it was. Eighty-six years ago."
"Was he the same age as me?"
"Yes."
"Well if your father was born here, where was my father born?"
"Cornwall, England, about 1890."
"Really? I thought he was born here."
"No. That was Tom. My father."
"Your father? Was I married to your father?"
"Yes Mum, unless you were kidding us all these years."
There were a few moments silence, while she studied the resturant with a slightly bemused look, and then said, "I'm a bit confused. Did you say your father or my father was born here?"
"My father."
"And your father was Tom, is that right?"
"Well done Mum, that's right."
I could see the relief on her face, and I asked her, "Now are you able to remember him?"
"I dont think so," she said. "I dont remember living here anyway."
"No, you didn't live here. Tom was born here. You always lived in Auckland."
"Well if I was married to Tom, what was my father's name?"
"George."
"George? George is my brother's name."
"That's right. Your father was also called George. George Prinn,"
"George Prinn? That's my brother's name."
"That's right. Your brother was named after your father."
"That's funny them both having the same name. Quite a coincidence."
She sipped her cup of tea and then she said "Now let me get this straight in my mind. What was my father's name?"
"George."
"And did we have children?"
"Yes. You had Earnie, Noeline and me."
She looked at me in utter surprise and said, "Did I? I can't remember that."
"Well you did. Earnie died many years ago, Noeline is nearly 60 and I'M 57."
"I feel awful," she said. "It's like a story you are telling me about somebody else. I just can't remember all that. Are you sure?"
"Yes I'm sure Mum. But don't let it worry you. It was all a long time ago and it doesn't matter."
"But I should be able to remember. It's strange," she said, "not being able to remember."
All the time this conversation was taking place, I was trying to keep my voice from showing anger and frustration. Now I looked at my mother properly. I felt pity for her. It must be dreadful not to remember people who once meant all the world to you. I chastised myself for not having more patience at times like this and resolved to show her more love and understanding in future.
Mum put down her cup, and asked "Whats this place called?"
"Timbukbloodytoo," I said. "Come on Mum, We're going home."

[ogr1]

I think you have a sense of duty to carry on caring, maybe a sense of guilt
after the effort and love your parents gave you. It's a role reversal, but without
any recognition whatsoever from the sufferer.

Must be very frustrating and huge sigh of relief when it's all over.
I know that sounds bad, but in the real world life is a tad cruel sometimes.

[Lias]

My grandfather doesnt have Alzheimers, but he does have a rather nasty case of Dementia with Lewy bodies.

Because he's in Welly and I'm in Hamilton I hardly ever get to see him, which makes it all the harder every time I do goto see him because he seems to be worse and worse every time I do. Last went to see him when I was down in May and I had to leave the room after less than 2 minutes, just couldnt bare to see him like that.

I'm not a religous man but when I left the room after that visit I walked back to the cage praying to god to let him drift off in his sleep soon, and praying that if I ever end up like that euthenasia will be legal.

[ManDownUnder]

Yup - 'tis a cruel and dehumanising thing. I saw part of it first hand, and a lot of suffering by proxy as my step father suffered through it, and my mother endured the utterly hopeless journey with him.

The confusion, anger and frustration must be unbearable.

As for those that work with Alzheimers sufferers... wow!