—Becca
January 16, 2012
Is This a Dream?
Iawoke today to a rather upsetting dream, which made me think immediately of my mom. It was of a woman lying in what looked like a hospital bed, with no movement as if she were almost dead. To me the image was of my mom, and it left me feeling quite sad and empty.
I’d like to go back a few days from today and explain what has transpired with my mom. We had a magical conversation on the telephone the other day. She listened carefully as I read her a section of my blog/book about her childhood. Mom was delighted and remembered where she was born, where she grew up, her parents, her dear friend Jeanie, and her love of reading books. With enthusiasm she made comments as I read to her. I hung up the phone and was left with one big wow! This was truly amazing and a moment that I would not forget.
The next day Mom still sounded good, and I asked her if she was going to her clubhouse. Mom said to me, “No, I am not going to the clubhouse. I’m too busy.” I laughed and joked around with her about what could she be so busy with. “Mom, are you going to work, or are you so busy cooking dinner?” She quickly answered no to both.
I was at the moment thrilled that Mom was able to remember that where she lived had a clubhouse. Up to then for several years, she had claimed that there was no clubhouse, which at one time was a place she had enjoyed visiting.
The following day when I called in the morning, my mom was hallucinating. I could not believe what I was hearing her say. She insisted that she wanted to go to her house and that the place she now was in was not her home. You see, Mom had lived in her home for twentythree years. It was a place that she had shared with my dad, a home that she said she would never leave. Today this was not what she was saying. I wanted to hang up the phone and run right over to her. This is impossible since we live in different states. I felt so frightened. How could any of this be happening, when only yesterday Mom was doing so great?
I knew that my brother was visiting her today, so I hung up and I called him immediately. He arrived at Mom’s around 2:00 p.m., and hours later she was still hallucinating. The second my brother arrived, Mom insisted that they leave, which is something she never wants to do. She told my brother that she lived with her parents and that she wanted to go home and be with them. My brother told her that her parents were no longer alive, and once again she insisted that they were.
My brother decided since she was hallucinating for so many hours, that he should bring her to the hospital. Something had to be terribly wrong. They admitted my mom and found that she had a urinary tract infection and put her on an antibiotic. (I have since learned that this can be common in women who have dementia—something my brother and I were not aware of.)
The second day in the hospital, Mom was speaking to me on the phone like she was on speed. She had sounded the same way as the day she was hallucinating. The only difference was she was now in the hospital, which left me feeling a little more secure.
This morning when I spoke to her, she sounded much better. I told her how much I missed her, and my mom then said, “Can you come over when I get home?” “I’d love to but I cannot get there immediately.” She then said, “Lisa when was the last time you visited me?” My heart sank as I answered, “I was at your home four weeks ago.” She then said, “You’re not a good daughter. That was a long time ago.”
“Mom, I live in New York and you live in Florida. I cannot just run over.” With such clarity she answered, “Oh, I forgot that you live in New York.” “Mom would you like to move back to New York so we can be together?” She then said, “Not really. I lived there for so many years and being in Florida is now like a vacation for me.” Some vacation, I said to myself.
I shared with my brother this morning that somehow I felt that I might have been responsible for her craziness. I went on to say that I had just read to Mom about her childhood, and maybe somehow it sparked a memory for her, a memory like a dream that stayed imbedded in her mind.
I might have reawakened for her memories of long ago that have been lost, for her strong desire to go back home and be with her parents. Was my mom scared while she seemed to be hallucinating? Or was she perhaps at peace, feeling the security and warmth of her childhood and the love of her parents? Was Mom awake walking through her dream? We all have had dreams that have felt so real, warm, and comforting, that we
