Interacting with my mother, who has dementia

So very much has been happening in my life lately, inside and out, and I haven't been writing about it. It really seems like a matter of not having enough attention to write. Almost every day I have to attend to something that has to do with my mother, who has middle-stage Alzheimer's: either I speak with her at length on skype, or repeatedly on the phone, or I am making appointments for her or writing emails or talking to my sister-in-law or trying to figure out what to do next.

I just read an article by someone who is very good with teens, talking about how she is. For a moment I thought, "I'm not good with teens, this is just going to make me feel bad." Then I read it and enjoyed it. Then I realized that I am similarly very good with Mom, and that others might benefit from reading about what I do.

Interacting with my mother, who has dementia

Mom is in the stage where she is beginning to speak poetically. Example from this morning:

Terry: Mom, it is so nice that you are peeling that orange for me!
Mom: Yes, although it's only halfway.

I really don't know what she meant, but I just smiled and said, "Yes, it is, but it is so great!" It didn't matter exactly what she meant. The general idea is that she felt her peeling was somehow imperfect, and I responded with words to show I appreciated it anyway.

As long as I've known her, Mom has been insecure. She compulsively worries that she is not good enough, that her work is not good enough, that her home is not good enough. Ten years ago she used to help me and Eric build our WeGo Team Link tow gear. She sewed the belts on the sewing machine. She was very good at it, but each time she did it, she would repeatedly ask me if she was doing it right. I did give her the reassurance because I wanted the belts, but my stomach turned as I did it, and I resented it later. I think I was wise enough to know that she needed the reassurance due to deeply engrained psychological forces, but because Mom was not yet demented, I still hated her lack of self confidence and could't let go of the desire for her to be a better, more confident mother.

Now that she is demented, I've been able to let go of wanting her to be anything other than she is. This is the same attitude I've always naturally had with children and animals.

Now I am constantly aware of, and accepting of, her need for reassurance, so I try to give a constant stream of it. Every minute or two I will say, "Mom, I enjoy being with you so much!" She never gets tired of hearing it.

This morning she came into my bedroom and said, "Terry? You're here. I didn't know you were here!" She was distressed because she felt surprised, even though I had been staying with her for 2 nights already. I made up a story and said, "I came in late last night, after you went to bed. I'm sorry to surprise you! Come sit next to me." I put my arms around her and said, "I'm so happy to see you!" She brightened up.

Recently I borrowed a technique from my neighbor, Amy, who is an excellent parent to her two young children. When Mom is distressed and caught up in her cyclical thoughts, I look at her and say, gently and with love, "Mom, look at me. Do you see that I love you? Look at me!"