Hoping We’re Not Shark Bait

My mother had Alzheimer’s Disease for quite a while before I knew about it. This was because we had a long period of not speaking, a very long period, an epically long period. So, I know a fair amount about family estrangement. I am a gold medalist in both grudge-holding and self-orphaning.

Anyway, after ten years of not seeing or talking to my mother, I went home. My father had warned me in one of several letters preceding my return that my mom had A.D. So, I was ready but not ready. She recognized me but could only put a few words to her recognition. She knew I came back which, at the time, seemed precious enough for both of us.

Today, my husband and I went to a luncheon sponsored by the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of Black History Month. The presenter, a longtime researcher and community organizer, talked about the warning signs – if you forget a little bit, it’s normal, if you forget a lot, it’s Alzheimer’s – and it made me wonder when my dad did the final figuring. How did he convince my mom to go to the doctor about her forgetfulness? And then to take medicine and then to stop driving. Well, I know how he did the latter. He told her that in order to renew her license, she’d have to take the written test. And then spent time everyday ‘studying’ the driving manual. He had genius about some things that I never detected growing up.

On the way home from the luncheon, my husband asked me how I felt about myself. Pretty good, I said, and then wondered if we were now in the phase where we were watching each other for slip-ups. Were we becoming each other’s diagnostician?

Alzheimer’s Disease or A.D. as my dad called it is no longer the stuff of my parents. It could well be my stuff or my husband’s stuff. The game has changed. That hit me today. Alzheimer’s Disease isn’t just something that happened to my parents. My husband and I, well, now we’re swimming with the sharks.

It’s deep.

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash