Mom turns her head and glances at me, but says nothing. That seems to happen more and more lately. I worry it means her disease is progressing more rapidly. God, I hope not. Maybe taking part in activities like this will help slow down some of her cognitive decline.
She reaches over to me with a dirt-covered hand and pats mine. Then she pulls back quickly. Joy floods me for a fleeting moment. She may not be able to say my name, but at least it seems she feels something positive when I’m around.
I rise, then take a seat on the bench, where I can watch what Mom’s doing. She takes the same small plant, digs around in the dirt with her hand, and places it in the soil, only to take it out and repeat the process over and over. There are a couple of small starter plants near her, but she’s very focused on the one she has. She’s calm, so all is well.
Lydia sits next to me. “I’m sorry your mom is ill.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I appreciate that.”
“The staff tells me you’re here quite a bit. Does the rest of your family come and visit to give you a little bit of a respite?”
“There is no one else. My mom was a single mom my entire life. No siblings. There are some distant cousins who live somewhere like Iowa or Indiana, but I’ve never even met them, and she doesn’t know them either.”
“So, it’s just you, mainly?” Her voice is kind.
“She has one friend. Well, two, kind of. There’s her best friend, Pat, and I know she comes to visit. She has some health issues herself, though, so she can’t be here as often as she’d like. Mom worked with her, and they were gambling buddies. They loved taking long weekend trips to Vegas.”
A sense of happiness fills me, remembering how much joy those trips brought her. Still, sadness pokes at the edge of the feeling, reminding me that’s another thing her Alzheimer’s disease has stolen from her.
“Then our old neighbor, who Mom used to garden with, comes once in a while. She’s pushing eighty, though, so it’s not super easy for her anymore either. She used to stay with Mom for me sometimes when I had to work.”
I watch Mom the whole time I’m talking to Lydia and realize I’ve rambled.
“Shoot, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you. So, as far as family, just me, but a few friends. I could have been that simple, huh?” I turn my head to look at Lydia, and she’s focused on me, appearing genuinely interested. “It’s all okay though, I love seeing her”—I pause and take a focused breath to gain control of my emotions—“She was such a wonderful mom.”
“I’d love to hear more about what she was like before she became ill, if you want to share.”
“That’s really kind of you, but it’s okay. I imagine having me vomit our history on you isn’t what you thought would happen when you came in to volunteer today.”
I glance over at Mom again, just in time to see her palm some dirt in one hand and then take her fingers of the opposite hand and rub some soil between them. A slight gasp escapes me.
“She’s testing the soil, like she used to,” I whisper.
“That she is,” Lydia responds with kindness in her voice. “That’s a mark of a true gardener, there.”
Mom resumes her planting and digging up the same starter plant, oblivious to the array of emotions going through me right now. Seeing her do something seemingly so small, but incredibly meaningful, gave me the gift of a glimpse of her old self.
“Delaney?”
I turn to look at Lydia.
“My mother died here seven years ago, with dementia. They took beautiful care of her. It’s why I volunteer. I, and a few of my children, now sit on the facility’s board. So, I know what this feels like, and I’m sure what she just did meant a lot to you. I wasn’t just being polite when I told you I’d love to know more about your mom.”
I search her face for any hint that she’s just being kind to me, or that she’s only trying to comfort me. I don’t see it.
“Well, let’s see… She was a single mom from the time I was born. Actually, I guess that’s technically not true. She was briefly married when I was a preteen, but that was over so fast I hardly count it. Her husband was nice to me, but my stepsister was horribly mean.” I chuckle and glance at Mom, then return my gaze to Lydia. “Mom was a nursing assistant. It was backbreaking, and she worked her butt off for years to provide for me. We didn’t have a lot of money, but I never knew it. She was generous to other people, and I was well cared for.And I always, every single day of my life, knew how much she loved me.”
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“Yeah, she is. She’d been on her own since eighteen, stayed single, and worked so hard foryearsuntil she’d saved enough money and qualified for a small student loan that enabled her to go to nursing school. It was her dream, and it was in sight—she’d just finished her first year of nursing school at thirty-six years old, but then…”
“She didn’t complete school?”
I look back over at Mom and frown.
“Nope. That summer, she found out she was pregnant with me. She left school and had me shortly after turning thirty-seven. She dropped out to raise me. By the time I was heading off to college, her symptoms had started, and she couldn’t go back and finish. I think that was her plan. I’d found some open internet pages for the community college’s nursing program on our home computer.”
Guilt tries to creep into my heart, a common occurrence these days. It makes sense; she sacrificed everything for me and never got to chase her dream. Then, I couldn’t even return the favor and take care of her.
