Away From Her
Accepting my mother as she is now.
Several years ago I saw the Canadian film, “Away From Her,” which followed the journey of an active sixty-something husband and wife, as the woman gradually lost her memory, sinking into dementia triggered by Alzheimer’s disease. During one of the early scenes, the wife, played by Julie Christie, goes cross-country skiing, tracing her way through the snow outside her door, as she had done a thousand times before. But this time she became confused and couldn’t find her way home without assistance. Soon the signs piled up and became unmistakable. Soon she had entered a facility for people with dementia.
The story does not end well. After some time, the wife is transferred to a ward for those with more severe Alzheimer’s. After a while, she does not remember her own husband.
I’ve been thinking about memory lately, as I grow older and my own memories pile up like sediment, one layer resting on another. I rely on my memory and use it for my stories, essays and when I teach. Meanwhile my mother, whom I used to check on weekly and now talk to daily by phone, seems to be drifting away, her short-term memories washed away soon after they form, like footprints in the sand.
My mother doesn’t have Alzheimer’s. But ever since my Mom went under general anesthesia for a ruptured appendix ten years…
