Mom & Me Five Archive

...last night Mom and I were party animals. About the time I began writing the previous post, Mom emerged from her bedroom, leaned over the banister into the living room and announced, "I can't sleep!"
    Lately, her days have begun and ended late, anyway, so I wasn't completely surprised. We decided to make a night of it, which included hot cocoa with peppermint extract for hers, raspberry liqueur for mine, some miscellaneous chatting, a couple games of Sorry (until I got sick of being beat) and a movie, Sleepless in Seattle. She went to bed about 0430 (I'm going to try to arouse her in just a few minutes). I went to bed around 0500. A good time was had by all. My favorite thing about nights like this is that they excite in Mom a feeling of decadence that enlivens her spirit.
    I'm mentioning our sojourn into the wee hours, though, to a particular purpose. I've been noticing, lately, that her memory for previously viewed shows and movies seems to be improving, which is a surprise. I can't think of why; our routine hasn't changed in quite awhile. Last night was a good example. She didn't initially retire until all the available M*A*S*H shows on TV had been watched (there's a spate of them in the evening up through 0100). During the second to the last one, which was an early episode in which a bomb must be defused, as the defusing began Mom suddenly said, "I know what comes out of that bomb. I've seen this before." She's seen all of the episodes before, of course, but most of the time she seems unaware that her viewings are all repeats. Then, much, much later, while we were watching the above mentioned movie, about a half hour into it she turned to me and said, "We've seen this before, haven't we?" We've seen it about a million times before...it's one of my favorites and I can always count on Mom thoroughly enjoying it.
    I paused the movie. "Yeah," I admitted, "we have. Would you rather watch something else [which we've probably seen but which she may not remember seeing]?"
    "Did I like this movie when we watched it before?"
    How curious, I thought, that she'd remember seeing it but not remember whether she liked it. "Oh, yes," I responded, as enthusiastically as I could, "we both love it. You especially like the parts with the son."
    "Well, then," she said, "I'm not tired, lets continue."
    I was reminded of the mention, in the recent post about Kitty's Carlise, of Kitty's facility with song lyrics. My mother is good with those, too. I turn a fair number of our conversations into bits of old songs, most of which I learned from her. I usually remember only a few lines of lyrics, but she remembers them all. Her memory is particularly acute when I make up lyrics, which I do a lot to fit the circumstances at the moment. Although she enjoys my creativity, she is always careful to butt in and sing the entire "corrected" song.
    I know that Ancient memory can often be frustrating for caregivers, as well as the Ancient One, but the surprising perambulations that occur can also be a source of intrigue and delight. I think, now, after our experience last night and our experiences with song lyrics, that part of the trick of negotiating these with as little frustration as possible and, maybe, some pleasure, as well, is to forgo criticism and go with the moment. It even occurred to me that the more frustrated the caregiver becomes, the more likely it is that the Ancient One will also become frustrated and caught in an irritating repetitive loop. I can't prove this, of course, and I know my experience with my mother's memory is completely dependent on her eccentric mental circumstances, which seem quite a bit kinder than those of many more severely demented Ancient Ones, but, well, it's a thought...
    I hear rustling in her bedroom. Better get cracking. It'll be interesting to see how far into the evening today extends.