Easter Brunch
I accompanied mom to the community’s Easter brunch yesterday. Aside from a few comments and questions on mom’s behalf, it was relatively unremarkable though very tense:
- On our way to the dining room, mom asked me if I colored my hair. This is a frequent question of hers. After answering in the affirmative, she asked what my normal hair color was. “About 2/3rd grey.” Was my reply. She then asked, “What’s the other color?” Um, my natural hair color… I didn’t know what to make of this. Was it social chit chat, has she forgotten my hair color, or is she ‘time traveling’ to the point that she doesn’t know if my hair is still the blonde of my childhood, or the dark blond of my adulthood? We don’t get to know.
- When asked, mom accepted the offer of herbal tea. It came in a sweet little personal teapot. Upon pouring herself a cup, she sourly said to me, “They put too much water in for just one tea bag.” I wanted to growl, “Ask for another GD teabag, mom!” “Look for solutions rather than ways to complain all the time, mom!” Of course, I murmured, “hummmm.”
- She groused similarly about her salad, which, “Was put on a warm plate and now is ruined!”
On the brighter side, she really enjoyed the harpist and pianist.
My daughter had asked me to ‘find’ the food I’d had shipped for Elvis, as mom told her she was running out. When I walked in the apartment, I exclaimed, “Oh look! A food delivery for Elvis!” Mom said she had to send it back (how??) because it was canned food. I picked up the box, and shook it. “Sounds like kibble to me!” Rather than asking, I opened it before mom could protest, and pulled out two-6.5 pound bags of kibble. Mom took them from me, commenting on how heavy they were, as I suggested she could probably find room in a cabinet for them. This she did, and now we get to see if she’ll remember where the kibble is…
I summed up the visit to my husband in a sad text, “Same stuff, new day… You know, when you’re on edge the whole time, waiting for forbidden topics to come up, or you’re sitting there in an uneasy silence.”
Dementia Dance - Travels with Mom 
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