Written by: Charlie Johnson
In this 5-part series, Charlie shares his experience with his mother and her journey with Alzheimer’s.
As a child we depend on our parents for everything: food, clothing, a place to live and moral guidance. They are our protectors, and we look up to them. As we age, transforming from child to young adult, to an adult child there is a role reversal that takes place, sometimes we know the exact moment it happens, most often we do not.
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There had been something “off” with mom for some time, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Since dad had passed a few years back, she was alone in the old farmhouse, except for her dog named Pup. I was still farming and was single at the time but lived in another house on the property. Being a mother and since she was used to cooking three meals a day for the past multiple decades, she insisted on cooking for me. Her cooking was not something you would want to turn down. It was the noon meal one summer day when she served three different potato dishes that I was certain she had a problem.
Being a proactive son, what did I do? Nothing. I hoped it was a fluke. Maybe her biorhythms were just off that day? I was wrong, it did not stop there. The most interesting combinations could be seen on my plate on any given day. Sandwiches became a specialty with cheese puffs, not on the side, but between the slices of bread. I never said a word.
Then the questions came. Not tough questions that I could not answer. Just regular questions you might have in a normal conversation. The difference was it would be the same question. I would answer again and a couple minutes later, out came the question, again. I became a master of answering the same question with the same outcome in different ways.
Mother was helpful around the farm, serving as my transportation in getting equipment to the fields and back to base. Our closest town was ten miles; she had not driven there in some time. I needed to drive one of the tractors to the implement dealership for service and asked my mother to follow me for the tedious 12 mph drive. With her flashers flashing she stayed the proper distance behind me on the highway for about half-way and then she passed me with full throttle. She was out of sight in an instant.
I proceeded to John Deere, checked the tractor in, and started the wait. About 30 minutes later she rolled in the driveway with the flashers still blinking and came to a screeching stop. I got up from my spot on the curb, took a deep breath, opened the passenger door, and asked, “Where you been?” Without hesitation, “I’ve been around.” I got behind the wheel. We drove back to the farm, without hazard lights. That was the last time she ever drove away from the farm.
It had become obvious the situation with mom was not going to improve, it was only going to continue to decline. But I am a good son. I can handle this. Hell, she took care of me. The least I can do is take care of her. I live just down the road from her. All will be well…
