Working Up

by Dwayne Phillips

Dementia in any form removes a person from your life.

I miss my mother. She is still alive and, for someone her age, is in remarkably good physical health. She has no aches or pains, has a strong heart, and, except for failed hearing, is in great shape.

Her mind doesn’t work well. She asks the same questions over and over. She doesn’t pick up on new conversation topics. She won’t improve or recover – ever.

I have two adorable grandchildren. They are wonderful to be near. They are the source of great angst with missing my mother. I want to tell her about the wonderful little things they say and do. She doesn’t understand what I’m trying to tell her. She can’t share in the wonder of small children who think you are big and smart and loving and a joy.

In essence, my mother just isn’t there anymore. I miss her.

That is the tragedy of a failing mind – the cute little things that make life interesting go away. I guess these cute little things are far more important than those things that pass for importance in the world.