Some people are easy conversationalists. They can carry on a steady stream of chat with just about anyone. I’m not one of these people. I’ve always been shy and sometimes it is hard to find words even with close friends and family. This is probably why I like email—it allows me to feel fluid and glib at least some of the time.

Choice Words

On the other hand, my hubby is able to pull words, thoughts and opinions out of the air on practically any subject whatsoever.  He attributes his ability to spending years in debate and theater way back in high school. I’m sure those activities helped him hone his skills, but I also think some people are just blessed with a natural ability to sound articulate and others aren’t.

One-Sided Conversations

One of the times I am most envious of people who can hold a constant chat-fest is when I go to visit my mom.  With her Alzheimer’s, Mom has declined to a point of hardly speaking at all—even direct questions will usually only yield a blank look and goofy smile. I honestly have no idea what she is thinking or whether she understands.  As I am by no means a chatterbox, this makes visiting with her difficult and tiresome.

Steady Decline

Mom’s decline has recently put her in a wheel chair. As hard as it was to accept, this was a much-needed step.  Her walker helped her balance when she stood, but it’s as if she forgot how or why she needed to put one foot in front of the other in order to move about.  I’m not sure Mom really cared, but it was frustrating to the rest of us.  Sometimes she moved so pathetically slow that Tim Conway’s shuffling old man character could have done circles around her.  Thankfully, once Mom got the chair we were finally able to get her to the various activities in the memory-care facility she lives at before they were over.

Hard To Look

One other way I have found her chair life-changing is how it helps me interact. Before the chair my visits with Mom involved sitting with her and trying to come up with things to say.  As I clumsily jumped from topic to topic, I would occasionally check her face of signs of understanding or recollection or anything that would indicate that she was following along. It was a struggle to keep close watch, though.  Without any hint or spark of her old personality, looking at her face can feel like staring at an empty shell.

Surprising Twist

This is where the wheel chair has saved my sanity—I can now take my mom for little jaunts around the facility.  I like to call these wheelies as I’m sure if she were young and carefree, again, she’d want me to tilt her back and race along as children do.

From The Top

During our wheelies, my view is from behind and I end up looking at the top of her head.   It’s funny, but the change in perspective makes all the difference in my ability to chat with her. For whatever reason, I can pretend mom is still “all there” as I point out things along the way or remember some of the times we shared together.  Most surprising to me is how every once in a while something I say will evoke a little laugh.

For The Birds

It's nice to think some part of Mom is still listening.

Today, during our wheelie, I was telling her about the hummingbird we call Ahhh-nald who frequents our house.  His visits to our feeder are now so frequent we can just imagine him saying, “I’ll be baach.”  I said it in my best Ahhh-nald Schwarzenegger voice, and that got a real laugh. She even repeated Ahhh-nald. It was a good moment.  I’m glad my mom’s love for birds and whimsy is still there in some ways.

Small Reprieve

At least for now, I have a new way to be with Mom, one where I can talk with her and feel less inept as I try to entertain her for a spell.  Yes, I’ve got to admit it:  I just love pushing my mom around.

By Carol Austin
© 2011 Javabird LLC.  All rights reserved.

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If you enjoyed reading this post, you maywant to see:
My Mom Has Alzheimer’s
Or for other articles by Carol, click here.

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