My mother was lively and spirited, despite Alzheimer’s disease, when I visited her yesterday evening. She was in bed, talking and giggling to herself when I arrived.
Feeding My Mother
One of the aides, Paul, came in with a tray holding her dinner and helped her into a wheelchair. He came back to check on us several times while I fed her. She ate very well but would not hold any of her silverware and only picked up food with her hands and held her drink a few times.
“You are sweet”
She clasped her hands together during most of her meal, chewing well and stopping at random moments to talk or laugh. She also paused a few times to touch my face and hair and once took my glasses off. Twice, she tried to tell me I was sweet, but it came out more like “You are smeet.”
Meanwhile, Otis, a white-haired, overall-wearing resident, paced up and down the hallway past her doorway. Twice, she waved at him, and he waved back. Once, she looked at him and remarked, “That’s Grandpa.” I was going to take her Christmas decorations home but changed my mind when I heard her mumble something including the phrase “Christmas tree.”
Once she had eaten all of her meat and steamed vegetables and most of her rice and tortillas and drank all of her cranberry juice and half of her iced tea, an aide came in to feed her medicine disguised in chocolate pudding. Then Paul changed her and put her in pajamas. I put shoes on her and walked her up and down the hallway for almost 15 minutes before I had to return to Austin. She walked fairly well but did not let go of my hand for the first 10 minutes.