Fern has always been lively, to say the least. In St. Louis, she was always active in her church and neighborhood, knew just about everyone and they knew her. To this day, she loves to get a rise out of you with her off-color comments, silly jokes and antics. I love the way her eyes light up when she is “on” because she truly loves the attention. But more importantly, she loves to laugh and that is what I love most about her. When her mood is dark, you feel the weight of it just as intensely as you feel the lightness of her laughter when her spirits are high.
During the auction on Fern’s last day in the house, as people walked through assessing the items for which they would bid, we sat in a back bedroom and greeted people as they came through. What was initially an odd feeling with strangers all around; ultimately, became a room full of familiar faces for Fern. Many of the day’s bidders were people she and Joe had known through the years from the auctions and antique shows they had attended. Then came her niece on her husband’s side who was clearly saddened about Fern’s move and came to see what she might save of her aunt and uncle for her own bank of memories. She lingered the entire day. Neighbors stopped by to say goodbye and size me up for my ability to take on this mission. Eventually they would pull me aside to say how happy they were to know we were going to be taking care of her but how much they would miss the woman who had been so much a part of their lives.
As the day ended around 5:00 p.m. and the house emptied, her friends, one of nearly 60 years, stopped by to say goodbye. They were not happy with me which was obvious by the cool way they regarded me as they came into the house. I could hear the words they didn’t say, “We know her better than you do.” “Where have you been all these years?” “How could you take her away from us?” “How do we know we can trust you?”
We all sat down on top of boxes as they looked at one another and kept remarking how they couldn’t believe Fern was leaving. They asked if we had thought about having Fern stay in St. Louis so they could go visit her more often and to keep her in the place she had called home for more than 60 years? I shared with them that going to live with my mom in Denver was what both Fern and my mother said they wanted. I was simply facilitating that transition and she would be with family. It was painful for all of them and the words were hard to come by. So they did the best they could by saying how they would write, they would call, and they would come and visit.
As the conversation went on, Fern’s mood became agitated and she became dismissive with her friends and scoffed at all the commotion. That is when I realized, bravado was Fern’s defense mechanism. I could see it was a profoundly painful moment for her and she had no idea how to exit it gracefully, so she chose to do it briskly and with a quick hug goodbye like she was just going down to the grocery and would be right back. We exchanged information so they could keep in touch and they left. What I would soon learn was the term “sundowner syndrome”, a common Alzheimer’s phenomena, which probably had something to do with her demeanor change with her friends.
Fern and I sat there in the living room together quietly for a time before we left her beloved house and memories for the last time. Her white Pomeranian dog, Davie, whose mission was to bark incessantly so no one could hold a conversation, was oddly quiet as I pushed him into the carrier that would be his ride to Colorado. I was emotionally exhausted. We drove away in silence to our hotel for the night before heading to the airport for our trip to the Denver area, where she would live with my mom and brother, just as she said she wanted to do.
Alzheimer's State of Mind 