What's in a Name?

Faces may be familiar to a person with dementia but names fade away over time until they just disappear.  Years ago, near the end of my father’s struggle with Alzheimer’s, my daughter wrote a paper for school aptly titled “George”.  Very close to Daddy from the time of her birth, she watched as the names of his grandchildren slowly disappeared.  As she explained in her paper, it wasn’t noticeable at first because he began calling them all George and they thought it was a game.  It eventually became all too obvious that he couldn’t recall their names.

I’ve watched as the same has happened with Mom over the years.  I used to try a quick test when I would stop in to see Mom or take her to the doctor.  I would say, “Who am I?”  Her response would tell me her state of mind that day.  Sometimes it would be, “You’re my daughter!” as if I was silly for asking.  Sometimes she would say, “You’re Jeannie.”  To each of these responses I would give her a “Hooray!”

At times she would just laugh and I would know that she had no answer to the question.  She recognized my face as someone that “belonged to her” but no more.  Over time, that has become the norm.  She recognizes me as soon as I walk in the room, even if I have left her with my sister for the weekend, but she doesn’t know my name and sometimes I am “the woman that works here”.  There has only been one time since April of this year that she has actually said my name, calling me from another room.  I was absolutely shocked to hear my name from her!

Yesterday was a wonderful day for Mom!  My sister came to stay with Mom in the morning so that we could go to our youngest daughter’s graduation.  I didn’t tell Mom ahead of time that her daughter was coming because knowing something ahead of time can sometimes set off some agitation.  When Pat arrived Mom’s face lit up and she was ready for her hug!

In the evening, we had a graduation party.  Mom handled the situation very well, especially since she didn’t know all the people there.  Hoping to delay restlessness and the desire to go home, I let her know that one of her sons was on his way.  When Jerry walked in, Mom was sitting in a recliner and not only did her face light up but she lifted up her arms to him.  She was so excited to see him!  She happily sat with him for almost two hours before finally asking to go home.

As time goes on, I know that my mother will eventually lose the ability to recognize me, even as “the woman that works here”.   For now, I will cling happily to those moments when her face lights up when she sees me or one of my siblings or recognizes the face of one that “belongs to her”.