A Miracle in Richmond Hill

My mother lives in a full-care nursing home and is in the final stage of Dementia. She cannot walk, feed herself or take care of herself in any way. She does not know what year it is, how old she is or what month her birthday is in. She knows who my sister and I are, even though she gets the two of us confused sometimes and can still give the occasional dirty look or snide remark to whomever she feels deserves it. Despite the weekly negative reports from the nurses and caregivers and the recent death sentence from Dr. Obvious (thanks captain), we keep on trucking. Nothing else we can do but to continue what we are already doing. Every week when I visit, she still surprizes me - whether it's eating all her food, remembering something, understanding what I am saying, or saying something sassy.

Today she blew me away. I wrote a draft of what was to be my next posting and I was going to mention the Shema. For those of you who do not know, the Shema is the daily prayer said in the morning and evening. It is the basic declaration of faith for every Jew. The first line is sung out loud and if you have EVER been to synagogue, you have heard it. Even I know the melody. Please see below.

 

                                                 Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.
                                        (Hear,  O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.)

I asked my mother if she knew what a Shema was. She said it was when people get together for a meeting (something to that effect). When I asked her to explain what she meant, she proceeded to say the first line of the prayer (see above). My mouth was hanging. After what seemed to be a long pause, she then continued to say the rest of the prayer. IN HEBREW! I didn't even know she knew it. It had been years since she had been to Shul. We had only attended services on the high Holy days and here she had memorized the daily prayer.

Here is a woman who does not know what month it is and is lying there, eyes closed, barely moving her body, saying a prayer that I have yet to learn. Not only that, she repeated it two more times! I picked my jaw up from the floor and wiped away the tears from my eyes. I had just witnessed a miracle! For whatever reason, God gave me a huge gift today and it's not even my birthday. From now on when I hear the melody I will think about today.

Dementia is a horrible, stinking disease. It steals your loved ones from under your nose, in front of your face and it takes its dear, sweet time. You mourn the 'death' of their personality, character and essence before you mourn the death of their body. After every visit, I take away something positive - she ate all her food, gave a nurse a dirty look or I didn't have to take an Adavan (or two) etc.. Today my mother (and God) made me speechless, a rarity I am fully aware of. I was shaking my head in disbelief and grinning like the Cheshire cat. I sent many thanks out today. 

For those of you who regularly or occasionally kvetch about how your parents sill treat you like a kid, meddle in your life or just drive you bananas, I would like to let you know how lucky you are. I would give anything to know what my father's voice sounds like or to hear my mother go on about how mischievous I was as a child. Just once. If your parent(s) are cognitive, mobile, can do for themselves and can have a conversation with you, be grateful and thankful. Now go call your mother.

 

..Baby steps and an Adavan..