As I walked down the hall towards my mother’s room in the nursing home, I passed a woman who used to live across the street from us in the old neighborhood.   She is also a resident, due to her failing health and cognitive decline, so I always take a moment to chat with her. Today, as I paused, we held hands as a sign of our close friendship. She asked, “Has your mother found her mind, yet?” Taken back by her question, I replied, “I hope so.” Quickly she answered, “I hope so, too.” I began to walk away, then turned and said, “Thank you for hoping with me.”

Surprisingly, that day was the beginning of my mother’s improved clarity. She has maintained her ability to make eye contact, reach for her favorite soft toy and even nod her head in answer. Over the last two weeks, several of the staff and even my sister have commented on her improvement.

I realized that I haven’t expected my mother to improve, only to decline.

Today, someone reminded me of a scripture that made me think of how I’d accepted my mother’s fate and possibly even my own. It took my little friend to put the idea in my head that I was able to hope for more. Not only hope but expect. 2Timothy 1:7 says “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” ( NKJV).

Thank you, sweet friend, for pointing me toward hope for a better day and not just accept the death sentence of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

My friend with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease has this tattooed on her arm. “While there’s life, there is hope.” Agreed. Hope in this life and for the next.

Today I determined to build a bridge. Momma is now in the bed when I visit which makes it difficult to get into her field of vision. Leaning over the rails becomes tiresome and hard on the back. Although I play music for her and give her a drink, we do very little real connecting. We are at the place where Validation Therapist Naomi Fell interacted with Gladys in their viral videoed encounter. Inspired by her teaching, I decided to give it a try.

I let the rail down on her left side and got in bed with her. I began to sing to her. Momma’s eyes are generally half-mast, one open more than the other. I stroked her cheeks as Naomi had done, as a mother would do with an infant. Momma closed both her eyes in response and seemed to be enjoying the moment. I continued to sing until I had exhausted everything that came to mind. Then I said the Lord’s Prayer. By now, both her eyes are completely open and it seemed on occasion she is almost moving her mouth to speak. Since the bookcase is within easy reach of the bed, I got my folder with poems, songs, and sayings. I read everything to her – even some speech therapy familiar sayings. Then I recited Mother Goose rhymes to her. I had her complete attention.

I got the photo album that is her life story and showed her pictures of her growing up and her sisters. We moved to her later life, her children, etc. I showed her a large framed photo of the antebellum gown she skillfully made for me, pictures of my children and recent ones of her. Her eyes followed my movements.

I talked to her about what I was making for dinner. I told her the kind of birthday cake I was making for her as her birthday is in six days. She watched me as I adjusted the bed rail and moved to the other side of the bed to put on my coat and scarf.

Before I left, I said, “I love you, Momma,” and leaned in to kiss her check. She turned her head and made a face of refusal like a child would with an older adoring relative. I laughed and said, “What a face.” She turned back and looked at me as if to say, “you know we don’t do that in our family.” Which is so true. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was so her.

A bridge was built today.