桑德·史密斯
SandeSmith
Aarentsinceshewasfifteen，myseventy-six-year-oldmotherusedtolongforthedaywhenshecouldjustsitanddonothing.Nomoretakingcareofthechildren.Nomoreworryingaboutwhethertherewasenoughmoneytoaythebills.Nomoreresonsibilities.
Shegotherwish.Everydaynow，shesitsinanursinghome，taingherfingersonherchairinasyncoatedrhythmthatremindsmeofbebo，talkingtoherselfaboutherfather，whodiedwhenshewaseight.
“Mildred……Mildred.”
Isay.
Shelooksuatme，hereyesbrighten，andhersmilerevealssnaggleslikethoseofafive-year-old.“Comehere，babydoll，”
shesays.
Irushovertoher，ullcloseachair，andsitdown.
“Hey，Mildred，howareyou?”
IdontcallherMommyanymore.ShedoesntanswertoMommy.
MymotherwasdiagnosedwithAlzheimersin1984，rightafterIgraduatedfromcollege.Whileinschool，Isawsignsthatsomethingwaswrong.Often，whenIwouldcallhome，shewouldbeusetbecauseshedlosthermoney.“Mommyneverloseshermoney.”
Idthink.
Ifoughtthedisease.Throughchangesindoctors，diet，andmedicine，andthroughtheadditionofChineseherbs，mymothershealthimroved.Shelostseventy-fiveoundsandregainedherabilitytoconversewithothereole.Yet，desiterofoundhysicalimrovement，theAlzheimerscontinuedtounravelhermindoverthenextsixyears.
Ilivedwithmymotherfrom1984to1990，astheillnessslowlytookitstoll.Itwasaallingtowatchherchangerightinfrontofme.Shedidntjustforgetthings.Shebecameadifferenterson-onewhomIdidnotrecognize.Whenmyboyfriendwouldwatchtelevision，shedwalkincirclesaroundhischair，mutteringunderherbreathandscowling.Sheketahammerhiddeninherroomandwieldeditattheslightestrovocation.Ifshegotoutofthehouse，shedrefusetocomebackin.Instead，shewouldrundownthestreet，callingfortheolicetohelher.Shedcometobelievethatshewasaoliceofficer-aconvictiontouchedoffbyaletterinvitinghertotakethecivilservicetest.Onlyanotheroliceofficercouldconvincehertocomeintothehouse.
Thisisnotmymother，Iwouldtellmyself.Mymotherhadnointerestinmen;thisersoncalledmenovertoherwindow.Mymothernevercried，yetthiswomanbrokeintotearsattheslightestthing.Mymotheralwaysaearedoliteandgood-natured.Thiswomanwasquick-temeredandslightlyaranoid.Shemovedmagazines，silverware，dishes，andclothingaroundthehouse.WhenIaskedabouttheobjects，shedbecomeangryandyellatmeforthinkingshehaddonesomethingwrong.Shetoldmethatothereole，notshe，hadmovedthesethings.
“Comehere，”
shedsayforcefully，grabbingmyhandandullingmeintoherroo“Listen.Doyouhearthem?Theytookit.”
Tolearnmoreaboutthedisease，mysisterandIattendedgrousforfamiliesofAlzheimersatients.Welearnednottoblamemymotherforthingsshesaidordid.TheAlzheimerswastalking，nother.
Asthediseaserogressed，mymothergrewfrightened.Shedsay，“Whatshaeningtome?WhycantIremember?”
BeforeAlzheimers，mymotherneveradmittedfearorsadnesstome.Now，shebecamestrangelyfreewithheremotions，cryingwhenfrightened，exressingangerwhenfurious，andlaughingwhenexhilarated.AsIreleasedmyercetionsofwhomymotherwassuosedtobe，webothbecamecalmer.
IusedeverythingIcouldtostayconnectedtoherasshelosttheabilitytoengageinthehallmarksoflinearlife.Mymotherhadalwaysloveddancing.WhenIcamehomefromwork，IdturnonTinaTurnerorJanetJackson，andwewoulddanceanddance.Idlayherfavoritesongsontheiano，andshedlaceherhandontooftheoldurightandsingeachnoteandeveryworderfectly.
Asmymothersillnessrogressed，IsawthatIcouldnotrovidethecaresheneeded，soIdecidedtoutherinanursinghome.Nowthatshesaway，Idreadthedaywhenshewillnolongerknowme.Sometimessheseemslosttome.Butthensomethinghaens，suchasmywedding.Eventhoughsheexressednointerest，Ineededherthere.Onmyweddingday，shemarchedinwithmyfather，stemother，aunts，uncles，andcousins.Shesatbehindme，occasionallymurmuringintimetotheministersseechasheouredlibations.Whenitcametimeformetostand.shelookedatmeandsangoutroudly，“Thatsmygal.”
Iturnedtoher.“Yes，Mom，itsme.”
WhenIvisitherinthenursinghome，wedontcarryontyicalconversations.Rather，ItalkaboutmydayandactoutAnansitales.OrImassageherarms，shoulders，andhands.Shegrabsmyarmandcradlesit，talkingallthewhileabouthowshelovesbabies.AndwhenIfeellikeababymyself，wishingIcouldjusttellallmytroublestomymotherandknoweverythingwillbeallright，sheholdsmyhandtightoratsmyhead，andImcomforted.
WhenItelleole，theirfacesdro.“Youoorthing，”
theysay.Perhastheytellmeaboutlovedoneswhobecameunrecognizableastheirbrainsdegenerated，ravagedbyAtzheimers.
Thosewhoityme，however，donotknowthewholestory.WhileIhatethedisease，IhavelearnedtoaccetandbenurturedbythisnewMildred，whostillmaintainstheessenceofmymother.Myknowledgeofmymotherisinmyveryskin，asisherknowledgeofme.NotevenAlzheimerscantakethataway.
我的母亲在她15岁的时候就有了第一个孩子，现在她已经76岁了，她以前一直希望有一天能够不用再照看小孩，不用再担心是否付得起账单，不用再承担那么多责任，总之就是坐下来，什么事情也不用做。
母亲终于实现了这个愿望。
现在，她每天坐在养老院里，一边讲述着8岁时失去的父亲，一边用手指敲着椅子，那节奏使我想起了比博普（爵士乐的一种）。
我叫着：“米尔德蕾德……米尔德蕾德。”
她就会把头仰起来，笑得露出了牙齿，眼睛也有了神采，好像一个5岁的孩子。
然后她对我说：“宝贝儿，到这儿来。”
我就赶紧跑过去，拉一把椅子，靠近她的身旁坐下来。
“嗨，米尔德蕾德，你好吗？”
我已经不叫她妈妈了，因为她对这个称呼已经没有反应了。
1984年，母亲被诊断出阿尔茨海默病——又名老年痴呆症，那年我刚刚大学毕业。
（第1页）
请关闭浏览器阅读模式后查看本章节，否则将出现无法翻页或章节内容丢失等现象。