We all float down here..

In 2009, I did the Alzheimer's Memory Walk and the team I was part of raised nearly $3k.
In 2010, my mother died of Alzheimer's and I didn't do the Walk.. or anything, really.. for the remainder of the year.
In 2011, I am sponsoring a team for the Alzheimer's Walk for a Cure.

In honour of Sir Terry Pratchett, one of my favourite authors, who was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2007:

Team Discworld

Where: Bloomington, MN
When: Saturday, September 24, 2011
What: Walking the 1 mile or 3 mile course
Cosplay? Cosplay or jeans and t-shirts. It's all good. I'm going to be dressing as Beggar Queen Molly.
I wanna join the team! Click HERE and sign up.
I wanna support the team! Click HERE to make a monetary donation. If you can't throw some spare change our way, please help by spreading the word. I would love to have a huge crowd of Discworld fans show up for the walk.

I'm working with some MN SF/F conventions to see about getting space to pimp the team, but I'm starting late in the game for convention season, so we'll see what I can pull together.

Today is my mother's 76th birthday. I went to go see her, partly out of duty and partly to spite my sister and partly because Mom's old and I may not get to see her for much longer. It was painful, but surprisingly pleasant. As pleasant as an evening spent with two bigots, my sister who can't sit still or shut up - literally, and a house full of parrots. Current count: 2 Hyacinth Macaws, 1 Amazon Grey, 1 yellow headed green, 1 ugly green 'plucks all his feathers off', 1 Jenday Conure, and 1 sulphur crested cockatoo.

My mother has to be spoon fed now. At one point, my sister said, "Mom! You have to eat!" and my mother snapped right back, "NO I DON'T!" I laughed, because that moment was pure Mom.

I got to listen to a rant on how all the bad in MN right now is the fault of 'those damn Somali immigrants' by one of my sister's friends. They're to blame for everything, including the new sports stadiums. Then my sister's other friend showed up and went off about Obama. She said something - by this time, I was mostly tuning her out - and used the word 'negro'. My mother immediately snapped, "DON'T use that WORD!" My sister tried to apologize, saying Mom didn't know what she was saying. I reminded her that Mom hated that word. My mother was against identifying people by the colour of their skin. If it had to be done, they were 'people of colour'. Not black, not red, not purple - never an identified colour, just 'of colour'. You never used 'negro' or the other n-word in my house, because my mother would set you right so fast your head would spin. How anyone could ever forget that about my mother, I do not understand.

My sister's friend used it a second time and Mom did the same thing, more angrily this time. "DON'T use THAT WORD!" Some things are so ingrained, etched so deeply into her mind, that they exist beyond the disease that's turning her brain to oatmeal. That was neat to see, but also kind of horrible. I don't want to think of her trapped in there.

Other statements:
While telling my sister that Jamie cut his hair short, Mom ejected, "Jamie.. he's a good kid."

While I was trying to help feed her, "Who are you?" "Mom, I'm [Peregrine]." "[Peregrine]." (said with relief). I jokingly asked if I was a good kid too, and she gave me the "Are you dumb?" look and ejected, "You were ALWAYS a good kid!" Thanks, Mom.

It was good to see her, and the semi-lucid moments were kind of nice, but it was also kind of horrible. It's hard to look at the zombie shell and acknowledge that it was my mother. She doesn't look the same - physically, there have been huge changes. Her face has become all sunken in. She can't wear dentures anymore and her nose has changed shape. Probably due to the mini-strokes she keeps having. The muscle tone is just.. off. When I was little, Mom taught me how to carve "apple people" - you carve an apple into a generic 'face' shape and let it wither and it looks like a little old person. That's what my mother looks like now. Her eyes are still the same, but they're empty except for the brief sparks of confusion. Bright blue spots of emptiness in a tiny, withered face. My sister let Mom's hair grow out to its natural colour, and the colour's changed. My mother had white blonde hair, then dishwater blonde hair, then grey/blonde hair and then she bleached it back to white blonde. Her hair is now a strange, mousey brownish grey. It's actually quite pretty, but it's very, very odd.

It's weird, looking at her now. There's a vague fear of "That could be me someday", although realistically it's not likely. Technically, she doesn't have Alzheimer's. She has CMI, which is directly tied to uncontrolled diabetes. I don't have the same risk factors my mother did. I'm not diabetic. I also don't smoke a pack a day like my mother did for most of her life. I'm also not, nor have I ever been, an alcoholic, nor did I do any other recreational things that would have impaired my brain cells. Unless you count the SCA.

My mother's living her worst nightmare, and I just wish it would end for her. Peacefully, quietly, while she still has any dignity left at all. The brain rot has already taken her independence and most of her faculties, and nearly all of her memories. I felt a bit like a traitor tonight, for being glad to see the tiny little sparks of Mom. She had a good night tonight, though.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you. Always.

One year while I was living in Boston, my mother got the urge to buy all my friends Christmas cards.

In June.

She called and asked for names and addresses, and at the time I was amused but also kind of annoyed. She hadn't met any of them. I was kind of disturbed that they'd be getting mail from my mom, because What Would They Think?! There were two guys especially that OMG might think I liked them! Can't have that! (Hey, I can have my girl moments just as much as any other girl. I do have two X chromosomes.)

Mom asked about Josh. "Mom, Josh is Jewish. He doesn't celebrate Christmas, he celebrates Chanaukah." (Which I can never spell right.) "Oh," said Mom sadly, "I don't know if I could find Chanaukah cards." "Mom, it's June. You might have a better chance closer to the holiday." "But.. if I don't start looking NOW.. Well, what about John? I could get his card, at least.."

"Mom," said a very exasperated me, "John's a Satanist." He was. He is. He's a nice guy but, y'know, not down with the Christ figure.

"TARA!" my mother shot right back in this shocked tone of voice, "Even SATANISTS celebrate CHRISTMAS!" She wasn't asking. She was telling me.

I laughed so hard I choked. Then I had to explain that John, before he was a Satanist, had also been Jewish. So, still not down with the Christ figure.

My mother went on a disgruntled quest for Chanaukah cards. She eventually found some, or badgered the Hallmark store into ordering some. Then she was quite pleased with herself, that now she could send appropriate cards to my friends.

This is my mother.

IIRC, that was the year she bought her coworker - a Harvard Law grad, who was black - an Ebonics Christmas Card. My mother had no idea what Ebonics was, and the card had a really nice painting of a black Jesus on the front. Keep in mind, my mother referred to black people as 'people of colour' my entire life. So when I saw the greeting inside the card, I choked and tried to get her to not give it. I cringed when she gave it anyway, but her friend took it well. Mom never understood why I was horrified. She was just so happy she didn't have to give her black friend a card with a white Jesus on it. And now Hallmark had a whole SECTION .. "Mom, did you read what it said inside?" "Well, it doesn't matter what it says inside, does it? Nobody reads that part anyway. It matters what was meant by it."

This is also my mother.