The Butt Dial

Tonight, my phone rang.  It was in my purse, and by the time I fished it out, the phone had stopped ringing. 

It was my mother in law's former next door neighbor, and best friend.  She had butt-dialed us (she was playing with some of her grandchildren).  But, while my husband was on the phone with her, we talked a little. She wanted to know how her friend was doing.  She wanted to know how my autistic brother in law, Bil, was doing.

She will call my mother in law, who is 90 and has early dementia, and the next day my mother in law won't remember anything. But at least my neighbor still calls.

Enough people who once cared about her have seemed to have disappeared.  Or maybe they call her, and she doesn't remember when my husband asks.  She claims "no one called her".

We have been going through photos in her apartment.   And there are so many people in those photos we don't know.

Others, we take an educated guess.

Are these people alive? Do they care? Or, knowing she is losing her memory, do they decide it is to painful to watch her decline?

I can identify.  It's painful for us, and the friend who butt dialed.   And maybe for Bil,but he interacts so little with her that we don't know.  Like some with autism, he doesn't share his inner thoughts with us.

But I'm glad she butt-dialed.  So glad.

What Makes Us "Us"? #MondayMusings

On Saturday, my autistic brother in law, "Bil" visited his elderly mother, who is now in a long term care facility.  My husband and I brought "Bil" there.

The visit started as it normally does.  Bil comes into the room, looks at his Mom just long enough to establish she is there, and takes off to another part of the semi-private room.  Normally, her roommate spends the entire day outside her room, so there is some privacy, and Bil heads for the recliner next to the roommate's bed.

This time, though, my mother in law wanted to talk.

"Come here, Bil" she instructed several times.  He did, almost reluctantly, as we tried to get some idea of what he had done recently.  More than anything, his mother just wanted to know that he is well, and happy.

But it's like pulling teeth (and, as a literal thinker, if I said that to Bil, he would run away, terrified that someone wanted to pull his teeth out) sometimes, to find out things from Bil.  He's not much of a talker.  Even when he talks about things he likes, he isn't a man of many words.

My mother in law loves her flowers.  We brought her some.  She asked, several times in succession, what they were.  Patiently, I told her several times what they were.

Then she asked Bil about the Belmont Stakes race that was taking place later that afternoon.  What channel was it on?  And several minutes later ,what channel was it on?  And Bil answered her each time.

It's impossible to know what Bil is thinking of, as he watches his Mom sink into dementia.  She is in the early stages, and seemed to be pretty alert today.  But so much of us is our memories - I can see it on days when she isn't quite there, and I know it will only get worse.

What will happen when she doesn't remember who any of us are?  What are we without our memories?

What happens to us when our memories are lost?  When we are surrounded by strangers who are really our loved ones?

What makes "us" us?  And, since "Bil" is younger than my husband and his other brother, will he go through this again and again, as his two male sibs age

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