Mother: a story

They say that your brain starts to shrink. This inward physical sign can, of course, go undetected for some time. The day Amanda learned that her mother’s brain was shrinking was the day her mother called, asking that she be picked up from the airport and taken home. The thing was, her mother was already at home.
“Mother,” Amanda said. “Mother, you are calling me from your house.”
“Darling, I need to get home. It’s been such a long trip.”
“Is Daddy there?” Amanda continued asking to speak with her father, but it was no use. Her mother simply could not comprehend anything Amanda said.
The mind of Mrs. O’Connor continued to slip into a reality of its own. Her world lay on a narrow line between the past and the present. Amanda took her mother to see several doctors who all said the same thing.
“Mrs. O’Connor is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease,” Dr. Swartz said.
“You’re mother is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s,” Dr. Walsh said softly.
“Alzheimer’s disease,” Dr. Roberts said matter-of-factly.
Each time Amanda was told the news of her mother’s condition, she could feel a little piece of energy and life being sapped out of her body. Amanda had always seen her mother as a symbol of unseen strength. By unseen, I mean that Mrs. O’Connor went unnoticed by half the people in her life, including her own husband. But Amanda saw her strength when others thought they saw weakness.
“What are we going to do with her? Daddy can hardly take care of himself, let alone her. Maybe it’s time to place them at Greenway,” Amanda hated the thought of placing her mother in a home and saying it out loud to her husband, Jim, made her feel even worse.
“We can’t make this decision for them, honey,” Jim said. “I know you feel like we are responsible for your parents since your brother is three states away, but you have to talk to him about it.”
Amanda knew Jim was right. Amanda knew she needed to talk to Greg as soon as possible, but she continued to put it off. While Amanda was busy with her client’s case, Jim dispensed the O’Connor’s medicine to them everyday. He took them out to eat or brought them food. Jim quickly learned there was no point in buying too many groceries for them since Mr. O’Connor suddenly forgot how to use a can opener and Mrs. O’Connor forgot to eat if someone didn’t place food in front of her, which Mr. O’Connor never did.
Soon, Mrs. O’Connor was placing her clothes in a garbage sack, and setting it by the door, asking that she be taken home. Some days she would ask about people who died twenty-five years ago, as if they were still living down the street.
“Amanda,” Mrs. O’Connor’s soft southern accent drawled out her daughter’s name, “will you tell your father to pick up Greg from school today? I’m afraid it will start to rain and I don’t want your baby brother getting a cold”
Amanda wasn’t sure whether to go along, pretending that her brother was only eight years old, or if she should tell her mother the truth. Amanda sat there speechless for what felt like minutes to her, but it was actually only a few seconds. “Of course, mother. Daddy will fetch him.”
“Amanda, don’t bother your father if he’s writing his sermon for Sunday, you know how much that irritates him.”
Indeed, Amanda knew how much that irritated her father. She wouldn’t interrupt him unless she’d spilt her head open. She learned that lesson long ago. “Daddy doesn’t like that very much, does he?”
Mrs. O’Connor was knitting a scarf. Her needle’s clicked softly, her finger moved mechanically, appearing to be separate from the rest of her body. She suddenly looked up at Amanda for the first time since she stepped in the door.
“Well, hello, darling,” she said cheerfully. “Did you bring Jim or the kids with you today?”
Natalie, Amanda’s daughter, looks exactly how her grandmother looked at sixteen. Natalie has long unruly blonde curls, green eyes, and a slender five-foot-seven frame. Natalie can no longer see her Grandmother after the incident last time they saw each other.
Their similar appearances brought Mrs. O’Connor back to her teenage years. She was married by the time she was sixteen. Mrs. O’Connor went wild at the sight of Natalie. She threw her knitting, the newspaper, and the ice tea at Natalie. She screamed as she pulled at her own hair. No one knew what to do, and no one knew the exact reason for this reaction. But, as I said, Natalie was not allowed to see her grandmother again, for everyone’s sake.
Three days after the incident, Amanda finally had the time to take over Jim’s job as nurse and chaperone. The autumn air was as crisp as a starched collared shirt, and Amanda was feeling that this day might be a good day for her mother.
“Mother, I won my case this morning, and I thought you might want to celebrate with me,” I ripped open a sugar packet and dumped it into her iced tea. She stirred it gently, letting the spoon clink against the glass, and enjoying the sound.
“Isn’t that nice, darling,” Amanda’s mother continued to knit.
Amanda looked at the backyard, relishing the serenity of her mother’s favorite room. She had forgotten what it was like to just sit there with her mother, peacefully. Amanda always felt that her mother possessed a naturally calming spirit and anyone around her felt the joy in sitting silently with her. She leaned back in the white wicker chair, and closed her eyes.
Mrs. O’Connor put her knitting in the basket on the floor, and Amanda opened her eyes. Her mother stood, her flower cotton dress fluttered in the breeze that escaped from the small squares of the screen that surrounded the porch. Mrs. O’Connor stared straight ahead with her hand stretched out in front of her, her pointer finger extended toward the yard. Her brown shoes inched up, her body strangely stiff as if her feet moved on their own will.
“There. You must take me back where I came from,” Mrs. O’Connor said.
Amanda sat up, her neck stretched, trying to see where her mother was pointing to. Had her father taken her mother out this morning?