See if you can explain this to me.
I took my sweet, demented mom for a drive through the country yesterday afternoon. Then we went to the store and bought a few items. On the drive to her home, out of the blue, she said (and I quote her carefully):
"March seems, at least to me, when I was... oh, when I was over... there... March seems to be the color of that thing."
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25 comments:
no. but i sure hope 'that thing' was a pleasing colour to her...
I love when a moment of poetry happens when we least expect it.
Beautiful!
It is poetry, Chris. Maybe the mind becomes imagistic, comparative.
Beautiful and sad.
That is the very best type of poetry. It i he kind of literary equivalent of "objet trouves".
Of course, I understand her totally.
At some basic level, she realises she was something else, and she accepts that while seasons (and she) change, the memory of what the season was (and what she was) remains. Even if only as a distant memory which she doesn't quite feel connected with any more.
It is beautiful poetry.
Sounds like the beginning of a great thought.
Where there is recognition of color there is sight when there is sight there is vision. Not every vision need be explained as something readily identified Chris.
i guess we will just have to wait for March to get here to see what color she is wearing , then perhaps we will understand.
Alzheimers is the saddest disease, it keeps taking and taking until it takes everything.
Thanks for writing about it, we all have someone we know who gets it eventually.
Secretia
I am of no help, I cannot explain it at all. I barely can follow the way my brain thinks. But maybe March is not a month in her mind, maybe March is something that once was.
Okay that is all I have.
God bless and I truly hope you enjoyed the ride and time spent with your mom. Someday this will mean a lot to you.
Although it doesn't make a lotta sense, it sounds very peaceful. She must have loved going on a drive in the country with you. She is blessed to have you so close.
What strikes me first is the imagistic poetry (thank you, Karen).
What strikes me second is the completion of the thought. It has a subject, verb, and predicate. Only rarely is she able to put together a comprehensive sentence.
What strikes me third is that she identifies there was a past (thank you, Rayna).
Fourth, she knows the season if not the month.
Finally, she perceives herself as an independent person who has reasoning ability. March seems to me to be the color of something else. It's a profound thought for someone who is losing the capacity for abstract ideas.
Thank you, Walking Man, for calling it a vision.
Thank you, everyone, for mulling it over.
Those fragile moments where the brain's connectors twinge and then fade out. Amazing, Chris.
Kat
Perhaps your mom and I share the same synapse; these are the words of a synesthete. She sees words and concepts in color; time and space as shapes.
It is a gift, it is a promise within a broken mind- a rainbow of color to wash away floods of things the mind can no longer bear.
Hold her close, give her a hug, whisper that Titanium says March on.
Just think of the times you were a toddler and you did the same thing, and she was amazed at your talent for verbalizing and connecting. She encouraged you to be the artistic, sensitive soul you are. She is now reaping the benefits in your attention, your loving witnessing of her frailties.
Between the brain'd electrical system and human experiences and perceptions, incredible things can occur. Best to you and your mother.
Whatever color it is she is seeing it and it means something to her, so cool, she wanted to share it with you in her own way. Wow. Some day that will be me and I hope hubby is as soft and warm as you are.
What a heartbreakingly lovely moment to share with your mom.
Rayna has insight that astounds and humbles me.
It reminds me of something that Dylan Thomas would have written. Expressing that a season is the color of something is a beautiful thing.
Wow....I read this and my first thought was, "How beautiful."
Hospice workers say to listen to the messages conveyed by loved ones who are ill. The "confused" words may be about something indescribable they are living we cannot see...
...as when my mother said on the last day we parted before her death, "are you through?" instead of are you done, or going now?
love you dear one, hope the reading tonight was fabulous. What did you read?
Di
Thanks for sharing this moment with your mother. I wonder what she saw that she associated its color with March.
Hey, Master Butchers Singing Club was my favorite also, hey!
My bookcases are broken, the collections are spread on the floors.
I'm catching you in the blogasphere.
how was last night's reading?
Spring means so much to us, it should be a remembered thing and I am glad it is for your mom, too.
Love your photos. Love your posts.
The words your mom spoke remind me of thoughts my dad, who has Alzheimer's, expresses now and then. I often sit in wonder and puzzlement at the interesting way he now strings his words together to make his thoughts known. His struggle at times his heart wrenching and then all of a sudden he says something perfectly coherent. It is a predictably unpredictable disease. I hate how it is stealing him away bit by bit. But I am grateful to be with him as he goes.
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