Mama's cell phone doesn't work

My parents went to their garden in the country daily, even though Mama's Alzheimer's was pretty bad. Mama was like a Labrador retriever, and I don't mean this disrespectfully. Open the car door and she'd jump in. Where she was going didn't matter, especially if my father was driving.

But when he was diagnosed with aortic stenosis and told his heart could fail at any moment, he started worrying about what would happen to Mama if he keeled over out in the country. He asked me to get her a cell phone.

I got her one she could wear on a lanyard. I programmed it with one-button dialing for her children and grandchildren, so if she just held down a button, she would get someone who loved her. I put a label on the back that said which number would summon which loved one, in case she had the presence of mind to use it.

About a week later my Non-Saintly Brother (I have two brothers, one Saintly and one Non-Saintly) was sitting with Mama. "How do you like the phone Anne got you?" he asked.

"I don't," she said.

"Why not?"

"I can't call Ginny," Mama said. "Anne's got everyone on here but Ginny. I want to talk to Ginny."

Now, Ginny is her sister (my aunt). And there's a reason I didn't put Ginny's number on there. Ginny is dead.

Non-Saintly Brother couldn't resist. "She didn't put Ginny on there?"

"No," Mama said. "I can't call her."

"Well," said Non-Saintly Brother. "You'll have to get Anne to fix that. Ask her next time you see her."

Mama has Alzheimer's, as I have said forty-eleven times. But this little bit of bad advice slipped through the net of plaque and Mama remembered to ask me the next time she saw me.

"Anne," she said. "(Non-Saintly Brother) said you could get this phone fixed to where I can call Ginny."

I will not curse on this blog, so I won't write down the words that flared up in my brain. They are the same words you would have been thinking.

If I reminded Mama that Ginny was dead, then Mama would have taken the news as hard as if she had just heard it. "Oh no! Ginny's dead! When did that happen?" I didn't want her to revisit her grief. But I couldn't very well fix her phone to call Ginny.

So I said, "I can't, Mama. That phone can't call that far."

Comments

[Lori]

he's gonna get it - but I sure wish I could give it to him

[Anne]

I'll show you where he lives!

[Nancy]

That was the perfect answer!

[Nancy]

Oops, I meant about the cell phone, of course!

[Anne]

It's funny how the wrong answer (Ginny is dead) would have led to a descent into grief mixed with confusion that would have lasted into the afternoon, yet the right distraction (a half-true answer) ended the discussion. Sometimes you just get off the hook -- and I was grateful for that one.

[Rindy]

I was just talking to a friend the other night hearing about how difficult it's been with her mother-in-law and worsening Alzheimer's...it's wonderful you are doing all you are...

[Anne]

You give me too much credit. My mother has had Alzheimer's for nine years. The thing I've learned is that you have to let go of your desire to fix things, because it can't be fixed. Great ideas turn out not to work. For example, I don't think my mother ever used the cell phone, wouldn't wear it and fortunately never needed it. My father liked it, though. After a while you come to understand and accept your limitations. It still feels bad, though. I'm so sorry for your friend. There are support groups that could be helpful. I found that they depressed me because there were all these people there weeping because of what was happening to their loved ones. My mother wasn't that bad at the time, and it wasn't good for me to hear about what was coming.

By the way, I love your site. Today's post was exactly what I needed. I'm going to put in a link to it. Thanks for stopping by.