Memories we shared, translated…
“Tsan, if this were the olden days, the leaves would be all trimmed off.”, my mother pointed to the shell flower at the entry way to the Botanical Garden. “Why?”, “Because as a festive gluten cake is being made, the leaves will be used as a part of the wrapping, the bigger leaves can be cut into three pieces, the smaller ones, made into two.” “Then, how do you make the red rice gluten cake?” “You must soak the round rice in water, then, use a pestle to grind it up.” “How do you grind it up?”, my mom used her hands to demonstrate: “a person pushing the handle, another scoop up the round rice and water into the hole.”
That, was the set conversation that my mom and I shared at Botanical Gardens. A few years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and what’s happening now, she will forget in the very next second, when my mom held my hand and as we went strolling at the Botanical Gardens, there would be curious people from around, inquiring how old she is, she’d tell them that she was born in the year of the ox, but, she doesn’t know, that she’s already ninety-one years old. In order to keep her mind active, I’d often ask her questions, for instance, she was really good at cooking a sort of rice, and I’d asked her how she’d prepared it, what ingredients she used, step by step, at the very end, she’d sometimes talked back, “You’re not going to make it, why so many questions?”
As we saw clocks on the streets, I’d also ask mom to tell me the time, and, she could tell me the minute and the second, but would sometimes mistake the hour hand with the minute hand. She’d loved to see the plants, and her house is close to the Botanical Gardens, and so, I’d taken her stroll there often; and, on the way there, we would pass by a temple, and she would always make a stop, pressed her hands together, and offered the respects, and would often ask me to do what she did.
In order to help maintain my mother’s muscle strengths, we’d always walked to the botanical garden, but, I could still see how her strength was deteriorating away, from before, she didn’t need to rest until we finished walking around the entire park, and now, she’d needed to take three short breaks. And, this year, she’d felt, that she’d become unsteady, and so, she’d taken my arms, and, walked and talked with me, “The trees are so beautiful, the flowers, so pretty, the tiles on the floor are laid out very fine, it’s so easy to walk on…” she’d repeated it a thousand times, as if each time was the first time she’d been to the Botanical Gardens.
Sometimes, my mother would sigh about how she’d become so useless, now that she’d gotten old. I’d told her, “When we were younger, you’d taken care of us, and now, you’re older, we’re taking care of you, is that fair?”, she’d start giggling when she heard, “it’s great, that you think of it like that.” But sometimes, she’d inquired, “Who are you?”, I’d feel so sad all of a sudden, but I’d still smiled and asked her, “How many sons do you have?”, and she could remember ALL three of our names, “ah, are you Tsan? Then, you are, my son then.”
I don’t know how long mom will remember me, but I hope, that my mom can spend her old age blissfully, that, is all I wish for.
So, you can see, how, with the progression of dementia, the memories are slowly getting lost, and, the mother doesn’t even remember the son from time to time, but, eventually, she recalls, and, going to the botanical gardens becomes this special thing that this mother and son pair share.
and no, this photo is still NOT mine!!!
