On the progressions of dementia, from a family member’s perspectives, translated…
The Whole Family Laughed. And Our Laughter Stayed at Tienmu, on the Slow Slopes of Zhongshan N. Road, Sec. 7. At the Half-Way Point of the Hike in the Windows on the Mid-Point Stop Before the Zhinan Temple in Muzha. As the Years Slowly Slipped on by, We All Understood, that Happiness Didn’t Come Out of Nowhere, that There Was, NO Way We Can Stop it in a Freeze Frame, and Yet, None of Us was Able to Predict, When All of This Will, Change………
Then, it shall, accompany me as I age, then, get passed down to my own young. Then maybe, get blown away by the wind, diluted by the rain, and, transferred away, by the wheels of time.
But then what I will still remember. Although, all of it, is of the most miniscule, and unimportant matters to the world.
You’d sat, quietly before me. Chewed on your dark chocolate cake in silence.
You’d just, brushed your hair, it was, naturally curly from before, at this time, it’d, curved alongside your cheeks, looked quite natural, the black-and-white mixed, made you looked even more, like a retired school professor.
If your daughter were close by, she’d probably add on, she is, originally, a professor! Right, you can well be a retired teacher too! Then, she’d given you a gentle peck on the forehead, with her face close to yours, wait for my cell phone to take a shot, click, click. The images stayed in my cell phone.
This afternoon, I’d, visited you alone.
I’d pushed you, out of the building, it’s November now, the sun glistened on, but it’s still way too hot, to wear long-sleeves.
We’d trekked along the small forest trail, slowly and leisurely.
It was, a weekday afternoon, and there weren’t that many people there. The two of us, trekked in and out, of the shadows and the light, in and out of the trees.
I’d found a bench, sat myself down, with your wheelchair opposite me.
I’d gently wiped the sweat away from your forehead.
I’d fed you a few drinks of water.
Hot, isn’t it? I’d asked.
I’d wiped the sweat from my cheeks too. Yeah, it is, hot, it’s, so rare, after the winter solstice! I’d told you.
A friend gave me a box of eggrolls from Tokyo. Your granddaughter knew you’d enjoy it, and I’d agreed, to bring a small piece to you, while your daughter was worried that you wouldn’t get enough exercise, that you’d become, overweight.
You’d loved sweet treats. Just like me. Also like your granddaughter.
From before when we’d gone out to dine, we’d always ordered three servings of desserts, one for you, one for me, and one for your granddaughter. Your daughter didn’t have a serving, and would pick at one of ours.
As you’d eaten it up, you’d hollered on how you shouldn’t have that much, and yet, you’d normally, finished every last crumb, very last sparing piece.
When your granddaughter was still young, you’d often carried a camcorder, with a bag of sweets, a package of cake, set out from Tienmu, transferred on the MRT, passed through the metro centers, after you’d arrived in Muzha, you’d taken the bus, to our home halfway up the hills, to visit your precious young granddaughter.
The summer day’s hot, your sweat rolled down like rain. The autumn weather felt light, our steps easy. The winters became harsh, your heart was still, warmed up. As the spring came, your smiled bloomed like the flowers. That, was the shortest distance between you and your granddaughter, from Tienmu to Muzha, a ride of about an-hour-and-a-half.
These couple of years, I’d recalled these instances with your granddaughter, she’d looked lost, with absolutely NO recollections.
And we can’t blame her, I’d reviewed over the video footages you’d shot of her, after she was a little over four, you’d stopped shooting. And, for a child, the memories before age four, that, was hard to come by, and quite precious.
Her memories of you, most of it was, how you’d sung, instead of talked, you were holding on to the mic, and sang along to those oldies with the karaoke machines, but, she’d noticed, at the age of six or seven, that you’d still voiced the words of the lyrics silently, even when there’s no music, but clearly, that, was the lyrics saved, in your heart, the rhythms from within, instead of what’s on the tapes.
Your granddaughter would look at us, confused, we’d looked at her, signaled to her it was okay, just allow grandma to sing what pleased her, using her own ways!
I’d wondered, what images came up into your heart, as those songs rolled.
From the Langyang Plains, from the dawn’s light that shone out of the horizon from the distance close to Guishan Island, from when you were still a young child, it’d been there, in the plains, breathed on the free air of Kavalan.
You’d gazed toward the Taiping Mountains, dreamed of your own adolescent dreams. Not long thereafter, a boy who’d come to Yilan to study from the mountains, was about to, win your heart over, with the laughter of the mountains, those wide shoulders, with the settled gaze.
helping an elderly stay active in the mind, NOT my photograph…
In the promises made by the oceans and the mountains, before you knew what the future beheld, you could already, envision it, and, promised your love to your one and only. You were, my father-in-law’s first love, he was, your one and only love. And, I’d joked and called myself, the man who came in second in your home, but that was, already years later, after I’d married your second eldest, that became, one of our jokes when we’d chit chatted.
You should remember it.
As your two daughters were born, when your husband lost his business and became bedridden, when you’d need to take care of the ill, and still needed to make it to school to teach, when your daughters took their turns, wailing aloud together, when you were too fatigued, that you’d, fallen down in the hallway from the living room to the kitchens, when your daughter recounted these moments, she’d sounded blessed. And, during those years of hardship, you’d laughed, about how you’d taken your strife in strides!
You should recall, because after many years, your daughter also didn’t evade the responsibilities, of looking after you, it’s just, that I’m there too, your son-in-law. Thanks for your granddaughter, who’d stayed right there, to help us care for you.
You should remember it.
Many years later, you will, talk about all of this, with a woman over ten years senior. And she would offer you the consoles, of how your generations had, walked through the trials of life like so!
And you had, soothed her, told her, to not focus too hard on the details, and after you two start to cry for a bit, she’d said she missed you, that she really did, miss you.
I’d patted her shoulders, we’d leaned on the big headboard of the bed in the hotel room, talking about you. Your daughter said, that she’d missed the you, with whom she’d gotten into fights with, that she’d missed the you, who’d, taken over her bed, and grilled you about her, kissing her boyfriend. Your daughter said, that since my father-in-law went to China to work, you’d become like a father too, like an older sister to her, like her best friend, and stayed in her life, made her life more colorful. Oh, how she misses you.
I too, miss you!
games, to slow down the deterioration process, NOT my photograph…
As I’d fallen for your daughter, you’d had your doubts, just like if my daughter fell in love with a man, sixteen-years senior in the future, I would have the same doubts as you too.
Does he, really, love you? He isn’t just, playing with you, is he?
Is he, of right mind? Could he be, gay? There would be, those gossips that, flowed!
But you’d still gone according to and respected your daughter’s wishes, chosen, to accept me. After we married, the whole family would go to eat, and, as we’d recalled these interesting moments before we’d wed, I’d joked to you, about how, had you just, been more persistent, then, I wouldn’t be stuck with your daughter ‘til this very day!
You’d squinted, and wrapped your arms around your little granddaughter who was chewing on the ribs, and called out “how can I bear to!” My granddaughter is, so very cute! The whole family laughed. We’d laughed, as we’d all, hiked up the slopes to Zhongshan N. Road, Sec. 7. Our laughter was, imprinted at the window in the home in Muzha. The years slowly slipped away, we all knew, that happiness didn’t come out of nowhere, and there’s no way, we can, trap it in a freeze frame, and yet, none of us would know, when all of this is going to change.
The doctor examined you, and looked at the numbers you’d, recorded down, then back to us, your daughter and son-in-law.
At that very moment, your daughter closed her eyes, tears came out of the corners of her eyes. We were surprised by the doctor’s gazes, but more of how it’d, still come, and so early too!
The doctor told us, that you had the frontal lobe dementia, the early onset. Maybe, it was to make us feel better, he’d told us, that there were, patients who were diagnosed, in their forties. But, this still couldn’t, make us feel better, that you’d started showing signs before you were, sixty.
You’d slowly, lost the ability to speak, your emotional expressions. You’d started, having NO facial expressions at all, needed help steadying yourself when you walked, you’d sat, in that sketch that was, still, you’d slowly, let us, lose you.
Like a series of coming-soon notices, before things worsened. Early one morning, you’d gotten up without any of us knowing, stealthily got out the door, flagged down a cab, told the driver to get you to church, but, you didn’t end up in church at all.
The whole family was, awakened by the phone call that told us you’d gone missing. We’d immediately notified the police, and trekked along the way, through the radio stations, made missing persons’ notices. We’d waited for the entire day, until the depth of the nights, we’d finally, found you, in the suburbs of Keelung. Nobody knew how you’d gotten there, nobody knew you’d not had anything to eat or to drink, and how you could’ve, managed to stay alive.
What, were you thinking? Why did you go out?
Maybe, we’d guessed some of the clues right, but, we’d not received any answers, and maybe, we will never, find the answers.
Six months after that incident, wed wanted to lift you home to your hometown, Yilan, before your conditions worsened.
Strangely enough, we’d told you, we’re heading home to Yilan all the way, that we’re taking you to visit where you grew up, you seemed reactive, but remained quite, and yet, I can’t quite, describe your miniscule reactions.
socializing, keeping connected is especially important! Not my photo.
The entire morning we’d spent at your old home, your mother-in-law came to visit you, your girlfriends, sisters, neighbors, old classmates too, you’d not spoken a word, just, stared at each and every one of them. They’d hugged you tight, some spoke, with the muffled voices, some, fell silent, some talked about the past. Before noon, you’d become, anxious again, skimmed the room for your daughter and me, and we’d decided, to get you back to Taipei earlier.
On the way back to Taipei, you’d become, calmer, your daughter held your hand tight, she’d told me, you’d, grabbed her hand tightly all the way!
I’d looked at the two of you through my rearview mirror, you’d still looked expressionless, but, you don’t feel as agitated anymore.
Yup, we’re, taking you, back to your own home now.
A house you’d worked hard with your husband to buy, one you’d, built up. In that place, you’d raised your children, saw them in pigtails, go out for school, gone through their teenage years, falling in love, graduating, looking for jobs, having them treat you to a meal with their own very first paychecks, bringing their husbands-to-be home to you to meet, watched them carry your baby granddaughter, hollering out “grandma!”, watched your self age bit by bit. And yet, that is, a home, of all your own.
Do you want to visit where you grew up?
Do you feel that you’re never getting better, the disappointments, your losses, from the visit?
Do you still feel, more comfortable, in the home you’d built up by hand?
None of us know for certain.
But, we’d never let you get lost again, or wander off, or make you feel ill-at-ease. We will be in Taipei, the place you’re most familiar in, so you can, get through the days, peacefully and without stresses.
There was still, that small last bite of eggrolls left. I’d just picked up the fork, and, you’d, opened up your mouth. I’d gently, placed the eggroll into your mouth, you’d closed your lips, and started, chewing.
I’d picked up a napkin, gently, wiped your lips.
Is it good? Your daughter knew you’d loved it. Your granddaughter told to save a special portion for you.
I’d ranted on and on, as I’d collected up the fork, the plate, told you, that I’ll be heading back in a wee bit!
I’d taken a selfie of us, you didn’t look into the camera, you couldn’t, I took a selfie of us, cheek-to-cheek, you’d always, looked at me, out of the corner of your eyes, looked very dramatic, like in a mystery. Oh well, that, is as best as I can get it then.
I’d selected one with the right angles, sent it to your daughter, to your husband, to your in-law, with the messages: it’s sunny in the afternoon, I missed my mother-in-law, brought over a small piece of cake to visit with her, she’s in great spirits, and no worries.
As I’d sent the photo, I’d looked at my mother-in-law, told her, “Your granddaughter will graduate out of elementary school soon! On her graduation, we’ll take you to the ceremonies, and we will all be in a family photo, that young infant whom you’d taken many pictures of, will be a teenager now. She’s a child raised in Taipei, although she’d once questioned, how grandma and grandpa had, come from Yilan, and her grandparents were in Taoyuan, but in the future, she will know, that it was, because of your choice, mine, that, was what made us meet up in Taipei, and made our family possible.
We will NEVER forget you. We will always carry these memories we’d made with you here in Taipei, your home, the home of your daughter, the future home of your granddaughter, and those days, are made up on ordinary interactions, with the lives, intertwining, but because of you, our families were, connected.
I will always remember all of these. I’d pushed you, walked backward now. The sun glistened, underneath the hot sun of winter, your son-in-law pushed along your wheelchair, toward that origin of the memories we’d shared, slowly, paced on, no hurry, no hurry at all, the wonderful moments we’d come to share, won’t vanish that fast. It just, won’t!
This is a man, observing the progresses of his own mother-in-law’s dementia, he’d written the history that they’d shared together, taken down the notes, to keep track, of the good times they’d shared with each other, and this, just shows, how even as those elderly had forgotten completely, so long as their younger generations keep the records, the elderly who’d become demented will, always be the way they once were.