that she’s in her own apartment in a nice building - and she accepts that. “This is where I live now?” Yes. “Where’s my car?” It’s in the garage. (It’s not, it’s been sold). But if she believes she has the option to get in her car and go somewhere when she wants to, she relaxes. She jets upset when I tell her she can’t drive anymore, but she’s ok when I tell her the car is in the garage, locked up tight, she’s ok. She’s in a locked memory care unit, and she doesn’t even try to wander near the door anymore, she’s comfortable in the daily routine and surroundings.
The books I’ve read suggest when they ask about deceased friends or relatives, ask them about their memories of them, like “Your brother makes you laugh, doesn’t he?” Or “Your mom is a good cook, isn’t she?”
Just let her wander through the memories she’s experiencing at that particular moment, encourage her to talk about the person she’s remembering. You may have heard the story 50 times, but she’s enjoying a wonderful memory at that moment, instead of feeling sadness or confusion upon being told she’s remembering something incorrectly.
When it first began with my mom, I thought I could help her mind stay as sharp as possible for as long as possible by correcting her with accurate information- and it just got us both terribly upset and anxious. When I started reading and understanding that it’s the opposite of a child forming new neural pathways of memory and learning, that she’s literally losing those pathways one random cell at a time, and her brain is shrinking, dying from the outside in...well, it just made it easier to live with her in whatever moment she’s having before that memory is gone too.
My heart goes out to you, I know what you’re feeling right now.
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