Why?
For several reasons.
1. She is taking the correct medications;
2. She is receiving Physical Therapy - which is highly integral to the maintenance of her physical abilities.
3. She is receiving Massage Therapy - which is perfect for reducing her anxiety levels.
4. She is eating on a regular basis, which is maintained and monitored, so she is able to keep up her strength, both physically and mentally.
5. She has laundry and housekeeping done for her.
6. She has games and activities readily available - Scrabble with friends, Bingo at the center, etc.
7. She is able to interact with others - for better or worse (she's never lonely).
8. She gets out for walks, visits, Mass, and other activities that are safe, sane and enjoyable for her.
Her friends tell me she seems fine about 85% of the time, but then, all of a sudden, she'll slip out of the here and now, and treat them with another realm. I see this quite often - but to the uninitiated (those not from our immediate family, or those who haven't spent vast, goodly amounts of time with Mom over the years) it isn't easily noticed.
You see, Mom likes talking about family history. Lately, she's locked into the story of her grandfather who immigrated in the 19th Century. However, I'm not sure how the Pope was involved, but in her story, he is. It's all quite believable the way she tells it. I've been asked about this, and I just smile - what's the harm in her telling these tales?
Mom has also fixated on a poem - or at least a stanza of one by Longfellow, A Psalm of Life. I have boldened and italicized the stanza.
Her mind is functioning - but not always the same as yours or mine. The Lewy Bodies attach themselves to a certain place of her brain - eventually, they will attack more parts, and will take on the appearance of Parkinsons Dementia.
I'll hold on to these moments while I can.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
A PSALM OF LIFE
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN
SAID TO THE PSALMIST
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
The above poem was first published in the Knickerbocker Magazine in October 1838. It also appeared in Longfellow's first published collection Voices in the Night. It can be found, for example, in:
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