My Mother, My Child

- Jean D'Souza, Goa

She was my third child, seventy -two years old, silver topped and almost wrinkle free. She was also my MOTHER.

The death of her husband splintered her inner being with shock and disbelief .Yet she mourned with a quiet dignity. Simultaneously the dreaded disease Alzheimer's began to knock loud and clear on the polished doors of her immediate memory. Unrelated to her loss a new pattern of agitation coupled with extreme aggression began to emerge. Her personal mask and camouflage for her dying memory.

She lost count of time, place and surroundings. In compensation, she developed the strength of a lioness and an appetite of an ox. We were forced to doubly secure doors, remove bathroom locks, and keep matches, knives and the cooking range out of her reach. We were subjected to hours of searching for keys, cutlery, money and other small items, which she had hidden for safekeeping.

In spite of keeping a close watch on her, she would often slip away while taking her evening walk with the maid. We would alert all the police stations in the area and call for help from police patrols. Her usual refrain was "I don't want to stay. I want to go home to my mummy." As my inability to reason with her grew, I replaced my frustration at times, with impatience, tiredness and exhaustion.

Soon the erupting volcano was submerged by the Titanic iceberg and she drifted into a new quiet phase of the disease. She would sit for hours with her head drooping and staring like a whipped puppy. We watched helplessly, angrily and tirelessly. We nursed, cared and loved her, combed her hair, oiled her skin and crooned coochi di songs to her.

After ten long years on a cold November morning, her desire to live left her. She called a halt to her own internal wars, and surrendered her ravaged mind together, with her wasted body. Like a sleeping foetus she lay curled on her bed, the havoc of time erased from her face. Through the open window the sun spread a royal cloak of golden rays over her, and like a dancer pirouetting in slow motion, her spirit freed itself into the silence and perfume of a thousand lilies.