Our Mommy Says It All

My mother has Alzheimer’s. I make an overnight trip to see her and Dad weekly. I call a lot. Sometimes she’s in a fuzzy little world where she’s not quite sure what I’m saying, and sometimes my sharp and funny mother is there. We call these two states Other Mommy and Our Mommy. Other Mommy smiles weakly a lot, and looks tired, and responds to any comment with “Well, isn’t that something?” Our Mommy makes a wisecrack. Other Mommy cannot remember a time when Dad was less than patient and kind (and trust me, that’s about the only memories his children have of him) whereas Our Mommy can still take a good dig at the foolishness of men. Both of the Mommies love to hear the dirt on people, although they differ in the type. Other Mommy likes to hear about the cast of Everyone Loves Raymond and Big Bang Theory, gentle “Did you know” type facts.  (Did you know Sheldon can really play the piano?) Our Mommy likes to hear about why the diabetic down the street is gaining weight, or why anybody (me excluded) is piling on the pounds.

So I was rambling on to Other Mommy about the idiot exploits of The Boyfriend and his ex, nicknamed Hippie Whore. Other Mommy was responding with “Boy, SHE’S something” which signaled to me that she wasn’t really processing much of what I had to say. Suddenly the marbles in her brain shifted and her eyes grew clear and bright. She reached over and rapped me on the hand. “All men are dumbasses,” she said. “It comes with the pants.”