I had a big plan today to take the train downtown, do some errands, walk around, and see a movie. Then I got a call that my Mom’s going into the hospital for a blood transfusion, so I’m driving out to Concord instead to keep her company.
If you know me, you’ll know that anything about draws or transfusions or whatever makes me faint, even the mention of them. I’m feeling lightheaded just from typing that. So, wish me luck.
Last night, Mom’s care home screened Annie Hall, of all things, for the residents. This is one of my mother’s all-time favorite movies, and the Alzheimers means she has no memory of anything Woody Allen’s been up to since it came out.
I know everything, but could put it aside and mostly just enjoy the movie. Diane Keaton is so great and he is such a schmuck. There are also hints of what’s to come, particularly in Tony Roberts’ line about the sixteen-year-old twins he left to meet up with Alvy. This morning in the shower I was swept up in a spiral of rage thinking back on it. I was younger than sixteen when I first saw the movie, and I’m infuriated for my young self, now, being made to normalize that.
Mom didn’t have those associations.
She didn’t remember the movie, but she still really enjoyed it. She laughed out loud at the line about the vibrating egg. She kept saying “they’re talking like real people.” Sometimes I forget that the person she was is still in there.
Both my parents were massive cinephiles, and took me to see everything. Even some things I shouldn’t have seen. Watching movies with my Mom now, even in strange, distracting surroundings, feels so good and normal. It’s lovely to be doing it again.
Deborah Copaken has published this great post about her relationship with her partner’s wife, who has Alzheimers:
It does an amazing job of conveying the ways in which people with Alzheimers are both here and not here. It’s beautiful writing.
And now I’m off to Concord with Winnie the Pooh books and a copy of the Dubliners to read to Mom. Anything to distract myself from the IV.