THE DEMENTIA TALKS #23 – SUNDOWN, NO LIPSTICK FOR THE PIG:

An old carpenter I used to run into on job sites, used to tell young carpenters when their attempts at cosmetic surgery on crown moulding failed that it appeared they were putting lipstick on a pig.

I’ve tried to be more open with my mom’s memory struggles than I am with most things. I’ve tried to be encouraging to those on similar battlefields, to soften the hard blows that come on hard days because I like being treated that way.

I also like it when people, & they are rare, give it to me straight & firm whether I like it or not because I need it. Today is one of those days. No lipstick for the pig, no time to salve the wounds searching for soothing words of a visit to the memory care wing. Today was hard. Today sucked & here it is, no edits, straight from the gut.

About four hours ago, around 10:30 this morning, I went to visit my mom & walked straight into sundown. Those dealing with this mind bending disease are way too familiar with the term & the imposter it reveals in the afflicted family member & the imposters that only that family member can see.

On arrival, a nurse pointed me out to my mom & all I got was a stare. A little prodding from the nurse brought a slight, silent recognition of my face & we went outside. There’d be no lipstick for the pig.

Less than a minute after we sat under an arbor, mom wanted to know how long we were going to sit there. Then silence & a question she’d asked 3 times. Have our mother & daddy passed away? I was her brother.

Then the dilemma all caregivers face, how do I answer to diffuse the situation, to limit the collateral damage? Sadly, my visits are easier (don’t read that as easy, some are easier, none are easy) when I’m her brother.

I answered “yes” & was met with a few minutes of silence. Same the second time. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. The third time, I answered as her son. More silence but a silence broken with a worse question, the one the son gets & the brother never does. “When am I going home?”

Three times asking about going home. Three times I answered with the lie that eventually diffuses the situation & limits the collateral damage to me. Then more silence.

A silence broken by people, imposters, running “on that hill by the trees” that only my mom could see. Imposters. Not seeing the ones my mom did but feeling like one was staring at me when I looked in the rear view mirror leaving the place.

She broke the silence with the phrase that let’s me know my visit is done & we went inside. She found her friend, I hugged her, told her I love her & I’d see her soon. She silently made her way to the chair by her friend.

The silence. The withdrawal. Permanent? Temporary? The imposters. Permanent or temporary visions? No lipstick for the pig. No way to rewrap & regift. No way, imposters or not to not go back again. No way, lipstick or not, to not face the pig that is dementia…