What I Learned About My Mother’s Alzheimer’s Through the Lens of Humor

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My 83-year-old mother, who once took lessons years ago, chuckles, “She should follow my lead and find the most handsome teacher!”

“Mom, she’s only 13! That’s terrible advice. What kind of grandmother are you?”

We share a laugh as she recounts her own experience of learning to quit smoking while juggling the demands of raising six kids. Alzheimer’s, however, sometimes clouds her awareness of my daughter’s current situation. Individuals with Alzheimer’s often retain clearer memories of the past than those of recent events. Though she is in the early stages of the disease, our conversations occasionally blur the lines of time when I call her at the assisted living facility.

My mother has always had a penchant for humor, and since I transitioned to being a stay-at-home dad who writes parenting comedy, our connection has deepened. Our phone calls have transformed into a delightful blend of generational and gender humor.

Recently, I decided to delve into a book my mother has long cherished: Erma Bombeck’s If Life is a Bowl of Cherries—What Am I Doing in the Pits? From the very first line, it was clear why my mom resonated with Bombeck, who begins with, “I’ve always worried a lot, and frankly, I’m quite skilled at it.” Bombeck humorously muses about her fears, jokingly pondering if scientists might someday find that lettuce is fattening. Yet, she also reveals a deeper concern: “But mostly, I worry about surviving…. That’s the essence of this book.”

Humor has been my mother’s way of coping with life’s challenges: raising six children, going through a divorce after nearly three decades of marriage, grappling with macular degeneration that robbed her of reading, and now facing Alzheimer’s. By the end of the introduction, I could feel a lump forming in my throat.

The book unfolds through a series of vignettes, some of which may seem outdated since their release in 1971, yet many remain relevant. Bombeck offers timeless wisdom with topics like “Replacing a Toilet Tissue Spindle” and “Closing a Door.” Her observations, such as “There, but for the grace of a babysitter go I,” and “Some claim giving kids responsibility helps them grow, while others argue it just raises your insurance rates,” are just as relatable today.

However, her tone shifts in a poignant section concerning her own mother, titled “When Did I Become the Mother and the Mother Become the Child?” She describes the gradual transition of responsibility, noting that as children grow independent, mothers may become more childlike themselves. “The child isn’t ready to bear that weight yet. But the path is set.”

It felt as if my mother was speaking directly to me through those pages, intertwining humor with pathos, the pits with the cherries. Alzheimer’s is undeniably taking its toll. During our conversations, she sometimes pauses to say, “I have no words.” She describes a “numbness” and admits, “I can witness what this disease is doing to me.” On my end of the line, I find myself at a loss for words too.

Alzheimer’s is not only robbing her of words but also of the markers of time. My siblings and I grapple with how to handle forgotten family birthdays. Can we gently remind her of her grandchildren’s birthdays without causing her distress over her own lapses? When it comes to our birthdays, do we bring it up, or do we spare her the guilt and pain of forgetting? I’ve chosen to remain silent, yet neither option feels quite right.

Conversely, the timeless quality of the disease can sometimes feel like a blessing. In her moments of clarity, Mom has shared that her short-term memory loss allows her to worry less and laugh more. She appreciates the “gift” of being “suspended in time,” free from the pressure of remembering. These rare moments of liberation—from time, worry, and memory constraints—are the cherries that still remain in her life.

Bombeck’s classic teaches that even as life wears on, the cherries are still within reach—we just need to dig a little deeper. Sharing a beloved book can be a special way to connect with a loved one. As I read her favorite passages over the phone, sometimes they evoke memories from her past, while other times they are processed anew. Regardless, we share a delightful, intimate experience—an ideal fruit for both of us.

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In summary, humor and literature can serve as powerful tools in coping with the challenges of Alzheimer’s, helping to maintain connections with loved ones even as memory fades.