My beloved Mom, DiaNNe (with two N’s, or you will hear it!), battled Alzheimer’s. This year is my mom’s fourth Yahrzeit, the anniversary of her death. The date is based on the Hebrew calendar, a lunar datebook with 29 monthly days alternating with 30 days. It’s too confusing for me to calculate, so I rely on the reminder from the Temple each year.

Tradition

There are certain religious traditions that I follow. One of them is honoring family members who have passed by lighting the Yahrzeit candle.

After Mom’s funeral, my dad, brother, and I were given a large candle in a tall glass container to light at home.  The flame remained for seven days, symbolizing the seven days of mourning.

I spoke to that flickering candle each morning, “Hi, Mom. I’m thinking of you.” Later, I discovered that my dad and brother were also conversing with their candle. Great Minds? Genetics? Or A bit Nuts?

When the candle finally extinguished, I sensed that Mom was truly gone.

Another light that was extinguished was Mom’s essence of self. This was slowly removed by the harsh diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I live in WNY, and my mom is in Florida. Our bond was through daily calls. She was my go-to, my person. 

At first, the diminished conversations signaled what was to come. In the days past, Dad would answer the “home phone” or “land phone,” as he refers to it.  “Hi, Sweetheart, here’s mom.” Dad picked up the slack as Mom’s vocabulary declined. Dad and I became phone buddies and continue to this day.

She Knew

Mom knew what was happening to her and was angry! She often repeated the word “Unbelievable,” lamenting how did this happen? Mom’s language became more colorful or spicey, as my grandson would say until she lost all language, but Mom never forgot us.

Fist Pump

One distinct story of how Mom remembered us was an interaction with our future son-in-law, Steve. Our nephew was celebrating his bar mitzvah in October of 2010. The virus H1N1 was a big news topic. Mom was up on all the current health reports. Our family traveled to New Jersey to attend the family celebration. We all met in the hotel lobby. Mom hugged each of us until she met face-to-face with Carly’s boyfriend, Steve. Mom hesitated; Steve was new and not yet family. Logic did not play a role in her decision not to hug since any one of us could have been infected with any number of viruses. But the buck stopped at Steve.

Together, they negotiated the fist pump. It was all done with good humor, and I believe Steve did not take it personally. Over time, the fist pump became their thing. Whenever they met up, there would be a warm smile and an immediate fist pump. It was their secret handshake.

Memory

Mom’s memory continued to descend as Alzheimer’s continued to ascend. Our daughter Carly and my son-in-law Steve returned for what they believed was a final visit with their grandmother.  Mom was in bed with little energy or facial expression.  As Steve was about to leave, Mom raised her hand and offered a final fist pump.

She never forgot us – Whatever Alzheimer’s stole from Mom, the diagnosis did not steal Mom’s memory of those closest to her; she never forgot that she loved us and how to show she knew who we were.

Remembrance

Mom, I think of you every day; I don’t need a lunar calendar or a candle to remind me, but I light one in your honor and as a formal day of remembrance. May you always rest in peace.