Fittingly enough, it was during this election cycle my mother received her dementia diagnosis. Thanks to her stroke, she’s moved fairly quickly through the levels, like a pro-gamer unlocking ever more complex realms of challenge. When she was unable to feed herself or attend to hygiene, memory care became inevitable. My periodic visits have become studies in both specific and general cognitive atrophe, in addition to whatever else it is when a son becomes the elder to his parent.
As a way of holding on to the rail when the seas get rough, I have begun to look at the memory care facility, and mental disability, in an anthropological light. I’m always on the look out, in my mother’s case, to see what parts of personality persist, and which patterns remain as a kind of behavioral bedrock. Observing which of her symptomatic responses were there all along in nascent form. Seeing her surrounded by her ‘peers’, each with their own expeditions underway, it forces me to wonder about the so-called sanity of us all.