One of the issues that I noticed in Sundown by Judith Harway was that the author had lived with parents who had no need or desire to teach their children about any formal religion. What readers will see are remnants of atheism, Catholicism, Jewish--and non-definitive spirituality all becoming part of the Daughter's life as she went through the time she shared when her mother's was diagnosed with Alzheimer's... The book is not in any real way based upon religion except as it affects the author...
I bring this up only because, as you know, I have a Christian background and training and have found music often a comforting expression of my feelings. So, I am merely adding my personal thoughts for the entire family of this and others who have lived with an individual suffering from Alzheimer's. This book is powerfully written and has an excellent format of presentation for issues, with a Table of Contents which will allow a quick check on an issue when needed. To me this is important because if you have this disease in your family, I highly recommend you consider it as a must-read addition to your personal library. I think it would be referred to as individual needs develop for specific information.
I read this book slowly, often stopping to ponder and consider how I felt about the material presented. In fact, I became so involved that I had a nightmare about my mother having this disease, while living with me, and that due to some disaster, I woke up with men coming through our home and my hurriedly trying to help Mom cover herself--apparently she had decided she didn't like wearing clothing at night--LOL and my shame for both her and me as I tried to cover her and hide her body from all those men's eyes... Strange, how our dreams reflect our own fears...
The author openly admits that she is already preparing for herself, given that there are indications that Alzheimer's is hereditary... But how do you really prepare for losing your memories?
Sundown
a daughter's memoir of Alzheimer's care
By Judith Harway
Near the end of Mom's life, my sister loaded an iPod with dozens of songs from the thirties and forties, songs our mother would remember hearing and singing. Sitting in one or another dim institutional room, I'd encourage my mother to recall songs she loved, hoping I could find them on the playlist. Once when I was slow to locate "The Rose of Tralee," her attention wandered; as the first line of the song finally rang in the gloom.--
"The pale moon was rising above the green mountain"-- her hands flew to her throat.
"Am I singing?" she cried in alarm.
This is how I discovered "Bel Mir Bistu Schein," Mom's favorite song from her college years.
Composed in the 30s for a Yiddish musical, the tun was new to me; my mother, however, wanted to hear it again and again, the way a three year old will clamor for repetitions of a favorite storybook. "Bel Mir Bistu Schein," which means "To me, You are Beautiful," became a hit with English lyrics, though it never lost the Yiddith title or refrain. The words are cloying and Mom was at a loss to keep up with the jaunty rendition on the iPod. Still, in my mind it was the anthem of her final days. It jingled in my head when I couldn't fall asleep, and I'd still be hearing it when I awoke to return to her side, as if my mother's voice kept singing all night inside me. Back at Cascia Hall, after she had largely fallen silent, she still would sit in the Broda chair with her eyes closed and her right hand conducting with an invisible baton, slurring along with the music:
"Bel mir Bistu Schein..."
~~~
April, 2010. It is the last spring of my mother's life, although I do not know that as we drive together down Milwaukee's lakefront on a perfect afternoon. The spring sun lavishes its gold touch on the water, gilds the sweep of Bradford Beach, steeps budding trees along the bluffs in honeyed light. Because Mom always forgets to bring along her heavy, wraparound sunglasses these days, she's wearing the cheap pair I keep in my glove compartment, and still, she covers her eyes beneath both hands...
I catch sight of a stand of lilacs... "Look, Mom," my voice is rising. "Look at the lilacs" In truth the lilacs are kind of ratty, but I really want her to open her eyes and notice something. "Look at those lilacs--they're beautiful!" Eyes closed, Mom intones. "Beautiful, When lilacs last in the dooryeard bloom'd... That's a poem about Lincoln's death. Do you know it?"
I'm delighted by this old, deep memory surfacing: as a girl, my mother learned many classic poems by heart and held them dear. The sound track of my own childhood memories is rich with the sweet lilt of her voices reciting Keats and Wordsworth, then rising into her favorite turn-of-the-century parlor songs as my sister and I drowsed ...
I swallow Whitman's name. It is enough that she remembered the first line. I slowly finish the tercet as she mumbles along on this perfect afternoon:
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night.
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever returning spring...
~~~
This is a book that must be experienced, not reviewed... Each reader will certainly respond to it differently, although I hope it doesn't result in a nightmare like it did me... But, I really wasn't surprised...at my age, most consider what "way" by which he or she will die... That's natural... But, in the case of Alzheimer's, there is an extra burden that is just not present with other diseases. One of the most severe results is that your loved one will not even know who you are... Try to consider how it would be for you to have a loved one look at you as a pleasant visitor, but with no recognition of the love you feel for that individual. To me, it is undoubtedly my worst fear, although there is no evidence of its being in my family that I am aware of...
Another devastating effect is that there is a loss of acting in an appropriate manner--a manner that would never occur if that individual understood what she or he was saying. Becoming rude, using unnatural language, and extremely hurtful statements by individuals can only be disregarded--if at all possible--since they have no awareness that they are being inappropriate... Harway includes many examples of these embarrassments. But for a very important reason! Her mother cannot be held accountable for her actions, her words... yet she discovered that many hospital employees are unwilling or unable to not have the patient's care being affected! It was very apparent after reading this book, that it is important to learn how your loved one is being cared for in any given institution!
One significant point I appreciated was Harway's sharing about "Sins of Memory."
It is important for all to realize that, although we think our own memories are excellent, often that is not the case. She shares a story about her sister giving her a pillow, saying that she thought she would appreciate it more. She claimed her mother had made it. Judith never felt the need to tell her sister that she, herself, had made the pillow... Too often, we need to realize that when there is confusion in memory, it just might be that our own memories are at fault.
She points out that "Memory...can be a troublemaker" then provides a long poem about what that means as it relates to her mother.
While Judith is the primary caregiver, her father is almost obsessive in wanting to be responsible, even though he is no longer able. But, in the end, he is unable to make decisions even, for how to handle her cremains...
Harway had much to handle with the required caregiving she has done. That's why this book is so important. She has done an excellent, intelligent presentation, at the same time it is sensitive, humorous when possible, and, most importantly, totally open in her willingness to share her feelings during a very distressful time.
I consider this a must-read, exceptional book for those who both professionally deal with Alzheimer's patients as well as for any family or friend who has a relative with this disease. I would also highly recommend that if you have the potential of this disease through heredity, please do yourself a favor and read this book...
GABixlerReviews
Judith Harway's books of poetry include All That is Left, a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Award, and two chapbooks, Swimming in the Sky and The Memory Box. She is Professor of Writing and Humanities at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, a two-time recipient of the Wisconsin Arts Board literature fellowship, and a widely published poet and essayist. She and her husband, musician Dan Armstrong, make their home in the Milwaukee area, with three rescued dogs who have happily replaced their grown children.
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| The poem closes with: I read somewhere that Alzheimer's, the cruelest disease, is crueler still to those who suffered most in childhood. My heart breaks to see my mother locked inside her memory. But Holocaust survivors her age spend their waning years confined behind barbed wire, starving and aching for their parents, drawing death into their lungs with every breath. For my young mother, running barefoot down a sloping field of daisies, I give thanks. ~~~ |
It is important for all to realize that, although we think our own memories are excellent, often that is not the case. She shares a story about her sister giving her a pillow, saying that she thought she would appreciate it more. She claimed her mother had made it. Judith never felt the need to tell her sister that she, herself, had made the pillow... Too often, we need to realize that when there is confusion in memory, it just might be that our own memories are at fault.
She points out that "Memory...can be a troublemaker" then provides a long poem about what that means as it relates to her mother.
While Judith is the primary caregiver, her father is almost obsessive in wanting to be responsible, even though he is no longer able. But, in the end, he is unable to make decisions even, for how to handle her cremains...
Harway had much to handle with the required caregiving she has done. That's why this book is so important. She has done an excellent, intelligent presentation, at the same time it is sensitive, humorous when possible, and, most importantly, totally open in her willingness to share her feelings during a very distressful time.
I consider this a must-read, exceptional book for those who both professionally deal with Alzheimer's patients as well as for any family or friend who has a relative with this disease. I would also highly recommend that if you have the potential of this disease through heredity, please do yourself a favor and read this book...
GABixlerReviews
