The Band

It's been a difficult few days.
There is no doubt that my mother's dementia is progressing. The doctor is now calling it ischemic microvascular disease with a "possible touch of Alzheimer's". Last year the neurologist called it vascular dementia. With either one, all we can do is wait.
I was with my parents this morning when the doctor told them there is no further improvements to be made. My mother cannot walk safely on her own, she cannot feed herself due to trembling hands. She has a condition called "echolalia" where she answers any question by repeating the question back to you, word for word, tone for tone. When she grasps something in her right hand, she oftentimes cannot let go -- this is called the "palmar grasp reflex". These are both early indications of growth in the forward developmental stages of a child, and are both indications of advanced deterioration of the nervous system in an elderly adult. My mother has now been referred to hospice - a good sign, since we will all need help with the coming transitions.
And then I came home tonight to a house full of music. The band was here rehearsing. The music is complex, beautiful, intricate, compelling to dance. The tunes can be light with words of dread, or deep, dark tunes with a hopeful message. Balkan music.

My musician takes care of me when I am home and worn out from caring. He makes me dinner, listens to my stories, and plays music that brings me back to life.