The Story of the Alpha Female Hen

Memories of her, childhood, that came back to life in her mother’s elderly years…connecting the two, generations…translated…

Awhile ago, my mother’s backyard had a flock of black-boned hens, with the all-black or all-white feathers on them, while their bones are, all, black, you can’t see their eyes from their, black faces, and their calls were, especially, loud too, they’d started, making the noises, day, and night.

The backyard was their, playground, they’d fed, and done their business there, all the vegetation in my mother’s backyard, completely, cleared, out, not a single weed around.  These males originally, behaved themselves in my mother’s, backyard, and yet, a hen came into the mixtures.  This unique hen, seemed to have been a mix of the wild-raised hens and the free-range, at first, she’d, eaten the feed, behaved herself with the rest, then, started, showing her, wild, side, led the flock of black-boned roosters rushed over to the front lawns to stroll.

illustration from UDN.com

If I’d, started, chasing them away, all the black-boned ones, all rushed in a panic, into the backyard, only that hen stood her ground, still stayed and pecked in the front yard, strolled, leisurely.

Every time around sundown, the black-boned roosters would, stay in the backyard, to sleep, only that hen, flew, high up onto that rack in the front yard, closes her eyes, to rest.  The hen may cared, that she’s living under someone else’s “roof”, and that she’d gone all over the place, she’d felt bad over it, so she’d started, laying the eggs in a set location on the backyard, to give back to my mother, giving my mother fresh eggs.

The hen continued doing its business where we parked our cars, where we’d gone in and out of the house, on the, front yard, made a mess of the environment, and we couldn’t, handle it, so one night, when my mother fell asleep, we placed her into a sack, stuffed her into the trunk fast, and, drove her far away, to release her back to the wild.  After that, we’d, given away the black-boned roosters one by one too, thus, ending the fowl raising history of my mother’s home.

Several months later, as I just pass the automatic entry check at the Taoyuan Airport, I received a text from my family’s LINE group, said that my mother contracted MERS-CoV, worried that if I’d returned, I may catch it too, that I should, cancel my trip home.  But I’d already, prepared, because she was ill, that was why I’d, scheduled the trip home, to care for her.

the memories of the childhood of the writer…photo found online

That enormous living room, the sunlight dying at dusk, my mother was leaning against the window, frail, and weak.  “Thank you for coming back to care for me”, she’d smiled lightly.  Why is she thanking me, at this moment, I just want to, protect her.

Having contracted the virus, my m other didn’t have enough strength in her legs when she walked, her hands trembled too, to the point she couldn’t, eat with a spoon.  I was responsible for feeding her, but she didn’t have enough of an appetite, couldn’t swallow.  I recalled how we’d raised a flock of hens, sometimes, opening the kennels, allowing them to peck the feed in the yard.  At lunch, my mother took out a small stool, told me in a uplifted voice, “come, let’s go see the hens.”, so, the two of us sat in the yard, she’d said, “look, they’re, here.”, I’d tilted my head to look for them, and, the spoonful of food stuffed into my, mouth.  And just like that, a look at the hens, a bite, spoon by spoon, slowly, I’d, finished my, meals.

And so, I’d, copied my mother’s ways, “mom, do you remember that hen that came out of, nowhere?”, she’d nodded, “she’s back her.” She’d, smiled, like she was, seeing that, bully hen again.

And, at this time, I’d, carefully, fed a spoonful of foods into my mother’s, mouth, mom chewed on the foods a bit, I was, secretly, hooraying to myself then.  “she’d flown onto that rack, fallen, asleep now.”, as I’d told, I’d, scooped up a spoonful of food.  I’m calculating, that this bowl of food, with the story of that alpha female hen’s story, I should be able to get her to, eat it all, up.

So, this is the importance of memories in the elderly years, like how this woman, who’s mother lacked the appetite, but when her daughter helped her recalled the alpha female hen they used to have, the mother became, activated again, like something called out to her, and she’d, started, eating again, and the woman was able to help her mother finish her bowl of food intake that her mother needed to, recover.

Tracks, a Poem

On the memories which were lost, through, time…translated…

He’d, Domesticated a ton of, Time, They’re All Still, Quite, Young

Leaving the Youth, to the Memories

A Warm Hug, along with the Fuller Forms of, Dreams

He’d Raised up the Days, Watched Them Leave Home

One by One, Vanishing  on the

Backside of the Memories, Never Returned for a Visit Again

He’d Grown, Weak and Frail by the Years

the vanishing tracks of, time, like footprints in the, sand…

photo from online

Daily, He Repeatedly Echoes His Own Voice

A Daze of His Yesterdays, Dazing

Today, He’d Walked Speedily Underneath His Own Shadows

Becoming an Aging Leopard

That Can’t Stop Pacing Around Inside that Cage

He’d Heard the Chime of His Wall Clock Called Out Midnight

With the Messages from the Fog

Closer to the Essence of Life, the Vanishing

Dying Promise, Closer to the

like this…photo from online

Poetry that was, the Silence Between Every Heart, Beat

A Lot of Time Still Waited on Him to Feed Them

Using the Words, the Lines

He’d, Trekked Across Many of the, Broken, Memories

For the Sake of Catching

His Own Self, that Were, Countless

Hiding in the Bushes of, Time

Leaving Behind the Tracks Intentionally

To Help Him Find Back the Self that’s Been, Reduced to the Bones

To Find the Existence of His Own Self

Which Was Here, Before

So, this person searched hard, to find the traces of his own self that existed, a long, time ago, and he may not be able to find that, because his memories are, going, away by the day, as the memories will fade, piece by piece, until, there’s, nothing left of this life we’d had…

Blackhole (Going to the Psychiatrist with My Mother)

Memories of the demented elderly woman’s childhood, coming back to, haunt her…translated…

Part 1

So Many Blackspots on My Mother’s Arms

The Wounds Too Deep that Even She Can’t, Remember Them

The Lighter Ones, She Thought She’d Accidentally Burned Herself

She’d Not Gone into the Kitchens a Long, Long Time

She’d Made the Meals for Over Eighty Years on End

That Fire Had, Forgotten, Her

Isn’t it a Good Thing

To Not Remember?

Forgetting the Wars of Childhood

Forgetting Climbing Over the Bodies of the Dead

Forgetting about Hunger

Fear

Or, Loneliness Too

Forgetting the Cold that Chilled Her to the Bones

Those Nights of Darkness, She Couldn’t, Wake up, From

Forgotten How She Was Five, Had Diarrhea, that She Was in Pain So Much She’d Crawled on the Ground

Calling

Mama Mama

Her Dear Mother

Was only Thirty

Blind &, Died from, Illness

Her, Mom

Part 2

The Age Spots Covering Up Her Arms

Deep & Light

From the Bullying of the Ultraviolet Rays

Weathering through the Wind & the Rain

She’d Asked Me Sorrowfully: How Can Someone be Old Like This

The Age Spots of Her Mind

Became a Blackhole

The Tears of a Child

Breaking Through the Rocks

I’d, Asked the Heavens Above: Can I, Say this, Child?

the hallucination that the elderly person may have as the illness, progressed…photo from online

She Live, Inside the Blackhole

I, on the, Out

What Sort of a Hell Hole is This?

There’s No Messages from the Blackholes

Not the Fires from the Grenades

Injuring Me

Her Dear, Child

Part 3

Mom’s Hard of Hearing

Can’t Hear My Pains

Her Sight’s Deteriorated Too

Can’t See that I Needed My Tranquilizers Every Night

Mom, Mom, Mom

Your Tear

Greasy Like the Fire

memory loss is only, the beginning stages…photo from online

Dripped onto

My, Heart

My Heart Had Many Blackspots

I Know that You Don’t Know

Psychiatrist

There are the Phantoms Inside the Blackholes

Are There Medications to, Exorcise, Them?

This is on how the elderly demented woman, although she’d begun forgetting, her own younger years of childhood is still, intact in her mind, and, because these are the memories that we have for longest amount of time, they’re usually, the last, to go away…

A Day in the Work of a Long-Term Care Caretaker

The work is too hard, you have to be always on your feet, always keep an eye out for things that happen out of expectations…translated…

Had it not been due to chance I’d started, volunteering at this elderly daycare center, I probably, would’ve, never, known, how trying the work day of a caretaker, is.

The center takes in about thirty elderly persons a day, and they all have varied sages of, deterioration to them, there were three, four of them, who’d become, completely, detached with their, external, environments, and needed to be fed at the meal times, to be reminded that they needed the water intakes, to get their diapers, changed.  Sometimes, the elderly in the home would be in a foul mood and refused to eat, the three of us caretaker, with our manager, the four of us would, take turns, trying to persuade the elder, using an assortment of means, to get her/him to finish her/his, meal, and, there’s the, clean up after the feeding times to get to afterwards.

this is still the easier parts…photo from online

Sometimes, we’d had to, mediate the altercations between the residents, don’t be fooled, by how old these, elders are, when they fight, they’d become, stubborn, children, refusing to let the other person win the fights, disregarding that they can’t, steady themselves, grabbing their shoes, then, throwing them.  Had it not been us with the fast eyes and hands, quickly grabbing both, separating them, then, there would be a WWF showdown of the elderly on site.

When I first began volunteering, I’d found, that all the caretakers were wearing the waist protective braces, and some were wearing the knee braces, the wrist protectors, then, I saw the families, wheeling in the elders on the wheelchairs, and I’d understood why.  The elders, once they’re in the center, had to switch to the four-legged walkers, because their wheelchairs took up too much space, and they can’t push the chairs on their own.  In the time it took to switch them, the caretakers had to, carry the almost limp elders to get to the walkers, while I stayed on the side, helping to steady their, walkers, and helped the elders feet to stand on the floor, and, the caretakers, working up a total sweat in the winter season, that was, the norm here.  And, if the caretakers didn’t have the protective gears on, they can easily, injure themselves, and, we must, care for ourselves, before we care for, another.

The small voice maximizer was also, a must-have for the caretakers, easy to get the activities started, to get the elders’ attention, to prevent them from doing something dangerous.  And, every time the activities were over, I saw the elders, drinking down the water in gulps, I’d always felt relieved, and, offered my greatest respect, had it not been the spirits of giving to others, this work that’s taxing to the body and the mind, it wouldn’t be easy for the volunteers to keep on going; there would be the changes in personnel every two, three months, and that would be, normal.

As I witnessed the day’s work of these, long-term care facility caretakers, I’d understood, that they are, working harder than most, that they are in need of understanding from the society, our support and encouragement too, after all, without these, workers who provided the services they that provide, we, ordinary citizens, with our work already cut out for us, can’t even take care of making enough, how would we have enough energies, to take care of, the elders in our, lives.

I’m truly grateful for these, long-term care caretakers!

So, this work is not for the feign of heart, nor for the weak of body, because working in long-term care, you need a ton of agility, to move the elderly individuals around, because they can’t move themselves, and you have to be quick on your feet too, to deal with the sudden onsets of, an assortment of situations that might surface between the elders in the center too.

Elderly Women Diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and Their Routines that Steadied Them

There’s that need for established order, to keep themselves, steady, and stable, the goings on at a daycare center…translated…

I’m a volunteer for an elderly daycare center, and in close to three years, it’d made me realized, that the speed of aging is getting faster and faster in Taiwan, the daycare takes in about thirty elderly women, and they all had signs of, deterioration.  In the arts and crafts, and workout activities, you can clearly note, that they’d become, slower to respond, that they’re not, as healthy as those who are in their, age, group.

There were, three elderly aunts, whom, from the way they acted, we can confirm that they’re, demented, their shared traits is, never talking, just, strolled quietly around the center, like there’s a “do-not-disturb” sign on their backs, never interacted with anyone around them.

the activities that the Alzheimer’s patient can work on…photo from online

Auntie Er would wake, and, would walk like she was scheduled to, in the area of the center, taking three, four steps at a time, then, get to the other side of the room, halted, when she grew tired of walking, she’d, gotten her self some ice water to drink out of the water bottle, and, as she quenched her thirst, she’d, continued, trekking on, steady she walked.  At lunch, she’d, made herself, seated herself, at the chair with her name posted on, and waited for the caretakers to give her her lunch; she’d, steadily raised up the chopsticks, never dropped any foods onto the tables, and drunk up all her soup too, took her utensils to the sink, washed them, then, gone to brush her teeth, then, she’d, lain herself to rest.  And her in-one-breath doing all of this, impressed the caretakers, said that she is, the easiest to care for, to NEVER interrupt or disrupt her in her, routine, just, let her take her walks, in joy!

The slimmer Auntie Hwa, also, was quiet, and, slowly and steadily, she’d, walked around the center, and, as she got to an unoccupied seat, she’d, situated herself, down, and, she would sit with her legs, crossed like a lady, then, gotten back up, to walk around.  And, she would, sit quietly, in that, corner, and sometimes, for too long, I’d, gone over to check if she’d, dozed, off.  But she didn’t, she’s just, watching the floor, with great, concentration, like a philosopher, lost in, deep, thought, and I’d wondered, how many secrets has her body held?

The same slimly Auntie Jen, would mumble to herself, made the noises that nobody else would or could, understand, I’d jokingly said that she’d talked in alien tongues, but unfortunately, we’re not, E.T.’s, we couldn’t communicate.  And her action was using that invisible rag to all of us, start, wiping down all the chairs, and tables, again, again, and again, and she would only take her “break” at mealtime.

Once, she’d, wiped the handles of the restrooms too long, it’d, affected people who needed to go, and, she got yelled at, I’d, immediately gone to wrap my arms around her, tried telling her, that there’s the table over there that had yet to get, wiped down, tried to lead her away, to dissipate a disagreement that’s about to, happen, and, she was, willing to, follow me, away.  And now, “the table over there hadn’t been wiped down yet”, became our, secret, code, the passage to communication.

the settings of an activities room in an elderly daycare center, found online

These three elderly women, can’t remember what time it is right now, lived on, totally, different, planets of their, own, and, from the ordinary person’s perspective, they’re, ill, but maybe for them, having Alzheimer’s, is, a blessing, in, disguise…

So, these are, three different elderly women, who needed to perform the repeated rituals to settle themselves down, to keep themselves, steady and stable, and, that just showed, how these elderly with dementia needed a set of routines, of when they’re to do something, to have their lives, packed up inside, the tiny little, boxes, so nothing out of the ordinary can, surprise them.  Routine is definitely a necessity, in helping these elderly with dementia age better.

The “Home” in the Household Registry

The memories of long ago, that’s, stayed with this, demented, elderly woman, and she still remembered them, in vagueness, but with the moments of lucidity that comes to her every now and, then…translated…

“Did you see the my son’s death notice and the household registry, I’d looked, everywhere!”, in the long-term care facility, Grandma Chang was flustered in her search, started, asking everybody she’d come across, and, she’d become, unresponsive toward the nursing home employees’ ordinariness, as they’d tried, calming her, down, yeah, isn’t this, the regular relapses of things of the demented elderly?  Time would, always, cause us all to, turn, numb.

I’d pulled out the envelope with the data that Granda Chang was searching frantically for out of the baseboard storage of her bed, that was where she’d placed everything that was important to her.  “I’m in debt to you, date of birth, May 13^th, during the Ching Dynasty, February 12^th the Ching Dynasty under another emperor………” she’d spread open the registry, worked hard, to review all the data that’s important to a mother once.

“Attendant, look, this was my third son, Chingfa, born on January third, 1942, and he’d died in 2008, he’d always called me unfair, he’d even, sold my home without my consent, from before, I’d blamed him for being heartless, but I’d, dreamed of him, he said he didn’t have any clothes to wear, that he was, so cold; his older brother was there too, told me to burn more paper money offerings to them, can you take me to make the offerings at the Chenghuang Temple?”  Grandma Chang’s hands were, trembling, carefully, spread the registry that’s creased now, completely, open: date of birth, date of death, along with every single thought that’s positive and negative that’s, completely, attached, and now, all of it, had been, reduced to, the names inside, those, boxes, and, these instances would get blurred, and came back too clearly with her continued deteriorated, state of mind.

most things would get lost, but some had still, managed to, stay, intact…as the memories crumbled down…sketch from online

“ahhhhhhhhhhh, such a long registry, and now, there’s, only me who’s, remained………”, recalling her husband, her deceased sons, her grandsons, Mrs. Chang was, slowly, becoming more and more, depressed by the minute, I’d attempted to divert her attention, “Grandma Chang, didn’t you say that the last time you’d burned the offering papers, that Fa had, received every single last one of them, and that you’d dreamed of how he’d gloated on being, among the richest too?”, Grandma Chang pointed to the registry, “Yeah, the fortuneteller told us that he was, really greedy that he wouldn’t be easily taught, did you know, that once when he was still a young child, he’d climbed up that tree…………”, as Grandma Chang told of all of these, her eyes started, glowing of that light again; the laziness of the heated up summer afternoon, it’d, made this mistiness in front of her mind, became, that much, more, lucid.

Until the smokes started rising back up again, the elderly woman, marched satisfied, back into her room for a nap, I’d, gently, collected that piece of household registry, folded up neatly, placed it, back into, the shrines, again.  Or maybe, to Grandma Chang, the stories saved in those, tiny little, boxes, was what her home, looked, like.

Because beyond a certain age, all you have is your pasts, the futures won’t be yours, because you’re, counting down on your life, that’s why, you get, hung up on the things that’s happened in the past, and, Alzheimer’s has a way, of helping people, remember the distant events of ones’ lives more lucidly, because those were the memories, that’s been there, the longest, and therefore, would naturally be the last ones, we ended up, forgetting at the end.

The Demented Elderly’s Not Paying for the Meals

He kept on going out to buy the meals for his wife, and every time he’d come home, he would get the reality that’s too harsh for him to handle: that his wife’s, already, gone…translated…

The days of work of a police officer, are filled with an assortment of, encounters.  But on this, very, day, I’d bumped into something small, and was moved, deeply by it.

That afternoon, I was at the substation, received a call from a local buffet, said, that there was an elderly person who’d eaten, and refused to pay for what he had on his, plate.  As I arrived, I saw that elderly man, with the blank look on his face, head of white hair, with an empty wallet in his, hands, with that questioning look in his, eyes, I’d guessed, that he may be, demented.

I’d decided, to pay for his meal.  But, the elderly man seemed to want another serving for his wife who’s, at home, so I’d, bought him, another serving of foods.

I’d, escorted him home, soon as we entered into his place, there were, the stacked up, rancid boxed meals on the table, and, inside that empty house, there was only, him.  “Uncle, where is, your, wife?”, he’d looked around awhile, like he was, searching for her, but immediately, grim came over his, face, he’d stated, sorrowfully, “oh, I’m, so sorry, I’d forgotten, she’d died…many, years now.”  the elderly’s eyes turned, red, his voices, shaky, “now as I saws her photograph, her things, I’d always thought that she was, still, alive.  Until when I sat down for my meals, then I’d gotten, reminded, that she’s, already, gone.”

There was a mixture of feelings inside of me right then and there, it’s as if, I was, looking at the internal goings on of the elderly’s, mind then: he’d expected to share the goings on of his own wife every single day, when he’d brought the packed meals home, and seen those, packed meal boxes that hadn’t been, touched, then, that was when the realization hit him, painfully, that his wife is, already, dead, that she only, existed in his, heart.

As I’d returned back to the office, I sat on the front desk in silence, thought of the love, the losses, and regrets of a, lifetime.  Although that elderly man’s memories are, fading slowly, but his love for his wife, the depth of love he had for her, is more real, than, everything, else he knew.

And so, this, is a sad, sad story, how this man, had forgotten that his wife’s been gone, and he’d still gone out to buy the meals for them both, and, imagine everyday like this, you go out, excitedly, thinking of the things that your loved ones liked to eat, and you buy it, bring it back home, and, get that, reality check of her/him, being, already, gone…this is, too difficult to handle.

When My Father Regressed Back into His, Childhood, State of Mind

What we can all expect, with the progression of dementia, the elderly will lose more and more abilities, becoming more and more, childlike, and what worked in your upbringing your own young, will now, work in, caring for your own, aging father too, more or less…translated…

My two-year-old often didn’t follow my commands, and yet, the chores, the meals, they’d become, that stone that Sisyphus kept needing to, push, uphill, repeated endlessly.

the child…

photo from online

When I was making spaghetti, my child clung on my pant leg, begging me to hold him, I’d used the magnets on the fridge, arranged them into a train, and took the time of his being intrigued to scoop up the spaghetti.  While, each tiny tomato became, a tiny soldier, waiting to get, bathed, “let’s bathe these, tomatoes, shall we?”, back and forth, back and forth, the fruits are, cleaned then.

The tiny man refused to eat as he would, I’d, grabbed the puppets, “Kiki one bite, you one bite, good boy!” the puppet was fed in the process too.  And, when you want to, raise your young, also manage the chores at the same time, you have to, use these, trickery means, and I’d never thought, I would, review these moments at all.

Many a year later, my father slowly lost his cognitive abilities, became less mobile, and, his seats we’d, switched to the walker that helped him to learn to walk again, but without the wheels that rolled; the table slab before the seating, other than the trays, the magnets, the puzzles, there were, also, an, assortment of, games for him to play with……Anything that’ll, get my aging father’s attention, to help us pass this, elongated time, I’d put on top, tilting my head, pushing that magnet train, moving it, ahead, circling around………then, “conning a child”, came back into, mind………

and for the demented elderly…photo from online

So, this is how, the elderly, became, childlike, and, what you do with your own young, now works with your, aging father too, because, of the mind’s deteriorations, the elderly mind regressed back to an innocent child’s as is the progression of the disease.

That Love He Couldn’t, Let Go, of

This man who took the “in sickness & in health, ‘til DEATH!” to his heart, in his insistence of caring for his, wife, as she’d become, demented…translated…

I’d gone strolling with my wife the other day, saw Mrs. Chen, our downstairs neighbor, losing focus in her eyes, wandered lost close by.  We’d gone up, asked her what she was doing?  She’d told us she was looking for her, husband.  We’d felt that something was up, we’d stayed with her, there, and called up the super of our apartment building to have him help find her husband for her; and, just as we’d expected, she became, slightly, demented, at the age of not-yet-seventy, and the progression was too quickly, causing the families to become, flustered.

From before, when she’d gone shopping for groceries at the markets, buying the packed meals, Mrs. Chen had, stayed really close to her husband, they were, the it pair, and now, she’d wandered off to find her husband, but, her husband, is, right next to, her!  I’d asked her, isn’t your husband here?  She’d told, that that was, her, neighbor, Mr. Chen next to her, shook his head, and sighed, with the tears, glistening out of the corner of, his, eyes.

like this, but they’re not, that, elderly…photo from online

Mrs. Chen lost the sense of time, only recalled that there was a loving husband who’d, loved her, and was going out to look for him everywhere at any minute of the day, she’d not found it troubling, needing to shower, to make herself up, getting dolled up, four, five times, a day.  But, this tried Mr. Chen, he couldn’t sleep at night.  In the daytime, Mrs. Chen is able to sleep in, but her husband had to, work around the house, to keep the household, together, and after a few months, he’d, lost a ton of weight, and looked, drained, the neighbors and his children all consoled him to place her in a long-term care facility for stay, and he’d told, “how can I bear it?”

I’d told my wife, that if one day, I’d become, demented like Mrs. Chen, do send me to live in an assisted living facility, she’d told me, to do the same for her too.  Looking at them, leaning on to each other, walking off, I’d, clenched my wife’s hand, tighter.

And so, this, is on the love and devotion, and the promise of “in sickness & in health” that this man kept true to, caring for his own wife, and she’s only, at the starting stages of her, dementia, and that’s why, this man still, believed that he could, care for her on his own, but, as the illness progresses, he may not be able to, and will probably need to, hire someone to help him take care of her, and in the end, he may also, have to, place her in a long-term care facility.

Kids

As the parent, age-regressed back to, childhood, and the child grew up, into, adulthood…role reversal here, translated…

“Look!  Two yolks in the egg!”, “The cuttlefish glowed in the dark!”, before I started school, my mother would use these, tiny, surprises, to enlighten, me.

And, as I grew older, all of these items became, what she’d, packed for me for lunch to take to school.  In first grade back then, there wasn’t the provisions of the school lunches, the steam baskets to reheat up our foods, it was from her making it in the morn, and, she’d, brought the lunches to me at school.  In middle school, there was a classmate who had the eyes on the sunny side up my mother made for me, and he’d, often, traded with me with the best item his mother packed, for him.  As I’d started working, I’d continued this habit of getting my lunches from home, and when I was on a conference call out of office, I’d asked my colleagues to finish my lunch for me, and they’d always had nothing but good things to say about the lunches, and I’d told this to mom, she’d always smiled, and not said, a single,, word.

I kept on believing, that it was a matter of fact, that the lunches my mother made for me are with a ton of good stuff in it.  But as my father died, the few years after that, the lunches became, lighter, lighter, and lighter still.  My mother no longer dyed her hair, started forgetting things, she’d not gone to the favorite marketplace to shop for her groceries as she used to anymore.  The neurologists diagnosed her with dementia.

But, the “missions to feed her children”, this very first act she had been taking on since I was little, had been, deeply, etched into her, mind.  When she woke in the early morn, she’d often, mumbled to herself, “what’s for breakfast?”, after supper, she’d asked me, “Do you need to bring a lunch from home tomorrow?”, and she’d only, inquired, and not made anything else that came after that.

And I’d had to, start, learning the duel with the pots, pans, and the steel spatula.  My mother had dentures, a loss of her appetite, and every time we ate, she’d eaten like a baby, slowly, chewing down her food.  She was originally, quite, slender and slim, she’d, shrunk even more as she aged, and, when she was in a mood, she’d become, more like a kid.

And so, we’d, still interacted with each other from forty years ago, it’s just, that I’m now, her parent, and she, my child.

Only when it comes to cooking, she’d, recalled her status of, a mother.  I’d, coaxed her to come to shop for groceries with me at the marketplaces, then, she’d, followed me, who’s not even agile enough in the kitchens in, that’s become, a daily, routine now.  And, all of these, familiar, realms which she dominated, it may reduce the holes in the sift temporarily, to slow down the losses.

One time, the T.V. said something about an “aged soy sauce”, and, I couldn’t understand what it’d meant, and I’d, asked her, without a second thought, she’d, responded, “it’s black bean soy sauce!”, and, that was, a moment of, wonder, like how the sun finally, came out, after a whole season of, rain.  Actually, I, who’s still, testing out the waters in cooking, still hoped to grab a little something onto, from my mother, the knowledge that returned temporarily, after the tsunamis of memory loss hit, became, ever the more, precious.

illustration from UDN.com

One night there was a outage, we’d, lit up the candles by the gas stove, she started cleaning the vegetables, I, cooked.  The candle light swayed like the star light, illuminating my mother’s, silvery, whites.  At that moment, I’d felt, that a lot of times, life is, about preparing a simple meal, from start to, finish.

After we took out the trash after the meals, sometimes, I’d led her by the hand, to go to the nearby super convenience store to buy something, to get her exercise of the day in, just as how half a century ago, she’d, led me by the hand, pointed to the flowers by the sides of the roads, the puppies now, she’d, turned into, an, innocent, child.

I didn’t have any children, but, I do, because, there’s, always, the child that lives, here.  That child had, grown, old, and the adult, age regressed back, to the, innocence of the childhood, days again.  We’d, switched, places now, becoming, a full circle, and that, is the rotation of the, stories, of this, home.

And, so, this is how you took care of your own, mother who’s, demented, just as she’d, taken care of you, shown you the world you live in, when you were, just, a young, child, and, this is a good thing (not the dementia), but how you have the chances, to, mother your own, mother, to take care of her, to repay her for, raising you up, into, adulthood…