I am en route home from a visit to my mother. Her memory care facility classifies her as “Level 3” on her “journey”. Level 3 is nearing the journey’s “end”. She knows herself, and a few family members. Very little else.

When I come, usually every 3 months, I live in fear of becoming a cast off from her journey. Fear of becoming yet another “unknown” face. I awoke her today from a nap. She said “Hi Linda”. My heart lept for joy. Something incredibly primal and deep comes from recognition from one’s mother. It is a recognition core to human well-being and central to development. While I may be 53, and a physician, and have some, albeit inexpert, knowledge of dementia, what the core of my being tells me is being KNOWN by one’s mother IS a basic human need. I wept quietly when she said my name- so thankful to still be on this journey as a known.

During previous times this weekend sometimes she knew me. Sometimes she asked who I was and why I was there. She no longer knows I ever married or that I have children. She does not know that she paid for 8 years of post high-school education so I could become a doctor. She does not know where I live or how I magically appeared. She does not know I visited her yesterday, or earlier this morning.

“Hearing is the last to go” we are always taught in medical school. So I talk. She no longer follows complex sentences. Sometimes she cannot follow a 4 word sentence. I tell her everytime she asks where I live. I answer the question of “are you dating someone?” with telling her my good news of a wonderful man in my life for 28 years of marriage. “That’s nice” she says. Sometimes she smiles, or laughs. “You are a lucky one”. I tell her of my robust healthy children. “Oh yes, I think I have heard of them”. Then one minute later she asks if I have two girls. Sometimes she nods when I say their names. Sometimes she is blank. Words, at times unintelligible, still come from her. Sometimes these words are in meaningful phrase–occasionally a full sentence. Never a full paragraph. What is her brain connecting? Yes, I speak to her, even when she does not.

I touch. I cut her nails. Nothing says love like touching another’s feet—at least that is how my brain thinks. That is what Jesus showed us. On “level 3” of her “journey” – what does it mean to her? I cut and filed her way overgrown toenails. I was so happy to offer something tangible. A way to touch her. Did she know my love? Did she know my desire to have her feel my care? Did she know that the daughter is now the nurturer as the brain decay has stolen her mothering role, and reversed our relative places? Touching, hugging, sitting in a chair with my arm around her singing- those are how I can communicate now. Does she perceive it?

Yet amidst the tragedy and ache, there is something profoundly beautiful about these visits. My mother is the happiest I have seen her. She has a world that does not know pain. She does not remember anything bad that has ever happened to her. She smiles. She reaches out to touch others. She lives only in the NOW. She is so surprised, over and over again, by everything, anything, and she reflects joy in her smile..

Living in the NOW is something that many of us strive to do. In fact, it is a politically correct goal. We take meditation courses. We strive to be “present” to this moment. And, we beg our higher power for Divine Dementia — the ability to forgive and forget pain.

Yes, Mom. I miss you. But you still have something to teach me. I will continue on this journey with you. You can share your smile. That will be enough. Divine Dementia will help me forget all of you that I have lost and be present, in the moment, accepting what you offer.