Happy Birthday, We'll Remember

Originally published August 3, 2023

August 3rd, the day of her birth. My Mom, Elizabeth Dorothy Henderson arrived on this earth, a somewhat unexpected gift for her parents. There is a story here my Mom knows very little of, and today has no recollection of - but today that's okay.

Dementia does this ... blurs the lines of what was, what is ... or isn't ... the memories that help define a life well lived, our purpose and legacy, and the meaning of our being here. Dementia robs us of this.

My Mom turned 88 today. A few days ago she told me it would be her birthday soon, and she would be 48. My response was "Yes, I know Mom. That's awesome to be 48!"

Today she plugged her ears as the nursing staff and other residents sang Happy Birthday. As the nurse shared the story, she was smiling and telling me how very cute my Mom was. This behaviour has always been my Mom to a T. She wants attention, wants to be seen, but then doesn't. As an adult, this often frustrated me. Even in dementia, some traits will always remain. The nurse and I smile together. "That's my Mom", I tell her.

When we arrived at 2 pm armed with tiramisu cake, frozen lemonade, and birthday wishes, my Mom was waiting at the door, wondering if anyone was ever going to come for her birthday. "I didn't think you were coming!" "It's late and I've been waiting for days. I didn't know what to do. What you here so late?"

I take a deep breath, smile and simply say, "I'm here now Mom. Happy Birthday. I wouldn't miss your birthday." There is angst and confusion in her. She is distressed. I listen and re-direct. "Let's go outside and have a nice visit. Kaela is outside waiting for you." She quiets and eagerly looks through the door as I enter the Fort Knox codes to get us out. She sees Kaela - her granddaughter and is happy, and she also frets. "How did she get here? She shouldn't be out here by herself. Kaela shouldn't be alone."

I tell her it's okay. My Mom forgets Kaela is an adult, and only recalls when she was a young girl, who my Mom often took care of. In some ways I find this lovely, to think you always see your grandchild as a child, in other ways, it's sad to know the years are lost in her.

We settled on a wooden bench, worn and weathered just like the residents here. I am grateful for the shade of nearby trees, as I anxiously await the arrival of a dear friend.

Mom continues to ramble about the staff, about not liking it here, about "quitting this place". I listen. I breathe. I watch the gate and pray that today my Mom will remember.

I soon see the tall silhouettes of Joyce, her daughter, and granddaughter. I am reminded how Joyce was so tall and slim, and my Mom short and stout. They were rather "odd" looking together. One so tall, and one so short. Yet they were the best of friends.

I greet them at the gate, and with tears in my eyes, tell Joyce that Mom isn't her best today and please know she may not remember you. Joyce hugs me and reminds me she knows dementia all too well with her own husband. "It will be okay", she tells me. I am grateful.

Joyce makes her way to my Mom, and as she leans in to say hi, she hugs her, kisses her, and my Mom remembers. My Mom is joyous in that moment, grateful and so pleased someone she knows has come to visit. They smile, they laugh. Friends. Lifetime friends. 78 years of friendship. Today, Joyce is the one person who has known my Mom the longest. 78 years. 78 years of friendship. 78 years of love.

Old pictures were shared, and stories were told. Stories of young girls having fun, babysitting with friends - while sitting in cars, the Aristocrat, car clubs and 350 young men, local diners, Ruby painting nickels red, drinking cokes and listening to music in the diner ... and growing up. Dating and nightclubs, husbands and children, and families. Family stories and friendship.

In 78 years, these two - never fought, they never had a disagreement, and always cared about each other. Through their brightest and their darkest times - they remained.

My Mom didn't and doesn't remember much of these stories, but to hear these stories today did make her smile and laugh. Whether she understood it all or not, she was happy. For a moment, she was reminded. For a moment.

It made my heart happy to hear stories of her past - even if she can no longer tell them. I was happy to be reminded that even if my Mom can no longer remember, she did live a life full of memories others will carry for her, share with her, and instill in me so that I remember always - who my Mom was - beyond just my Mom and that she did live, and she did make a difference for others. In particular, Joyce. The only one who holds the oldest stories about my Mom now.

78 years of friendship - what a gift. Two old ladies, one who's lost her mind, and one who's sharp as a tack - coming together in love and memories of all the days gone by. My Mom may not remember, but my heart is full knowing that those who love her still do remember and will continue to share those stories for my Mom.

78 years of friendship looks like this. Hugs, tears, smiles, joy, memories. 78 years and her dear friend is still showing up for her. I want that. I want a friend who does that for me when I'm 88.

Happy birthday, Mom. Even when you don't remember, you are loved and remembered and you have made a difference on this earth.

Happy birthday, Mom. It's okay. We'll all remember you.

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About the author:

Karen Hendrickson is an Elevation Coach, focused on helping others to rewrite their life story, befriend their mortality, and find the richness and magic that lives at the intersection of our lives where life and death meet. When we allow our authentic self permission to shine our life becomes full of MAGIC and GREATNESS.  Contact karenttjourney@gmail.com and start working with her today!