Just Answer the Question

My eighty-five-year-old mother-in-law has been diagnosed with mild to moderate Alzheimer disease.. She is in the dementia stage now. It is almost difficult to have a real conversation with her, but we try.

Her vision is fading fast and she hears less that she sees. She spends much of her days on the patio where she can entertain in comfort.

Her attention span is two seconds long; short term memory even less, though her long term memory is vivid and often accurate.

A typical conversation goes like this:

Elsie: “Is today Sunday?”

Me:”Yes.”

Elsie: “What day is today?”

Me: “Sunday.”

Elsie:” Did you say today is Sunday?”

I sigh and tell myself, “Just answer the question.”

That is my mantra: Just answer the question, no matter how often or how many times she asks the same question. Just answer the question.

Elsie:“Is D'Lane coming today?”

Hallelujah! She remembered that D'Lane is off on Sunday this quarter.

Me:” I think so. She didn't say.”

Elsie:” D'Lane coming down today?”

Me:” Yes,” I hope I’m telling the truth here, but “Yes” is what Elsie wants to hear.

When D'Lane and children finally arrive Elsie makes a fuss over them and gives them each a big hug.

I'm thankful she can still put the right name to the faces of the people she sees often. The ones she doesn't see so often are usually not named correctly.

She's not so good with family ranking, though.

When Bree joins us, Elsie correctly identifies her first as Bree-Anna, then Bree-Bree, her pet name for this great-grandchild.

Then she asks, “Are you a child,  or grandchild.”

Bree:” great-grandchild.”

Elsie:”Great-grandchild! Where's Calvin? I have to tell him we have great-grandchildren!”

She has momentarily forgotten that Calvin is dead.  She forgets this important piece of information several times a day, but remembers the moment she steps back into the house. We do not remind her because she can no longer process information unless it is written out on her dry erase board. Reminding her that Calvin is dead would only plunge her back into a grief she cannot handle. Re-educating her is almost impossible. She prefers the facts hat are in her head, no matter if they are true or not.

Elsie:”How many great-grandchildren do I have?”

Me:”Twenty-two.”

Elsie:”Twenty-two? Someone's been busy. I had four kiddos. If each of them had four, that would be sixteen grandchildren.

Parts of her brain function well.

Elsie” How many grandchildren do I have?”

Me:”Ten.”

Elsie:”Yep, someone has been busy. Who was it?”

Knowing she will accept the easiest answer, I say,”Marissa. I do not explain that Marissa's large family includes step-children she adopted at their mother’s death.” We have tried explaining that to Elsie numerous times, but she can't grasp that information.

Pointing to my grandson, she says, “If he had blond hair he'd look just like his grandpa.

I fail to see any resemblance between  dark, curly headed Jude and my light skinned, bald husband, but I keep my mouth shut. This is her fantasy and she's entitled to it.

Elsie:'You know who that boy looks like? If-fen he had blond hair.”

I answer this time because she loves a good conversation.

“Who?”

“That ornery old Dale over there.”

I simply nod and smile. It does no good to argue with her.

Never has, really. She can't stand to be argued with and proven wrong.

God, I think, is certainly teaching me patience in these conversations with my mother-in-law.

The conversation that nearly undid me was the talk we had shortly after my mother died.

Elsie:” So you went to your mother's?”

I am surprised that she remembered that I had gone to my mother's lake house.

With a sob in my throat I croak, “Yes.”

“Well,” Elsie asks. “Is Viola any better?”

Apparently she remembered Mother's long illness, but not it's outcome.

I do not answer.

“How does Viola look?'

Again I do not answer. In this conversation I cannot honor my Just answer the question dictum.

Elsie is stuck on one question.“Is she all right?” she asks

“How does she feel?”

“How does she look?”

“What's wrong with you? Why won't you answer me?”

“My mother is dead!” I shout. I'm very proud that I did not say, “My mother is dead, you fool.”

Understanding and confused hurt cross Elsie's face.

“Viola's not dead to me,” Elsie says, in a tiny, tight voice.

Now I have hurt her feelings. I am in desperate need of comfort, so I opt to let Elsie 's words spill over me.



“You never get over losing a Momma,” Elsie says.

In a surprising display of rationality she adds, “It's been thirty years since my momma died and I'm still not over it. You never get over losing a Momma.

“I talk to my Momma all the time, every night. It helps, you know. You talk to your Momma.”

This time I follow the Just answer the question dictum.

“Okay,” I said.



She ends the conversation with her face in her hands, “You never get over losing a Momma,” she sobs.