My Sweet Jasmine

Jasmine climbed behind the wheel of her mini-van and looked over at her mom, Lillian, sitting quietly in the front passenger seat. Jasmine gazed at the woman who was her mother, wondering exactly when this horrid transformation took place. Lillian's soft, silvery curls, always so elegantly coiffed in the days of her past, now stood in a fuzzy mass, dull and cottony. Once a high-powered professional, her tailored suits, leather pumps and matching bags now hung forgotten in her closet. Sadly they had been replaced by outfits like the one she had on today. A loose-fitting cotton blouse, both wrinkled and dingy, and pull-on pants with a smooth elastic waist hung lifeless on her petite frame. Red Keds the color of candy apples covered her small, sockless feet. And saddest of all, Lillian's once vibrant, azure blue eyes, filled with knowledge and life, had dulled to pale watery pools that no longer reflected hope and joy, only confusion and despair.

Jasmine barely recognized what her mother had become. Now all she saw was the disease. It had gripped Lillian's mind like a vice, and each day it stole just a little more, sending her backwards in time, morphing her into a frail little being. Almost like a child. Each month, each week, each day Lillian could handle less and less, forcing Jasmine to handle more and more. Eventually their roles had reversed, Jasmine no longer the child, Lillian no longer the adult.

"Are you ready, Mom?' Jasmine spoke loudly and firmly as Dr. Anderson had instructed her to do. "Mom?" Lillian offered no reply. Jasmine tried again. "Mom? Are you hungry? Let's eat. We'll go to your favorite spot. Okay?" Again no reply.

Jasmine sighed and turned the key in the ignition. Once out on the road she headed for downtown and Lillian's favorite café. She made small talk as she drove, hoping to spark some interest or some recognition from her mother. As she pointed out the once familiar buildings and stores she kept the radio low, tuned to an oldies station, and sang along to the songs she knew. She prayed silently that today would be a good day.

The two ladies traveled slowly down 5th Street, Jasmine chattering loudly and forcefully, Lillian making no sound at all. Jasmine worried there would be no spark of recognition, and in fact, none came until they stopped at the light on 5th and Ivy. The corner on the right was home to the largest McDonald's in the county, and it also happened to be run by a long-time friend of Jasmine and her husband, Rick. Lillian saw the brightly-colored restaurant, and all of a sudden her eyes grew large, and a wide toothy smile spread across her face. Immediately, and in one smooth motion, she unlatched the seat belt and pushed open the door, jumping down to the pavement.

"Oh! I like this place!" she said happily as she raced through traffic and across the street.

"Mom! No!" Jasmine screamed, and gunned the gas pedal, driving the mini-van up onto the sidewalk. She pushed a large red button on the dashboard, hoping it would start the flashers, and raced after her mom, leaving the van running and the doors open. "Mom! Stop!" she screamed. She held out a hand against the on-coming traffic, shouting above the blare of horns and squealing tires.

Lillian was already pulling open the door of McDonald's when Jasmine caught her arm and jerked her around, glaring into blank eyes. "What are you doing?"

"This is where I want to eat," Lillian said softly and politely.

Jasmine's jaw dropped and the two women stared blankly at each other. Finally Jasmine ushered Lillian into McDonald's and parked her at a table. "Okay," she said sternly, pointing her index finger at Lillian. "Stay right here, and don't move. I'll go get our purses and then order us some food."

Jasmine dashed back across the street to properly park the mini-van. She grabbed their purses and coats and then raced back across the street, leaving the van unlocked. She needed so much energy these days to keep up with her mom, and wondered if this crazy pace would ever slow down. She remembered the days when there was no Alzheimer's disease; when there was laughter and music and smiles. But those days soon became one nightmare after another, filled with blank stares and screams, and odd behavior, even though Lillian fought the disease. Some days her mind wasn't so affected and she remained lucid, determined to fight the frightening places where her mind wandered. Sadly, though, the Alzheimer's would grab her again and her eyes would glaze over as her mind went to other faraway places. Jasmine hated those days and winced as she entered the busy restaurant. She hoped her mom would behave.

She saw Lillian at the counter, ordering up a storm. "I'll have hash browns, orange juice, coffee, extra hot, and one of those muffin eggs. I mean egg muffins. No, one of those Egg McMuffins." She smiled proudly. "And Jasmine will have the same." Lillian nearly snorted, then looked around, searching the room. "Where is Jasmine?"

"Right here, Mom," Jasmine said as she barged past the customers in line. "I'm right here."

The clerk seemed confused, but rattled off a total just the same. Jasmine fumbled for her wallet, but Lillian brushed it away in a harsh, sweeping motion. "No! I can pay. Not you. I have money you know."

Jasmine froze, not knowing what to do. Thankfully, her friend Mark, the owner of the restaurant was behind the counter and stepped in to help. Mark knew how difficult Lillian's disease had become for Jasmine and Rick. He put a hand on Lillian's shoulder and glanced at Jasmine before he spoke. "We know you have money, Lillian, but Jasmine wants to pay. She wants to treat you to a real nice breakfast this morning, so let her pay. Okay?"

Jasmine was grateful as she saw Lillian let her defenses down. She nodded okay, and stomped off to her seat. Jasmine paid the tab, and collected their food. She thanked Mark and spoke quietly with him for a moment, and then sat across from Lillian, placing the coffee and Egg McMuffin in front of her. Lillian grabbed the sandwich and turned her back.

"Mom? What are you doing?" Jasmine walked around the table and faced Lillian.

"This is my food! Jasmine bought it. Now get lost!"

"Mom?"

"Stop calling me mom."

Jasmine tried not to cry.

* * * * *

"This isn't my home!"

"This is Dr. Anderson's office, Mom."

"I don't know Dr. Anderson."

Jasmine's eyes rolled. "Yes, you do, Mom."

"Stop calling me Mom."

Lillian grabbed her small vinyl purse and slung it over her shoulder as if it were a knapsack. The top of the dirty white bag flipped open and a tube of cheap, red lipstick fell to the floor. Lillian and Jasmine both bent to pick it up, and they nearly bumped heads.

"That's mine," Lillian warned in a low voice, much like the possessive snarl of a dog.

Jasmine immediately pulled her hand back. "I know, Mom."

They both stood, and with lipstick in hand, Lillian turned on one foot and marched into the doctor's office. Jasmine followed, stomach churning, praying silently the visit would go well.

The pastel blues and yellows of the examination room softened the cold, harsh gray of the stainless steel sink and sterile white paper covering the chrome examination table. A plastic magazine rack hung on one wall and offered outdated issues of Ladies' Home Journal, Air & Space, Better Homes & Gardens, and National Geographic. A faint alcohol smell lingered in the air, but for all that, the room had a very calming effect. Jasmine thumbed through one of the magazines while Lillian wildly flipped the pages of another, slowing now and then to peer closely at one of its pictures.

Soon the door opened and Dr. Anderson entered, smiling at both ladies. He shook their hands in greeting and then sat directly across from Lillian. He reminded Jasmine of her own father, with soft lines around his eyes and wise, knowing furrows above his brow. The doctor's voice was gentle and his heart was big. Jasmine always felt safe with Dr. Anderson. She watched anxiously as he conducted his now very familiar examination.

"Lillian, can you tell me what month this is?"

"Spring."

"Not the season, Lillian. The month. What month is it?"

"Well, it's almost my birthday so it's got to be May. Jasmine never forgets my birthday you know."

"Lillian, are you sure it's May?"

"Absolutely!"

Jasmine's hand shook as she took a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. May had come and gone in a fit of confusion for Lillian. She had no idea spring gave way to a long, frustrating summer, and now that had simmered into the first hints of fall. Jasmine turned her head away, missing the one salty tear that slid down her cheek.

"Lillian, what is your address?"

"I live with Jasmine. On the same street as my friend, Rose." Lillian was pleased with her answer and flashed a smug smile at Dr. Anderson.

"Do you know the address?"

"No, but it's the fifth house."

Jasmine felt bile rise in her throat. She gagged on the sour taste and looked apologetically at the doctor. She hoped he couldn't see her tremble.

His eyes looked squarely at hers. "I think you already know what I'm going to say. I wish I could tell you differently, but I can't. Jasmine, she's deteriorating rapidly now. I think it's time to consider a facility."

Jasmine blinked, and the tears she tried so hard to keep back suddenly burst forth, streaming down her cheeks, and dropping silently on her lap. "I can't. I just can't. There's got to be more. Something else I can try."

"I wish there was, Jasmine. But I'll be honest. You need some rest. I can see the strain in your eyes, on your face. I hear it in your voice. Both of you need some time away. At the very least a respite."

Jasmine looked away. "It wouldn't be right."

"There's nothing to feel guilty about. You've done an admirable job, but now it's time for some rest. You'll help her more if you let others care for her." The doctor placed a hand on Jasmine's shoulder and let her cry. He didn't rush her out. He just let her cry and told her to take as much time as she needed. He stepped out, closing the door quietly behind.

Jasmine thought she'd cried all the tears out, but still they came. She looked once more at her mom. Lillian had been watching. She took her daughter's hand. "My sweet Jasmine. I'm so sorry, and I'm so tired. I'm ready to go home now."

"Yes, Mom, we'll go home. I'm tired too." Jasmine gathered their belongings, and as they left, she turned back to the nurse. She mustered a small, pained whisper. "Please tell Dr. Anderson I'll talk to Rick."

* * * * *

"You're sure you're not hungry, Mom?"

"No, Jasmine. I just want to rest. I'll be down later for something to eat." Lillian stood at the edge of the big maple sleigh bed, smoothing the soft flannel sheets. Satisfied they were just right she folded the top down and then wiggled herself in between. She exhaled a long wispy breath that sounded almost sad. Her cheek fell against two fluffy pillows and her eyes closed, shutting the door on a very long day. "Jasmine," she whispered, "I don't know who I am. Sometimes I know my world, and sometimes I don't. My things are the same, and yet they're not. Sometimes I'm afraid."

Her words cut Jasmine like a knife.

"I know, Mom," Jasmine whispered back, "I know." She stroked Lillian's forehead, gliding her hand across Lillian's smooth, soft skin. She hoped the gentle, rhythmic motion would bring some comfort not just to her mother, but also to herself. She sat silently, continuing to stroke, until she was sure Lillian was asleep. As she closed the bedroom door she whispered to herself, "I'm afraid too."

She went downstairs to join Rick in the kitchen. He was busy chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and sipping red wine. Jasmine lost herself in all the aromas of garlic, basil and thyme. As she reached for her own glass of wine her stomach growled in response to the heady scents. She realized, like so many other days, she hadn't eaten. Even though her intentions were good, meals with Lillian were such a struggle, and most times, Jasmine found it easier not to eat. But tonight Lillian was asleep, and Jasmine was looking forward to a quiet dinner alone with her husband.

The meal was delicious as usual. Rick served the pasta, bread, and red wine on fancy plates and in pretty glasses. Jasmine knew it was his way of adding a special comfort to the long days with Lillian, and it left her feeling satisfied and full. She cleared the plates when they were done, and after filling their glasses again, she sank onto the sofa, and into the warmth of her husband's arms. He kissed her hair, and she nuzzled back. The stress was finally draining away. Their conversation was light and easy, and before long, Jasmine was laughing at Rick's jokes. She took his hand in hers, and then turned to look deeply into his eyes. "I'm so lucky to have you, Rick. I love you so much." Rick gathered her into his arms. "I love you too, Jas."

They sat quietly, surrounded by a comfortable silence; each in their own thoughts, knowing what would, or should come next, yet unwilling to take the next step. Finally, Rick let out a heavy sigh and broke the silence. It was time to talk about Lillian. He inhaled deeply. "How did things go at the doctor's office today?"

"Let's not talk about that. Not right now anyway."

"Jasmine, we have to talk about it sometime. I'm only asking. Don't get riled up."

But suddenly Jasmine was riled. The day had been challenging at the very least, and twice she broke down in tears. All she wanted was to spend time in the arms of her husband. Now, though, she resigned herself to the conversation she and Rick were having more often. It wasn't pleasant and it always ended the same. Badly. She willed herself not to answer, not to let this evening disintegrate into the same old fight.

"Jasmine," Rick asked again, "How did it go?"

She bristled. "I think you already know the answer to that question." She shot an annoyed look at Rick.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jasmine pushed herself from Rick's arms and stood to face him. "It's all we ever talk about. It's the only thing that seems to interest you. How horrible it is to spend a day with my mom. How long until she's completely crazy. How long until she can't stay here anymore. How long before I can't take anymore and go just as crazy as her!"

Rick stared back at the defiant look on her pretty face. He stood too, anger flushing his cheeks. He said as calmly as he could, "I'm not trying to pick a fight. I was only asking how it went."

Jasmine sat silent, eyes glaring.

"Well, Jas? How did it go?"

"How do you think it went?" she snapped. "Worse than last time? Are you hoping it was worse? So you can tell me it's time? Well, guess what, Rick? It was worse, and yes, the doctor said it's time. Does that make you happy?"

"For God's sake, Jasmine, no! It doesn't make me happy! But it is reality, and you have to face that. And the sooner you do the sooner we can get on with things, and maybe, just maybe, we'll be normal again." He stood stiff, face red, eyes boring into Jasmine's.

"Normal?" she whispered. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean. Normal. Like the way it was before all this shit started. Before the fuckin' disease. Before your mother!" Large veins popped out on each side of his forehead, and his breath came in short, hot spurts.

His words hit Jasmine like a steel pipe. Solid, cold, harsh. She sucked in her breath, not knowing what to say. The silence was heavy between them. Finally she rose from the couch, her hands balled into hard tight fists. "I'm going to bed." She turned and left the room, leaving behind a big, icy sheet of anger that lay on Rick, heavy with sadness and regret. She looked back and saw that he hung his head. She also heard him mumble something to the floor that sounded very much like, "I'm sorry."

Jasmine climbed the stairs slowly. She was angry, yes, but more than anything, she was weary. She was so tired of defending herself and her actions to her doctor, her friends, Rick, even Lillian. She knew in some respects they were all right. Caring for Lillian was more than a full-time job, and Jasmine really did need help from at least two other professionals. Every day she did her best, and some days it was harder than others. Every night she went to bed exhausted and drained. Some nights she was so tired she couldn't rest, making the next day even longer and more challenging. Sometimes she wished it would all just end, and during those times she cried big salty tears of sadness and guilt.

Jasmine stood at the top of the stairs, noticing the creamy light from Lillian's reading lamp that spilled out of her room and into the hall. Everything was quiet and the ambiance was almost peaceful. Jasmine fixed a smile on her face and pushed open the door, expecting to find her mom in the big over-stuffed chair near her window. Instead the chair was empty, a magazine dropped to the floor, its pages wrinkled and bent. A small twinge of alarm crept up Jasmine's spine. Immediately she looked to the bed, and it too was empty, the sheets fallen off the side, crumpled into a messy pile. Bile rose in her throat and anxiously, she flipped on the overhead light. Adrenaline flooded her limbs and her stomach dropped at what she saw. The closet was open and every sweater and coat Lillian owned was off its hanger and on the floor. Every shoe was tossed into a heap. Blouses, shirts, even socks, were scattered across the room. When did this happen? Why didn't they hear? Angrily Jasmine spat at the room, "Because we were fighting! Because we're always fighting!"

She ran from the room and leaned over the banister shouting incoherently at Rick. "Oh my God! She's gone!" Jasmine heard crashing in the kitchen, pots or pans, she wasn't sure, but in a few seconds Rick was at her side, eyes wide with concern. "She's gone," Jasmine screamed, "She's gone!"

Without a word Rick quickly searched the upstairs, and then grabbed a set of keys. Jasmine melted against the wall and onto the floor. Rick knelt beside her, taking her quivering hands in his. "Jasmine, you've got to call the police. I'll get the car." Jasmine didn't respond. Rick looked directly into her eyes and said, "Jasmine, you can do this. Call the police. We'll find her." She nodded a little and Rick flew down the stairs, into the night.

Still quivering, and ready to vomit, Jasmine made her way to the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1. A dispatcher answered and Jasmine started to sob. She forced the words to come, each one like a knife in her throat. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the phone to her ear. Everything was surreal. She heard questions and answers, and questions again, not really knowing whose voice was whose. When she heard the dispatcher tell her to hang up and to stay where she was, she did so reluctantly, frightened by the hollow void she felt deep within. The phone clicked off. She could only wait. Seconds to minutes; minutes to hours; hours to eternity; it all felt the same. She couldn't believe the nightmare that surrounded her and she prayed it would end soon.

Jasmine paced nervous and uneasy, hearing each horrible tick of the clock mark another second that Lillian was gone. For Jasmine, time was both slow and fast, and as the night grew heavy and deep, she was frightened indeed by the uncertainty it brought for the future. To wait was unbearable.

She decided she couldn't stay at the house any longer. Even though the police hadn't yet arrived she needed to be out in the neighborhood, looking, searching for her mom. "The hell with it. The hell with everything!" she shouted, and grabbed a coat from the closet. And just as she flung the door open to leave, lights flooded her yard, and she saw Rick's car pulling into the driveway, followed by a blue and white patrol car. Doors swung open and out stepped an officer, who spoke quietly with Rick. Then another door opened and both Rick and the officer reached into the car to help Lillian out of her seat. Jasmine nearly fainted.

Later, when the report was done and the officer had gone, and Lillian was finally safe in her bed, Jasmine joined Rick at the kitchen table; both exhausted and drained, their eyes unable to meet. "Tell me again where you found her," she whispered.

"Half-way into town. Like she had a mission."

"Oh, God, Rick, I'm so sorry. I'm just so sorry this happened. But thank you."

She took Rick's hands in her own, but he pulled them away. He kept his eyes down, and finally he spoke, his words barely audible. "Jasmine, it's time."

A tear fell onto Jasmine's cheek. "I know."

* * * * *

"Jasmine, are we going somewhere?" The question was sweet and melodic. Jasmine remembered how that soft voice had calmed her childhood fears and hurts. She longed for those times again, to be the child and hear her mother softly say, "My sweet Jasmine. Don't worry now."

She had been staring at the suitcases, remembering, when she felt Lillian's hand on her shoulder. "Jasmine, I asked if we're going somewhere."

"Yes, Mom. There's a house Dr. Anderson would like you to visit. The rooms are bright and cheery, and the people are very special."

"I don't want to go. I like it here."

"You'll like it, Mom." Just as she said this Jasmine saw her mother's face pale, and the light in her eyes fade.

"You think I don't know. But I do. Does Jasmine know you're taking me away? Where is Jasmine? Does she know what you're doing?"

Jasmine's throat tightened, a lump already forming. "Mom, please..."

"I told you to stop calling me Mom!"

Jasmine said nothing and finished packing.

* * * * *

The next spring Jasmine sat in her mother's chair, fingering its arms. She thought briefly of Dr. Anderson. In the end he had been right. The disease was cruel and Lillian had finally succumbed to it, her dignity and memory finally gone. Jasmine tried not to dwell on her mother's struggle to fight the confusion, but instead thought only of those comforting words Lillian spoke to her so often, "My sweet Jasmine. Don't worry now."