A game of Scrabble sparks conversation between mother and daughter. - Clarrisa Watson/UnsplashFor the first time in decades, we didn’t share Christmas dinner.
The significance of the season wasn’t registering, even though her night table was covered in Christmas cards and the home itself was decked out in tinsel and mummers.She was listless and quiet but squeezed my hand and said she was glad that we had come. I believe she knew me in that moment.The lack of interest was concerning. For many months, the game has been our conduit to conversation. The words we construct with tiles naturally lead to observations or reminiscences or silly rhymes.
I feared that Christmas Day was signalling a turn for the worse; a further withdrawal from the world, and from us. She was right in front of me and yet seemed to be receding.That it would not progress further? That we could turn back time? That she will suddenly rediscover old interests?“As Alzheimer’s progresses, your loved one might recognize faces but forget names.