When I tell someone my mom has Alzheimer’s, the first thing they usually ask is:
“Does she know who you are?”
There was a time I could confidently say, “Yes, she does.” People always seemed relieved. “Oh, that’s good!” they’d reply.
And yes, it was good. But what I wanted to add was: “True, but she still gets lost in her own house.” Or, “Yes, but she can’t remember how to put on a shirt.”
As the years went on, my answer became harder. Some days she looked right at me and didn’t recognize me. Some days she couldn’t identify me in photos. Other days, she knew exactly who I was. I started saying, “Sometimes she remembers me, and sometimes she doesn’t.”
People still seemed relieved. But in my heart, I wanted to add: “Yes, but she can’t use the bathroom alone.” Or, “She doesn’t even know how to get into a car anymore.”
Eventually, I had to admit the truth: “No, my mom doesn’t know who I am.” That answer broke people. I saw the tears in their eyes. And yes, it broke me too—but not because of that. Because by then, there were far worse things.
My mom couldn’t do anything for herself anymore. She couldn’t walk. She sat in a wheelchair most of the time with her eyes closed. She didn’t just forget me—she had forgotten herself.
If I had one wish, it wouldn’t be for her to remember my name. She deserves so much more than that.
So now, when people ask if my mom knows who I am, I give them the answer it took me years to learn:
No, my mom doesn’t know who I am. But she knows ME.
She knows my heart. She knows my love. She knows my voice and my presence. She knows she’s safe with me. She may not remember that I’m her daughter, Lauren—but she knows she knows me. And that bond is unshakable.
There are far worse things about Alzheimer’s than my mom not knowing who I am.
But there are also far better things.
Because she knows me.
In a way no one else ever could. ❤️
Credit: Life, Love, and Alzheimer’s
