Validation

This is the last good photo of my mother and me. It was taken two years ago, today. My mother never liked having her picture taken and I don’t have many photos of us together over years. But I have this one. Alzheimer’s had changed her so much already at the time, yet I had no idea how much more the disease would change her and steal from her, over the next year and a half. This was the in-between.

Alzheimer’s did one good thing though. It made my mother forget she did not like having her picture taken. She readily smiled for this one. I wish I would have taken more.

This photo was taken at an event honoring my father. It had been in the works for many months. We were grateful Mom’s health even allowed her to be there, but we still worried. A person with Alzheimer’s becomes a big question mark. Their attitude and even personality can change in an instant. I was hopeful the night would go well and Mom would not get agitated or forget her surroundings and become frightened. Luckily, it was a success all around and then some.

I received something that night that I was not expecting. I didn’t even realize it was something I needed. Validation.

There I was in the public restroom, with Mom, coaching her on what to do inside the stall. I was holding the stall door shut. It would have been too difficult to talk Mom through how to lock the door and then there was the fear she would not be able to unlock it to exit. Between giving my mother instructions, similar to those I gave to my potty training three year old at the time, I glanced up. I locked eyes with an old friend from school. I gave her a half smile. She did not smile back. Instead, she mouthed, “I’m sorry.” My eyes instantly welled with tears. I managed to mouth back, “thank-you” and then had to turn my attention back to my mother.

When you get engaged and word spreads, people call, text, email and even send gifts to acknowledge your news. The same thing happens when you get married or have a baby. When someone passes away, you receive cards and flowers, expressing condolences. When someone is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and word spreads, there are no phone calls, texts or cards. At least in my experience. I know it’s not because people don’t care, but rather they just don’t know what to say or do.

But, in that public restroom, two years ago, a friend acknowledged my situation and that it sucked. She could have just smiled back at me and exited the restroom. I would not have faulted her for that. Instead, she validated my unfortunate circumstance and that I was losing my mom. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant so much. I felt like someone finally saw me in my plight.

I will always remember that moment, in a restroom, of all places. That photo will always be a reminder of that night and to reach out to others in the bad times, as well as the good. A simple acknowledgment can go a long way. It certainly did for me.