She's Not There

Finola and Howard

The music of the Santana song "she's not there" echoes from the dining room. It brings back memories of my teenage years in my home, this house, in Dublin. I really liked that song as a teenager. My mother is playing it on the battered CD player. That is the same CD player that I took back to the Power City store a few weeks ago to junk so I could get a newer one for my aging parents. That was a big mistake. After I triumphantly brought home the new CD player my father kept asking what had happened to the old one.

Later after I left the country, he became so agitated and upset that my mother had to drive to the store, explain the situation and in the pouring rain, retrieve the old player out of the garbage at the rear of the store. My father finally calmed down.  

He has dementia. He likes his routine. Even though -as the dementia progresses- he has forgotten how to work the machine, and broken the tape player. He likes the familiarity of the thing. He needs it. He likes the familiarity of my mother too, even though frequently during the day, I suspect he does not know who she is. His favorite question is... "So who's here now?" I understand. It's my cue to say "well, there's me, your son John; there's mum; and that's it". Even this simple reply is problematic. The day before I arrived back in Dublin I had phoned the house and he had answered:

-"Hola" (he always says it in Spanish)

- "Hi dad, it's John calling from New York" 

-"Hiiiii..where are you?"

- "I'm in New York, is mum there?" 

- "Mum's dead" (my heart skips a beat)

- "Emmmmm.....(thinking)...who's there?"

Then she picked up the phone. I guess he was thinking of his mum. My mother(his wife)is Finola. Maybe I should have said her name instead?

I walk back into the dining room and sit beside him on the couch. He is staring into space...he turns to me looking confused. "Are there two Finolas?" he asks. I scramble to give the right reply. This is what happens; you quickly try to work out how you can safely word a response that can be understood. A response that won't hurt or confuse him. "Well" I say, "you might think there are two Finolas". I point to a picture of mum as a young woman, beautiful and raven-haired. "That's Finola when she was young". "Yes, yes that's her I know that". "Well she has gotten older since that picture was taken so she does not look the same, so in a way maybe there are two Finolas". 

Is this reply good, is this reply bad? I don't know. "So who's the big lady?" "That's mum, Finola, she's older now". " Oh.." He looks absolutely unconvinced. But I am so happy I can spend this time with him. I say to him, "dad, whatever you do, don't call her big! She'll get upset" We both laugh a lot at that. Then he smiles. I know his mind is fading away.

And I know for him sometimes, my mum, his wife -she's not there.