To Love a Stranger
桑德·史密斯 / Sande Smith
A parent since she was fifteen， my seventy-six-year-old mother used to long for the day when she could just sit and do nothing. No more taking care of the children. No more worrying about whether there was enough money to pay the bills. No more responsibilities.
She got her wish. Every day now， she sits in a nursing home， tapping her fingers on her chair in a syncopated rhythm that reminds me of bebop， talking to herself about her father， who died when she was eight.
“Mildred... Mildred. ” I say.
She looks up at me， her eyes brighten， and her smile reveals snaggles like those of a five-year-old. “Come here， baby doll， ”she says.
I rush over to her， pull close a chair， and sit down.
“Hey， Mildred， how are you？” I don’t call her Mommy anymore. She doesn’t answer to Mommy.
My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 1984， right after I graduated from college. While in school， I saw signs that something was wrong. Often， when I would call home， she would be upset because she’d lost her money. “Mommy never loses her money.” I’d think.
I fought the disease. Through changes in doctors， diet， and medicine， and through the addition of Chinese herbs， my mother’s health improved. She lost seventy-five pounds and regained her ability to converse with other people. Yet， despite profound physical improvement， the Alzheimer’s continued to unravel her mind over the next six years.
I lived with my mother from 1984 to 1990， as the illness slowly took its toll. It was appalling to watch her change right in front of me. She didn’t just forget things. She became a different person—one whom I did not recognize. When my boyfriend would watch television， she’d walk in circles around his chair， muttering under her breath and scowling. She kept a hammer hidden in her room and wielded it at the slightest provocation. If she got out of the house， she’d refuse to come back in. Instead， she would run down the street， calling for the police to help her. She’d come to believe that she was a police officer—a conviction touched off by a letter inviting her to take the civil service test. Only another police officer could convince her to come into the house.