I'M EVERY WOMAN: GROWING SENILE GRACEFULLY

‘Mak and I. If I’m diagnosed with dementria, I hope I will grow senile

 

IF it is fated that I am diagnosed with dementia in my old age, then I hope I will follow in my mother’s footsteps and grow senile gracefully.

 

It never ceases to amaze me that for someone in her 90s, swaying on her feet and not a single strand of black hair and a tooth to call her own, she is still in possession of some of her faculties. On Mother’s Day, I left her again, as I did one early morning in January this year, to catch a flight to be with my children 12,880km away. That morning, I went to her room. When I woke her, she turned and gave me the sweetest smile. My Mak is always smiling. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was leaving, so I asked her to walk with me to the living room where she found my bags, all packed. At that point, her face crumpled and she became teary-eyed. She asked: “You are leaving?” All I could do was hug her small frame and kiss her tear-stained cheeks. She has never stopped me from leaving. Once she even told me: “Go and don’t miss the plane as the children are waiting.” I am quite the opposite. Once, upon seeing a smile on the face of my youngest son as I was leaving for Heathrow, I was upset and exclaimed: “Taufiq, you are happy that I am going!” So he feigned a sad look and said: “OK, Mama, I am sad, really sad that you are going.” And I left with a happier thought! When I returned to the country this time, Mak was in her bed and gave me the biggest smile of recognition any child could ask for. My biggest fear has always been that she would have forgotten a daughter who lives so far away.

Like almost everyone else in their twilight years, Mak repeats everything every two minutes. And she does so with the same enthusiasm each time. During one of our early lunches together (which she later forgot and claimed that she hadn’t eaten) she asked me how much it would cost for her to visit me. I gestured with three fingers and mouthed ribu (thousand). She feigned surprise and said it couldn’t be that expensive to take the bus! I said “no, you take the plane”, and I gestured with my arms flapping about.

“Ahhh”, she said, as she recalled one of the three visits she made to London when she was a lot younger and much healthier. She remembered the smell of roses in Hyde Park, picking strawberries and the neighbour who took care of my garden. But for some reason that escaped me, she thought Oprah Winfrey was my neighbour and she visited in the afternoons. I received a bemused text message from one of my siblings. It read: “Mak was watching the Oprah Winfrey show and said that’s Zaharah’s neighbour!” Bless her! She must have confused Winfrey with an old friend, Jane, from Kenya. Jane was a frequent visitor when Mak was there.

But one thing about Mak — she never lets on that she does not remember anyone. When there were droves of visitors who called when she was unwell, she would greet everyone as if she remembered them. All she needed to say was “lama tak jumpa! (It’s been such a long time since we last met!) and the visitors would leave thinking she actually knew who they were! Mak would ask general questions like, “How’s your Mak? Where is she now?”. There are very few times when Mak is uncharacteristically herself. She will be very embarrassed if she can’t make it in time to go to the toilet. She will vehemently refuse any help in the bathroom and she’ll always bring her plate to the sink to be wash. That is the least she could do, she says.

No one has yet heard Mak utter a single criticism or voice a grudge. There were a few slip ups of course, but those were easily forgiven. She was on a MAS flight back to Alor Setar when she loudly complained that they hadn’t serve her tea. She had to be reminded gently by my niece that it was the fasting month! Not one to just think only about herself, she has the welfare of others at heart. Once, when she had taken ill, she was worried because my eldest brother would have to pay her hospital bill. When I arrived last week, she didn’t sleep a wink as I battled with jetlag and was faintly aware of her arranging the blanket around me throughout the night. Before she herself slept on the sofa next to me, she handed me a pillow, (on top of several that I already had).

She is still blessed with very good eyesight. Once, when putting on my tudung in front of the mirror, I heard that familiar voice from the sofa in front of the TV: “Your tudung is creased. Iron it a bit.” At 90-something, all her clothes must be properly pressed, her tudung must match her baju kurung or baju Kedah and her meals must be properly laid out. “Just because I am old does not mean I need to look unwell!” Here’s a belated Happy Mother’s Day, Mak!

 

Artikel ini diambil dari NST, Selasa 10 Mei 2011,  ditulis oleh: ZAHARAH OTHMAN 

zwan_uk@yahoo.co.uk