Gains and Losses

I have seen Nikki three times since my trip to Tulum. Each time, she was less present than the time before. She hasn't walked since before Christmas. She has been taking her meals in bed or in her chair, rarely leaving her room. When I visited on Friday, she seemed only an echo of herself -- barely acknowledging me, not responding to any of the usual songs or conversation that would ordinarily engage her. She was weak and disoriented, so much so that I went downstairs to tell Nick that I was concerned about her.

So I wasn't surprised to find out today that she had been taken to the hospital last night. Samy and I visited Walpan for Easter, and after spending time with Peggy and Julia, I went to Mountainside Hospital. Nikki's son Frankie was there. It was nice to put a face to the person I had heard so many stories about. And Nikki was much better. She had become dehydrated and the i.v. fluids were really helping. Still, she was so small and seemingly lost in her bed, which was vibrating to keep her from getting bed sores.

I wondered what Frankie made of me, this crazy woman who has become so attached to his mother -- a stranger she found wandering on Bloomfield Avenue. To me, meeting Nikki has been a great gift and a blessing. Having met her at the twilight of her life, when Alzheimer's has already mastered her mind, I have never had any expectations of her. For her son, watching his mother's memory slip away has been heartbreaking. The loss of recognition is tragic and and understandably devastating. It seems so unfair that when I look at Nikki, I see only what she has given me. But her son, who is so devoted to her, sees an unbearably cruel loss.