Jan’s Story, My Story

My mother is my best friend. We once wrote a (Star Trek fan fic) novel together. We talk about everything together, and she’s the one person I know I can always blab blab blab to about my latest plot ideas.

Lately, things have been difficult. Most our conversation revolves around the financial mistakes she made during the mortgage crisis and what she needs to do to keep her house. (Hint, mom: cancel the cruise.)

Even if we both agreed to discuss something lighter, like my book, I’d end up annoyed with her, because right after she asked me about the book, she would change the subject to nag me about some issue or other we’ve already settled. When she did discuss the book with me, she confused the plotlines, claimed she hasn’t read the xyz version, though I knew she had, and kept repeating the same questions that I just answered ten minutes earlier. I felt like she just wasn’t paying attention, she didn’t care, and it made me angry.

Then I started reading Jan’s Story, and a chill ran down my back. It’s about a man who loses his wife piece by piece to Early Onset Alzheimer’s. My grandmother suffered from “senior dementia,” which acts on the brain just like Alzheimer’s but for some reason isn’t. Her mother suffered it as well, and it is likely that my mother will. And so will I.

I called my mother this morning. I was eager to discuss a new idea I’d had for a plot twist in my wip. She told me it was too convoluted, she couldn’t keep track of it. This time I bit back my impatience. I didn’t tease her or ask her if she forgot to turn on her brain this morning. When I hung up the phone I began to cry.