"Just a knife," she says.
"They're in the drawers to the right of the dishwasher," I tell her; then she meekly goes over to those drawers and finds whatever kind of knife she needs.
This isn't the first time we've had this conversation. Not the 10th time either. Maybe the 100th?
Almost five years ago, my husband and I and our children moved back to this area, buying my parents' home and moving into it while they moved down the hill to a smaller home on the same property. It was their idea, and we've loved being here. So I can see how it might be confusing for my mom to try to find her way around my kitchen...which used to be her kitchen. I didn't put the glasses in the same cupboard. The spices have all been moved. And of course, the knives are in different drawers. But it's been almost five years! Shouldn't it have sunk in by now? Shouldn't she be able to remember, after countless times of looking, which drawers the knives are in?
I'm learning that, with Alzheimer's, there's no hope (or precious little) that the individual will be able to learn new information. Maybe they will; maybe they won't. Who knows? But there's no guarantee that, if we go over the material enough, it will sink in. With my children, I see them learn through repetition. With my mother, it doesn't work that way.
I'm sure it's only a matter of time until, once again, I see her opening every drawer in my kitchen so that she can find a paring knife to cut up some fresh strawberries for our dinner. May I have the patience to treat each time like it's the first, and not let my grief and impatience show, even if it's the 1,000th.
