World Mental Health Day - 9th story: A house and 40 years' worth of memories ... gone

The 10th of October marks World Mental Health Day - leading up to it, I've decided to share a series of blogs I've written in the past years, and shared with my friends and colleagues at Swiss Re, about my parents fading away, my dad's passing, my brother's suicide, my mom's dementia.

I'm sharing these blogs here in the hope that they help raise awareness to the many invisible burdens we carry, and that they may give someone out there the courage to open up. Whatever you're going through, know that you are not alone - and that's what you'll experience when you let someone know. More about the rationale for sharing these stories (and more stories).

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A house and 40 years' worth of memories ... gone

(Shared internally as is at Swiss Re on 10 July 2018)

Last year in late fall I had to take my mom to a nursing home - Alzheimer's had continued to take its toll. Fortunately, that turned out to be wonderful for Mom and she's been living in the now and free of care ever since. I now sold the old house ... another experience.

It's been a ride, and it continues. We all ride it it different ways, at times by choice, at times by happenstance. Circle of life. Things begin, things end, one way or another. As we get older, the "things end" can take on a more prominent feature. In my case, my dad's passing three years ago, my brother's suicide last year, my mom's slow passing into dementia oblivion ... now selling the family home. At first glance it doesn't compare, doesn't it? After all, a house is just a thing, it's nothing compared to human lives. But we all know that that's not true. A family home is living and breathing with a million and one memories ... until the memories stop happening. When I speak to my mom now, she doesn't remember anything about it. Anything.

The house my grandparents had built, with my dad and my uncles and aunts helping to dig the cellar and carry the bricks, was finished and ready for them by 1947. My dad spent his youth there - until he met mom, until they married and started their own family in St. Gallen. We moved back there in the 70s - my granddad had passed away and Grandma couldn't handle the house on her own anymore - so our family moved in. Now, last week in fact, I sold that house. Had to be done and it was an easy decision, knowing that the sale of the house would provide the funds necessary for mom to enjoy her life in the wonderful comfort of the nursing home. Mom doesn't know where she lives. She has her room, comfortable, warm, decorated with lots of pictures. She doesn't know the people in the pictures (not even the man she married in 1958, the man at her side until he passed away in 2015). Most importantly, though, Mom's happy where she is and, while she may not know the people around her, they know her. And so she smiles, and jokes, and sings, and dances and is known around the home as a little sun that roams the home and shines rays of warmth wherever she goes.

I talk to my mom about everything - and naturally she forgets everything instantly - and so I talk to my mom about everything time and time again. I told her about selling the house a thousand times - and every time as if it were the first time (no point in getting impatient). The thing is, just as she doesn't know where she lives now, she doesn't remember that house. It was Mom's home for 40+ years, but all of those years have been wiped away by Alzheimer's. My mom doesn't remember any of it anymore. During my weekly visits I ask Mom to tell me where she lives. Her answer is always "Underdorf" (the lower village) - which is where she was born and raised. Dementia is known to remove the most recent memories first - the curse works its way backwards. In a way, a blessing wrapped within a monster. Mom remembers some of the old days, her childhood, the way things were.

"Are you a good son?" I've never been asked the question directly, but that's been the implication over the course of these past weeks in connection with the sale of the house. Here's what happened: My mom and I co-own the house and so, because of her dementia, we needed official confirmation that the sale was in my mom's best interest and that I wasn't some evil offspring trying to scam a parent by shoving them off into a home so that I could then run off with the money. I understood the officials, they have their duties. I know that I'm doing my best to be there with her and for her, to help her in any way shape and form, to unburden her in any way possible. The thing is, of course, the officials didn't know that. And so I found myself having to justify, to prove, that I am that good son.

I can tell you, lessons in patience. This way, once more, life threw a big bit of learning my way. I delivered more and more documents and answered all the questions and meet various people - and I just kept telling myself - "Breathe. These are good people. They don't know you. This is their obligation. They're just doing their job." And that is the truth. The people I dealt with were nice and kind and helpful and simply did their job to ensure that all would be in the best interests of my mom. But, behind the calm surface, this here human being was taking more than a few deep breaths because, those eyes looking at me were starting from the assumption that I might possibly not have my mom's best interests at heart ... that was hurtful - but again, entirely understandable from their point of view. Anyway - the house is now sold. For Mom this is entirely irrelevant - for me it was another journey (not just rough but also joyous with discoveries in the attic of never-before seen pictures).

Written in big bright colorful letters, I've put a sign on the wall where Mom usually sits doing her crossword puzzles (something she's still pretty good at) - the sign spells out "I live here at the nursing home". Does that work for her? Nope. It's just a sign - she'll read it and she'll rediscover it again and again and every time it's new and she'll read it again and she'll wonder why it's there and what it means ... oh well, I'm just happy that she's happy - it's a real blessing that she manages to shrug off all of her constant not-knowing with a smile. No point in getting angry at ... what again?

PS: And the house? Actually, it's wonderful - a young family bought the property - perfect because kindergarten and school are right across the street. They'll build a new house in the spot and so, before long, a new family will live where my dad, once upon a long ago, helped dig a cellar. Circle of life.