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This is a show about love, family and dementia. Part one features a show I made in 2008 about one family’s experience living with an elderly mother’s progressive dementia. Part two features an interview with one of the story’s main characters, Greg Sharrow, about what’s changed, and what he’s learned, in the five years since we made After the Forgetting.
After the Forgetting features Greg Sharrow, Bob Hooker, and Marjorie Sharrow. Greg did a lot of marvelous interviews with his mother for this show.
Bob and Marj
Greg and Marj
Possibly Related Episodes
EPISODE MUSIC
| TRACK NAME | ARTIST |
| Show music | Karinne Keithley |
| Stardust | Doris Day |
Thank you for your show After the Forgetting. A subject close to my heart since both my mother and father have and had Alzheimer’s. Going through this experience with my parents did reframe my life and continues to. Mom is now 91. Dad was fortunate enough to live out his life and die at home. I was blessed to be with him. Sadly my Mom was institutionalized against all my protests. She lives far away now, so when I visit I stay long hours within the institution and know it from the inside. Like Greg said, one must have an advocate there. It has been both horrifying and enlightening to witness. I know the good aides from the bad and see how the system is broken. All the mothers in the Alzheimer’s ward have become my mother. I meet them where they are because I know they are still there. They in turn reach me in a very profound way. The two distinctly different ways my parents have had to live out their lives with Alzheimer’s has given me a deep glimpse into humanity and many stories in my heart.
THis is a rare and beautiful love story of a family confronted with Alheimer’s dementia.. I choked on my coffee this morning from tears in the listening of it. Greg’s depiction of his mom in days of his youth and as she is now is just priceless. Great interview, very natural and I loved the music!
Another great program full of wisdom rarely heard on the air. If I get dementia, I hope I get the love and attention Marj gets.
Dear Erica, Greg, Bob and Marjorie,
Thank you so much for the gift of this conversation/exploration/meditation on love, loss, letting go and what survives all of the cognitive losses…the essence. Greg, your flexibility in following your mother where she goes, rather than grasping onto a fixed idea of who she must be, was breath taking and inspiring. What an act of generosity to all concerned. I’m sure it has not all been easy.
One of the things which kept standing out to me was how Marjorie seems absolutely clear and trusting of her relational world. Her emotional wisdom appears quite intact and trustable, though her capacity to process things cognitively is hugely compromised. We make so, so much of those ideas, of the ability to form and express concepts, remember names, places, times. And then “poof” they vanish, but her humanity has not.
The production had amazing depth, and more true emotional intelligence than I have ever experienced in a radio program. That seemed true both because of the extraordinary capacities of the subjects, but also due to the sensitivity of the interviewer and the fabulous editing.
Thank you again,
Metta
Eva
Eva is a neighbor here in central Vermont, and sent me some remarkable writing she’s done about her own mother’s dementia, and subsequent death. I wanted to share one of these stories here. Thank you Eva Gumprecht for this remarkable story!
MOLTING
“Growth and development of the blue crab, as in other crustaceans, consists of a series of larval, juvenile, and adult stages during which a variety of morphological, behavioral, and physiological changes occur. These changes are most dramatic when the animal molts (sheds its rigid exoskeleton) permitting growth and changes in body shape. Before molting, a new shell is formed underneath the old exoskeleton, which then loosens and is cast off. The new shell is initially soft, but it expands and hardens in a few hours. The stage between molts is termed intermolt.”
The Blue Crab Archives, Steve Zinski
Since June 2nd, the day my mother died, I have been parentless.
When I was little, knowing that my parents would die was unbearable. I could not imagine surviving the atomic blast. How could I exist if they did not? I tried to reassure myself by observing old people on the street and saying to myself, over and over, “Her parents are probably dead and she seems okay”.
I have, pretty much, stopped expecting the phone to ring, and the house where my parents lived for almost 40 years has been sold to a young Korean couple who will gut it’s crumbing innards and turn it into a luxury residence. I still sometimes miss my father with a sudden sharpness, and the week before Christmas I found myself standing in front of racks of exquisite papers, stunned at the knowledge that I would not be wrapping a present for my mother. She loved the way I wrapped her gifts, the brilliant Japanese rice papers, the stickers of butterflies and tropical fish, the curled ribbons. But, overall, it has become something I know and accept now, the surprising ease of our coming and going, once all the suffering is done. After my mother died, for a while the only word I could give to her disappearance was “Poof”. All of that presence, drama, struggle, intensity, gone in the blink of a eye, the leaving of one last breath. Poof.
Standing in front of the mirror one morning about a month after my mother’s death, I review myself through her eyes: the hair she stroked and admired, the deep blue shirt – she would love the color and despair of its sloppiness – the rounded body she couldn’t understand or accept, I know suddenly that I will never need to worry about that again. And the “me” that has always been a “we”, suddenly stands alone, uninhabited, uninvaded and unaccompanied by her shadow. My eyes become my own.
When I clean the house (or don’t), wash the dishes, cook, hang pictures, shave my legs, she no longer supervises me. When I consider whether to buy a house and move half way across the country, there is no one more expert than me, no one to run the decision by. There is no one ahead of me on the line between life and death any more. I am the oldest generation.
“When air temperatures drop below 50 °F (10 °C), adult crabs leave shallow, inshore waters and seek deeper areas where they bury themselves and remain in a state of torpor throughout the winter. Blue crab growth is regulated by water temperature. Growth occurs when water temperatures are above 59 °F (15 °C). Water temperature above 91 °F (33 °C) is lethal. Blue crabs are susceptible to sudden drops in temperature.”
No children to raise, sick parents to tend to, compulsory jobs. I spend a lot of time alone. I watch TV, plan the day’s meals, try to make sure that I get out of the house at least once most days. Now that it is spring I go to the garden and pull weeds, turn the soil rich with earthworms whom I try not to hurt with my sharp fork. I go to the gym and swim with the retirees. Once a week Aline, the rolfer, lays her hands on me. She prods, kneads, stretches, cradles, strokes me as if I were a baby, a bowl of soft warm dough, yeasting me with her voice, her knowing hands. I feel, as I leave her office that I have been spit from the sea waters anew, muscles, tendons, nerves reborn. Like a child first walking, I am suddenly desperate for sleep, can barely keep my eyes open. And so I go to bed. I can go to bed whenever I want now. Can eat when I want, bathe when I want, talk or remain mute, leave the house or stay in my nightgown all day, put on deodorant or not, wear a bra or not. It is, as much as is possible for just about any human being, entirely up to me.
There are of course moments, sometimes days or weeks, of quiet panic, of feeling that there must be something more, of wondering how other people spend their days and whether their lives have more meaning than mine, of feeling that there must be more than this getting up and going to bed. And I ask myself “What do you really want to do?”, but it’s the wrong question, and that way of doing business seems to have packed up and left town. Whatever is happening can’t be planned and won’t be pinned down.
All I can do, it seems, is to house this new form, give it plenty of water, good food, and protect it from the predators of expectation and certainty. This time I think I’ll keep my soft shell.
You are so good! These are so good. Thanks so much for carrying the radio torch so beautifully into the world.
In youth (and adult!) radio solidarity,
Jones
WOW! Of course I have heard part one of this show several times, part two was also a great piece of radio!
As Greg has said so well… we will carry our mothers with us for a long, long time to come.
For weeks after my Mom passed I thought about her practically at every turn of every day. And I realized (sometimes with Greg’s help) just how much like her I am… the way that I go about my work in the kitchen, the things I say, the phrases I use, even in my body language… until I realized that although she is gone she is still very much with me… inside… in spades!
Bob
Erica, very interesting and wonderful combination of interview and letting Greg’s genius rumble on poetically, touching upon such a depth of essential human experience and profound wisdom, with such understatement.
Thank you
Heartfelt presentation, quiet, peaceful, pleasant voices. Marjorie remained happy throughout and friends/family could see her inability to process reality but remained satisfied to leave her reality as it was at this time. How different it might have been for Marjorie and her son if he tried to convince her that the year was 2013 and all that she knew was gone. “Reality Orientation” never proved to be a positive therapy, and it is evident to see why.
Beautiful program, thank you.
My son just encouraged me to listen to both parts of after the forgetting. My mother died several years ago and had dementia. There were many parallels with Greg’s mother, especially her strong personality, love and humor which managed to co-exist with her increasing dementia.
This interview brought tears and joy to both my son and I. It was beautifully done and filled with the Spirit of Life.
Thank you.
I just sent this beautiful program to my family to listen to: it reminds me very much of the time we spent with my father, who suffered from dementia and died in 2008. Like Greg, I feel so fortunate to have been able to spend time with him, when he was already quite far gone in his dementia. People I talk about this with sometimes don’t believe me: they have been lead to believe that every aspect of dementia is horrible, and should be avoided. I am so glad your moving story shows the beautiful other side of this disease (though of course, as you say, it’s no picknick and you wouldn’t wish it on anyone!)
My father (http://www.hdw.fmf.nl/index.cgi?file=hendrik.html), too, was a wonderful man, and much of his lovely and lively character shone in a whole new light when dementia sanded away some of the sharper edges of his character. My sister was always a bit in awe of him, because he was a fiercely intelligent and analytical person. She said that her favorite moment with my dad was when he was at home, being taken care by excellent home-health care nurses, and she walked in the room. My dad suddenly lit up, and beamed at her, and said to the nurses, as he pointed to his daughter: “That is a very, very good friend of mine” For this old-fashioned Dutchman, that was as close to saying ‘I love you’ as he could ever get. Another time I will always cherish is the moment when it was time to go to sleep, and I was at home, my mother had already gone upstairs (where their bedroom was), when I said “Well, it’s time to go to bed now!” He looked at me a bit shocked, and said in a voice tinged with regret: “You know, I’m actually married…” I still miss him, but have the feeling that I got to know him in a way that I never would have otherwise.
Again thank you for this beautiful program. Your mother and your husband’s mothers are very, very lucky to have such wonderful sons. All the best, from Jericho, VT.
So moving to hear this interview today, the day we lost Greg. I am reminded how in touch Greg was with his own humanity. What a dear, loving soul.
I knew Greg a bit years ago in my Randolph days. He was personable but always up for more that just a chat and did n’t back away from the scary edge of life.
I took care of my mom in a nursing home and could see her retreating as time went on. Toward the end, at 101, it was not important if she knew who I was but only that I was there as someone to help fill in the silence she had fallen into. There was a certain irony seeing her, as she had been often the one and only to visit me is a little kid in various hospitals, so I knew that terrible emptiness of being alone day after day and how you shrink bit by bit into a hardened ball within. I hope now that I broke into that emptiness sometimes. She called me her husband and when I corrected she said, “Well, you are a lot better than the old one…!” Which was true.