Trading Brains

It was two weeks before Christmas, and I was putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree. As my mother had taught me, each strand had to be placed with great care on the tips of the branches. No grabbing a glob and flinging them on the tree.

My youngest son and mother were seated by the fireplace, she drinking a cup of tea to which she always added a spoonful of Tang, and my son, a cup of hot cocoa with a generous dollop of Marshmallow Fluff. My mother, seventy-five at the time, was in the moderate stage of Alzheimer's disease. We had moved her from Massachusetts to California, to be closer to family. She was a very bright woman, having graduated Cum Laude from Bryn Mawr College. She spoke several languages, was an avid reader, and a master of the NYT Sunday crossword puzzle. Her given name was Sarah, but for some reason, she had it legally changed to Sally.

Although symptoms vary from person to person, Mom was clearly displaying symptoms that her dementia was advancing.

My son Court, who was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at the tender age of seven, cycled rapidly between mania and depression, sometimes several times in one day. He was still the sweetest of my three children, loved to play Army, and had an infectious smile.

While the two sat watching me finish the decorations, I heard them complaining about their illnesses. Each thought the other had the better deal. Mom thought being happy (manic) was a far better fate than forgetting how to dress, difficulty recalling phone numbers, addresses and the schools she attended, and needing to withdraw from mentally challenging situations.

Court, on the other hand, wished his bad memories of abuse he had endured at the age four, the ridiculing and name calling from elementary school friends, and the needles, pills and the endless doctors' visits would disappear.

"We should trade brains", Court said. Mom shook her head in agreement.

The grass is always greener, I thought, and also acknowledged I didn't wish either fate on anyone.

This is where my journey, over thirteen years ago, started to write my first novel; Memory Weavers. Over the years the story changed from characters with Alzheimer's and Bipolar to two women; one with Alzheimer's, the other with PTSD.

Sally Walker