I know that feeling today； Mom； when I see what wonderful mothers my daughters have bee。
As for your great…grandchildren； all I can say is that they have an overabundance of energy； either that； or I’m getting old。 A photo of the entire family sits on my dresser。 Everyone looks so happy。 We still are。 I thought you’d like to hear that。 It’s difficult without you； but I think we’re finally getting our act together。
It’s getting late； so I’m going to put away your things for now。 We’ll do this again next year； promise。
Happy birthday； Mom。
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爱上陌生人（1）
桑德·史密斯
我的母亲在她15岁的时候就有了第一个孩子，现在她已经76岁了，她以前一直希望有一天能够不用再照看小孩，不用再担心是否付得起账单，不用再承担那么多责任，总之就是坐下来，什么事情也不用做。
母亲终于实现了这个愿望。现在，她每天坐在养老院里，一边讲述着8岁时失去的父亲，一边用手指敲着椅子，发出的有切分的节奏使我想起了比博普（爵士乐的一种）。
我叫着：“米尔德蕾德……米尔德蕾德。”
她就会把头仰起来，笑得露出了牙齿，眼睛也有了神采，好像一个5岁的孩子。然后我对她说：“宝贝儿，到这儿来。”
我就赶紧跑过去，拉一把椅子，靠近她的身旁坐下来。
“嗨，米尔德蕾德，你好吗？” 我已经不叫她妈妈了，因为她对这个称呼已经没有反应了。
1984年，母亲被诊断出阿尔茨海默病——又名老年痴呆症，那年我刚刚大学毕业。在上学的时候，我就感到有一些不好的迹象。那时，我打电话回家，她就显得很不安，因为她常常丢钱。
我开始与母亲的疾病进行斗争，不断地更换医生、药物、调整饮食，还求助了中医，母亲的健康状况终于得到了改善。她减掉了75磅的体重，并且恢复了与人沟通的能力。虽然母亲的身体状况得到了很大改善，然而，在此后的6年中，她继续遭受着阿尔茨海默病的摧残。
1984年至1990年，疾病对母亲的身体健康造成了极大的损害。那段时间，我一直和母亲住在一起，她就在我的眼前发生着变化，很令人震惊。她不仅忘事，而且变得让我感到陌生。我的男朋友坐在椅子上看电视的时候，她就会满脸愁容，一边围着椅子转圈，一边嘀嘀咕咕。她还将一把大锤子藏在自己的房间里，稍微受到刺激，就会抓起锤子乱挥。她一旦走出家门，就不愿再回来，而是一边顺着街道奔跑，一边喊警察救命。从前，母亲收到过一封通知她参加公职考试的信，这使她逐渐确信自己就是一名警官。只有真正的警官来了，才能把她劝回家。
我总是对自己说，这不是我的母亲。她总是把男人叫到自己的窗前，而我的母亲对男人没有兴趣；她一碰到事情就哭，而我的母亲从不哭泣；她脾气暴躁、还有点妄想，而我的母亲脾气温和又有礼貌。她把屋子里的杂志、银器、盘子和衣物搬来搬去，我一问她东西放在哪里时，她就会变得很愤怒，以为我责怪她做了错事，冲着我喊叫，说东西是别人搬的，不是她搬的。
她语气强烈地对我说：“过来”，然后抓住我的手把我拉进了她的房间，“听，你听到他们发出的声音了吗，是他们搬的。”
为了更多地了解这种疾病，我和姐姐一起参加了专为阿尔茨海默病患者家属举办的聚会。通过参加这次聚会，我们学会了不再因为她说错话或做错事而责备她，因为那些都是阿尔茨海默病造成的，不是她的错。
母亲的病情越来越严重，她自己也越来越害怕，她说：“我到底做了什么事情，为什么不记得了呢？
从前没得病的时候，母亲在我的面前从来不会表现出恐惧或伤心。现在，她受到惊吓就会叫喊，感到愤怒就会发火，觉得开心就会大笑，奇怪而自由地表达自己的情感。当我不再以自己的意愿去要求母亲时，我们两个人都感到平静了许多。
母亲就一直这样被阿尔茨海默病折磨着，逐渐失去了享受生活的能力，而我则用尽一切可能的办法与她一起面对。母亲一直都喜欢跳舞，我一下班回家就会打开蒂娜·特纳或者詹尼特·杰克逊的歌曲，与母亲一起跳个不停。当我用钢琴演奏母亲最喜欢的歌曲时，她就把手放在那台古老的立式钢琴上，完美地唱出每个音符和每句歌词。 txt小说上传分享
爱上陌生人（2）
母亲的病情继续恶化，已经到了我无法照料的地步，因此我决定把她送进养老院。她现在离开了我，我真担心有一天她不认识我了。有时候，当我觉得自己失去了母亲时，她又会突然回到我的身边，比如说我的那次婚礼。尽管她对我的婚礼没有表示出任何兴趣，但是我需要她在那里。婚礼当天，母亲与父亲、继母、姑姑、姑父以及表亲们一起走了进来，并坐在了我的后面，当牧师滔滔不绝地主持仪式时，她就不时地咕哝几句，好像在回应牧师的讲话。到了我应该起立的时候，母亲自豪地大声说道：“那是我的女儿”。我转向她，说到：“是的，妈妈，我就是您的女儿。”
每次去养老院看望母亲时，我们都不可能像正常人那样聊天。而是我把自己一天的生活讲给她听，然后给她表演安南西故事中的一段情节，或者我给她按摩按摩手臂、肩膀和双手。母亲则抓住我的手臂摇动起来，嘴里不停地说她是多么喜欢小孩。当我自己变回一个小孩时，我是那么希望能向母亲倾诉烦恼，母亲则紧紧地抓住我的手、拍拍我的头，告诉我一切都会好起来的，我就会感到非常欣慰。
当我把这些告诉别人的时候，人们就会感慨道： “可怜的人。”脸上的表情变得沉重下来。他们或许会告诉我，人得了阿尔茨海默病后，大脑就会退化，甚至无法认出自己的亲人。
然而，那些同情我的人却不了解整个故事。我学会了接受现在的母亲，并愿意接受这个新米尔德蕾德的爱抚，她是我的母亲，这个事实并未改变。我与母亲之间的彼此了解已经深入到了骨髓，即使是阿尔茨海默病，也无法改变。
本文的女儿可能是不幸的，可是跟其他人比起来，她又是那么幸运，因为她的母亲还在她的身边，她还可以爱她的母亲。“树欲静而风不止，子欲孝而亲不待”是人生最大的悲哀，让我们从现在做起，说一声：“妈妈，我爱你！”
To Love a Stranger
Sande Smith
A parent since she was fifteen； my seventy…six…year…old mother used to long for the day when she could just sit and do nothing。 No more taking care of the children。 No more worrying about whether there was enough money to pay the bills。 No more responsi bilities。
She got her wish。 Every day now； she sits in a nursing home； tapping her fingers on her chair in a syncopated rhythm that reminds me of bebop； talking to herself about her father； who died when she was eight。
“Mildred。。。 Mildred。 ” I say。
She looks up at me； her eyes brighten； and her smile reveals snaggles like those of a five…year…old。 “e here； baby doll； ”she says。
I rush over to her； pull close a chair； and sit down。
“Hey； Mildred； how are you？” I don’t call her Mommy anymore。 She doesn’t answer to Mommy。
My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 1984； right after I graduated from college。 While in school。 saw signs that something was wrong。 Often； when I would call home； she would be upset because she’d lost her money。 “Mommy never loses her money。” I’d think。
I fought the disease。 Through changes in doctors； diet； and medicine； and through the addition of Chinese herbs； my mother’s health improved。 She lost seventy…five pounds and regained her ability to converse with other people。 Yet； despite profound physical improvement；the Alzheimer’s continued to unravel her mind over the next six years。 。。
爱上陌生人（3）
I lived with my mother from 1984 to 1990； as the illness slowly took its toll。 It was appalling to watch her change right in front of me。 She didn’t just forget things。 She became a different person—one whom I did not recognize。 When my boyfriend would watch television； she’d walk in circles around his chair； muttering under her breath and scowling。 She kept a hammer hidden in her room and wielded it at the slightest provocation。 If she got out of the house； she’d refuse to e back in。 Instead； she would run down the street； calling for the police to help her。 She’d e to believe that she was a police officer—a conviction touched off by a letter inviting her to take the civil service test。 Only another police officer could convince her to e into the house。
This is not my mother； I would tell myself。 My mother had no interest in men；this person called men over to her window。 My mother never cried； yet this woman broke into tears at the slightest thing。 My mother always appeared polite and good…natured。 This woman was quick…tempered and slightly paranoid。 She moved magazines； silverware； dishes； and clothing around the house。 When I asked about the objects； she’d bee angry and yell at me for thinking she had done something wrong。 She told me that other people； not she； had moved these things。
“e here；” she’d say forcefully； grabbing my hand and pulling me into her room。 “Listen。 Do you hear them？ They took it。”
To learn more about the disease； my sister and I attended groups for families of Alzheimer’s patients。 We learned not to blame my mother for things she said or did。 The Alzheimer’s was talking； not her。
As the disease progressed； my mother grew frightened。 She’d say。 “What’s happening to me？ Why can’t I remember？”
Before Alzheimer’s； my mother never admitted fear or sadness to me。 Now； she became strangely free with her emotions； crying when frightened； expressing anger when furious； and laughing when exhilarated。 As I released my perceptions of who my mother was supposed to be； we both became calmer。
I used everything I could to stay connected to her as she lost the ability to engage in the hallmarks of linear life。 My mother had always loved dancing。 When I came home from work； I’d turn on Tina Turner or Janet Jackson； and we would dance and dance。 I’d play her favorite songs on the piano； and she’d place her hand on top of the old upright and sing each note and every word perfectly。
As my mother’s illness progressed； I saw that I could not provide the care she needed； so I decided to put her in a nursing home。 Now that she’s away； I dread the day when she will no longer know me。 Sometimes she seems lost to me。 But then something happens； such as my wedding。 Even though she expressed no interest； I needed her there。 On my wedding day； she marched in with my father； stepmother；aunts； uncles； and cousins。 She sat behind me； occasionally murmuring in time to the minister’s speech as he poured libations。 When it came time for me to stand。 she looked at me and sang out proudly； “That’s my gal。” I turned to her。 “Yes； Mom； it’s me。 ”
When I visit her in the nursing home； we don’t carry on typical conversations。 Rather； I talk about my day and act out Anansi tales。 Or I massage her arms； shoulders； and hands。 She grabs my arm and cradles it； talking all the while about how she loves babies。 And when I feel like a baby myself； wishing I could just tell all my troubles to my mother and know everything will be all right； she holds my hand tight or pats my head； and I’m forted。
When I tell people； their faces drop。 “You poor thing；” they say。 Perhaps they tell me about loved ones who became unrecognizable as their brains degenerated； ravaged by Atzheimer’s。
Those who pity me； however； do not know the whole story。 While I hate the disease； I have learned to accept and be nurtured by this ne