By: Jerry Blackerby
When a person with Alzheimer’s dies, try not to remember the dilapidated shell that we have been watching for the last many months and the mind that has gone. Instead, remember the wonderful times with the person who raised us. That is the person we must remember.
Mom died in September, 2002. Her family is overrun with Alzheimer’s. Her three siblings, their mother and many cousins all have died of or have Alzheimer’s.
Mom was a devout Christian, from a Christian family. The family has had at least one Baptist preacher in each generation since the 17th century. Family lore is that John Bunyon, author of Pilgrim’s Progress, was a relative. It is typical for family members to speak at the funeral of other family members.
When Dad died, Mom’s brother, another preacher, spoke at Dad’s funeral. He had spoken at many other family funerals through the years. I never felt that I could do that. I felt I would be too emotional.
One cousin spent 26 years as a missionary in Uganda. His father had a stroke and a couple of years later died, just two months after my Dad died. My cousin spoke for 30 minutes at his father’s funeral about what his father had taught him. It was a wonderful tribute to his father.
I asked him afterwards how he could do that. He told me that every time he visited his father after the stroke, he buried him in his mind as he left. By the time he actually had to bury him, he said it was a lot easier.
I began thinking about that as Mom’s Alzheimer’s progressed. Her brother’s Alzheimer’s was also progressing. I began writing a tribute to Mom. For two years, I wrote, read, cried, edited and rewrote that tribute.
After all of us visited Mom and told her it was okay to go on to be with Dad and her beloved Lord, Jesus, I returned home. That night, shortly after midnight, I received the call that Mom had passed on. A couple of hours later, I got up and rewrote portions of my tribute to Mom.
At the funeral, Mom’s brother was there, but his Alzheimer’s had progressed to the point that he did not know any of us and had to be introduced each time one of us was near him.
I read/spoke about Mom for nearly 30 minutes during the service. I was able to do it, even though I definitely felt the emotion of her dying. I concluded with “Mom, you can now celebrate that “Victory in Jesus” and as the song by Albert Brumley goes, “I’ll Meet You In The Morning!”
We, as a family, sang a medley of Mom’s favorite songs that we had grown up singing while she played the piano. One of Mom’s granddaughters was playing the piano for us. As we filed out of the church, we sang, “I’ll Fly Away,” one of Mom’s favorites.
While we were standing outside, her brother walked up to me, put his arms around my shoulders and very lucidly said, “I really appreciate what you and your sisters have done for your mother. She would be proud of you.” The next time he saw me an hour later, he had to be introduced again. He did not know me, but he had at the moment the funeral was over. Three years later, we buried his sister and three weeks later, we buried him. They all died with Alzheimer’s.
I have wonderful memories of writing and presenting the tribute to Mom at her funeral. I was able to tell people some of the wonderful things that she had instilled in each of her children. She was a fantastic Christian mother and even though we may be different from Mom in how we worship the Lord, Mom instilled a faith in us that runs very deep. Our memories are of that mother, not the dilapidated shell that died.
Copyright © Jerry Blackerby 2011