The faces of dementia
Jennifer's mother, Maria, has always been an incredibly strong woman.
Born in the United States to Mexican immigrant parents, Maria grew up speaking Spanish and English, navigating the world as a first generation kid in a community that wasn’t always welcoming or integrated.
Although Maria started college at Arizona State University, her academic journey paused when she married at 22 and had four daughters. Many years later, she turned back to her studies and completed her degree at SUNY Oswego in New York.
“She was a great student, very intelligent and she had a lifelong love of reading,” Jennifer explains.
Maria spent the intervening years managing her bustling family life as she often worked as a substitute teacher and supported her husband’s sprawling, complex network of businesses. Yet her dreams for her daughters always came first: Maria sacrificed to afford music lessons for her children—one adult daughter has been a piano instructor and accompanist, another majored in French Horn in college—even though Maria herself wasn’t musical. That was a mother's love, scrimping and saving to instill a love of music and a better life for her children. A deeply religious woman and member of the Mormon Church, Maria also often marveled at the natural world, collecting rocks and shells and teaching her daughters to notice the beauty around them. Maria lived her life as a vibrant, multifaceted woman whose intellectual interests ranged far and wide.
“She made sacrifices for us to do things that she didn't get the opportunity to do. She took joy in seeing us do them,” Jennifer remembers.
So when Maria and her husband started to show signs of cognitive decline, it was not easy for her daughter to step in.
“When you're dealing with your parents, they still feel that they're the boss. It’s that idea that you need to respect your elders. For so long, my mom has been the matriarch, and my father the patriarch.”
A medical researcher for the U.S. Navy, Jennifer was living abroad and on the precipice of a huge career opportunity performing malaria research in the Horn of Africa when, during phone calls back home, she began hearing signs of trouble. Her father, 11 years older than her mother, was living in a small town in Arizona with his wife when he began showing symptoms of cognitive decline, with businesses he could no longer manage, multiplying tax issues, and unmet basic self-care needs.
“My father’s teeth were rotting out of his mouth,” Jennifer explains. “He was a very bright and capable person who could no longer manage to care for his own well-being.” Realizing her parents were in crisis, Jennifer turned down the job offer, moved back home, and soon found her mother in an equally distressed circumstance, living with severe depression and even a suicide plan in place.
“In retrospect, it is evident that if I would have known earlier, I would have done something about it,” Jennifer notes.
“But there's no program or school for caregiving. No one gives you a guide explaining, ‘This is going to start happening to you.’”
When Jennifer’s father passed away suddenly in 2012, it became clear that her caregiving role for her mother was just beginning. Initially, Jennifer relocated to a home nearby to support her mother; she later bought a new home enabling her mother, daughter and their extended family to live together.
Now, with Maria in the later stages of dementia, Jennifer shares,
“Sometimes, it feels like she’s not even my mom anymore. But she's a human being that I care about and love, regardless.”