Respite for unrest

Reflecting on unrest from this week and preparing my heart for Sunday worship

“This is lying!”

This is my mother yelling into the phone. And then, turning a bit more muffled, I realize she’s trying to hand the phone back to my Dad. I think I am the “this” she can’t name.

I don’t know which part she’s taken umbrage with. I had only said, “Hi, Mom, it’s Tamara.” Was it that she was my mom or that Tamara is my name?

She says some other things that I have blocked out since the conversation, which was only a couple of days ago. I always find myself wishing I could record these exchanges with my Mom because they are so unbelievable. I need proof to share with people who know her—or people who know me. This is what Alzheimer’s Disease does: it not only robs memory and cognitive function, but it also eats away at a soul.