Names are such fleeting things

Names.  We all have them.  Before a child is ever born, parents agonize over "what to name the baby" and everyone has an opinion.   From our first memories, we know our own names.  It is a part of us that no one takes away.  Yes, we accumulate nicknames and shortened versions of our name over the course of a lifetime.  My father, for example, was born "Henry," spent his young years referred to as "H" or "H C" and eventually became "Hank" to just about everyone. 

Alzheimer's messes with that.  It steals names.

Mom needed to sign some papers the other day.  She hasn't signed anything for a couple of months.  She took pen in hand, and asked what she was supposed to do.  The visitor said she needed to sign her name at the "X."  Mom looked a bit bewildered, and looked to me for clarification.  I said she should just sign her name, just like she has done thousands of times in her nearly 85 years of life.  So she started to sign, writing very slowly and in very tiny letters.  When she was done, the visitor asked if she could sign a second paper.  She nodded that she would.

I glanced at the first sheet and asked to see it more closely.  She had signed it "Anne Tracey **********" with an unreadable last name.  Now, that would be fine, except that her name is NOT Anne or Tracey or even the unreadable-but-clearly-not-her-last-name as signed.  Her name is Lois. 

When I said that it was not her signature, the visitor stopped her from completing the second page signature.  What she had started there was "Claire."   I had to sign the first page, the second, and several more.  We teased her about using various aliases and she laughed with us.  But it was clear something was really wrong.

Later, I asked her about the names she had signed.  She hemmed and hawed a bit, finally just shrugging.  I asked her if she could remember her name -- and sadly, she could not.  Nor could she remember my name, but she did know that I am her daughter.  A photo of my Father revealed that she had forgotten his name, too.  I should have realized it was a bad day for her when the visitor asked how many children she had and she promptly answered "3."  the visitor looked at me for confirmation and I said "1."  But we've had the counting error before and it doesn't alarm me.

Mom doesn't seem upset about forgetting her own name.  She says no one uses it anyway.   I suppose she is right in a sense, as my husband and I call her Mom.  Others call her Lois, but she isn't sure who they are, most of the time, and the name must not sink in.  She seems happy enough to go around without a name.  Maybe they really are just fleeting.

In the meantime, I am Vickie.  I will remember.  Always.  I think.